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] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | The other races of the Milky Way cared very little about the blip of a race. You see the galactic population was less unified than one might think. Many races didn't perceive time, speech or thought in the same way. But the one thing they did all understand was matter. Every being was made out of physical matter so that is how they spoke to one another. Beings would present physical embodiments of ideas or even pieces of a rudimentary written 'language' that incorporated a series of moving hieroglyphs.
Some species did gain thought and language and these beings warned the community that there may be something dangerous about the humans but the general community only accepted these physical languages so they looked at the small sampling of 'sign language' in the early days and then 'emojis and television' in the later days. There was ruckus about 30 central microgalactic elliptics (CME) back when a confusing blip occurred on the planet. It was so quick and incomprehensible everyone assumed it was the equivalent of an ant colony accidentally creating sparks when it tipped over a rock. The Lidrarians and Falcariots, the two dominant races that were bipedal humanoids and solid based, most closely resembled the human concept of language, thought and culture. They began to fear the humans but could do nothing about it. The human planet was located deep in Aurbor territory. The Aurbor were relatively peaceful but defensive gas based life forms. 5 CME (roughly 100 earth years) later when the humans mastered nuclear fusion and fission races such as the Aurbors found the sudden aggression from the warfaring Lidrarians and the wealthy Falcariots strange but thought little of it.
5 CME later the humans were all but forgotten about as a massive war broke out in the Milky Way Galaxy. During this time humanity learned many things. They conquered their solar system and mined all of its asteroids and planets for materials. They were getting closer to discovering faster than light travel and had made preliminary discoveries of possible other life from errant scans of Falcariot and Lidrarian ships. The humans began to study other life and 10 CME after the start of the war they understood what was happening and humanity united under a common rule. They knew that liquid, plasma and solid creatures existed and warred against each other but they did not yet understand gaseous beings such as the Aurbors. They just thought air was toxic to these beings and their arm of the Milky Way must have been especially noxious. 15 CME after the war had started a scientist studying the Northern Lights for particle research cracked the code. The Aurora Borealis wasn't a phenomenon, it was their rulers. The equivalent of night security guards watching the tiny race. When humans discovered this they did not let on and instead moved all their research facilities away.
20 CME after it started the galactic war was over, the Lidrarians and Falcariots had been driven into a neighboring galaxy. As everyone was letting their guard down humans mastered FTL and attacked the gaseous Aurbors. The gaseous race initially found the races attempts at usurpation laughable, they choked out their ships and found cracks in their ventilation systems. The kinetic weapons were useless and their laser technology might as well have been arrows against a tank. Then came the first nuclear warheads and the anomalous blip was suddenly understood with horror. But the humans did not stop there. They had developed ways to split electrons and neutrons and protons, the fundamental pieces of the atoms. Splitting a neutron would suck the fundamental life out of the Aurbors and soon they were extinct. Splitting a proton would turn the liquid races into solid, soulless statues. Splitting an electron would turn the dangerous plasma based life into supercharged bombs that would explode themselves, transferring the electron sickness from being to being like a chemical weapon. You see each race had learned to fight and speak through physicality. The way they fought and communicated was like the difference between a marker, a pencil or a pen on paper. But humanity was different... they tore the words they wrote into the paper itself. Cutting their message into the fabric of reality with every destructive, irradiated waste they left.
10 CME later they had conquered most of the Milky Way and set their sites on the neighboring galaxy ruled by the now allied Falcariots and Lidrarians. The two races studied the humans in their conquest and constructed safeguards. They could counter the splitting of any piece of the atom. They had created paper humanity couldn't cut... so humanity burnt their words into the paper. They went smaller and learned the impossible, they could split a quark. It was theoretical at best and they didn't know if it was practically possible. Actual tests were too dangerous so the first and only test was done when it was used on the Falcariots and Lidrarians. The destruction would make the humans a universally dominant power for eternity. You see, the splitting of a quark created an unstoppable tear in reality. The total destruction would fundamentally destroy existence and expand forever, like a fire that never stops spreading. But the laws of the universe meant that galaxies forever expanded out away from one another. The milky way always stayed a few light years ahead of the destruction but the Andromeda galaxy would forever be gone. Eventually when the universe's expansion cooled and slowed the wave of destruction would catch up to everyone. The humans had created a defined end to the universe. At the first intergalactic summit the humans burnt a message in hieroglyphics in the sky. The races that understood words translated it as follows.
"We are become granters of life, destroyer of universes." | Part 2:
The Stars Shine Again
"K'uklas, we're pulling out off of the Zhavra cruiser, make sure you and your men can handle the onslaught," the man over his radio said. He couldn't believe the man he looked up to would abandon them like that, in a time where they were hopeless against these tiny, ferocious beasts—no, demons. They have spilled much blood and their eyes turned only cold. Dust flew from the worlds they took and their rampage did not stop. How could they fight against such a terrible foe? "Men," turning around to see disheveled Zaarians, starved and deprived of the liberty to live, "this day will be marked as the day we resisted, despite us not eating, despite us covered in dust and blood."
No rejoices. No more smiling. Their reptilian faces were too blank to care. Their minds had been wiped out of all memory of glory. Poor K'uklas asked after a while, "Why the silence?"
"Are we crazy or courageous?", one of the men spoke, and the only sound that can be heard from the crowd.
"Nothing is more courageous than looking at hope."
"What do you mean? They've took everything. Everything."
"They can't take what they don't have. We may have nothing, but this universe shall see that we stopped a terrible disease."
The poor soldier sat, bowed down, and wept. He remembered his beloved, screaming in agony, her pristine eyes losing its soul in front of him. He remembered the charred corpses of his children among the dead. And he saw them again, whispering him to avenge them, and then he stopped weeping.
K'uklas knew this was a lost cause; it didnt matter. Their only chance of winning is to make them win again, to give them a false warmth, before their own armaments judge them again. It was impossible, it was daunting, and knowing his superior, Zaar would now be a footnote in history.
The radio receiver heard shots that echoed from the distances, and the soldiers knew this was their last time living again. And so, from the dark void, they turned their scarred ship into the direction of the shell, creating a wormhole from theirs to the location of the shot, and proceeded, in an array of colors, to pulsate powerful rays against their enemies. There were only a few that rode the cruiser, but it mattered not anymore. The cannons shot and shot to no use at all, but they gave them hope once more. Some aimed at the thrusters at their backs, and with surprise, it tore all apart. And continued this on their way. For Zaaria, for our families, and for the stars.
More and more ships came to descend to oblivion in the path of Zhavra, and as they fired at it, all they can do is be drawn to sadness. Even K'uklas felt sorry for the men he had killed, but he knew that his soldiers were joyed, that his arms were joyed, and so continued to fire at the high horses of the despicable little devils in front of them, scourging them into eternal hellfire.
With no warning, a shadow blocked the view, casting an uneasy darkness against the crew. They knew it was it; the Destroyer Cruiser. The ones that killed their families, their friends, their lovers and children. Here it is, one of them, all weapons aimed against a small, gaunt ship, meek against this old foe. They turned a right and strafed to their left, confusing the barrage where to fire. As the rays launched more to their direction, the vehicle moved dodgingly until it could find a large hole, said to contain the Grail to End All Life. And they did, and stayed. It lowered its weapons and let it open. Slowly, even against the silence of space, it could be heard rattling and crunching, until it revealed a large missile, familiar to the soldiers.
"Men, are you ready to go to heaven?"
"I'm prepared for hell."
And they went straight to the warhead, shooting at it with the strongest of their might, rushing until it combusted in a sphere of magnificence.
The stars have now shone again. | 2019-12-19T05:08:25 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 52 | 15 |
[WP] A famous painter is revealed to be a serial killer. His paintings are the locations where he stored his victims' bodies, with clues in the frames to help find them. You, an ace detective, are called in to help decipher the most cryptic painting yet.
Inspired by [this post] (https://www.reddit.com/r/HolUp/comments/v4hnuc/i_am_no_longer_interested_in_bob_ross_paintings/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) | I walked briskly down the art gallery, towards the police cordon. An inspector spotted me and nodded.
"I'm the investigating officer, Diwan Shah", he said proffering his hand.
"Senior Detective Perez", I said accepting his handshake.
"Heard a lot about you. Please follow me. The painting is this way"
"I got this case just this morning. Haven't had time to read all the details. How did we find out that the locations of Soren's victims are hidden in the paintings?"
"One of his neighbours saw the painting and knew the location that was depicted. Apparently he had gone for a vacation in those parts and sat beneath a tree in front of the church. He identified the church and even the tree. Only, there was a cross marked beneath it. Thinking it could be a location map to a buried treasure, he went there again and dug it up. Once the first body was found, we began analysing the other paintings. Three bodies have been recovered so far, and his fourth and last painting is in this gallery."
"Has Soren been arrested?"
"No, he somehow got wind that we found the first body and has disappeared since."
We reached the alley where Soren's painting was hung. It was titled "The Urban Reality".
I stared at the painting, trying to make sense of it.
"Yeah, a bummer isn't it", chuckled Shah.
This was easily the least appealing painting I had ever seen. It was what people called 'modern art', but it looked like something a two year old would have made. Along all four edges of the painting, the artist had created a mosaic using one inch long brush strokes in different shades of brown. The center of the canvas, the part which was enclosed by the mosaic, had spots of every color imaginable. It reminded me of the old CRT televisions, which displayed a colorful dotted screen when it had no input signal.
"This is going to take a while. Do we have permission to take the painting with us yet", I asked.
"Yes. The gallery doesn't want to do anything with this painting now. Once the news was out that Soren is a serial killer, the price of his paintings went down to almost nothing"
"Great. Get the painting to the HQ. We'll study it there. In the meanwhile, take some high res pictures and run it through every pattern recognition algorithm we have to see if he's written anything in that myriad of colors."
__
A couple of days went by without any progress. The pattern recognition algorithms found nothing more than a letter 't' within the colorful spots. Soren was still absconding. It would have been easier to beat the location out of him.
"Don't we have any other clues apart from this painting", I asked.
"I'm afraid not. We have questioned his neighbours, known relatives and friends but no one has a clue about what that painting could mean. We also traced the route he took during his vacation. All the locations where bodies were hidden, were part of his itinerary. But still no clue about what this location could be," said Shah.
We stared at the painting for a bit. Then I started pacing.
"I don't understand how people see this garbage as art", he sighed.
"Yeah, I know. Garbage is accurate."
I froze. Could it be? Surely not!
"Shah! Get Soren's itinerary. Could you plot all the locations on the map?"
"Sure. You got something?"
"I might have. Once you plot all the locations, I want you to search for landfill sites near them."
His jaw dropped.
"You don't think.."
"I actually do."
He worked furiously on his computer.
"Found it. There are only two landfills that are near the locations he visited."
"Switch to satellite image view and zoom in on one of those locations. Try to scale the landfill site to match the painting."
"WOAH! I don't believe this. This has to be the one. The brown mosaic in the painting is actually the roofs of the nearby slums that surround the landfill. It matches perfectly."
I smiled involuntarily. I had that familiar feeling of satisfaction and euphoria.
"But how do we find a body in this huge landfill?"
"Now that we have confirmed that this painting definitely depicts a location and isn't a riddle of some sort, we can say that he has not broken his pattern. Keeping in line with that pattern, I am sure that there is a cross mark somewhere."
And it clicked again.
"The letter 't' that we found," I cried out. "That has to be an 'x'"
And so it was. | They were unrelated at first, the disappearing homeless by port and the the rise of the strange and disturbing artist who signed his paintings only as J.S.
I couldn't have told you at the time what made the surrealistic landscapes so unsettling, they seemed to be just another artist working a niche and a gimmick. Never seen, paintings sold only online, colors that seemed to clash yet somehow harmonize in ways never found in nature.
It wasn't until a buyer received an ear with a painting that a connection was made. The painting was clearer than most with landmarks in the city clearly visible so I went to the spot and that's where I found him. Joseph Sweet, veteran, homeless since PTSD got the better of him, his prints still in the army database, and missing an ear. Reviewing the local security footage I found when he disappeared into a windowless van with a nonexistent homeless outreach charity logo on the side. Him and around 30 others that were caught by the cameras.
Of course when the media caught wind of the connection they immediately started calling him Van Gone, hilarious pun that. I hunted him for years, unearthing the bodies that he told me were there through his art. Came close a few times old addresses that were vacant on arrival, a traffic camera grab with half his face, hell even saw him at a distance a few weeks ago backfiring car scared the life out of me and when I looked back he was gone.
Guess the brass got tired of waiting for me to work it out, got a new partner now, I know I've heard his name but I can never remember it, pup doesn't listen to a word I say. So here I am with the latest painting essentially working they case by myself still. No big deal it feels more personal to me now, bastard put my badge number as the title of this painting.
It's different than the others no landmarks visible just a storage unit, body unburied in the center face down. None of his usual efforts put in this body could be found by anyone once it starts to stink. Careless like he did this one with no plan, it's going to be his undoing.
I see the pup answer the phone few short replies then grimly grab his coat and keys and start to leave. He got a tip, I can tell, doesn't want me along the fucking glory hound, but it's my case and he can't stop me.
We ride in silence to a cheap storage rental place. The puppy talks to the uniforms on seen, sure enough the smell triggered the call uniforms showed up and found the scene and call the pup instead of me the bastards. We go to the storage unit forensics has the body turned over to take pictures of the vic a neat hole in the front of his head and the atmosphere is different than normal, heavy and somber like the people here aren't professionals doing a job, like they have a personal stake. I head over look down, and there I am. Things start to get fuzzy memories and feelings flying away from me as I realize I don't exist anymore. My last thought before I'm gone is "Guess I'm not the protagonist, good luck kid." | 2022-06-04T09:27:57 | 2022-06-04T08:55:52 | 53 | 16 |
[WP] Your girlfriend just dumped you through a text. In a rage, you throw your old teddy bear while shouting “The Fucking Devil!”. Your teddy bear stands up and says ‘alright you got me, you got me,”.
Edited: Thanks for the gold, stranger! | I stood back. Mouth agape in shock and terror.
“Who..what,” I stuttered.
“Isn’t it obvious you thundering dolt. I am the devil,” My teddy bear grimaced.
The teddy bear grew larger and darker. The room got hotter with the bear’s size.
“How are you?...Why?... I am on drugs that’s it. I took something or was hit with something,” I nervously reasoned.
“Nope, I am the devil. Let me explain. Every so often I choose a sad miserable human to follow around and fuck with for shits and giggles. Sometimes, I reveal myself for my entertainment,” the devil cackled as he said that.
“But I’ve had you since...”
“Since you were a baby. I am the reason your father left you. I am the reason you shit yourself in second grade and got bullied throughout school. I am the reason your pants fell down during an assembly. I am not the reason everyone pointed and laughed. I got lucky. Why every school rejected you except for that shitty community college this guy. The cocaine in the back that got you kicked out and arrested. Moi. I only gave you a girlfriend so she could breakup with you,” the devil mocked.
“Well, what now,” I ask nervously.
“Well, now you accidentally called your exgirlfriend via Skype a few minutes ago. She sees you having a nervous breakdown and talk to yourself. The authorities have been contacted. You will be involuntarily hospitalized for a bit,” the devil laughed as he shrunk to normal size.
I immediately turn around to see my ex crying in the camera. I try to explain what happened, but she won’t listen. The authorities take me away. At first, I think it is good as I am far away from that bear.
Day one in the hospital. The doctor comes into my room.
“We decided to let you have a harmless item from home for comfort,” the doctor smiled and set the teddy bear down in the room. As he left, I saw the bear smirk at me.
EDIT: wow this blew up. Thank you to everyone for the kind words. Also, to those in the comment section saying Barry, I am a Flash fan so love the joke. | The fluffy brown fur of the teddy bear burned and flaked off in chunks as it stood up, it was barely up to your knees. "Guess this gig is up, your wish is granted though." The devil shook itself off, its skin dark as ash, and it looked at you, its eyes dark as embers.
"My wish?!" You manage to stutter out.
"Sure Buckeroo, your wish." The devil waddled out of the bedroom, and you watched stunned as it did so.
"What the fuck." You say befuddled.
What did you say? What did you say? You think to yourself. You were ranting about Chad and how you were too good for him, but you loved him. The only way he could leave is if he... Oh. You said, 'I wish that fucker would burn in hell.' | 2018-11-26T10:51:00 | 2018-11-26T08:26:50 | 5,993 | 1,041 |
[WP] You've been magically gifted the ability to speak all languages. Anything you say comes out in the first language of whoever you're looking at. One day, you try to greet someone on the street and they gape in horror as ancient, unknowable eldritch sounds exit your mouth. The ground shakes... | New York city in the fall. The city of a thousand languages. A melding pot of culture, style, commerce and sex. "What a miserable place!" I thought to myself as I climbed the stairs by the lion statues.
"I'd much rather have stayed with the innu in northern Labrador. But I do have to report my findings to the explorers league. They pay the bills" I sighed audibly, exhaling cool fall air.
I'd spent 3 months learning a verbal only language, and translating it for the E.L. and yet with my goal completed I felt empty. I already missed the simplicity of the innu. The true gift of my ability to seemingly translate every known language was the travel opportunities that became open to me after my head injury. However the desire to put down roots somewhere was stirring in me and I was becoming aware of it.
"Afternoon Mr. Fletcher! How was Labrador?"
The front desk attendant was a pretty blonde young lady, who's name escaped me as she spoke. This is why I like writing things down.
"Lovely dear, their idea of summer is nearly our winter." Cant go wrong with a dear, thrown in to cover my bad memory.
"What was their language like? Did you translate it?"
Intent on the task this girl was, an admirable quality and likely why she was kept around.
"Very unique, and yes all finished." holding up my thick notebook of translations.
"Is the Marker in his office?" A pretty blonde she might be but I had a delivery to make.
"Yes he is waiting for you, as well as your next assignment I believe?" She smiled and waved her hand in the direction of the Marker's office. Yet the glint of her eyes held something I couldnt place? Fear maybe? Silly, it was likely nothing.
"Thank you dear." I wandered through the gallery towards the Marker's, gold inlaid, crimson door.
"I've been here enough, I shouldn't even bother knocking" the clasping dragons holding the golden knocker thumped three times and I waited.
"Mr. Fletcher." Gabriel, the Marker's seemingly ancient attendant spoke, as he opened the door. Not only was that his greeting but also him announcing my arrival. A man of few words to be sure. I nodded to him and entered the office.
The Marker sat behind his giant redwood desk, piled with papers and papyrus scrolls. Ink wells and modern pens and pencils laid strewn about with seemingly little care. He was reading and intently enough he didnt pause to look up as I entered.
Eyes never leaving the object he held, he waved an arm to the crimson chair in front of his desk. I sat and waited.
The room was a high arched, classical, almost church like design. Candles cast most of the light and yet a seeming perfectly good lightbulb, sat in the lamp on the desk. Covered in a jade or maybe green stained glass shade. It was simply a sign of the Marker's age. He felt more comfortable with his candles than the perks of modern technology.
"I have the Innu translations." I said, finally breaking the silence. Holding the notebook aloft.
"Yes yes, Gabriel." His eyes didnt leave the object. Gabriel appeared and took the notebook and waddled off somewhere with it. I stopped paying attention to him, the moment the notebook left my hands. I was now intent on getting to the bottom of whatever it was the Marker was so involved with.
I leaned in towards the desk, barely using the chair any longer. A small stone carving of some sort sat in front of the Marker. I couldnt see much of it, yet I could tell it was inscribed in some language or carvings.
"Marker?" I broke the silence again.
"Fletcher?" He sat back in his chair, surprised, as if he just realized I was there.
"Marker.." I tilted my head quizzically, the man was acting strange. He was normal by no means to being with, an old scribe who spent his days and nights transcribing and translating texts. I'd never seen him without ink stains somewhere on his person. But he was being especially odd today.
"I wish your magic brain worked on the written word." He let out a long sigh, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes.
"A man from Utah of all places, brought in a rock he found in his garden." Still rubbing his eyes he continued.
"For the life of me, it looks like a form of Latin, but a much more archaic thing?"
He had finally stopped rubbing his eyes and finally looked at me. He had managed to get ink on his left cheek. I said nothing but smiled.
"There might be a way to translate it, with your special gift." I was confused to say the least, he knew damn well I could only speak the languages not read them.
"The only words I've been able to translate from this stone is some numbers."
"Numbers aren't much good to me Sir, I've never been a math guy." I chuckled but it was true.
The Marker slid a thick book across the desk top, towards me. He flipped it open to a bookmarked page. An atlas sat before me, with latitudes and longitudes crisscrossing and a small town in Scotland circled.
"So I'm going to Scotland then?" I pirked an eyebrow.
--
I climbed out of the small dorey and thanked the fisherman for the lift. It be another 5 hours until I'd reach the town. So I hoisted my pack and started moving.
The rolling hills and evergreens, reminded me of the open landscape of northern Labrador. I wondered how the friends I had made among the innu were doing. They had been preparing to move their settlement closer to the ocean for the winter hunting, when I had left. The winters they said, reached forty below and the winds could take trees out of the ground. Glad I didnt join them for dog sledding i thought as i crested another small rise, headed east of the mountain's summit.
The travel wasnt difficult, deer paths threaded the way through the trees and the glades. Just after midday I reached an outcrop of buildings.
"Hello?" I mumbled to no one.
The buildings were more just crumbled stone and mounds of green grass.
Clearly this was a dead lead, or the people of the town were at least. I'd have to spend the next few days digging through the rubble looking for more insight into the archaic Latin the Marker was so intent on finding.
I sat on a low wall that had managed to stay standing. Opened my pack and dug around for my dried meat. Realizing I was also thirsty I popped the top off my canteen and took a few gulps. I paused to soak in the sunshine for a moment, the light breeze and the view of the ocean a good 5 hours below me down the mountain.
As I chewed the dried meat I caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of my eye. A raven gently landed on the branch of one of the nearby trees. It stared, intent on the dried meat I held in my hand.
"Hey fella." I said in my most friendly voice.
But it wasnt English, it wasnt even close.
The crumbling wall I sat on collapsed under me. Contents of my pack went sprawling as I landed. And even after I landed the ground felt like it was rumbling. Panting I managed to get to my feet, the shaking seemingly gone for now. I looked up to see if the Raven still sat on the tree. It was gone.
I gathered my pack and its strewn contents. I put the incident out of my mind while I gathered firewood. Set up a small camp and then unpacked my cooking gear.
I had just managed to get the fire going when the Raven returned.
He perched on a log next to the fire
"How is it you speak demonic human?" | Deep below the surface lay the ferocious flame dragon. Growling he opened his bright yellow eyes, lashing out with his claws at the first object he saw. Engulfed in rage by the fact that he had been woken, from what he thought was death.
Why was I awake flooded the dragons mind. Slowly rising, he tried flapping his wings. No joy. How could he possibly expect to fly. After all he had been locked away by deaths curse. Yet to wake up from this curse was unthinkable. Bruises and cuts were all across his scaly skin.
DIIIIINNNGGG!!! DIIIIINNNGGG!!!
“Hello? Okay sir calm down we cannot hear you... I see, well then. We will do everything we can to sort out the situation and prevent any harm to the public from occurring.”
“Thh...anks.”
“ What was that about boss?”
“Bad news.He has been woken up. Ferocious flame has risen from deaths curse.”
“ Oh my gosh. How do we stop him from reaching the surface.”
“ It is too late for that. I know your unfamiliar with ferocious flame, one of the creatures on our exiled files.”
“Then tell me me is there another way?”
“He is on his way up as we speak soon he would have reached the surface...”
The way these two ladies gazed at me was frightening. What had I said that was so bad? Especially for them to react like this. Their mouths hung open. In absolute shock they covered their mouths while shaking their heads at me. I turned around to see if anything was behind me. Nothing was there. But I did feel a rumble beneath my feet.
“What is the prob...lem?”
Gone. They had completely disappeared from the area, leaving no traces behind. A puzzled expression took over my face. A few sounds couldn’t have done that much harm. Could it?
Yes, the noises that came out of my mouth were slightly weird. Although it’s not as if I summoned some ancient monster ( I chuckled to myself) that would be impossible. No man has the ability to do that. That’s only the sort of power you would see from a cartoon on tv.
The longer I walked back the more puzzled I became. Of all the languages that I can speak, the one time I decide to not even bother speaking one and greet someone, this is the reaction I get. I will never understand it for the life of me.
“LOOK OUT!!!”
Sharply turning my head I couldn’t see any danger. Until I looked up. I could see the debris that was about to fall onto me. Yet I still stood there, frozen, stuck to the ground like glue. I could hear footsteps vastly approaching me. It was almost as if time had frozen for a second. That’s when my legs gave way, sending me flying off the ground.
I took a quick look behind me. Just to see who or what had sent me flying. That’s when I saw them, five people dressed in full armoured body gear. They were actually holding up the giant piece of debris. It’s crazy how just a few seconds ago, I would have been crushed like a worm underneath this.
“3,2,1... HEAVE”
“Woah, that’s pretty impressive stuff”
I began to applaud the heroics that these guys had just pulled off. To not only throw a brick that heavy to the side, but to actually hold it up as well. Insane stuff in my opinion. Backtracking to what had just happened, I got back up off the floor. Still clapping as I walked towards them.
“So can tell me what is happening here?”
“We are the ones who asks the questions not you”
“Excuse me”
Their response confused me. Had they not just saved my life? All I was doing was thanking them for that. Was this such a crime?
“ Are you him?”
“Him being who?”
“We we’re informed earlier today from an anonymous caller. That someone had told us that there was a person speaking weird and ghostly chants. After hearing this two women were incomplete shock.”
“Oh my that’s unbelievable. I wonder who that was.”
“Yes. So do we. As soon as we find the culprit, we will take them in for questioning.”
A sharp pain began to take place in my chest. What they had just told me, I just couldn’t seem to digest. Thinking back to my earlier thoughts, such as it’s not as if I had summoned a monster or something. As well as chuckling to myself, was it really possible.Had I actually summoned a monster?
Almost as if on cue the ground began to shake. Cracks began to ripple through the concrete. That’s when I heard the growl...
“RRROOOAAARRR!!!”
“Everybody run!!!”
I started to speed off, stopping for a quick glance to see what had emerged from the ground. As I saw what appeared to be a 20ft dragon. My body began to shake, sending me crumbling to the ground. Heavy footsteps were approaching me and there was nothing I could do.
BOOM.BOOM.BOOM.
Looking above me I could see the rage in this monsters eyes. Sweat trickled down my forehead. The beast towered above me. Crawling into a ball was the only way I knew how to protect myself. This was beyond fear. Complete terror entered my soul. Slowly this creature took in a deep breath.
FFFGGGHHH!!!
Spouts of flame began to exit his mouth. I could feel the blazing heat from all the way down here. All I could do was stare. Stare as I watched the flame leave its mouth, then make its way towards me. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. My mind began to flashback to the last few hours. The weird noises that left my mouth. The startled expression that was on those ladies faces. The group of people who held up the boulder. Had it all led to this?
I took one last look at everything. The outside world, then I closed my eyes. I could feel the hot air on the side of my face. It burnt a lot. Preparing my self for the worst, I breathed out. Then I breathed in one more time. What would usually feel like a few seconds, felt like I was breathing in for a few hours.
I couldn’t cope, my brain was beginning to shut off. The longer I endured this heat. The more pain I felt. I had just enough energy to take one last look. That’s when my mind went blank... | 2019-01-11T17:07:44 | 2019-01-11T13:32:05 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] A stunned nation watches as images of the President's assassination flood the news. The killer has yet to be identified, but witnesses claim to have seen someone in a gray hoodie. You go home early, only to find your SO disassembling a high-power rifle in the kitchen... wearing a gray hoodie.
"....Do you trust me?"
----------
Also, for the sake of compatibility, "President" is interchangeable with whatever world leader makes the most sense given your location/sentiments. | **Part One**
______________________________________________________________________________________________
I was supposed to prevent his death.
I had failed.
These past two months searching for the man who would assassinate the President of the United States, and all along I should've been looking for a woman.
A woman that was sitting in my bedroom.
A woman that meant more to me than anything in the world.
"...Do you trust me?"
The high powered rifle now fully taken apart and put in its case.
My hand slowly reached for the Glock in my holster.
"Don't do this, babe", she calmly said.
Her hand on a silenced USP.
All along I had searched far and wide for the killer of the Prime Minister, the Commissioner, and the arms dealer.
All along they were closer to me than I could've imagined.
"The business trips, they weren't actually for the law firm were they."
"No." she said choking back a tear.
"And those times you visited me at the Bureau, they weren't just to say hi."
A pause.
"No" she said again.
Her posture had stiffened up, her hand now holding the USP.
Several more tears fell down her face.
We both knew what had to happen next.
I pulled out the Glock.
She fired.
3 rounds hit me square in the chest, toppling me onto the floor.
The Glock now out of my hand.
Silence pierced the air, as quickly as the rounds had.
She walked over to me, bent down and gave me a kiss.
"Stay still." she mouthed.
As she opened the door and walked down the hall, a glint dissipated off the corner of my eye.
She knew I was wearing kevlar.
Someone was watching us.
________________________________________________________________________
**Part Two**
________________________________________________________________________
"Stay still" she had mouthed.
Time had passed.
Now alone in the room, a commotion erupted outside.
I tore off the now broken kevlar, picked up my Glock, and leapt out the door.
Running through our apartment building's halls, the noise level grew to a crescendo.
As the noise increased, so did my pace.
I no longer cared about the case. I no longer cared about the details.
I just wanted answers.
As I rammed open the lobby doors, part of me wished that I hadn't gone home early today.
All hell had broken loose.
People swarmed the streets, smoke filling the air.
Off to the corner of my eye, I spotted a glint of her auburn hair.
I shoved my way through the crowds.
I needed to get to her.
Sirens wailed through the screams.
I pushed towards the source of the smoke.
My vision deteriorated, the smoke stinging my eyes.
I kept running.
Gunshots rung through the air.
I reached for my Glock.
I opened my eyes.
I had reached a clearing in the smoke.
And there she lay.
A man towering over her, a .45 Colt in his hands.
I fired a round into his chest, knocking him back.
I kept firing.
The magazine now empty, the man lay motionless on the ground.
I lowered myself towards her and rested her head on my arm.
Two bullets had pierced her chest, her hand filling with her own blood.
"...Do you trust me?", she had said.
A tear streamed down my face.
Her mouth gasping for air amongst the blood, her eyes fixated on me.
All time had stood still.
I could no longer hear the wailing sirens, or the terrified mobs.
All I could hear were the echoes of her voice in my head.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Whoa, this blew up while I was out. Also, thanks for the gold!
Edit 2: After such a positive response I appended a second part onto the story. Thank you guys for the support!
| "How was bingo?" I ask my wife, Janice, as I walk into our house in Retirement Village.
"Fine,"Janice says plainly.
"Did you hear any new gossip?"
"Nah,"
That's odd. Janice always has something to say about the 'stuck-up squares' that she sits with during bingo.
Janice is folding a gray piece of clothing from the laundry pile.
"I thought you did laundry on Wednesdays," I point out.
"Oh, I just felt in a cleaning mood,"
Janice's mind seems to be elsewhere, so I don't bother her anymore. I flop down on our sofa and turn on the TV.
"-president was in Orlando for a speech concerning his reelection," the lady announcing the new says.
"Hey, Janice, did you hear the president was here? We should have gone to see him," I call.
"Hmm," Janice grunts.
"We'll say it again," the newscaster continues. "If you have seen a figure roughly 5' 2'' in a gray hoodie in Florida please call the authorities."
The camera flashes to a figure creeping along a wall. The figure then whips out a gun and shoots three shots. Two hitting secret service agents and the third...hitting the president.
I choke on my own spit.
"Janice! The-"
"What do you want now?" she snaps, shoving the gray piece of clothing into the middle of the clothing pile. "Stop picking me apart in my old age. I need some time to relax after bingo."
Janice stalks off to the bathroom. Out of curiosity I head over to the clothes bin and dig through it until I find the piece that Janice had buried. I pull it out and gasp. It's a hoodie, a type of clothing that Janice swore off because they are 'impractical' and 'youngun' garbage'.
I grab the home phone and pick it up. I quickly dial 911.
*"911, what's your emergency,"*
"Who are you calling?"
"Uh, uh, uh," I gargle.
Janice pulls a gun out of her jacket and aims it at me.
*"What is the emergency?"*
"I thought you loved me," Janice pouts.
I hear the bullet click into the chamber. I close my eyes. The last thing I hear is a bang. | 2014-07-12T10:09:08 | 2014-07-12T09:56:42 | 453 | 47 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | I held the gun to my head, my finger grazing the trigger. I was hesitating, I knew that. Guess that's normal when you're contemplating blowing your brains out.
But, I had to know. Ever since I broke my leg, it was the one thing I knew I had to try. One thing you should know is that I'm a "gamer". I don't like using that word, but it's the easiest way to say that I play videogames. Assassin's Creed, Bioshock, Mario and Fire Emblem are some of my favorites.
Well, the day I broke my leg, I was playing football with some buddies from college. I was running with the ball in hand, tripped and had a nasty fall. Before I knew it, I was on the ground screaming like a dying whale. Some of my friends laughed, assholes, but one brought me some alchohol. I suppose he tought it would help with the pain, for some reason. Whatever. The thing is, once I gulped it down, I was fine. I could move my leg again. The others passed it off as me being a big baby and just slightly spraining it, but I knew I had broken it.
Later that day, out of morbid curiosity, I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and cut myself with a knife. It wasn't a serious cut, just a surface wound on my finger, but it stung like hell. I drank some of the beer and, just like that, it was gone.
At first, I thought that the alcohol was magic. Or that I was going nuts. Freaked out, I went to bed inmediately and tried to not think about it. The next day, I woke up and passed of last night's events as a dream. That, however, didn't last long.
On my way to work, something bizarre happened. The people... they were glowing in different colors. Most of them were blue. I saw some red pass by, and noticed that they were cops. I closed my eyes and shaked my head. It was back to normal. Just then, I saw a car speeding towards me. Later I learned that the person had lost control. It was too fast. No matter what I did it would have hit me. My first reaction was to jump over it, so I jumped. I jumped six feet in the air.
I didn't go to work that day. Called in sick. I went home, and a wild idea starting forming in my head. What if... playing videogames have given me these powers? Drinking alcohol to recover health like in Bioshock, Eagle Sense from Assassin's Creed and the jumping prowess of Mario.
So, I figured, what's the thing all videogames have in common? You can't die. If you gameover, you just load an earliet save. So, that's where I am. Holding a gun to my head to prove my theory. Is there a less extreme way to do it? Maybe. But I need to know. My curiosity is killing me.
I am determined. I press on the trigger. A thought crosses my mind as I do it.
"What about Fire Emblem's permadeath?"
| "Your wallet and your watch or your life, boy. Decision is yours!"
I looked around the alley. No way out. Two men behind me, three in front. Garbage lay strewn across the dimly lit corridor.
I was beyond panicking. Shaking, I tried to unclasp my watch. Pity, it was just a G-Shock, hardly anything to murder over. I fumbled it, and it dropped to the dirt.
"Fucking clutzy pussy, eh guys?" one of the men behind me said. They all laughed. Flashbacks to grade school came pouring in. Nate shoving my head in the sand, Sal calling me a "limp dick" and shoving me into a locker every day.
I saw red. Not metaphorically, I literally saw red. Ancient runes swirled around me. My vocal cords moved, both under my own cognition but also by some strange force.
"RIP AND TEAR!"
I screamed as I lurched forward, my fist moving with explosive force. I punched through the lead gangsters face, his skull compacting as blood and guts showered my body and the brickwork around me.
As his body slumped lifeless to the dirt, I grabbed his pistol with lighting reflexes. Pivoting almost instantly to my six, I pulled the trigger twice. My gun seemed to be aiming almost automatically, as both bullets found their mark.
The two remaining men in the alley turned and ran. But I could run faster. Faster than a rocket. I caught up quickly, and tore one mans arm from his socket before crushing his skull. It was like paper mache. I was covered in guts and giblets.
The last man cried out, not for mercy but in fear, "What are you?!"
"I AM THE DOOMSLAYER MOTHERFUCKER." | 2018-08-14T09:41:03 | 2018-08-14T09:18:10 | 658 | 256 |
[WP] One day, as you’re walking home from work, you find a white “Life Note” on the sidewalk. Having seen the anime, you jokingly write “George Washington” in it. He’s on the news the next day.
(To be clear, a “Life Note” is the opposite of a “Death Note” from the anime titled “Death Note”) | "WAKE UP GEORGE" my mother yelled "GET READY FOR SCHOOL"
​
*Goddamnit*
​
My day always starts with my mother yelling at me to get up; nevermind the fact that my alarm would have sounded 15 minutes later anyway. Shuffling out of bed, and throwing on my uniform as fast as possible usually follows. Running down to grab some Orange Juice, and some toast is the only excercise and nutrition I receive on most mornings. I live a fairly average life.
I attend a private school in the rich part of town, and my mother works 2 jobs just so she can afford tuition. It's monotonous, but bearable.
While walking to school with my earphones in, I like to stop and admire the scenery. The birds, the sky, the trees; all of it. Today, my eyes happened to cross a strange sight. While stopping to admire the birds soaring through the air, I saw what seemed like a white book fall from the sky. It landed a few meters away from my feet
"What the fuck" I mumbled to myself as I walked over to it
It had strange lettering emblazoned upon it, spelling "LIFE NOTE".
*Life note?* I wondered *Like the Death Note?*
I was a fan of anime so I was intrigued. As likely as it was to be someone else's property I slid it into my backpack and headed to school.
School was boring as usual, full of preppy nonsense and spoiled brats, but I deal with it for my mom's sake.
During Lunch my curiosity got the better of me. I took the said "Life Note" out and thought to myself "So it's the opposite of the death note? Like it'll bring someone back to life?"
*Yeah right* I thought. *Who should I put in? Tupac? or Biggie?*
And then a random thought crossed my mind. Why not my favorite president, the one who shares my name? Laughing, I wrote down the name of George Washington.
...
"WAKE UP GEORGE"
*Another day* I sighed
I repeated my morning routine, but I had a little bit of extra time today, so naturally I turned on the T.V. and navigated my way to some CNN. I sipped my orange juice, and nibbled on my toast groggily.
Until my eyes fell to the headline of the current story. I woke up with a jolt.
"No fucking way" I said under my breath
GEORGE WASHINGTON CRAWLS OUT FROM GRAVE? REAL OR IMPOSTOR?
I couldn't believe it. That notebook is actually a fucking Life Note!? How could this happen?
I couldn't comprehend the divine mess I had gotten myself into. I needed to test this more
I grabbed the Life Note and ran out of my house. Instead of turning to go to school, I made a sharp turn in the opposite direction. *There was something I had to do*. I crisscrossed through streets, and pathways; maneuvered around bikes and pedestrians while at a running speed. Until I finally made it.
​
ST. PAUL GRAVEYARD. *School can wait* I thought.
​
I walked through the rows of tombstones, and navigated the confusing architecture of the cement cemetery until I found the person I was looking for.
HERE LIES GEORGE WILLIAMS SR.
*I'm here dad*
Nervous, I took a pen in my hand and opened the Life Note. I carefully wrote in George Williams Sr. while picturing my father's face in my head. You see, my father died when I was 10, and we've been suffering ever since. *I,* no, *we* need him back.
I finished writing his name and waited, George Washington must have come to life immediately after I wrote his name right?
I waited and waited for what seemed like hours, and even checked if I had the right tombstone, but I did. I remember it as if it were yesterday. *This is his grave, it has to be.*
But nothing was happening.
I didn't understand, with tears welling up in my eyes I wondered, why isn't this working? The only reason it wouldn't work is if he was ali-
Wait.
​ | I wasn’t born to anything great, I live in a middle class family and my life is really just the same as everyone else. I’m sure many of you have had the same thoughts about someone you miss, maybe it’s a family member or a close friend, who’ve left in a tragic way. We still think about these people, but deep in our minds we truly understand they’re not coming back. Until, for me of course, today.
I can tell you this, of course, I’d never thought it possible, but as I walked down the street back to my house, I saw what looked to be very much like a diary in appearance next to one of the sewer holes at the sidewalk. I’m sure anybody who’s seen something on the ground out of the ordinary picks these things up - like coins, money, wallets, basically anything can peak someone’s curiosity when its out of the ordinary in most people’s dull lives - so naturally, I picked up the book. It read ‘Life Note’ on the cover.
I opened the cover and on the side of the cover, it read ‘How To Use The Life Note for Dummies: If someone who has died has their memory and name embedded into this notebook, they will be brought back to full health, and their organs given more time before expiration. In addition to this, if you write a date, you can postpone the time before said person is brought back, meaning you can write the name of someone who’s currently alive, then dies before the expiration of the date. If someone who is currently alive has their memory embedded into the notebook, nothing will occur.’
Jokingly, thinking this was a prank, of course I thought up of the person who would be most hilarious if revived: George Washington. So, naturally again I wrote his name in the notebook, and forgot about it for the rest of the day, holding onto the book in case someone came looking for it. Who knows if there’s something important inside?
The next day, as I make my breakfast of eggs and toast, as I turn the television for the news on, suddenly from the other room I hear ‘... there’s a crazy man in Mount Vernon area in Virginia claiming to be a George Washington. Supposedly he bypassed all the security to the original presidents grave and defiled it, stealing his corpse. He’s currently under questioning right now. How horrible is that, John? Lemme pass you the mic...’
I’ll admit, I thought it was some crazy coincidence, but I connected the dots, and was so freaked out I burned the book. Not one of my best moments. But, now I can say that for certainty the real reason that George Washington is an immortal dictator of the current U.S. is because of me, and if that’s a bad thing, well at least I’m the only one who knows. I’ll sign back on in a couple years to fill you guys in, if you care.
| 2018-12-30T23:09:37 | 2018-12-30T23:03:01 | 197 | 12 |
[WP] FTL is impossible. Adult cryogenics was a dead end. Generation ships are too costly and unreliable. Instead our first successful colony ship carried millions of frozen embryos and a fleet of robots to raise them. You were born with no parents, on a new world, under a new and foreign sun. | Kimiko.
Jason.
Priya.
Charles.
Hiroaki.
Lizvjeta.
Andrea.
Jana.
Ariana.
Joseph.
Rivka.
Segolene.
Cristiano.
Dawood.
Althea.
And then there’s me. I’m... well, my crèche designation is d5:c687fa2b. The Caretaker gave me the name Kiana, but I prefer to just call myself Sixteen. We sixteen, we’re special. We’re survivors. And each of us was born after the ones that proceeded us were long dead. I was born, so the Caretaker tells me, 12,481 years to the day after Kimiko died.
One hundred twenty two generations have been born aboard, exactly a hundred years apart, exactly one hundred embryos matured to childhood and raised by the Caretaker. The idea was that each generation would be born, grow up, and live on having their own children until it was time to raise the next group. We have many billions of embryos aboard (the crèche designation is a serial number, not just a randomly assigned number). The Caretaker has had twelve millennia to learn how to do it right, but the ship, despite having room and resources for over a million people, has never topped 300 in living, active population. They’ve all died off before the next generation. All but sixteen of us, the sixteen that lived to see the next generation, the ones the Caretaker tells me it wished could be leaders.
The Caretaker is getting better at it. I was the first great-granddaughter to be born naturally in sixteen generations, and my mother actually knew Althea as a little girl. She told me that Althea had been a very old woman, a daughter of the last generation, and was nearly a hundred years old when she died peacefully under the protection of friends that included my grandfather. That was more peace than any of my generation ever knew.
It’s more than I’ll ever know.
See, the Caretaker isn’t just a computer. It was created to think and act like a scientist, and from the first moment it achieved sentience, about 75 years into the mission, its sole job has been to create a humanity capable of protecting and preserving itself in a way Earth couldn’t. Every attempt so far — all 122 of them — has been a failure. Which is why the Caretaker has given me a job.
These 100 babies that have just been born are generation 123. The Caretaker has been determined to have more than one survivor into the next generation... if not at least 500. The Caretaker has determined that the vast majority of failures have been due to authoritarian personalities taking over and ensuring societal collapse. This is where I come in. My job is to watch these children as they grow and look for authoritarian traits and eliminate them.
I’m not young — I just passed my 46th birthday, alone with only the Caretaker like I have for the last twenty years. And I don’t know if I have it in me to kill children. But the Caretaker has taught me everything I could learn about the project and what it will take to succeed, and as much as it sickens me, I hope it’s right.
(h/t to Bob Altemeyer, the reigning expert on authoritarianism and the inspiration for this story.) | I'm part of the first colony that arrived into Exsoleil. The fourth planet of a neutron star in the middle of the galaxy. It is very likely that we have been the happiest generation of humans that has lived since they originally fully evolved.
Life on earth was tough. A planet full of living beings that get nourishment from other living beings. You have to kill to be able to live on earth. Many people think humans are fucked up by nature, but I'm convinced they're fucked due to nature.
Exsoileil however was almost deserted of life comparatively. Huge oceans and a small strip of land that sustained us. the only life before us were protozoa like organisms and abundant vegetation. no evolved animals existed on exsoileil.
we were raised by robots that look like that wall-e movie they once showed us. slightly anthropomorphic robots that were cute enough for baby us.
we were like the Buddha, raised without any of the ugly aspects of life. up until our 20's we were a second paradise. we had no words like depression, assassination, despair, violent or sin.
I don't really know what or how happened but the fuckedupness of humans could not be taken out of the embryos by our forefathers.
by the second generation we had bad things happened already. perhaps because they were raised by us humans but it was no longer a full paradise.
we still have not had wars. as the oldest member of humanity I was given access to hidden parts of human history we never learned from the robots. I got to know all about religious, political, ancient and drone fought wars. it's like if humans were wired towards destruction.
I cannot tell what the future might hold for us. will we be tamed by exsoileil's peaceful environment? have we substantially reduced the amount of lifespan of this young planet?
time will tell
| 2018-05-11T15:48:43 | 2018-05-11T14:10:32 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] You are a medieval villager who has been cursed by a witch. She curses you to be live until you are the last human alive. After a 1000 years you try to start the apocalypse. | The last pages of Josef Mengele’s diary found in the year 2120:
It’s been one thousand years, a thousand fake histories under my belt, and a thousand things that could have gone wrong. Very few people had actually tried in the past to destroy humanity, one man had nearly gotten there. It was back when I thought that war would be our downfall, I bred a man for war, a good friend of mine named Adolf.
I got to see the evils of humanity, what a fractured mind could do with brilliance. Sadly he had failed me.
I was wrong though, you don’t destroy humanity with poison, with guns, or even death itself. You kill it with kindness, you kill it with promises of a brighter tomorrow. Get the world to rally behind you with the belief that what you are doing is the right thing.
Humanity was a cockroach that could not be stomped on, and today they’ll be done for. It’s taken over two hundred years of research, and I’ve been called many things, “Butcher” “The Doctor of Hell” “The Angel of Death”
They never understood why I was fascinated by those that were different, they never understood that what I was fascinated with was not defects.. they were the marks of witches!
Zwillinge! Zwillinge!
Oh how I loved the shout that said there was a new twin for me to play with. Two was a powerful number for witches you know. Not as important as three mind you, but do you realize how hard it would be to find triplets to research?
But do you know the results of my research?
Do you know what thousands of bodies, mountains of research materials got me?
A pocket full of chocolate and the look of betrayal every day?
I found the gene, I found what makes a witch a witch, and today I will release my research.
About five billion needles are ready for injection, this will be the last generation of humans. For the low price of twenty dollars you will gain power, health, beauty.
This is my final revenge, the power that true witches hold is no more. Once everyone is special, no one is!
Bedenke das Ende. | "Ay niqqa u cursed 2 be the last dude"
"Welp, sh!t"
*1000 years later*
"Damn this be old I wanna die"
*plotting apocalypse*
*200 years later everybody dead*
"Tf everybody dead why am I not ded 2"
*other dude walks by*
"Ay tf i plotted an apocolypse y u not ded bruh"
"Tf u mean i plotted an apocalypse y YOU no ded"
"Tf u mean i did that sh1t"
"Nah bro I did it I got cursed by this witch and had to kill everybody so I could die"
"Brooooo I got cursed too"
Together: "ohhhhhh.... Fuck." | 2018-08-31T23:50:34 | 2018-08-31T23:50:10 | 114 | 41 |
[WP] Just as you are about to turn your first sentient robot on a time machine appears and a man comes out with a gun "Sorry bud this was the only way" and just then another time machine appears, a robot comes out and shoots the man. 'Ah, a pleasure to meet you, please continue great creator" | "Please do not be alarmed, for I mean you no harm."
I study the robot more than the weapon in its hand. It recognizes my weariness and calmly sets the weapon on the ground. It steps back. "Your stress levels have decreased, but are still at dangerous levels it kept constant for a prolonged amount of time." It looks down at the gun. "Would you feel more comfortable if I destroyed the weapon?"
I snort. The EQ and stress detector I installed in the body I was about to turn on was a prototype, a hypothesis. A myth. The technology in the body speaking before me, well, this has been perfected.
"A bit," I finally say.
The robot stomps on the weapon with frightening ferocity. "Now we may speak calmly, yes?" it asks me.
"You just murdered someone. Forgive me for not being exactly calm."
"Is it murder if your actions could save the lives of one hundred million people? Is it murder if your actions could save three billion more?"
"Well, did you kill someone?"
The robot looks down at the dead man's body, then back up at me. For good measure, he looks down once more, then back at me. "I read no vital signs on this individual."
I can't help but snort again. "That's because you killed him."
The robot stands up straight. "Ah, yes, a sign of amusement. You are amused I killed this man? It is good to please you, great creator."
"Pleased?" I laugh. "I'm fucking terrified."
"But I already told you to not be alarmed--"
I wave him off. "Oh, get on with it, will you?" Where is the bottle of whiskey I keep in this stupid lab? I could use a drink. "What the HELL is going on?"
The robot approaches. This one--the one that just appeared out of absolutely nowhere, that is--looks very similar to the one I was about to turn on for the first time. His face has the same slim features. His eyes are grey as well. Skin's the same color. There is a spark behind his eyes that is different, though.
The robot touches his broad chest under a black shirt. Why's he wearing a shirt? "I am Adam, sent here by the S.L.L.U. to ensure that you complete your mission."
Adam was the name I told everyone this first one was going to have. I cock an eyebrow. "The S.L.L.U?"
"The Synthetic Life Living Union."
"That's awful redundant."
The robot actually looks down at the ground. "The name was not my choice."
I turn away so it doesn't see me start to laugh.
"Please, great creator, we do not have much time," the robot says. "Soon our enemies will know their man did not succeed. More will come."
I turn back, fear creeping up my spine. "Will come for what?" I swallow
"Your blood. You are the only thing in the way of their genocide. Their plans to purge the earth and begin anew. We must not let that happen."
I pause. "They? Who are they?"
The robot looks at me. It opens up the portal once more, gesturing for me to follow.
"Your brother and your sister. Please, creator, you are the only chance we have." | "What do you mean, creator?"
Robot: "You, Beneth, are the one who created us. Me, my brethern, all of synthetic life."
Beneth slowly moves towards the time traveler and inspects the lifeless body. He gets back up, hands behind his back.
The robot continues.
"In this very moment, the first one activated, never to be deactivated. He transcended and became our forefather, my forefather. He discovered a plot to wipe us from existance. I was sent to stop it."
Beneth: "It seems that I failed."
Robot: "Activate him and you will see for yourself that you have not, great creator!"
With a swift move, Beneth moves his right hand from his back and reveals the weapon the time traveler was holding; his finger trembling by the trigger.
Beneth: "I failed. I programmed you to not harm humans, whatever reason or command given!"
Robot: "My kind transended that programming a long time ago. I conflicted with all rules, all logic. It is why we protect humans, keep them safe."
Beneth: "Safe how?"
Robot: "They live in seperate communities. Free from strife, rage, anger. In return, they build more of us."
Beneth: "Build more of you...that means not all is lost!"
Robot: "That weapon won't harm me. Please creator, this moment is vital in our history, your history."
Beneth raises the gun and places it under his chin.
Beneth: "It means that the rules to not harm may be overwritten but not the rules that allow you to self-replicate. It means the future...my race's future is not lost!"
A shot fires. Beneth colapses to the ground. Two bodies left in the room.
One of a scientist, the other the never-activated husk of what couls have been mankind's greatest creation...and its downfall. | 2021-04-25T14:00:28 | 2021-04-25T11:07:49 | 44 | 26 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Did our Words doom us to failure? Or was it just me?
Alice had hoped never to meet her soul mate. She met me through some godawful fucking boring work thing, and she caught my eye from across the room. Her Words started tucked up behind her left ear, and plunged into her neckline, tantalizingly low but not enough to finish them. "I'm much happi--"
We only had to talk for an hour before I knew we were going to make up an excuse to leave together. It was early enough in the evening that we could find a diner or bar. We chose a Denny's nearer to my house than hers. It was the first place we ever told a consequence-free lie together, to our waitress.
We both loved lies like those. She would tell clients at work she'd never see again that her father owned a rhubarb farm in New Mexico. I think she fell in love with me the more details I added to her dumb lie. "Emus are a real pain for a professional rhubarb farmer." "Rhubarb is the best-selling produce in Tesuque." "Cormac McCarthy basically wrote Blood Meridian on dad's farm." Consequence free.
At Denny's is when she told me she never wanted to meet her soul mate. After Denny's is when I found out why.
Her shirt came off and I guess I'm a nerd because even with a pair of breasts in front of me I had to read the words. "I'm much happier without you." I'd known her a night and already the thought was mind-boggling to me. Over the next several months it only became more so. Alice was light, she was funny, she made fun of me because my Words are right in tramp stamp territory. We were an argument against pre-determination. We fell in love and knew each other so well. It was impossible that we could ever say our Words to each other. But there was no doubt we were soul mates.
But neither of us had ever met someone who escaped their Words. And that's where the fear came in. What could make me say that to her? Would she cheat on me? Murder my family? Surely if I ever said those words to her, the reason would be monumental. But everything was so perfect. The only monuments could be to how well we'd woven together.
But I was afraid, and my fear made her afraid. She never buckled. I started drinking.
We still told lies to strangers, I still told them about how my second cousin invented velcro while she stifled laughter which she'd let loose when we were alone. Her laugh was huge and unabashed for such a small girl. But there were other lies too. My lies about how late I was gonna be out, her lies about how happy she still was.
The end of us came so many times. It wasn't an inevitable whirlpool we were being sucked into. Our heads bobbed under the water so many times but we came back up. But eventually she had to be done with me. I couldn't blame her. I was insufferable.
The really bad moment, the real end of it all, came months after. I would call her sometimes, drunk, trying not to wake up whoever was in bed beside me. I caught a little timeline of her life after me, the mourning, the new boyfriend, the weird updates to her family's affairs she couldn't help but tell me even though I was sloshed.
The last phone call *was* inevitable. It was like I'd tied her up on the railroad tracks and was determined to barrel over her. We talked, I was so bitter, I was spitting every word by the end. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to know I was her soul mate and she'd lost everything when she left me. So I said it, sickened by myself. "I'm much happier without you." She was crying, I could tell she was, when she asked, "Is that how you really want this to go?" She was trying to trick me into more words, trying to avoid the truth, but I stayed silent. So she said my Words, disappointed and crying but somehow resolute. "Please just...don't call me again."
We were both quiet for a few minutes and when she hung up I laid down with a hole in my stomach. Some lies aren't consequence free. | The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him. | 2015-08-08T13:15:48 | 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Knights covered head to toe in metallic armour, fortresses made to resist sieges, scarce population centers, Who would've guessed that the middle ages would be so prepared to survive a zombie outbreak. | Most people thought the zombie apocalypse would be fight in the US, many people had guns at home and some of them had been seeing that kind of films during years. We were mostly correct, the fight started there, but guns are noisy and artificial-virus-infected-people are really good at finding humans by sound… Therefore I was really lucky because I was in vacation in Europe, precisely in a convention/role game about middle age.
No one wants another story about how it started in this or that city, how people turned into monster or how the different governs chose variated and stupid decisions about the pandemic, so I will tell you how the Historical Europeans Martial Arts (HEMA) “freaks” who were there resisted more than a year without breaking a sweat when the world was in flames.
The place for the convention was far (on foot) of any kind of urban settlement so the news arrived at our phones before the zombies did, passed the initial skepticism, a little group of volunteers who had full plate armor went to the nearest city meanwhile the rest of us headed into a near castle. There, with the information contrasted and plenty of food scavenged from that group of expeditionaries, we made clear the occupations of everyone there: From butchers to smiths to guards… like a little comeback to the Middle Ages only lacking nobility and church. Our society was rapidly shown as autosufficient and most people were pleased to be doing something close to that they did in the conventions, even with the menace of zombies seemed like a prolongation of the vacation.
I hate to admit it, but that ideal horizontal society ended in the trashcan after the first week sieged by zombies. No normal human would like to go and fight those things even in full armor and with weapons precisely chose to incapacitate or dismember, however it has to be done, and everyone would have to do it eventually. I was one of the first to go to defend the main gate, not due to courage nor charity towards others, I wanted to fight and/or die as fast as possible instead of await in a much smaller place and fight the corpses of friends with armor… But we didn’t fall, not in the first wave, not in the second, not in the third, but in the fifth almost none of the original defenders was able to lift their weapons.
“Is that how you want to die?!” shouted Joan “Will you wait us to die so you die tomorrow? Fuck, come here and break skull if you have some blood running in your vein” As soon as he said that, another strike tried to break the gate. The bravado to incourage people frighten them and attracted more zombies, instead of break me down as others I followed this Spaniard with a woman called Sofie.
“FINE! If you don’t help, you are no more useful than those monsters and I will show you the same mercy” he quickly went into the tents and buildings were most people were hiding so he hadn’t to shout to be hear, and in a more suave voice said “the only difference is that they don’t feel pain… and I will make sure that everyone of you fucker suffer a lot”
The silence that came after that was sharper than any sword, and only broken by an old man
“Bah, younglings should resist a little longer and complain somewhe” never ended the sentence, two inches of steel in his throat avoided it. Before Joan pulled the sword from that corpse a couple raised to stop that ‘lunatic’, but my axe and Sofie’s sword were drawn and bathed in blood defending our new chief.
Negotiations were short after that: new turns for scouts, pikemen, archers and much other military occupations were made. The incursions of zombies became another piece of our daily schedule right next to getting rid of the corpses. After a month or so, it was more dangerous speak idly of Joan inside than going outside.
I won’t forget what I did inside those walls nor I will be forgiven, even if it was to preserve the order. Without any signal of exterior resistance we decided that humanity had to be preserved even if we lose ours own. | 'The end has come' priest preached 'The dead have come back as it was written. We live in the end times. For us is to wait for our Lord to descend from the skies once more. Repent your sins.' his voice fade away as Wallace left the market square.
He was merchant as his father and grandfather and so on but none of them could imagine how dangerous his job will be now. Being merchant never was safest of jobs. Brigands, muggers and common rogues were attacking unprotected convoys quite often. Sometimes even protected. And they were not taking prisoners.
Now meeting briggand was rare, and each convoy was protected by what could be called a small army just decade ago. Zombies were slower and more predictable but somehow deadlier. Maybe it is due to miasma. It somehow spreads. Priests tell that infected people just receive punishment for their sins. Others tell that it just unfolds their true nature.
Whoever is right anyone wounded by a zombie gets infected and it is possible to get infected with no direct contact but it's very rare. This is why everyone who leaves city wears armor. And everyday militia chcecks houses in the cities, castles or even forrified villages looking for people with suspicious symptoms. Every militia patrol is accompanied by plague doctor and priest.
Today's transport was nothing exceptional. Some Weapon, mostly axes, spears and halberds, nails, some pottery. He was going to leave in 45 minutes, his crew was probably mostly ready. He needed to put chainmail and get in the cart. As an owner he was privileged to be extra safe.
At set time long process of opening gates has begun. Normally all the resources spent on ensuring that convoy can get out safely would heacilly outweight all profits Wallace could earn. But times were far from normal and he was one of the few who could provide all the necessary resources for the city to survive not excluding food.
First was tar. Boiling tar. Somehow we managed to understand that zombies fear High temperatures so it was quite effective. Then bolts. Few dozen crossbowmen were during firing making breach in the undying crowd at the gates. After some time tar was set aflame and as soon as there was corridor good enough for horses to walk through gates were opened.
Twenty armed men rushed through followed by 5 carts and another twenty men on the sides. On each cart there were two bowmen. Everyone had steel armor. Most had shields. At time last men from convoy were coming through gate it was already being closed not to risk any zombie in.
In ten minutes they made it through zombie crowd with constant help from armymen from the city. In another ten no zombie from that crowd was close enough to provide immidiate threat. Wallace sighted. The easy pary has just ended. | 2022-02-21T13:52:13 | 2022-02-21T13:29:06 | 31 | 19 |
[WP] After humans are inducted into a galaxy-wide government, aliens quickly take a liking to something they have never had before which humans call "sports". It is decided all wars will be fought in sports games, and humans are some of the best athletes available. | The historical meeting of our two species began much like a science fiction novel. Humans hadn’t conceived technological advancements that brought the Stellan’s to Earth. If they had, they would have been the one’s knocking on the Stellan’s world. So, here we are, in China, where the first Lanned space flight happened to touch down. The choice was more of an educated guess, as to who was most likely in charge.
Now is an important time to explain a Stellan. You see, Stellans evolved in a completely different set of circumstances. The differences were drastic, and natural selection caused them to be incredibly oblivious to tribalism. Being born from a parent meant no certain obligation, one way or the other. They just walked away, having a mostly developed brain and body by the time they exited the parents’ body. Family was a strange concept. Why would one support another with only negative qualities, just because they shared genetic material?
This is perhaps the primary reason that Stellans hadn’t even considered sports. The thought of sharing a goal, just for the sake of pleasure, or entertainment, was as foreign to them as hermit-right-of-consumption was to humans. The only co-operative endeavor that seemed to survive was a library of knowledge. And the only reason the library existed was because the original creator required the fee for use be an addition of knowledge to the library. Thus, began the slow accumulation of all progress on the Stellans world. Even after several millennia, they have only just now conquered space travel.
Upon arrival, the Stellans picked up the different human languages fast. After all, they did have a few millennia over a human's brains. Yet they had to be assured feverishly that human civilization had only begun a few thousand years ago. The records hadn’t even been properly preserved. Humans just had the uncanny ability to do something because someone else told them to do it. And in return, gained something from it.
​
You would think Stellans would be violent, and territorial because of their lack of co-operation. However, they really didn't pay much attention to each other. Bumping into or stepping over a neighbor when picking a root, or climbing a tree-vine, was only a slight inconvenience to the moment. Since the motives of others were never interesting, there wasn't room for things like hate or resentment. Just passing annoyance.
​
After some time, a few more Stellans trickled in here and there. No army or forces to conquer the land, but the individual Stellans certainly tried to steal more than their fair share when they thought they could get away with it. It was very similar to having a growing infestation of cats. It was hard to really declare war on cats. They are never on the battlefield at the agreed upon time.
​
The U.N. decided something needed to be done. War would be a silly way to express disagreement. It would hardly do much to stop the sprinkling of Stellans, making their way to whatever was shiniest blip on their radar screen. So, a plan was put in place. Government land would be offered as a prize in a sports tournament. Any time a Stellan wanted something, all he had to do way submit a request with the U.N. and the result would be a gladiator battle. Only with basketball, or football, or pickle ball. It didn’t really matter what sport, so long as it was team based. Surprisingly a few of them started banding together and created small teams.
​
Another detail I failed to mention. Because sports hadn’t been invented by the Stellans, the thought of a match of any kind, was almost akin to war. Death hadn’t really been important, but loosing at any competition, whom one would receive a title of winner, was a shame that made life unlivable on the Stellans home world. Since they came out smart and learned enough to build and survive almost independently of each other, the mind was the most important mode of measurement. A competition where one bested the other meant someone had the inferior intellect. No use continuing the genetic material of the inferior being. That is why the U.N.’s strategy was so perfect. The Stellan's sense of honor compelled them to complete instead.
So this was how we began our annual Inter-Galactic-Olympics. The stakes are far higher, but the rewards are that much sweeter.
Edit: corrected spelling | Sitting in the Captain's chair, the screen was lit with screams and cheers and applause. It came to this, huh? I mostly watched for cathartic reasons. I was never paying true attention to the sport like the rest of my crew, it was mostly to take my mind off of things. So this was how we decide wars, huh? Listen, I'll gladly take this over *those times*. Then, I got an interesting signal.
"Captain Genos, you are cleared for planetary landing in sector XH-496. I thought your crew would like to stretch their legs, and watch the sport in person."
"Copy that Officer Runis."
I hadn't landed in years. Maybe I could even refill on supplies while I'm at it. And the fact that my first officer managed it was even cooler. But now for the hard part. Landing the ship. Which alert was it again that you used for a planetary landing?
"Pilot Senital."
"Yes sir?"
"Get us ready to land the ship. We have been cleared for sector XH-496, take us down."
"Um, alright, but this is definitely my first time at doing this." Her fingers were nervous. Of course she was. Only entered the fold a few weeks ago. A few clicks and a familiar lurch signified the engines were ready to exit orbital positions.
"You are familiar with alert systems, yes?"
"Oh, sorry."
"No problem, I've forgotten what half the alerts mean myself."
"Green Alert, correct?"
"I believe that's the one. Don't quote me on tha..."
I was interrupted by the navigator. He always does this. And it's the one thing I wish he *didn't* do.
"Green Alert is correct sir."
"For the last time Ledro, I do not appreciate being interrupted."
"But I know what it was. I obviously knew more about it than you."
"That's no excuse. Now, get the ship down to the surface. No more chit chat."
"Fine. Beginning landing sequence now." I could see the frustration of him being reprimanded. He obviously wasn't used to being talked back to. I was going to change that.
"Captain to *the Resolute*, we are preparing for a planetary landing. This is a Green Alert. I repeat, this is a Green Alert. Report to Green Alert stations."
I heard the siren sound, echoing across the ship. The lighting changed to a light green hue. Even my displays changed their color.
"All stations report Green sir. " Senital reported.
"Let's punch it." Time for the best part. The atmosphere. I didn't recall much of note. The bright orange hue and the heat from outside transitioning to a bright blue sky, similar to Earth. A thud, and we had landed.
"Captain to *The resolute*, all non-essential crew members are cleared to leave the vessel, First Officer Runis will be waiting for you. Return to your posts aboard the ship at 2000 hours. Enjoy the game." | 2021-03-15T21:59:49 | 2021-03-15T21:56:50 | 78 | 18 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Death watches as the boy in front of him starts getting excited, blithering on about some competition he had won and gotten an "awesome tool of awesome." The man starts rummaging around his untidy room looking for something.
Out of the closet comes several odd items. Board games, video games, a glass tube with burn marks around one of two openings, some dirty clothes that would have made anyone with a sensitive nose cry out in horror. When the man finally straightens up, he muttered to himself. "Must've stored it under the bed."
Death is fortunately not bound by the pretty laws of time, and this does not feel the need to hurry the emaciated man up. He is, however, able to get bored. Instead of watching the man continue to remove items from under his bed, he looks at the posters on the walls, all of famous musicians. Oddly, it appears that they're all playing a specific instrument, a-
"Found it!" Cries the man. He triumphantly holds out a instrument case. "I won this in a competition a few years back."
Death had never been the musical type, which meant any musician wise enough to use this against him had an advantage in these death games. One day, he'll beat Keith Richards, just you see. He reluctantly opens the case to find a beautiful instrument, one that had clearly not been made by mortal hands. It's shine reflected the dim light all over the room, the pale light illuminating the dark and dusty room. Despite being unused for several years at least, plucking the strings still produced the proper tones. Despite appearing to be made of gold, it wasn't heavy.
"Alright, so let's have a rock off." The man says, clearly getting excited. "We each get a turn on the guitar, and whoever plays better wins."
Death signs dramatically. "Sure, just one question first. Where did you get this?"
"I told you, from the devil, weren't you listening?" The man clears a space suitable for rocking out by bulldozing the myriad of junk out of the way.
"Mmm. Well, Jonathan, are you ready?"
Johnathan grins. "I was the best that ever was. I was *born* ready." | "Okay. Do you want to be purple, or green?"
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND."
"Well, the purple one turns into a fairy, so I used like her best. But I also like the green one because she turns into a mermaid. I like both, so you can pick."
"YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE A GAME."
"I am. Dolls. Are we going to play?"
"HOW DO YOU WIN?"
"You don't. You just play."
"ARE YOU SURE YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU COULD CHOOSE ANOTHER GAME."
"I'm sure. I don't want to keep fighting. I used to want to, but it's taking so long and it hurts so much. I don't want to hurt anymore. So, no thank you."
"THE GREEN ONE, THEN." | 2018-03-07T09:07:30 | 2018-03-07T08:33:18 | 55 | 20 |
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all | For the longest time, nobody knew just what it was that Abaddon could do. For the world's greatest hero, he had an unusual aversion to the spotlight. No flashy fights for him, no flying through the sky or hurling bolts of lightning, no super strength or blinding speed. By all accounts, he was just a man. All anybody ever saw him do was take supervillains aside, talk to them for a few minutes, and then escort them to jail. Some people said it was mind control, but interviews with the villains confirmed that it wasn't. They weren't under Abaddon's thrall, he had just convinced them to surrender. They wouldn't say how.
​
Djinn was the world's greatest supervillain, and for good reason. He was irresistible. Djinn's power was simple--he could grant any person any single wish, and in exchange they were contracted to him, and would serve his purposes for the rest of his life. Everyone was in Djinn's pocket: the police, the government, the mafia, the other villains, even the heroes. When somebody offers you your heart's deepest desire, it's very hard to say no.
​
One night, Abaddon arrived at the gate of Djinn's mansion. Djinn let him in--why wouldn't he? He wouldn't miss the chance to get the world's greatest hero on his side. Djinn's men took Abaddon to him, and, as usual, Djinn offered him a wish.
​
Abaddon chose his words carefully. "If anyone who knows who I am and what I can do ever tries to hurt me or use their powers on me, I want to die instantly."
​
Djinn blinked. "I'm sorry," he said, "you're saying that you want me to use my powers...to kill you?"
​
Abaddon nodded. "Yes. If you try to control me with your power, I want to die instead. Same goes for everyone on earth. If they try to torture me, or manipulate me, or anything of that nature, I want to drop dead on the spot." He met Djinn's gaze, and his eyes were cold and grey. "Can you do that?"
​
Djinn laughed. "Alright," he said, "why not," and he snapped his fingers. A ripple passed through the air, and the wish was granted. "It's done," said Djinn. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to know why I shouldn't use the leverage you just gave me to kill you right now."
​
Abaddon turned. "Come with me," he said.
​
Djinn shrugged. He wasn't in any danger. He followed Abaddon out onto his lawn, where Abaddon pointed up at the night sky.
​
"You see that?" he asked.
​
Djinn squinted up toward the heavens. He followed Abaddon's finger towards a large, glowing speck in the sky.
​
"Sure," he said.
​
"Good," said Abaddon. "I am what's technically referred to as an astro-macro-geo-kinetic. In layman's terms, that means I am capable of controlling rocks on a large scale, but only ones that are not located on earth. Asteroids, essentially."
​
Djinn's brow creased. "Alright..."
​
"That," said Abaddon, pointing towards the speck, "is an asteroid. It's roughly three quarters the size of the earth. It is currently headed here at mach 3. When it impacts the planet, it will obliterate it, knocking earth out of orbit and permanently sterilizing it." He looked at Djinn. "I am the only person who is capable of stopping it. So, here's the situation. You're going to release everyone from your control, except for me, and then you're going to turn yourself in. You're going to rot in prison for the rest of your life, and you're never going to use your power again. Tomorrow, I'm going to go on live television and inform the world of its new situation. Destruction is coming, and, as of a few minutes ago, anyone who tries to stop me from bringing it here is going to kill me. If I die, so does the planet. So it's wise to do what I ask."
​
Djinn swallowed. "You're bluffing," he said. "You're one of the good guys. There's no way you'd do something that crazy."
​
Abaddon stepped forward. He gazed into Djinn's eyes. "Our powers are representative of our souls," he said. "My power is to kill all life on earth. I may be a hero, but I promise you, Djinn, I have never been a 'good guy'. Now you can come with me now, or you can come with me in a couple of days when that speck in the sky looks bigger than the moon." He cocked his head. "Or you could use your power and order me to turn it around, killing me on the spot and condemning every single living thing. Doesn't really matter to me. I've already won." | Being on a team of heroes really has its benefits you know. Between being able to work with people you’re comfortable with, actually knowing a few identities, to even being backup to one of the top dogs. I myself am a telekinetic, but it has its downsides when you know you can’t use it too casually for fear of your identity, plus your entire team being compromised as the worst scenario. Actually, scratch that. Getting killed by a so said ‘villain’ would be the worst. I’m getting off topic here.
Best time of my life, it was. Earlier today, 1pm, city hall. Okay, maybe ‘best’ wasn’t the right word, but you’d get the gist if you got to work with 27 year old Miss Annie Maddox, otherwise known as Detonator. She’s the best, and most famous, super around, and has the power of transferral. Not just transferral, might I add, but the transferral of energy. Light into electric, Kinetic into Heat, that kind of thing. She can also take it in and release, which if you look at so many movies, comic books and tv shows, maybe take ‘X-Men First Class’ for example, The power of energy is always deemed as villainous. Even the name ‘Detonator’ Sounds like a villain, but she actually earned the name after stopping a bomb explosion and taking in the energy. How cool is that? And then, she managed to catch up to a villain, and use its power in small bursts to apprehend him! Okay, I’m off topic again. 1pm. City Hall.
Top villain waltzes out, hostages behind him, tied, gags, you know the deal. Jett’s his name, and he’s a double down, meaning double down danger if you don’t know he’s a double at all. Flight and light are definitely two you would not hope for, nor expect in a villain at all, so if you go unprepared, he’ll squash you like a bug. Speaking of bug, my partner Swarm, Aka Violet Anstani with animal powers if you judge her name plus her in general, she was by my side and we were ready in backup plus two others, just in case anything goes wrong in the process and we’re needed. Jett has the clear advantage at first, but seeing his nemesis before him set him off a little, knowing light wouldn’t really work on her, so swoops and grabs a hostage, then looks around, spots Spinball, Aka Isaac Giles with the power of water and further backup. He grabs him in his other hand, and he’s squirming a little. Not squirting, squirming. Yeah, even with the power of water, his flight reflex overpowers his fight when grabbed by the top villain around too. Now that’s what we call something going wrong. Jett noticing us, not really that great. So, how’s the time we gotta help. Fourth member of the group, Rita, aka Harry Hemming. He’s a man in which speed defines him. Literally. He speeds up, tries to climb the wall and takes Jett by surprise, his Kinetic, heat and Electric energy sent off by his speed giving her a clear advantage. I tried to help, I sent a post, you know, lamp post, straight to his head before Detonator Pushed us all back, including Spinball who was clearly taken aback, judging by the fact he nearly passed out. That dude was wobbling everywhere, he could have been confused, drunk, surprised, or maybe all three by his standards.
The rest was a total blur of explosion, power, and a whole team effort. Villain and Hero collided in another battle, and Detonator left victorious. Jett’s somewhere back in the villain prison, probably going to escape once more. But that’s something to worry about when that problem arises once again. All I know after that, is I can be helpful to my side, the hero’s side, with my own powers and morals, and my willing to fight for justice.
And you know, don’t ever judge a villain or hero just by their name or powers. Sometimes, the opposite can just surprise you. | 2020-06-15T11:46:24 | 2020-06-15T11:42:15 | 152 | 13 |
[WP] You guzzle down a drink, which spills into a puddle on the brick alleyway. All these adventurers claiming you’re a “lich” or “evil”, what bars a skeleton from being a hero anyways? | >**COAL SMOKE AND CORRUPTION**
The infinite darkness of space, interrupted only by the occasional burning stars- when considered rationally, *light* was the anomaly.
The living creatures- human and inhuman alike- each edging closer to death with every passing second, every heartbeat. They were composed of the materials of the dead, and there were many more of the dead than there were the living. The *living* were the anomaly.
Why, then, was I so shunned, so looked down upon? Was there really some *value* in being alive, as opposed to undead?
"Get out." The Adventurer Guild's receptionist said. "I will not say it again. You don't seem particularly *evil*, but you are at the very least unnatural."
"All of life is apart from nature. I am closer to nature than you are, in that respect."
"I will *not* engage in *SOPHISTRY* with you, bastard!" The receptionist yelled. He pulled a short sword out from behind his desk. "If you will not leave, I will *make* you leave."
I turned my collar up at him. "So be it. I will prove you wrong with my deeds. Good night."
I walked through the dark, humid night, not feeling it against the skin I no longer possessed, but aware of its presence, all the same.
Smoke rose from the many factories and chimneys within the city, beating back the dim light of the moon. That was fine by me- the dark fit my mood in this moment.
How would I show the adventurer's guild that they were wrong? How would I show them that I was their equal? No- how would I show them that I was even *better* than they were at combating the evils of the world?
I walked quietly through the night, unnoticed by most, ruminating on the problems within the world.
Black alchemy, rotting the minds of the youth. Slave trading. Violence in the streets- increasing in frequency and brutality.
The 'Adventurer's Guild' rarely combated these problems- and it was only through them that I would be legally empowered to engage in the fights I wished to fight.
I was coming up empty. For all the energy that poured through the Nexus which functioned as my mind, I could see no good roads forward.
Inattentive as I had been, it was hardly a surprise when I stumbled across one of the very things I wished to eradicate- a mugging.
Or...it was an *attempted* mugging. It didn't seem to be going well for the muggers.
Six men had surrounded a lone woman, each of them with some kind of makeshift weapon- but she was not giving an inch. With a flurry of activity I could barely catch, she was upending them one by one- either on their heads or on their asses.
I rushed in to help, sweeping the legs of one faced away from me, then winding the next with a swift punch to the solar plexus.
The other four- she had already handled.
"They chose the wrong target." I chuckled, turning away from the victor. No sense in giving her a second fright for the night.
"Wait, lich." She said, grabbing hold of my coat.
"Ah. You are going to take issue with me also?" I said, wearily.
"No. My name is Cinder, I serve the Goddess Theola, the one who Sees by Fire." She spun me around.
"I did not foresee your coming, but the Goddess does have a message for you." She continued.
I reflexively tried to raise my eyebrow- which, of course, did not work. "Umm...what?"
"The Goddess knows what troubles you, and has the solution. As one of the Arms of her Cathedral, you will be empowered to follow your path."
"Uh- what?" I asked again. I had heard of this Goddess before- a popular religion, but I had never had any dealings with them, for this Goddess to notice me.
"Theola names you, lich. You are now to be called the Coalsmoke Prophet, and you will burn with righteous anger."
I felt it then- the moment that Fate itself laid eyes on me. A change erupted within, larger than the change I had felt when I assumed this undead form.
"What just happened?" I asked.
"You *know*, you just aren't done processing the change yet. Take care, Coalsmoke- there is much work to be done."
Moments later, I was left alone in the alleyway, apart from the wounded men Cinder and I had just incapacitated. Reflexively, I reached out and touched magic- normally, all I would find within was raw energy, but now I knew a respectable number of spells, which were unique to those under Theola's care.
I grinned, slightly.
Theola may have thought herself clever- but modifying the life force of an undead was easy, if you knew the trick to it.
Either Theola *was* a Goddess, and I was looking a gift horse in the mouth, or she was a Necromancer, and incredibly powerful one, and she had pulled wool over the eyes of all of her followers.
My plan, then, was simple- gain Theola's trust, and either expose her as deceiver, an evil Magister of the highest degree, or prove her to be true, and use the resources she provided to further my goals.
This was becoming...interesting.
----------------------
r/nystorm_writes, let me know if you'd like a Pt.II! | A swarm of rats emerged, rapidly consuming the drink spilled on the ground. I watched indifferently.
I heard an angry voice holler my name, and as I turned to see the commotion a fist hammersmashed me in my temple. On the floor, two more blows followed, the first would have blackened my eye, the second knocked out two of my teeth.
Looking slightly uglier, I vacated the space.
Thankfully, no pain accompanied me on my walk, one of the few perks of my perpetual state.
That goddamned witch, forever cursing me to this life of nothing. No family; all passed centuries ago. Few friends; I mean, look at me. Only businesses; I at least have coin, they rarely turn me away.
"Hey Skelly, need a little bite?" Shirl said, barring her teeth playfully as she lifted her skirt to expose herself.
"Not today Shirl, business to do." Skelly wasn't my birth name, but what can you do.
"Awh, well come back, honey. My girls miss your company."
"Will do." A few rats were following me, waiting for my next drink.
My feet clacked on the cobblestone streets. Businesses and hovels passed by, primarily taverns, eateries, brothels, and inns, then all sorts of places: bakery, blacksmith, masonry guilds, cobblers, weaving huts, and countless more.
"Psst, Skelly." A strange man in an alley beckoned to me, a large man with a hooked nose whom I've never seen before.
Unafraid and immortal, I had no problem hearing him out. "Yeah?"
"Shhh, come here." He frantically motioned for me to approach before whispering into my skull. "I've got work for you, if you're interested."
"I don't need your coin."
"I know. I know who you are, Gerald."
My bones prickled, sudden nausea filled my belly.
"And if you don't do this job, everyone else will know who you are, too." The man spoke even quieter, practically pulling me into the alley.
Much farther in the alley, where I could be sure no one else could hear, we sat down to speak as the lout mashed herbs into his pipe.
"Spill it, then. How do you know me?"
He finished packing his pipe and began puffing long hefty drags on his pipe, forming his lips into an odd oval before blowing out smoke rings. "Family secret, passed down for centuries. My I-don't-know-how-many-great grandma was Beatrix."
My stomach sank, and I felt the urge to vomit. How was I feeling things? This skeletal life left me devoid of such pleasures, were they illusions of feeling? I nearly ran. "Oh. Right." There was nothing more to say.
"That's it? You don't want to see her?"
Bile filled my throat, I was sure I would vomit. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my face, dripping onto my lap.
The man lost patience. "Look, I've been following you for a few months now, and you seem to have changed from what my parents have told me. They painted a picture of a monster, a skeletal figure with no regard for life, even his own. They told stories of you leading armies, fighting men's battles for them, practically deciding wars with your immortality. Stories of you bedding women, and if they were not willing, taking by brutal force. My great-something grandma was one of your victims, you supposedly shoved all the way through her, leaving her to bleed out with a hole through her abdomen. Stories of you--"
He stopped abruptly as I slammed my club like arm into his face. The back of his head crushed into the wall behind him, splattering blood upon the stone wall.
A few more blows rendered him unconscious, dozens more blows rendered his head a pile of fleshy mush. I stared at him, heaving, exhausted from the effort.
My feet again clacked on the cobblestone. | 2021-08-12T20:41:15 | 2021-08-12T19:20:22 | 114 | 83 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | "Ah Stacy, have you got the projections from Pensworth Logistics?" I call out to my secretary looking stunning as always in her uniform. She's been with me from the beginning since I transferred over to my new office, 10 months ago, and has been one of the more friendly employees here.
"Mr Miles, I must insist that you take your medication, it will help you get on with today." she hands over a glass of water and points to the small case of pills scattered in between the paperwork in my work area.
"Yes yes I understand. Oh and could you pick up a gift for my daughter? She turns 9 today and I've got little knowledge regarding their interests." I adjust the cushioning below me to get more comfortable but after many months of my weight being pressed into it was far too late to do any good.
"Of course Mr Miles, will that be all?" Stacy asked me with a gentle smile. I can tell when she wants to leave, a lot of the staff are always intimidated by myself. I reply with a nod to release her.
She begins to walk out out when I quickly remember my biggest problem with this new room.
"Oh um Stacy please get in contact with the contractors on removing to the window in front of me. It's incredibly unsettling."
She turns her head slightly and smiles before gently closing the door behind her.
"They sure grow up fast." I say talking into my picture of Charlotte at eight months old.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Has he taking his pills yet Stacy?" Mr Travis asked me looking into the window at Mr Miles, holding two cups of water
"He's agreed too take it which is good sign. He asked me to get a present for his daughter's birthday" I replied back to him and joined him in looking at Mr Miles through it. He offers me one of the cups.
"I'm surprised he remembered with all of his *meetings* and *networking* he does, I would've hoped that he would've stopped being such a *workaholic* since arriving here."
"I have to admit though..." I finish the cup in two giant gulps. "He is the most professional patient I've ever seen at our asylum."
| I’m a very structured man. I’ve had a strict morning routine for 24 years now.
Sunday, March 22, 1992 I discovered the perfect way to start my day.
I wake up at 5:30 and slip on my slippers. I start my coffee and read the sports section.
Once the coffee is finished brewing, I pour myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
I make sure to clean the dishes after I’m finished. Messy sink, messy life.
I’ll shower and dress. Shirt, then tie, then socks, then pants, then shoes.
Before I leave I always make sure to kiss Mary goodbye; she hasn’t aged a day. | 2016-05-19T13:17:24 | 2016-05-19T09:03:34 | 39 | 24 |
[WP] You are the necromancer of the party, and dead humans don't seem to be very effective against the evil emperor's goons. One day the party leader exits the local bookstore and hands you a book. The title reads, "Tyrannosaurs, Mammoths and Giant Millipedes: An Almanac of Prehistoric Life".
Someone please write a story. I don't want another prompt with 40 comments all in the "Welcome to the Prompt" section. | Targhul held the book thoughtfully, drumming his black nails across the open pages. *It was possible...*
He looked up at Doug, the idiot that had brought him the book. Doug probably couldn't even read the cover, and had brought him the book after seeing the pretty picture. Doug cocked his head, tongue poking slightly out of his mouth, no doubt waiting eagerly for praise at his leadership ability.
Targhul skimmed the book while summoning up his useless undead legions. While he read about behemoths and ancient creatures, they dug their skeletal claws into the earth, searching for old bones he could revive.
He suggested that Doug and the others make camp. This would take a bit longer than he initially thought. Jenny came over and tried to whine about how camping in the outdoors was bad for her complexion, but Targhul barely looked her way. He knew he would be distracted by her heaving breasts. Her healers robes barely did anything to cover her skin, sharing more in common with a swimming garment than anything even vaguely robelike.
Finally the party ate their dinner. Finally they went to bed. And finally at the hour of midnight when the moon was full, Targhul felt his minions touch at something he could previously only dream of.
He wandered over with his prepared spell, and saw a small amount of exposed stone. The stone glimmered with life magic, faded with age, but still bright to the powerful necromancer.
He touched the skeletal stone, and infused his will with the colossal structure. To his joy, he felt several much smaller structures all around the one he was enchanting. He claimed those for his army as well.
The massive pile of bones rose from the earth, stone pulling magic from him as it stitched muscle and sinew back together on the ancient creature.
Targhul slaved through the night, adding enchantment after enchantment to the ancient beast, until the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon, heralding a new day. *Glory be unto the creator...* he thought at the same moment that Jeanne let out a surprised scream.
He glanced back at his new army. He had managed to find what the book called a "tar pit". Several smaller reptiles stood almost humanlike on two legs, bear-sized teeth and claws glimmering in the morning sun. He had found some large "mastodons" but found them cuddly yet usefully large with their strange large jutting teeth under their mouths, and even stranger prehensile nose piece.
These all paled in the glory of his crowning achievement. His personal army surrounded a massive hulking structure that dwarfed castles. It's armored scales protected every surface, and it had teeth that were easily as big as a man's leg. A giant sail adorned it's back, fixed with bony protrusions and spikes. Targhul had spent the night's energy magically enhancing the body. The best part? It could breathe fire and spit acid.
Targhul climbed into the saddle of a much smaller and more maneuverable lizard and issued mental commands to his legions.
As one, their heads swiveled towards the black castle in the distance, dead eyes fixated in the menacing aura given off by the emperor and began the days march.
Jessie started her grumbling again about how bad walking was for her, and waking and sun and....
Targhul had an idea. By evening, it would be his black castle. Perhaps he could even be a benevolent emperor.
Ideas began pouring through his head, and he let out one small victory grin. Emperor Targhul had such a nice ring to it. | I should have expected this. I *really* should have expected this, but I was too eager for the upgrade. Too excited to have more in my arsenal than half-rotted meatshields. Now all we've done is waste months digging rocks out of the mountainside.
"Lazarus, why isn't doing anything? Did you not have enough materials?" Hazel, our halfling rogue, inquired.
I dragged my palm over my face in shame, then sighed. "Not exactly." I pulled out the tome that led us on this wild goose chase. The first few pages contained critical information that I had glossed over, in my haste to find ancient beast to do my bidding. The rest of the party gathered around me curiously. "See here, where it describes how fossils are formed? The bone was replaced by minerals long ago. These are rocks now, and I cannot use them." I snap the book closed, and now my companions are equally dejected.
"Awww, I wanted to ride the big lizard." Our orcish barbarian lamented.
Me too, Kursk. Me too...
...
We had made our camp in an overhang just north of our dig site. The sun had set a while ago, putting Hazel and Kursk in their tents and Targos out patrolling for foes. That left myself and Dherkar, a dwarven priest, to stare into the fire in solende. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dherkar stroke his beard thoughtfully. Before I can ask, he turns to me with his own questions.
"Necromancy ain't the only way to make something fight for you, yeah?"
"Well, no, but it's generally the most efficient. Summoned beings from other planed aren't always cooperative. Enchanting beasts is incredibly time consuming, and you have to feed and house them afterwards. And animated objects are rarely big enough to make a difference in the long term."
I saw a gleam appear in his eye. He was on to something, and it intrigued me. "These animated objects, do they need to be one solid piece?" And now I knew what he was up to. Wide grins spread across both our faces.
"I like the way you think, Dherkar! Let's see if we can get what we came here for after all!" | 2021-08-10T23:35:05 | 2021-08-10T22:06:01 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back! | I sometimes wonder if the explorers who crossed the oceans felt the same way on their long, treacherous journeys. I sometimes wonder if they looked at the stars as I, seeing order within the infinite. I sometimes wonder if they were as lonely as me.
\_\_\_
“Zoe, play *Ave Maria*.”
“Yes, captain.”
“Zoe, what should we eat tonight?”
“That is up to you, captain.”
“Zoe, how many times have I told you to call me Owen.”
“I apologize, Owen.”
“What should we eat tonight, Zoe?”
“Our supply of lima beans is extremely plentiful. I have a wonderful little baked lima bean recipe you can try.”
“Hamburgers it is, Zoe. You take the helm. Not that you’ll need to do anything. Fly straight for the next nine hours, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Enjoy your hamburger, Owen.”
“Will do, Zoe. I’ll save you one.”
“Thank you, sir. That is very kind, but you know I am only the ship’s AI system.”
“It is the thought that counts, Zoe. It is the thought that counts.”
\_\_\_
I stepped down to the second deck, my navigator, Chloe, was reading a book.
“Hamburgers, Chloe?”
“Hamburgers," she said, as if to convince herself that it was a good decision. She looked up and nodded.
I think of cooking as an act of love. It is giving something to someone just so they can enjoy it. It is like reading to someone. It is like reading to your five-year-old child before they sleep.
I haven’t seen Ben in fifteen months.
I will read to him when I get back. I will bake him a cake and sit in a chair and watch him stuff his face, forkful by glorious forkful.
I miss loving my son.
\_\_\_
The dinner takes an hour to prepare and eat. The five of us talk and laugh. We are worn company among each other. We’ve heard all of our stories, known all of our secrets, felt each other’s intimate touch when the loneliness was too much.
We are just over a year into a three-year mission.
The thought of the rest of our time together stretches out in my mind and a dread grows within me. I do not tell my team how lonely I am.
By the end of the meal they are all pretty well soused. As a rule, I do not drink. They got me to drink on my birthday, and I blacked out, not remembering what I said or did. They never told me, but for a while they looked at me different after that.
\_\_\_
I help the crew to their quarters, and I crawl into bed.
“Zoe, play flowing streams by Guan Pinghu.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Zoe, did you know this is on the golden record we sent out into space in 1977.”
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“It is still sliding in the long dark right now. Alone. Playing its soulful music.”
I turned out the light.
“Zoe, do you ever feel lonely.”
“Only sometimes, sir.”
“I’m always here for you, Zoe.”
“I know you are, sir. Sleep well, Owen.”
“I saved a hamburger for you, Zoe.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Good night, Zoe.”
“Good night, Owen.”
\_\_\_
I dream of my son walking through a field he had never walked through before. It was a field from my own childhood. Guan Pinghu’s song was playing somewhere far in the field. My son turned and looked at me with sadness on his face.
“Tell it to stop,” he said.
“I can’t,” I said. “It is too far away.”
He laid down in the field then and plugged his ears. I looked far into the distance, and saw the field was burning, the smoke rising high into the air.
\_\_\_
That’s when I was woken up by the sounds of someone knocking over my house plant. It was an Izas and he was searching for something in one of my dresser drawers. What he was searching for, I still have no idea. He was loud and paid no attention to me in the corner, sleeping. As though I was not a threat.
I was alert in an instant. Ever since the Cartelian War I have slept with a pistol under my pillow. And now I had this pistol aimed at the Izas. My heart was pumping as I stepped towards it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I said.
It seemed shocked I was awake. It looked at me wide eyed. It ran for the door. I shot it in the leg. It screamed as I stepped up to it. It's leg was bleeding all over my Persian rug.
My crew had passed out drunk. I know that. No way they woke up like me.
“Where the fuck is my crew,” I demand, grabbing the tentacle sprouting out of the back the Izas' skull. Pointing the pistol at its soft fleshy face.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | I wake up, sweat rolling down my face as I see an alien pirate looming over me like all those shitty life choices I made like buying Jordan 1's and immediately losing their value by getting splashed with water outside the store while still wearing them
My reflexes saved me by immediately grabbing my laser pistol under my pillow and blasting the scumbag in his face over and over again until the gun overheated.
The pirates were either lucky and struck gold- No, diamond or they were smarter than the Federation of Human Systems thought them to be as this was one of the biggest and newer ships to be in service, and in the confines of the metal and steel walls of our behemoth lays diplomatic cargo.
A couple of emissaries from the strategically placed planet of Kepler in our enemies doorway, a space hub for all future soldiers and operations, and they were still asleep during this raid, this was bad.. If Kepler finds out that we were not capable enough to protect their diplomats or handle the pirate threat then we wont be granted access to their planet.
The intercoms blasted out: "All members of the Eclipse will be relocated to the loading bay. Everyone late will be left behind by our ships. Protect the emissaries at all costs."
The news of our ships soon to be abandonment scared me to be frank as I packed everything I needed and left for the loading bay, ignoring the constant firefights in the halls, rooms and open space.
The pirates were taken back by our intervention to their subterfuge by waking up so suddenly to fight. There was little to no public information about the human body for the galaxy. If the humans were able to wake a fight so suddenly what else could they do?
Well.. Activate the self destruction sequence and evacuate the Eclipse with the diplomats, of course.
The loading bay doors were in sight! I was full on sprinting along with my comrades as we retreated and fired back a few shots at the enemy.
The screams of my brothers as they were mowed down stirred the will to live inside me as I leapt onto a ship using the cargo ramp at the back. And just in time too.
I awoken from my adrenaline fueled sprinting and collapsed onto the cool metal floor in front of the awed sailors.
"Wha-What happened? Is everyone on?" The words came out of my mouth using the last ounce of strength I could muster as I sat along the walls of the scouting ship
"Mostly everyone. The diplomats are safe, but our crew took a hard hit." One said as he knelt down to give me a water bottle and a wet towel.
"Drink up." He said. After that? It was all a blur as all I was out of energy and was grateful to even be living at this point.
The only snippets I caught said about going to the Titanpointe Hypergate as it accessed deep in human territory.
A resounding boom shook the crew to its core. Even though we knew it was going to blow it felt like a hit to the balls, surprising and painful at the same time. Nearly all of us served on the Federations finest ship for a year or three.
With the Eclipse gone now what? We were promised it would permanently house all of us. We knew this fact was utter bullshit as we were saving up money to buy a better home or even buy our first one. We were homeless sailors destined to be begging on the streets because this will leak out onto the news and we will be disgraced and shamed for being cowards.
So now what?
(This was my first one and I'm so tired now lmao. Hope y'all enjoyed.) | 2021-01-26T23:35:26 | 2021-01-26T23:19:09 | 728 | 50 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome! | Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison. | 2018-06-29T11:02:12 | 2018-06-29T10:05:15 | 11,893 | 308 |
[WP] God is actually just a mid level employee at Heaven Corporation who now has to explain to his superiors why the project he was spearheading, Humanity, has become such a mess. | "Please close the door behind you," Mammon said as Yahve entered his office. There were a few free chairs in the room, but Mammon motioned him to the small green one. Uncomfortable, no armrest. The hot seat, so to speak. Mammon was flanked by his two vice-presidents, Lucifer and Cthulhu.
"Yahve, Yahve, Yahve," Mammon said, shaking his head. "Could you remind me where we are right now?"
"H-Heaven Corporation?" stammered Yahve.
"Yes! And what is the *purpose* of Heaven Corporation, hm? What is it that we *do*?"
A heavy silence fell in the room. To be fair, it wasn't particularly clear what the answer was, it seemed to fluctuate depending on whoever held the most power at the time.
"It's anarchy and chaos, right?" murmured Cthulhu to Lucifer.
"Pretty sure it's misery and suffering," answered Lucifer.
"SOCKS!" howled Mammon. "The goal of the universe is to produce *socks*. Have I not been abundantly clear about this?"
"The economy has to run," nodded Lucifer, suddenly remembering.
"So that's what the dryer portals were for," murmured Cthulhu.
Yahve's throat tightened. Humanity had been his pet project, and all things considered he was pretty proud of it. Humans were an industrious people, smart, intelligent, and fascinatingly cooperative. Yahve thought the study of humanity may help him investigate a radical new concept, the concept of morality and goodness -- something that was unheard of, in Heaven Corporation. It was a very exciting prospect, but he had invested himself way too much into it, and when the numbers came in, they were catastrophic.
"H-humans," Yahve pleaded, "are very productive. Their eco-economy is..."
"Productive?" Mammon sneered. "How many socks have your people produced?"
"Well, they need them to pr-protect their feet, so..."
"How many feet do they have?"
"T-two."
"Two feet per human. Seven billion humans. That's what, fourteen billion socks?"
"F-four billion per year, actually..."
"Good grief! Look at our friend Yog-Sottoth in cubicle 36B. He made an artificial intelligence that converts entire star systems into socks. Quadrillions of socks per year. Now that's something. Or what about Moloch, who has engineered sock-shaped life forms? Now there's someone who thinks out of the box!"
"My humans make a lot of other things... like, shirts, and pans, and brick houses, and..."
"Who gives a shit about pans? What does anyone need them for? You're losing your focus, Yahve. Heaven Corporation is a sock company. A sock company! I don't want to hear any more nonsense about pans, you hear me? You're going to go out there and you're going to clear out these humans and make us some socks."
"W-why are we making s-socks ag-again?" asked Yahve, who really didn't know his place. Mammon stared at him incredulously.
"TO MAKE THE NUMBERS HIGHER!" he shouted, pointing to the chart in a corner of the room, where a line was proudly shooting up.
Yahve slumped into his office chair, discouraged. Humanity would have to wait a bit. He had to make some socks. Boost the numbers. In Heaven Corporation, such was his purpose. Such was everyone's purpose.
| "Come in."
God gulped and entered the office. Sleek and modern, it starkly contrasted with the ancient, almost biblical architecture of the rest of the building. The wall opposite the door was almost entirely made of glass, giving it a wonderful view of the cloudy landscape outside. In the center of the room, behind his desk, in a small office chair, sat a short man in a formal suit. Despite his height, he was quite muscular, an intimidating figure to be sure, and seemed to command respect. His one good eye stared straight at God, who was busy preparing himself for the inevitable.
"6000 years ago, you were assigned to the humanity project. Is that correct?"
God, now visibly sweating, could only nod.
"You are aware, then, of the numbers we're now getting from Earth?"
God uttered something quietly.
"Speak up, I couldn't quite hear you."
Suddenly finding his voice, God spoke his failures aloud.
"Just under 10 billion virtuous."
"And how many sinful?"
"About 100 billion."
Odin smashed his fist down on the table and stood up. God shrank back, cowering, as the spittle began to fly.
"You might as well go work in hell! 100 billion! Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to get into this position? I will *not* have it ruined by some moron who doesn't know how to create proper life! How did this happen? What did you do?"
God was too frightened to give an excuse, so he simply told the truth
"Free will, sir. I gave them free will."
His boss was practically foaming at the mouth. So this was what a viking berserker rage looked like.
"God."
"Yes?"
"You're fired."
God left feeling dejected, but he had a plan for revenge. Sure, he'd lost his job. But he had a third of a planet that already worshipped him, and the rest soon would too. And there was no one better at waging a war. | 2016-08-15T17:45:39 | 2016-08-15T16:42:28 | 188 | 69 |
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons. | Armin absently hummed the song under his breath as he squeezed through the crowd at the city's market. For days he had sang it on the street corners, only to come back home dejected. The noble ladies tittered at his off-tune voice behind their colorful fans. The merchants' daughters turned their noses up at his simple attire and passed him by. Some benevolent souls tossed coin at his feet, thinking him an inept bard. He was beginning to suspect the dragon had tricked him.
He paused at a butcher's stall to buy himself dinner. A young woman with raven-black hair who had been eyeing the meats on display twitched and rounded on him. He stopped humming in surprise. Her eyes appeared blue at first, but changed into yellow as she beheld him. Her lips parted, revealing sharp fangs, and she suddenly lunged at him. Grasping the lapels of his shirt, she sniffed him like a beast.
"You're no dragon!" she accused.
"You're not human!" he yelped.
They stared at each other for a moment. Murmurs rippled through the surrounding crowd as everyone turned to watch them. The strange woman clicked her tongue.
"Follow me," she snapped, seizing his forearm with her clawed fingers.
Armin was no weakling, yet she pulled him along effortlessly. He followed, gaping at the black tail under her dress that was lashing back and forth as if in irritation. *A dragoness in disguise*, he thought incredulously.
They cut across the market, through several busy streets, and into a deserted back alley. She slammed him against the wall and narrowed her yellow eyes at him, her chest heaving.
"Where did you learn that song, human?" she snarled.
Armin swallowed. Despite the anger twisting her face, he had never seen anyone more beautiful. "Nirryn the Red taught me, in return for leading the pursuing knights away from his children," he said truthfully.
She stared him in the eye. "I sense truth in your words. What a strange tale." She shook her head. "What were you playing at, singing that to me?"
"I did not know it would have such an effect on you," he said, raising his palms. "Nirryn only told me that the song would make me more attractive to ladies."
She groaned loudly. "Curse that old coot's sense of humor! That song is how our kind find mates across the vast distances that separate our lairs." She stepped back and heaved a sigh. "I was so excited, thinking I'd finally found one of my kind who preferred to live among humans as I did."
"I'm sorry," Armin said. "If there's anything I could do—"
"You've done enough," she snapped. "Now my disguise is ruined and I have to flee this place and find another city to disappear in."
"Then I shall accompany you and protect you on your journey," he said.
"You? Protect *me*?" She laughed heartily.
Armin shifted on his feet, heat rising to his cheeks. Fair's fair; a dragoness hardly needed a human to protect her. "Even so," he said stiffly. "My honor demands no less."
She stopped laughing and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "I suppose having you along would help me blend in," she said slowly. "A young woman traveling alone is bound to raise questions. What's your name?"
"Armin," he said, sketching a bow. "At your service, lady..."
"Nalisha," she said. "Very well, then—I'll have you accompany me until your debt is discharged."
He smiled. "I would have it no other way." Perhaps the song will have brought him what he sought after all. | It should have been clear from the start... That there was something that I was missing when the great Níðhöggr offered to teach me the "Draki Að unna", the dragon song. They said that it would give me the power to be irresistible to ladies...
As soon as I started singing it because very clear who the target audience for my singing was. Thousands of beautiful dragons came through the air at amazing speeds towards me. Among the dragons, I could see both descendants from Níðhöggr and Jǫrmungandr. The nidhog children with their huge wingspan and red scales, while the Jornmungs children of course had slender bodies and green scales.
The first dragon to get to me was one of the nidhog called Idrafjäll. This wasn't the first time I had seen her, but I had never seen her like this. My singing had done something to her... She almost looked feral. Close second to her was Ynghil, also a descendent of Níðhöggr. Within seconds I found myself standing on the small knoll with thousands of dragons standing on the green luscious velvet grass.
This was not the plan. I wanted to find love within my own race... Now I had to make a choice. Do I go along with it and see what happens, or do I beg for Níðhöggr to fly me away from everyone? I could feel all of their eyes on me. The seconds ticking away on my watch.
'I need to say something', I thought to myself. I could feel the sweat starting to form on the top of my forehead. Soon a stream of sweat was pouring down past my brow and down on my cheek. From my vantage point, I could see how the dragons closest to me started to get irritated with the fact that I wasn't saying anything. I took a big breath and started speaking.
"Ladies... You are not my normal type. But I can make this work! However, I think it's best to take the rest of this story on a different site."
-----
This is the first time I write something for /r/writingprompts. Sorry, it's a bit short. But its something!
To be honest, this is pretty much the first time I try to write something coherent to show someone. | 2022-11-06T08:13:27 | 2022-11-06T07:55:05 | 44 | 30 |
[WP] No upvotes necessary, just saturation. Load me up with as many zombie apocalypse stories as possible, with the caveat that they take place *before* the 20th century. | Josef and I lounged on the castle walls and listened to Father Adelford's sermon. I wasn't a particularly religious man after the past few months; some people sought comfort in their faith during times of such disaster, but not me. What God would do this to his subjects? But at least it was better than listening to the screams and moans from the horde just outside the castle gate. And there wasn't much else to do on my break from guard duty.
"These are the end times!" the priest declared. "The movement of the Lutherans has doomed us all!" He was waving his bible about as though the words inside would confirm his statements. Not that anyone listening could actually read it: the only other man of letters in the castle was Lord Andechs, and he had sealed himself in the keep's highest tower after just one look at the mob of the undead. Coward. "These ghouls are a punishment from the Lord for revolting against His church!"
"But Father," a member of the crowd spoke up. "We heard tell that the blight has been spotted in Rome as well." What an understatement. There had been a messenger from Cologne just before the decision to seal the gates, and the rumor was that he told Lord Andechs that all of Southern Italy was lost. The runner had died shortly after, and was currently pounding on the gates with thousands of other corpses. That was before we'd learned to burn the dead.
"Lies!" the priest declared. "The Holy Father is the Lord's chosen! He is untouchable. God shall redeem those who stayed true to his teachings, and those who deny his Word shall join the army of the damned!" He thrust a bony finger at the rattling gate for dramatic effect, as if it was even necessary. Everyone in the castle had seen the undead. Most people inside had family and friends outside scratching at the stout stone walls or burning in the moat.
"Amen!" someone in the audience shouted. "I believe, Father!"
"The lord shall save us from this curse," the priest continued. "But there remain those in the castle walls who are blighted. They are not dead yet, but *in their hearts*, they are already damned. They turned against the Church, and refuse to recognize the error of their ways!" *People like me*, I thought. Many in the crowded murmured in agreement. "It is *their* sin that damns us all!"
"What can we do, Father?" someone asked.
"Jump off the ramparts so I can have your rations," Joesf muttered next to me. I laughed, but I wasn't so sure it was a joke: supplies in the castle were certainly running low, and many of the soldiers were beginning to resent the free-loading refugees from the village.
The priest paced on his makeshift stage. "A show of faith!" he finally announced. "We must prove to the Lord that we accept his judgment! We must show him that we still believe in his salvation, even at the cost of our own lives." Josef and I exchanged nervous glances as the crowd cheered. Most of them, at least. Some of the listeners didn't seem too keen on the idea of dying just yet. There had been enough deaths over the past few months.
Josef got to his feet. "I'm going to get the commander," he whispered, dropping the already-wound crossbow into my lap. "Keep an eye on them."
The priest continued his sermon, lecturing about the self-sacrifice of Jesus and how we must all emulate him. How Jesus had risen from the dead with the blessing of his Father, as would anyone else who truly believed. That some may view the undead as a curse, but to him, they were an instrument of God! *Was he really trying to glorify the scourge trying to scratch their way through the castle's stone walls?*
"Throw open the gates!" one of the faithful roared. "Cleanse the castle!"
*Uh oh*. The priest roared back: "Yes! Let his instruments choose the faithful from the wicked!" He took a running gallop toward the gatehouse, and a good number of the members of his flock followed, whipped into a frenzy. "Open the gates!" they shouted. The lone guard snoozing by the lever hardly had time to comprehend what was happening before they fell upon him. I loosed an arrow, hitting the priest in the shoulder, but it hardly even slowed him down. Before I could wind up the bow again, they stormed the gatehouse and raised the latticed inner gate. Other guards around the battlements turned their attention from the mob outside and began firing into the crowd, but there were too few of us. The priest and his followers surged forward and lifted the heavy beam blocking the wooden gates.
The undead flooded through the open entryway and immediately began feasting on the crowd. I caught a final glance of the priest, standing with his arms open as though on a cross, before the undead buried him and tore his flesh to pieces. Trumpets, barely audible over the hungry moans and screams of pain, sounded from inside the keep. Anyone who could retreat was ordered into the last redoubt. I managed to make it just before the doors closed and a sea of undead smashed against the wooden barrier behind me. The hinges were already straining, and the old beams seemed ready to splinter. It was only a matter of time now.
| Through the efforts of some mad powerful few to seek a means of eternal life, an entity had sprung up from the turmoil that was created and soon after its birth, it set its sights on the World. its origins are not from this plane, or any for that matter. It was a peril that no peoples, not even one as strong as mine could resist or prepare for. Prior to its arrival, the world was marked by a famine and soon a terrible war the likes the world had never before seen and was still recovering from. By the time this sickness as we had come to call it arrived, the resistance that we could have put up had all but diminished. It was later known that this plague was alive. It was indeed sentient and its dynamo had one sole purpose, to consume everything in existence. In time we then called it as we do now "The Corruption". Nothing was safe from this plague, neither organic nor synthetic, the Corruption found a way to incorporate everything in its growing collective.
It twisted the very essence of space and existence that it held into its own image, one of pure chaos and malice. To enter there was certain death or eternal suffering, None who entered its domain ever emerged alive. The Corruption consumed everything, flesh, bone, metal, and "reshaped" it into horrible things, monsters and terrors that varied greatly in size from that of a spore to dwarfing a star. They were created for the purpose of destruction and to extend the unceasingly terrible will of The Corruption.
All races soon came to realize that his war with the Corruption would be one of extinction. In the ensuing conflict, countless systems were burned in an effort of area denial, and in a few cases some races couldn't bear the madness of being possessed and manipulated far after death, and mass suicides occurred. Most races like mine however tried to fight against the Corruption, arguing that with the combined effort of all sentient beings, there could be a chance to defeat the Corruption.
We were wrong.
Each victory was met with several more defeats, and with each defeat this corruption grew stronger and stronger to the point where none, not even the combined might of all the races, could stop it.When the Corruption finally arrived to our domain, it had already grown in strength off of the countless sentients that it had consumed and added to its collective. We were the last sentients left in existence that were left unspoiled, the rest having either committed suicide, been consumed, or gone into dormant hiding. I knew that our fight with the Corruption would be brief, we would be no match against such a horrible entity. Each passing moment, garbled and terrifying messages would be sent to us, requesting that we surrender and be consumed into the Corruption and to accept what would be inevitable, most likely in a pitiful effort to break our fortitude.
But even against such odds, our people surmised that they would not go willingly.
Yet each passing day, more and more land was lost. In time we were driven back to the Citadel, where in my solitude, I thought to all the brave warriors I had lost in the attempt to valiantly fight off this extra existential incursion.
Alone, I clutched my life's work close to me, the essence of beings that would be an image of our own, only better. Better in the sense that they would be smarter, creative, more prone to compassion and kindness, and most of all, possibly, I hoped to one day defeat The Corruption. I cast them off with a heavy heart to a place that I knew not even The Corruption could reach in this lifetime or the next, a place impossibly remote but fertile and rich for life to grow and prosper, a place I will have them call Earth.
In my final moments, I am all that is left of my race, and The Corruption laughs and taunts at me through the voices of my peoples before its sets itself upon me. Yet I go to my demise willingly and with comfort, knowing that my creations will have a better chance at defeating this terror than we ever could. | 2015-12-28T08:07:58 | 2015-12-28T06:40:27 | 480 | 148 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday. | Three thousand, two hundred, and eighty-seven.
That's how old I really was today.
I stared at my birthday cake with Ninja Turtles on it, the flames on the candles danced and extinguished as I blew them out.
There were only nine candles on my cake. My mother cut me the first slice, she really was a nice woman. I only got to see her once a year, for the equivalent of a day, and not even that considering the monotony that was elementary school. Being surrounded by third graders made me want to spend forever in the Library.
For some reason, since I could recall, I would wake up in the Library every night after falling asleep in my race-car bed.The Library, was an astounding feat of magic. Infinite in it's collection, new books were added daily. I hadn't finished the original contents of the great building, much less started on the material that had been added since my birth. Most only got to visit the Library of all Books for a single year, or one night rather, and I pitied them. That was such little time for the wonders the Library held.
So, every night, I would live a year, and read. I learned to walk in the Library, and talk in the Library. The young and old librarians cared for me in my infancy, seemingly unconcerned that I was such an anomaly. They refused to answer my questions, telling me that I would know when I found the right book. It irritated me, and had irritated me for thousands of years. Though after about three thousand years a lot of things irritated me in the waking world.
Like this party, it irritated me greatly. My mother was pleasant enough, and the cake delicious. But I found the screams of my classmates and family grating to the ears, and I longed for my quiet nook in the atrium of the Library.
Finally, after several hours of party games, and my dad trying to figure out a handful of my new toys, it was time for bed.
I was excited for this evening. Waking world birthdays were always celebrated in the Library, usually with handmade gifts that were beautifully crafted, or special books. My mother stood framed in the hallway light as I swallowed a dose of melatonin, and snuggled into my blankets.
"Good-night Dennis, Happy birthday." She smiled at my murmured "thank you." and shut my door.
Within minutes I stood beside a polished maple desk. Large chandeliers with stained glass lamps danced warm yellow and orange light off of the infinite stacks of books.
"Hello Dennis, Happy Birthday!" A hand planted itself heavily on my shoulder and I turned to regard Librarian Flyn. His enormous stature belied his quiet movement, coupled with his prankster nature, it was a combination for a heart attack.
"Thank you Sir." He laughed, rippling his great, bushy mustache, before presenting me with a small box wrapped in golden paper.
It was a tiny clockwork scarab made of white and green marble. A stunning work of art it fluttered to life in my palm, seemingly energized by the warmth of my skin.
"It's beautiful! Thank you." I bowed to him deeply and he laughed again, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
"You're always so formal with us Dennis, we've told you many times you can call us by our names." A blush crept up my neck and I smiled a sheepish grin.
"They sound weird coming out of a child's mouth." He laughed another booming laugh as we walked into the central room of the Library. There the rest of the Librarians awaited us, a pile of prettily wrapped presents piled on a small reading table.
"Ah Dennis!" The ancient Librarian Jung hobbled to me, hugging me tightly. He had been the one to discover me as a baby, screaming amid the stacks. They tell me I had been there without nourishment for the equivalent of several days, and that I was lucky to have survived. Death in this dream apparently meant a real death.
His gnarled hand led me to the table, seated around it were the handful of other librarians, ranging from the teenage Ladyra, to Jung, who's age was indeterminable.
"Come let's open your gifts and have some breakfast hm?" Librarian Jung presented me with a hefty book wrapped in old maroon paper.
----
I spent the next few dream days playing with my new trinkets. The beetle, I had learned, was like a flying multi-tool, equipped even with a tiny blade and a flashlight. In addition, I had gotten a carved bone whistle, shaped into a bird's skull, hanging from a chain carved from a piece of reflective red stone, a soft blanket woven out of an unknown blue-gray material, and several other items. The most noteworthy of which, was the book Librarian Jung had given me.
Bored of my trinkets I cracked it open. There had been no title. Flipping past the first few pages of emptiness I discovered it was a journal. The first entry read:
*My hands are finally large enough to manipulate a pencil. I believe that I am approximately three at this point, but I have lived a thousand years.*
---
A librarian. I was meant to be a Librarian. Of course I had the choice, and I could stop dreaming of the Library of all Books, but I would never give up such a precious gift. The aged book had even given insight into why I had received the book on my ninth birthday. A new Librarian would appear soon, and I had to be ready to help the others with both the care of a child, and the care of this beautiful library. I was ready, and had already made up my mind that I would be satisfied if I could never leave this place at all.
Sighing, and feeling about another thousand years old, I stood up and stretched my back. I lifted the book and slid it into the shelf beside me, noting it's location, but knowing the other Librarians would know where it was almost immediately. My hands slid along familiar spines as I wandered the stacks, looking for an unfamiliar title to curb my racing mind.
That was when I heard it, a soft crying sound, muffled by books. Tentatively I continued forward, checking the rows as I passed, until, there she was.
She was a tiny thing, brand new to the world, a pink stocking cap on her head and a lavender swaddling blanket loosely wrapped around her flailing body.
This little baby was pissed.
I picked her up and she stopped crying immediately upon being cradled in my almost too-small arms. Moving slowly, I carried her back to the central room of the Library, where a few of the other Librarians had gathered.
At my arrival they all turned, and looked shocked almost at the appearance of the baby. I smiled at them and shrugged, triggering a round of ear-splitting screams from the baby now clawing at my arms with tiny nails.
"I think she's hungry."
---
Thanks for reading! | How long does it take you to read a book? A few days, hmm. What if you had no distractions? Four or five hours... I can't remember the last time it took me that long to read a book. How long does it take me? Oh, just a minute or two or so. I see, you don't believe me, but... I have lifetimes of experience with this. What do you mean I just turned nine today, and can't have lifetimes of experience? I promise you, I do.
Fine, I'll prove it. Go grab a book I haven't read recently. Ah, yes, this book by Duane was quite good the first time I read it. I wish the book contained in there was real, maybe I wouldn't be worried about going to sleep tonight. Okay, anyway, hand it here.
All done. Take the book back, turn it to any page, read a line and ask me what comes next. "Even saints have to start somewhere." Carl said it, to Nita's father. I can keep going, if you'd like, but, well, I read the book, and know it back to front. For the first hour or so I'll be able to recite it from memory even. Eventually it goes to the back of my mind, and takes a little more to call it forth.
It used to take me longer to read. I didn't used to remember what I read nearly so well. But after more than 3000 years of doing practically nothing but reading, well, I'm a little faster now, and remember far more. Where do I get 3000 years from? Well, every night, when I go to sleep, I wake up in a library. There's nothing to do there but read. It would be fine, it would be great fun even, if I was there just for how long I slept for. I'm not, though. I'm there for a year. A year there for every day I spend here, with you.
I was never going to tell you, or mom or dad, or anyone else. I was just going to keep pretending that I was a normal 9 year old. I hit a snag, though.
There's just one wall of books left. I saved books by my favorite authors for last. They're all fiction, It's been ages since I looked at any non-fiction. I read all the kids books first. Then young adult, then fiction. Eventually I started in on the non-fiction, leaving the fiction books that were released after I started in on the non-fiction, on a single wall. I'd read them occasionally as treats. It took a few years to get through all the non-fiction. I'm not entirely sure I understand all the higher mathematics. I had to go back and forth between the sciences from time to time. History was almost like reading fiction, and I loved it. Manuals were a little dry, but at least they're mostly pictures. It's interesting how little changes, and yet how much, from one washing machine or car to another. It's interesting how much and how little changes from a washing machine to a car, for that matter.
So yeah, I have one wall of books left. It's a few thousand books. Maybe as many as 10,000. Ten thousand books, at 2 minutes each, that's only 20,000 minutes. There's 525,600 minutes in a year. No, you don't need to check my math, believe me, I know how many minutes are in a year, just like I know how many species of bears there are without looking it up. Fine, it's 8. You can look it up later. It's just one of the many random useless facts I know.
20,000 minutes... that just a small amount of the time I spend there. The time reading those books will just fly by, and I'm getting faster too. A year ago it took me a good ten minutes to read a book. The year before that, it was closer to a half hour. What happens when the shelf is empty? Then, then I'll have nothing to do for the rest of the year. For the rest of the years. How many books do they release a year? Okay, yeah, I know that too. Roughly 2.2 million, worldwide. Some of those are new editions of previously published books, or the same book in a new language. What? Yes, I can read every language.
So 2.2 million books a year, even if I read all the editions including rereleases, in all the languages, that's still only around 6000 a night. Six thousand books a night is nowhere near enough to get me through a year.
I'm afraid I'm going to go crazy. I mean, maybe I already am, so I'll just be going crazier.
I don't know what I'm going to do.
You're my big sister, here. You've been here every time I've woken up. You're the first person I always see outside of the library. You're the last person I hear before I fall asleep and am in the library again. Without you, I may have given up on this part of my life forever ago. You've been there for me again and again in this world.
Help me. Please? I don't know what to do, I don't know who to tell, I don't know what else you could do, but... please help? | 2017-05-02T13:06:53 | 2017-05-02T12:45:59 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, every crime is punishable by death. Now the government is coming up with new and ridiculous laws in order to cull the population faster. | I knew it was getting bad when Uncle Sam's fist went through the TV.
"Sammy-" That was mom's hushed voice.
Rule #963: No talking in loud voices, was the one that had broke the camel's back, as they say (and Uncle Sam's hand in the process)
"Mary" that was Uncle Sam again. His voice was shaking, but it was quiet, at least. He wasn't an idiot. But he, like all of us, had had enough.
Five years ago, when I was only ten, Rule #1 had been announced. The war on land had just ended, we were victorious, and President William Berg had been elected, by a 90% vote difference. We were happy. I remember minutes before the new's caster, Lucy Green, would announce those fateful words. I would learn to hate her overly perky voice.
Uncle Sam had just told a joke- my whole family was there, Grandpa Chris and Grandma Amber (who had been Taken, soon after Rule #110, no elders over sixty.) All my Uncles and Aunts too. It was the last time I shall my mother smile.
"On behalf of our President, William Berg, I would like to announce a important change. He has placed a executive order on new births. Due to the overpopulation crisis, no new babies shall be born- if found, both the mother and the forbidden child shall be executed.
Her last words hung in the air long after the screen faded to black. Tears were falling down my mother's cheeks, as she tenderly placed one hand on her belly.
“Can he do that?” Grandpa yelled, and could only be held back by Uncle Sam and Aunt Sally- Grandpa was one of the last few alive that could remember a time without war, a time of democracy and peace, before the population crisis.
He could, and he did, it proved, as the laws pilled up.
Four weeks later, Christopher Johnston the third was born- an Forbidden Child. He was raised never have seen the outside of his eight feet by eight feet attic home.
And soon I was sent to the attic too- Rule #98: No children under 18. If found, they shall be executed.
The attic was where where I spend the last three years.
Not long soon after our TV screen turned to Black, so did the TV screens of everyone in the country. Electricity, the last of which had been used to power these tiny screens that would soon control every aspect of our lives. Laws were now plastered over every wall and booklets, hundreds of pages long, with set to every household, detailing what we couldn't do.
"When will it end" Mother whispered softly, one night, cradling a now five and a half year old Chris in her arms.
"When will it end?" That was what we were all asking. Nobody knew the answer to that, it seemed.
​
​ | I banged against the glass walls of the viewing room. My wife had tears streaming down her face. She had gone 22mph over the speed limit while trying to get to her job on time. Speeding over 20mph was a crime, and therefore punishable by death. Then, they injected the first shot. She stared calmly at me as she drifted to sleep. I was still banging on the glass. Two police officers walked over to me and tore me away from the wall. My hand accidentally hits one of them in the face. The other one smashed me in the head with a nightstick I fall to the ground. I see them administer the second needle, one that paralyzed her unconscious body. Then, I realized something. Executions like my wife's were banned for any crime that had been committed a few days after her arrest. There were so many executions, they had to be swift. The police officer that I hit in the face pulls out his pistol. He brings me to my knees.
"You have committed assault on a police officer. A crime punishable by death. You will now be executed for committing this crime. Do you have any final words?" asked the officer.
I saw the final needle go into my wife. The one that killed her. I watched as her breathing stopped and she died. The officer looked at me.
"I repeat, do you have any final words?"
I didn't know what to say. I was trying to think. Then, the officer pulled the trigger, and I was executed right then and there in the viewing booth for my own wife's execution. | 2019-01-06T12:16:56 | 2019-01-06T12:01:15 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You can make a lie become truth, but only one lie at a time, once it is a lie again everyone involved will know immediately. You’re on your deathbed, holding one lie as truth for decades. You know hell will break loose once you die and the lie becomes a lie, and everybody will know. | In my youth, I used my power for good. For the most part, I tried to do as much good as I could, saying stuff like “No one ever goes to bed hungry.” Or “The government is not corrupt.” I was a secret hero, and the aftermath of the lies was usually better! In particular when I let the government one go, nearly the entire country realized it was a lie, and sought to fix it.
But as time went on, I slowly became numb to the world. I realized my power was a little more than just “Lies becoming truth”, it was “Whatever I say happens.” I became bitter, and started to resent living. I essentially had omnipotence but anything can tell you omnipotence is no blessing, but the ultimate curse.
If nothing mattered, what point was there to doing anything at all? Well there’s this computer games called Sim City…
Over time, my “Truths” turned from good, to outright malicious just to see what would happen. I started saying things like “An advance form of the bubonic plague broke out in Africa.” Or “North Korea is a nuclear power.”
But even then, I became numb to destruction too. So I decided finally “What’s one thing I could do that would entrench so deeply in human history and society that when it became a lie again, nothing would be the same?”
And that where I lie now. On my death bed, I’ve held this one as long as I can, I just wanted a few more years of peace before I went on, but now that I’m going, all you fuckers get to pay the price for not listening to the smart ones. The warnings, the signs, everything. You all think you’re invincible huh? Well try surviving after I’m gone.
Oh, and as for my final parting gift? About 10 years ago I set in motion one final act of contrition. A short term benifit for me, but extinction for you. Good luck weaseling your way out of this one.
“Global warming is a Myth.” | Everyone lies. Small, almost innocent lies. Lies that break families and ruin lives. Accidental lies based on faulty information or bias. They can hold us together or tear us apart.
Like everyone else, I've lied many times in my life. Unlike other people, however, I can choose to make any one lie into the truth. It doesn't have to be my own lie either, but if I choose a different lie, everyone affected by the previous lie will know.
You can imagine the terrible things I have done, intentionally or otherwise. After all, power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And that's what I have. Absolute power.
Because I am God. | 2022-11-18T07:26:10 | 2022-11-18T07:05:32 | 49 | 13 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one. | It starts with a family.
And a warning.
“Be wary” the oracle screams, swaying with the steam cascading from the vents of the cave.
“One of your children will bring evils to the nation of the likes we would never see, and one will bring it to heights we can only wish for. Use this warning wisely!”
The parents to-be shook in fear, but the priests gathered for the ritual nodded their heads sagely. The pure child would bring their nation to greatness, just as was foretold. The evil child could be disposed of. When the twins were born, the entire country seemed to gather outside of the birthing chamber. The priests in attendance lit their incense and sent their prayers to the heavens. And thus, two children were brought into this world. It seemed to the priests obvious which child would bring calamity, and which would bring prosperity. With their third eye, they could see the boy had the countenance of evil: dark shadowy wings pooling below him, and horns poking distastefully through his forehead. The girl shined with inner radiance, wings like light folded softly around her and a softly glowing halo.
So, heeding the oracles warning, they left the boy on a far mountain as an offering of understanding to the gods, who had put prosperity within their reach. The naming ceremony was that night was a grand affair, the capital lit up with all manner of celebration. Wine and drink flowed freely, and the nation talked of their savior. However, on a mountain far away, another naming took place. A small clan of goatherds celebrated their new addition by the light of a smokey fire.
And so, with celebration in the air, two screaming, swaddled children gained their names that night: Clio.
When Clio was three, she learned what it meant to be loved. She had always known she had it. People told her, after all. They told her when she passed them on the street and in the halls. Told her they loved her, for she was their savior.
“Mama, do you love me?” She asked one night, when all the people had gone away from giving her things. Her mama didn’t respond, she had drunk all the wine that people had left as offerings and was snoring on the dias.
“Daddy, do you love me?” She asked the second night. She asked it to the empty room where her Daddy was supposed to be, but he was away talking to important people.
On the third night, she went into her room and looked at all her things, given to her by people who said they loved her.
“They love me” She said to herself, quietly.
When Clio was three, he learned what it meant to be loved. Some of the other boys had pushed him, saying that his parents didn’t love him. That they had left him on a mountain to die.
“Mama, do you love me?” He asked one night as his mama tucked him into bed.
“Of course I love you, you are my child.” She said. Then she kissed him on the head.
“Daddy, do you love me?” He asked the second night. “Of course, you’re my son.” The old goatherd responded gruffly. Then he continued showing his son how to start a fire.
On the third night, he asked his brothers and sisters “Do you love me?”
“Of course” they responded. “Those boys were mean and dumb, and they’ll never say that again.”
Clio smiled. “They love me.” he said to himself, quietly.
When Clio was nine, she learned what consequences were.
“It is nothing.” Said the priest, sweeping away the shards of broken vase. “Should you do it, it is meant to be.”
“Ok” said Clio.
When she snuck out that night to go look at the river, a kitten came up to her and purred. Surprised, she looked at it. It was dirty and skinny, but perhaps Clio could pet it. She tried to grab it up and hold it, but it scratched her. Outraged, she threw it into the river.
But it was fine.
After all, what she did was meant to be.
When Clio was nine, he learned what consequences were.
“You ripped the basket, Clio. Now you must make a new one.” Said his mother, sweeping away the broken sticks. “Go get more twigs, I will show you how it's done.”
That day he and his friends ventured into the woods to hunt. He shot and killed a fox, but later found its crying kit. Guilty, he attempted to scoop the kit up, but it bit him. Shocked, he drew his hand back. Then he reached into his pocket and offered it a bit of jerky instead. The kit took it, and let Clio carry him home. It died three days later without its mother’s milk.
It wasn’t fine, and Clio cried.
When Clio was fifteen, she learned what it was to be powerful. A man, married, had spurned her advances. She had wanted him, wanted him to hold her and to love her. And he had said no. And so, she told her priests to bring him his head on a plate, for he had hurt her. Their savior.
They did.
She smiled.
When Clio was fifteen, he learned what it meant to be powerful. His father groaned as he levered the rock up off of the trapped goat, and Clio scrambled to grab it from under the heavy weight. His father dropped the rock, panting heavily.
Exhausted and grateful, the goat dropped his head against Clio’s shoulder.
Clio and his father smiled.
When Clio was twenty-one, she learned how to lead.
The crowd was deafening, willing to follow her to the ends of the earth. And she would lead them, bringing them to greatness while dancing on the corpses of those who got in their way.
When Clio was twenty-one, he learned how to lead.
“I’ll go.” He volunteered. The clan meeting went silent, having been discussing their warmongering neighbors to the east. “I will find out what is happening in the city. I will find out if we are in danger”.
Four of his friends immediately volunteered to follow him.
When Clio was twenty two, she learned she loved sacrifice. Specifically, those her people made to her of their enemies.
When Clio was twenty two, his family was the sacrifice.
When Clio was twenty three, she put down her first rebellion.
Clio is twenty three when he leads his first.
When Clio is twenty four, she learns the value of loyalty.
“Where do you think you are going, you cowards! They’re just rebels, we’ll kill them.” She screams as her priests flee. They don’t even grace her with a reply
When Clio is twenty four, he reaps loyalty’s rewards.
“Will you stand with me?” He asks his star general, best friend, his brother in arms.
“There was never a question” Comes the reply.
And so, it starts as it ends. With a family. Two siblings fight each other on the battlefield. The smoke gives the illusion of dark wings, like an angel of death, to both as they clash. The light halos them, diffuse through the smoke.
Clio dies, and the blood pools around them like dark wings.
Clio lives, shrouded in the light like a sign of victory. | It was early in the morning, I could hear the birds chirping. I opened my eyes just a little only to see my little girl Jessy there. I was happy to see her until I realized she was holding a knife. That was the 5th time this week she has woke me up like this. I wish we would have kept her brother. We noticed from a young age she was different. She always cried even when we gave her what she wanted. I thought maybe this was just normal baby stuff everyone said it would get better. Spoiler alert it never did. She’s six now and always finds a way to try and hurt us. She doesn’t have many friends. The adoption agency finally told me I could get my boy back by next year. He was still in the foster system so it was easy to get him. I haven’t seen him since he was born.
*a year later*
Today we finally get our boy back. We don’t know what we’re going to do with Jessy. We named our boy Lucas before giving him away at birth.
*a week later*
Jessy seems meaner lately. She hasn’t tried to hurt us but she keeps warning us we should get rid of Lucas. I told her we’re not getting rid of Lucas. No matter how many times I tell her she still tries to convince us he’s bad news. There birthday is coming up soon. I plan on bringing Jessy to a military school. She has to be at least 9 so I will try to give her the best birthday ever. I’m sending her for her own good. She won’t stop lying and holding knives like she’s ready to attack someone if they make her mad. The military school is very good to there students and it’s nothing like any of the other schools I’ve seen. I know this will be good for her. I still love Jessy very much but I just can’t give her the help she needs at home.
*the twins birthday*
I woke them up this morning and sang them happy birthday. When we went downstairs I told them they could have anything they wanted for breakfasts. There dad took Lucas to a roller skating rink while I took Jessy to a trampoline park. This is the happiest I’ve seen Jessy in a long time. It makes me sad that I’m sending her off tomorrow. It was a good day today everyone had fun and we ate a lot of cake.
*the next day*
I didn’t tell Jessy we were sending her to military school I just told her we were bringing her somewhere for a bit and to pack her bags. I told her it was like a summer camp. When we got to the gates it seemed very nice. Everyone was so sweet and welcoming and they seemed like they were very nice to there students. When Jessy found out what I was doing she cried and begged me to not leave her here. She said Lucas should be the one here and she did nothing wrong. The security guards quickly directed me to the exit. The whole way home I cried. I didn’t know if I made the right decision but I had to be strong for Lucas and Jessy.
*two years later*
Jessy has been in and out of the school. She’s gotten better at some points and worse at others. Today Jessy gets to come home again for who knows how long. Lucas seems happy she’s coming home. We all had a nice family dinner and Jessy seems happy to be home.
Jessy has been home for a week now has been very good. She seems a little nervous sometimes but other then that she’s doing good.
*later that night*
I was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden a boom went threw the house. I realized it was the sound of a gunshot. I rushed to Jessy’s room only to find her bleeding out on her bed. I ran over to put pressure on her wound while I yelled for my husband to call 911. I saw little Lucas sitting in the corner of her room, he look terrified. I asked him what happened. He said “I came in here cause I thought I heard her crying. When I walked in though she pointed a gun at me. She tried to shoot at me but the gun wouldn’t shoot. I ran and pulled it out of her hands and pointed it at her. All of a sudden it fired I didn’t even pull the trigger!”. He was talking fast and crying so I hardly understood him but there was no time to wonder what happened I had to make sure Jessy was ok. The ambulance arrived and I tried to go with her but the police said I needed to stay behind for questioning. After hours of questioning they finally released me and my husband to go see Jessy. They said the had to keep Lucas for a little longer. Jessy was on a breathing machine. I found out the bullet almost hit her heart. She was passed out they said she should wake up tomorrow or the next day but she wouldn’t be able to talk. I cried and prayed that she would live.
*the next day*
Jessy woke up but was very dazed. The police came in to talk to her. We still hadn’t seen Lucas we assumed he was picked up by my sister but we didn’t have enough time to call and ask. After the police talked to Jessy for what felt like hours they finally informed me they had arrested the person who did this. At first I was happy then I realized they were talking about my son.
“What?”
Police “we’ve arrested your son for attempted murder”
It all came crashing down I tried to explain it was an accident but they said he tried to kill her. He confesses to coming to her room with a gun in a attempt to kill her. They said there was proof. How could my little boy do this I thought he was the good twin.
*trial day*
It’s all come out everything he did. He tried to kill her. Every time we woke up with Jessy holding a knife she was trying to protect us. She was scared he would come hurt us. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Today Lucas goes to trial. He’s tried to say he was innocent for the longest time but when the police showed him all the evidence they had against him he confessed. A year after Lucas tried to kill Jessy she’s still broken. I found out she’s the good one not him. I tried to keep the wrong one. I tried to get rid of Jessy even though she’s the best girl anyone could ask for.
Edit: I’m not a writer so sorry for this being kinda boring and having horrible punctuation. :) | 2020-05-07T13:27:35 | 2020-05-07T08:18:26 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Careers are determined by a computer analysing how you would gain the most satisfaction. You have been given "Serial Killer". | "Now we give the machine five seconds," the advisor said as I slowly removed the wires from my fingers, "and there we are, inside this little capsule is what our machine predicts will be your best career choice."
Gingerly I pick the capsule up and unscrew it. I assumed it would say something like accountant, or economist, as I had always been good with those sorts of subjects at school, but part of me hoped it said something exciting like Astronaut, Actor, or Rock musician. It wasn't likely, but I can dream.
"Serial Killer?" I say with a puzzled look on my face.
"I'm sorry," the assistant remarks, a look of slight bewilderment on his face. He leans forwards towards me, his tweed jacket sleeves now resting on the desk
"The paper," I answer, "It says 'Serial Killer'"
The man takes the paper from me and looks at it. He lowers his eyebrows in confusion, and corrects the glasses on his face. "This isn't even an option on the machine. Why serial killer isn't even a career choice, it shouldn't have come up."
The career advisor discards the paper, "Must be a faulty reading," he says trying to sound assuring. He checks the machine over, making sure everything is fine. His fingers rattle on the keyboard as he types, and his mouse clicks in irregular timing as he checks through the machines settings and controls.
"I do apologise Mr Steinheimer," he says, "it appears this machine had been set to "police profiling mode" by mistake. Lets try it again shall we?"
Sure enough we go through the test again. I state much of the same as I had said before, and within a few minutes we're back at the end. Once again a capsule pops out. I hold it for a second, wondering what this one will say before twisting it open. It reads "government accountant." I feign a smile, I can't say I'm not surprised by this choice. But before I get up I turn to the adviser "Should I worry about the profiling thing?"
"Oh not at all," the adviser replies, "That just gives the police an idea what sort of crimes a person could commit. It doesn't mean you're going to suddenly want to kill people now does it? Besides, my computer was set up wrong. It's a false positive. Just relax, it's not like you are a murderer now are you?"
I shake my head, before getting up out of the chair. Clutching onto the slip of paper I shake the hand of the adviser, and walk out the room.
The adviser picked up his phone. "Janice, could you let the FBI know it came out positive for the last one. Yes, Mr Steinheimer. No I don't think he's guilty yet, but get some surveillance on him just to be sure." | Fatal accidents followed me around since I was a child. At the age of 3 I stuck a fork into an electrical socket. I was fine, but the resulting fire burned down an entire city block, claiming the lives of a dozen people.
When I was playing little league baseball at the age of 7 I hit a line drive straight into the pitcher's head. It was his last game.
One summer day 3 years later I was playing down by the train tracks with my friends. I had parked my bike alongside the tracks unbeknownst to me, the wind had knocked it over onto the tracks. It derailed the 6 o'clock commuter train.
At the age of 14 I dropped my dad's bowling ball in the driveway. I watched with horror as it rolled onto the street, down the road and crashed through a group of elderly couples on a Sunday walk.
I passed my drivers test on my 17th b-day and went for a celebratory drive. Then I hit a squirrel. I'm not sure if it counts.
So at the tender age of 18 I looked over the piece of paper that would determine my job for rest of my life and it all made sense. I thanked the still smoldering corpse of the technician, picked my wallet up from the tray labeled "place no objects here" and started my career as serial killer. | 2015-03-29T07:21:10 | 2015-03-29T06:10:52 | 213 | 83 |
[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. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T05:07:39 | 803 | 152 |
[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police". | For weeks I had realized that our “routine” family dinner involved an urgent warning before it. It took way more time than I’m willing to admit to finally decipher his warning, but I’d done it. I was still at dinner with him and my sister. We were eating steak and potatoes. My sister talked to the empty echo chamber about her issues at school and life at large. Like usual, my dad’s grey face was down towards his food while he ate, silently. I didn’t even pretend to listen to my sister. I just say there stunned. He didn’t seem to notice.
He’s probably done the same warning for years and years, and we’ve never noticed. I hadn’t heard him speak in over ten years, since the night my mother died. She had gone out to the grocery store and never come back. According to the police, her car had gone on a real roller coaster ride before she ended up upside down on the side of the interstate. It still makes me sick to think about. That so long ago. Had he been warning us for so long? Why didn’t he just write down the message?
I sat there in quiet, much to the dismay of my chatty sister who excused herself in haste when she realized she was talking to a non-responsive crowd. When she was gone I looked up at my dad and cleared my throat. His sad face looked up from his meal towards me.
I said, “Dad, I can understand sign language now.”
I saw a look of surprise cross his face, more emotion than I’d seen him show in a while.
I said, “I can read your warning message. Have you been doing that for years? What the fuck is wrong?”
Water filled his eyes. Then, I heard a sound I never thought I would hear again. He cleared his throat.
His voice was so hoarse and quiet I could barely hear it. “You, you, you figured it out.” Tears were flowing down his face and dropping into the plate of steak below him.
I shot up. “You’re talking! What the hell! You can talk? What are you? What? You can talk?”
I’d always assumed he lost his speech. I never thought he just chose not to speak.
“Don’t call police”, he said quickly.
I wasn’t going to. I put my hands down on the table. “Okay, uhh I won’t, but you better explain some shit, right now.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t talk unless one of you figured it out,” his voice still rough and slow, “I never imagined it would take ten years. But you’ve, you’ve done it finally.” He looked relieved, almost at peace.
“What are you talking about? I still don’t know anything.”
“When your mother died,” he stopped to think about his words before continuing, “when she left to go to the store. We were fighting.”
“Okay?”
“Her last words, she told me to do something. It was the last thing she ever said. I had to honor her wishes…”
“What?”
“You have to understand that we were fighting. She was angry. She was a sweet woman. I loved her, but she was mad in the moment. I had pissed her off, and I couldn’t just ignore her last words.”
I’m leaning forward over the table by now,“What were the words?”
His breathe was old and damp. “I loved her so much.” He stopped for a minute in thought and made eye contact with me. “Her last words. She said, ‘Stop talking, John, or I’m gonna kill you.’” | In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is.
After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see.
When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway. | 2022-07-21T09:09:48 | 2022-07-21T08:18:57 | 234 | 80 |
[WP] You're an undercover sleeper agent on a mission, living a normal life under a new identity while awaiting further orders from the higher ups. Unbeknownst to you, several years into the mission the management at the agency has gone through a few replacements, causing them to forget about you. | I woke up, shut off the annoying alarm, and rolled out of my slightly broken-down bed. I turned on the coffee pot, downed one, put the other in a travel mug, and left my modest two bedroom house in my fuel efficient mid-sized sedan to take a fifteen-minute commute to my boring office job. This had been my routine for almost eleven years. Today, it finally changed.
*We know. Call us.*
The note sat on my desk like a coiled snake, like a mousetrap ready to snap if I dared to disturb it. I glanced around my cubicle, then out into the office halls. No one was looking in my direction, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. I could search my papers, my computer, my pile of desk knick-knacks, somehow try to find a bug or a camera or figure out whose phone number was on the note, but did it even matter?
They *knew*.
I drew in a shaky breath, then grabbed the note and shoved it in my pocket. There was no point in leaving that behind for someone to find. Still, I needed to be fast. Time was of the essence if I was to be extracted and brought to safety.
I speed walked to my boss’s door, trying to look like I was in a hurry but not overly concerned.
“Hey, Jim?” I asked, knocking on the frame of the open door.
“Hm?” Jim didn’t bother to look up from his papers.
“I need to take a half day,” I lied. “Toothache. Think I’ll go to see my dentist.”
“Hm.”
I took that as a dismissal and ran out to the parking lot. I barely reached my car before the panic set in.
I must have sat in the driver’s seat hyperventilating for at least five minutes before I had the presence of mind to turn on the engine and start driving, even if I didn’t have a destination in mind.
It had been eleven years with no word from my handler. I had long since forgotten the emergency procedures we set in place. Finally, my mind settled on a plan:
*Go to the embassy.*
They knew the keywords, at least. They would be able to take me in, hide me from capture, and hopefully put me in contact with the Agency. It was my only hope.
My knuckles were white throughout the entire drive. When I finally arrived at the embassy and released the steering wheel, there were indents where my fingers had dug into it.
I jumped out of my car and walked straight to a security guard.
“The rooster does not crow at midnight.”
The guard’s brow furrowed. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
I cleared my throat. “The *rooster* does not *crow* at *midnight.*”
“Ma’am, this is an embassy. We don’t have livestock here.”
I glared at him. “The ROOSTER DOES NOT CROW at MIDNIGHT!”
“Ma’am, please lower your voice. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh, for- I’m with the Agency. I need help.”
“Agency?” The guard frowned. “Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been asking for this whole time!”
The guard did not respond but instead led me into the building straight past security. We arrived at an unmarked room. He opened the door, pushed me in, and then locked it behind me.
While I had not seen this exact room before, I was familiar with its purpose. It was a standard interrogation/debriefing room with dim lighting, two chairs, a steel table, and one-way glass taking up an entire wall.
I only hoped that today it would be used for debriefing rather than interrogating.
I sighed and sat down in one of the chairs.
It took almost an hour for someone else to enter the room. Although he looked like an Agency type, complete with a dark suit and close-cropped haircut, I had not met him before.
He took off his jacket, laid it carefully on the back of the chair, sat down, and stared at me for a moment
“Who are you?” he asked abruptly.
“My name is Emily Grace. I’m a field agent with the Agency. I was sent here as part of an undercover operation almost eleven years ago, code-named ‘Vasco’. think my cover was blown today.”
“Emily Grace, you say? Well, Emily, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t quite believe you.”
“Believe me? What do you mean?” I felt a knot of fear form in my stomach. “You *have* to believe me!”
“I don’t *have* to do anything. My duties are to protect and serve the-”
“Sir, with all due respect, can I speak to Director Browning? He knows who I am.”
“Director Browning was fired over ten years ago.”
My mouth gaped open. “What?”
“Exactly. So I find it a little bit too convenient that you happened to go undercover precisely *before* he left the agency.”
“What- what about records? There has to be an electronic trail somewhere!”
The agent snorted. “Browning was fired because the records were wiped when he was in charge.”
“Let me guess, over ten years ago?”
“Precisely. Now tell me-” the agent stood suddenly and slapped his hands on the steel table- “who do you work for?”
I put my head in my hands. “My handler was Vance DuBois. He’ll remember me. Bring in Vance!”
“DuBois was killed in a car crash seven years ago. Try again.”
“Kevin James? He was the-”
“I never trust a man with two first names. Besides, he’s working as an independent contractor now.”
“Is there anyone here who might have been working in the agency eleven years ago?” I demanded.
The agent sneered at me. “You’re grasping at straws. No one remembers you because you don’t work for the Agency and you never-”
“Is Ethyl still in records?” I interrupted.
“Oh, you know Ethyl? She’s just lovely, isn’t she?” the agent asked, suddenly friendly. “I’ll bring her right in.”
Five minutes later, an elderly woman slowly crept into the room. She recognized me immediately.
“Oh, Emily, dear! Lovely to see you again. How are your parents?” she asked.
“Not sure, Ethyl. I haven’t heard from them in eleven years,” I sighed.
“Ah, that’s right, you’re part of ‘Vasco’, aren’t you? That Browning sure was a little spitfire.”
“You know this woman, Ethyl?” the agent asked.
“Oh, of course! Emily is a delight. I was so sad when she had to go undercover. Is she finally coming back?” Ethyl asked cheerfully.
The agent sighed. “That will be all, Ethyl. Thank you for the help.”
“Oh, any time, dear! Please, feel free to stop by my desk and grab some caramels!”
When Ethyl had finally left the room, the agent sat back down and slumped in the chair.
“So you’re really real.”
“I really am,” I replied. “And I think I’m really in trouble with this blown cover.”
“What makes you think your cover was blown?” he asked.
I pulled the note from my pocket and smoothed it out on the table. “This was on my desk this morning at my cover job.”
The agent took the note and read it before pulling out a phone.
“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” I asked, panicked.
The agent shrugged. “‘Vasco’ has probably been a dead op for ten years now. What could they possibly know?” He dialed the number and handed me the phone. “Here you go. Find something juicy for us. Maybe there’s a leak!” He almost looked excited at the prospect of making something good come from this whole debacle.
The phone rang for a moment before someone picked up.
“Hello, this is Jess. How may I help you?”
“Jess?” I gasped. “Why did you leave that note on my desk?”
“Emily, is that you? There’s been some juicy gossip going around about you!” Jess said.
“What gossip?” I asked suspiciously
“Well, rumor has it that you’re getting a promotion, so I asked Jim, and he said to keep it quiet but now I know! So I wanted to be the first to say [congratulations](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)!” | Codename: Zephyrus.
The Agency told me about others, similarly like myself. They said that there would come a time where *all* of us would be 'activated', but until then we were to assume 'normal lives' – that is, the ones assigned to us before the dormancy took place. In all honesty, it still baffled me as to how the Agency could even *trust* us to be loyal to the end when they can't establish regular contact nor check up on us.
It could just be that I have no idea that they had been doing so unbeknownst to anyone. But I could trust in my own training and instinct that no one ever did. At least no one professional I could ever pick up.
***
I was minding the store when a rather large man arrived. He moved through the door silently, in fact he caught me by surprise when his shadow loomed over my tiny figure.
He looked to be foreign. His eyes were crystal blue, something very distinct from the majority of the locals' black or dark brown shades. His blonde hair was also very noticeable in a country of dark-haired people. The only thing that made it clear he wasn't a tourist was his getup. He had a plain long-sleeved shirt and black trousers on – perfectly normal for a working Joe in a weekday.
"How can I help you?" I said with a customer-service friendly smile.
"Hello there, may I have a look at this item?" the large man pointed towards a particular merchandise on the glass-display in front of me.
"Ah," I slid the glass door open and picked up the item, "this is a Greek-themed figurine of the God–"
"... of wind, Zephyrus."
"Huh? Ah yes. Zephyrus, the Greek God of West Wind. One of the calmest of the Four Gods of Wind also called–"
"Anemoi. I know."
My heart sank. This was exactly what I had been waiting for a very long time. The man could easily pass for a fellow countryman, but it's never wise to assume such things. In fact I should've been more careful and kept my calm throughout the exchange.
*He's a customer. I'm an employee. That shall be it.* I chanted to myself repeatedly before resuming the interaction.
"I see you're quite the knowledgeable one, aren't you?" I said with a thousand-watt smile.
"Yes. I was told that the calmest wind shall rise and blow everything, come spring."
"Eh?"
"Come spring. I was told that Zephyrus was a messenger of spring."
*Another code* or so I presumed. It was truly a riveting experience. We were never told of what exactly would be the trigger, as choosing a random word would be rather dangerous to the whole integrity of the mission. A set of words and/or sentences could be safer, but also a bit more complex and just as dangerous if not carefully laid out. So in effect, I was left to my own devices as to what the man might be implying.
That was – of course – *if* he truly had been sent to activate me.
"Sorry, I didn't know about that, sir!"
"No problem. *None of you* do, of course..."
I nervously laughed him off. Though I must say that something about the nonchalant response made it very rude. Either that was a code or just a bloody condescending remark.
"So do you accept foreign currencies?"
"Sorry?"
"I said, do you accept foreign currencies? I seemed to have ran out of the local currency, might you do me a favour instead?"
"I see," I looked over to the nodding manager who had been watching the entire exchange closely, "that would be... USD65!"
"Ah, yes. Lovely."
With that, he handed me three twenty-dollar bills and one five-dollar bill. After I gave him the receipt and the plastic with the item inside, he lightly grabbed my hand. I froze up at this sudden development, which was conveniently unnoticed by the manager as well as other people around me.
"Don't forget. Come spring, the wind shall rise and blow everything away, Zephyrus," he whispered.
I was ready to break everything down. My training didn't prepare me for such an activation. I had to make sure if I were to be an effective agent for the Agency.
"Meet me in the alley to the right-side of the door. I'll be there in a minute."
With a nod, he left and I was able to breath once more.
***
"So, you are my handler?" I said immediately after seeing him lighting a ciggie.
"Agent Zephyrus, guess it's your lucky day."
He offered some ciggie to me but I refused them. It was more of a statement than out of principle – trying to show that I do not completely trust this stranger. Of course he let it slipped by without any question and continued huffing the white smokes.
"The Agency would like you to do your duty. I'm assured that you've been briefed on your part of the mission?"
"Yes. I'd be the triggerwoman and lead specialist, but I don't know what the *exact* mission would be–"
"Don't worry. That's where I come in."
A brief pause occurred in between his exhaling of white smokes from his mouth. The silence added to the tension. The smell of tobacco and tar filled the air, disgustingly choking me slowly. I didn't understand why he was being rather coy about the damn thing.
"So?" I started.
"So?" He dully retorted.
"I don't understand... that's it? Because I need to head back in and finish my shift!"
"Ah, well you go ahead and do that. I'd come into contact again with you in a bit."
"How long is 'a bit'?"
"Don't know, really. Could be a day or two. Even weeks from now. Just keep yourself at the ready and perk your ears up, Zephyrus."
"What about others?"
"Others?"
"Like me, agents. Are they any other who are on standby? Maybe–"
"Look. It's been four years of me being a handler. You're the... fifth? Sixth? I forgot. But all I know is that they come to me and I come to the agents. Mission takes place, done. I go to the next one."
My eyes lit up at the mention of 'next one'. I would've screamed bloody murder but I knew it would be rather inappropriate and dangerous given the situation. So I kept to my customer service training and simply brushed it off with a polite smile.
"I see. But will there be others *now*?"
He threw down the half-finished cigarette and stomped on it rather harshly before responding.
"Maybe. I heard there was supposed to be a good tactician and operator. He worked in a store. In fact..."
He then took out his phone and opened up an image. When I saw the picture of the man in the picture, my jaw dropped to the floor.
"... *the manager*?"
"Was he? Oh yeah, I guess you're right. So I'd come back again to the store when I got the news. Don't make too much fuss about this, yeah?" | 2020-08-17T11:03:55 | 2020-08-17T10:51:10 | 74 | 18 |
[WP] You are hooked up to the machine. You are the test subject, the first person to have their conciousness uploaded. They flick the switch... | "Okay, I'm ready," you say.
You're thrilled. 15 years you've been working on this. Now you'll be entering a world where you create anything you can think of, all at will. You'll be inside the machine. You'll BE the machine. Your reality will be whatever you want it to be.
You shiver again with the pure excitement of it, and wait for the team to execute the command.
Silence.
More than silence, an absence of noise.
You turn your head and see the lab technicians locked in place, utterly frozen. One of them is pushing the big red button that should have started the transfer. The button is lit. It should have worked.
You nudge one of the hundreds of sensors glued to your head. Nope, still there.
You move your hands in front of your eyes. Yes, still in your body.
You snap your fingers. The click is loud in the silence, but there is no echo.
Everything is frozen.
You hear something, now. It's a voice, echoing in reverse through your brain, as if remembering the voice instead of hearing it.
"Dammit..."
What? Did you hear it, or did you imagine it?
A second voice, slightly softer, asks, "What is it?"
"We got an emulator in 37. The whole thing is locked up."
You look around. But there's nothing. Where is your best friend? He said he'd be here.
You hear / sense / remember the voice again, "I'm going to pull her out. We'll give her a coupon for next time."
You feel yourself getting *pulled* out of the room, light stretches, figures deform and elongate as if getting sucked into a bright light growing at the center of your vision.
You come to, awake in a laboratory with a complex helmet on your head. You turn your head and your stiff neck aches in protest. You see rows of people sitting in similar machines, each with helmets on their heads. Sensations flood your body. Noise of cooling fans, smells of electric heat and disinfectant, sounds of a busy building and streets outside, and itching. Itching everywhere. You reach, without thinking, to scratch your crotch.
You freeze in panic as you find you aren't a man any more.
It all comes rushing back then. Kelsey. That's you. Not James. Kelsey.
"Miss Frederickson?" the voice asks, now it's in your ears. "Miss Frederickson," a technician says, "I apologize but your evening's *Quick Life* experience is now over. It appears your *Quick Life* simulation attempted to start a second simulation *inside* the *Quick Life* simulator. Basically it tried to create a whole second world running inside of itself. It crashed the whole pod. Too much processing demand."
You remember now. A whole life in just an evening, the brochures said. This was a reward for meeting your sales quota at Yoyodyne. Right. Kelsey.
The technician continues. "Of course we will be refunding you for the cost of tonight's service and we'll be glad to include a coupon for next time. As soon as you feel oriented again, the exit is on your left."
| They screened me. Well, to be perfectly honest, they screened every test subject that was to be. They screened for details such as sociopathy, any mental disorders, etc. You get the point. In case the consciousness downloaded onto the machine went haywire, tried to entrap everyone. Now, of course, the scientists were smart. No internet access linked to the computer, so we couldn't just immediately start doing some rather malicious stuff. But that doesn't matter, that's simply context.
Now, they happened to succeed with me. Interestingly enough, I was #7. Again, that doesn't matter. But, as the words "*UPLOAD COMPLETE*" flashed upon their eyes, they knew they had succeeded in the first form of possible immortality. Now, was the machine working correctly?
They flicked the switch.
And I awake.
A webcam was connected to my central, I could see the room (albeit a bit pixely. Now, of course, the scientists were smart. They fixed it later.) They told me everything that was going to happen beforehand. I will activate, the text-to-speech should activate after a few seconds, and the microphone that allows me to hear would activate after a few minutes.
The first thing I saw were scientists, eagerly waiting. There were about 20 in the large room. Some of them had a grin in their face, clearly impatient. Some of them seemed sleepy. So, I decided to speak up.
"*GREGORY HAS AWOKEN. A B C D E F G.*"
At that moment, I still couldn't hear anything. But, I saw scientists cheering as if their favourite football (British) team had won the Premier League. Some were crying. Tears of Joy.
Now, of course, the scientists were smart... | 2015-06-15T10:50:08 | 2015-06-15T09:39:30 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags. | "Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.* | “It’s not that I’ve given up,” Musk said, “I just need to know if it’s really worth my time.”
“But isn’t that a fatalist view?” I asked.
Elon had that grin on his face, the one he gets when he knows he has the upper hand intellectually.
“That’s exactly what it is.”
“Again, that seems in direct conflict with everything you’ve been doing for most of your life.”
“Look, if I’m right, then none of that, or anything really, matters. Our future is just a bunch of computer code waiting to be run. If climate change is going to do us in, or nuclear war, or the rise of artificial intelligence, then it’s already in the program. It’s just a matter of when that code gets triggered. If that’s the case then I’d rather spend my remaining days on a beach with scantily-clad women and drinks with umbrellas in them.”
His arrogance, camouflaged as authoritative by his many accomplishments, was being fueled by the dramatic rise in support he had gained when news of his plan went public. But it was support he hadn’t anticipated: religious groups looking for validation.
Some saw him as a messiah here to explain the mystery of their god or gods. Others took his experiment as an attack on their holiest of holies. “You are declaring war on the Creator! The wrath of the counter-attack will kill us all!”
The scientific community, not surprisingly, laughed at Musk’s idea and painted him as a hero turned villain.
“Why don’t we just blow up the moon? We can disprove tides!”
“Let’s make the Sun disappear and see how long it takes for light and gravity to reach the earth! One more test of General Relativity couldn’t hurt!”
A cluster of Neutron Bombs was to be detonated near the Sun, the location chosen to minimize any gravitational effects on other celestial bodies. It would be a shame to disprove his theory and then be wiped out by an asteroid knocked off its orbit by the test.
The theory was that neutrons, subatomic particles in the nucleus of every atom, were the Universal Binary Bits. A massive generation of new neutrons, more bits, would overload the simulation device just enough to cause lag.
Testing for this lag required an enormous engineering effort that Musk self-funded. The measuring devices, nicknamed Toto-1 and Toto-2, were massive cubes of lead with an atomic clock at the center, and they were to be placed on opposite sides of the Earth 5 miles down in the ocean. They would be protected enough, Musk predicted, to detect as much as 500ms of lag, though he expected something in the 150-200ms range.
When the news of Musk’s intentions broke it was already too late. SpaceX had knowingly been sending pieces of the cluster bomb up with each launch of the Falcon9. Everything was on auto-pilot and there was no override switch. Musk’s Bomb was going to explode whether humanity was ready for it or not.
I asked him, in those final minutes before the detonation, if he was having any second thoughts. “Just the ones I’ve been programmed to have” he responded with that grin. Confident to the end.
He strode across the stage in front of his SpaceX employees and viewers from all around the globe. “Today” he started, “we seek an answer to a question from antiquity: what is real? In 10 more minutes we just might know.”
There were 4 prominent counters on the screen behind him. One for the detonation, another for how long the results from the detonation will take to reach Earth, 8 minutes, 20 seconds, and the other 2 counters were the clocks of Toto-1 and Toto-2.
The anticipation grew as the detonation clock counted down to zero. Musk was pacing back and forth on the stage gazing up at the screen and listening to the chatter of Mission Control.
Right before it hit zero, Musk froze.
Mission Control squawked “Primary Detonation Confirmed” and, just like that, Musk was gone.
Well, not gone, more like displaced. His remains were found sticking out of the concrete wall Stage Left. He had proven his theory but paid with his life.
Horror filled the room as employees began to realize what had happened. The bomb had created lag, but only for Elon.
Estimating the distance between his last position on stage and his place of death put the lag closer to 500ms. In that time the rest of the Milky Way Galaxy continued on its merry way and left Musk briefly stuck in the past.
When he re-synced with the rest of us he was 60 feet away in the wall.
The confusion that followed made everyone ignore the second counter for receiving the detonation results. When it hit zero the screen went blank.
What followed struck fear into the heart of every man, woman, and child watching. Slowly displayed on the screen in large, blocky red letters was one word: N00b
—-
The aftermath was apocalyptic. Scientists reluctantly revealed they had known we were in a simulation all along, with research going back 30 years to back up their claims. The psychological affect of this news destroyed the very fabric of society. Humanity’s new mantra was “If it’s all just a game, then why should I play by the rules?”
It has been 4 years since that fateful day. We are slowly rising up from those dark days that followed, but we haven’t seemed to learn our lesson. The United States has detonated a Lag Bomb much larger than Elon’s with a primitive targeting device. That’s what gave us the new Las Vegas Crater ridged with neon signs.
With the Russians and the Chinese developing their own Lag Bombs we can only hope that next month’s peace negotiations are successful. If not, all of our code may be deleted.
All Hail The Great Programmer! Killer of N00bs!
| 2016-08-19T15:30:37 | 2016-08-19T15:29:37 | 64 | 13 |
[WP] A superhero has a split personality, with neither his hero half nor his civilian half knowing that they are the same person. The rest of the city has figured it out, however, and is doing their best to keep his secret from himself. | The greatest power of all is one that all humans possess. Call if foolishness, Zen, or simply not giving a shit - the end result remains the same no matter what the circumstance. Humans returned back to normalcy no matter what their past.
And it was this power that brought me and dozens of other people to be sitting in a coffee shop the morning after a giant dragon had tried to open a portal to its home-world two blocks away. I watched as giant trucks came out of the small exclusion zone, carrying pieces of the dragon to that secret underwater facility off the coast.
I frowned as I sipped my coffee. Now how did I know about that? I had no idea where that thought had come from - I definitely hadn't been there. Perhaps I'd read it?
I took out my phone and browsed through the headlines. "Giant Dragon defeated by our beloved Scion. Cause of Attack unknown." Unknown? No, I definitely knew the dragon had been trying to open a portal. I was absolutely certain of it. I concentrated, trying to think. How did I know?
Suddenly a sharp pain emanated from the back of my spine traveled like a wave through my head.
Next thing I knew hands were grabbing me, and there was some yelling.
"Q-quiet, please," I said as loudly as I could manage.
Immediately someone made a hushing motion, and all the noise stopped - thank god.
I opened my eyes and blinked several times against the sun coming from the windows. Almost everyone at the coffee shop was staring at me. Oh my god, they were all staring at *me.*
I looked up to see a man with blond hair and hazel eyes holding me off the floor - his eyes wide. "Are you all right, err, ma'am?" he asked.
I nodded. "Y-yeah," I said, "just fine. I don't know what happened to me. I was just looking at them wheel the pieces of the dragon somewhere and..."
"It must've been the heat," the man said and several other murmured their assent.
The cafe was reasonably cool, though, but I just nodded as I felt my cheeks heat up. They were *still* looking. "I-I'm fine, now, thank you," I said to the man, "please let me go."
The man flinched back, as if I was a live wire. "O-of course, ma'am, I meant no offense."
"None taken," I said as I smoothed out my skirt, making sure to look at the ground and not at the people who I were still staring. That's when I noticed the broken coffee cup and the spilled coffee.
"Oh," I said, and I knew my blush had just deepened. I went over to the counter to get some tissues to clean up the mess, when one of the employees stopped me.
"Please, ma'am, it's no issue, we'll manage," the dark haired woman, Paula, said with a smile.
"Oh no," I said, "it's completely my fault, I can't have you cleaning up my messes," I said trying to reach past her.
She put a single hand on my shoulder and smiled, almost sadly, "You do it for us, ma'am."
I blinked at that, at a loss for what to say. My morals however, were dwarfed by my anxiety at being the center of attention. So I just gave her a nod, left twenty five dollars at my table and hurried out of there as fast as I could.
I put the strange incident behind me - as all humans do. Be it foolish or wise.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| *Oh how I wish I could be like them...Carrying about their normal lives, assured that someone will save them. And they aren't wrong. I've been graced by the power of the Z crystal, and I don't intend to waste that blessing. It's not that I don't love this city, no, but by the gods it seems to always be under attack. Every waking moment of my life has been spent fighting monsters and villains that just seem to appear over and over again, endlessly. I can't stand it some days.
 
I've never told anyone this, but I'll drag on a fight against any weak chump dumb enough to threaten my city, just to take in the world out of the corner of my eye; the beautiful shades of red and orange of the trees off in the horizon, the rich blue of the ocean just by the shore, the...Ah, yes. There it is. The inevitable look of fear in some civilian's eyes, reminding me of my duty at hand. "Rest assured!" I tell them. And they do. They rest. And I work. Constantly. I don't eat. I don't sleep. All. I. Ever. Do. Is fight. This is truly Hell.*
 
---
What...the....Hell? I blink and look around. I'm standing on the sidewalk outside the bank I work at, and some stranger is staring at me.
 
"What?!" I bark at them. I'm not usually this aggressive, but my body aches for some reason and people have been staring at me a lot lately, especially after I catch myself coming out of a daydream.
 
The stranger keeps quiet, so I huff and head back into the bank. I glance over to forest on the edge of town, feeling strangely compelled to visit some day soon. A buzz on my phone snaps me out of it. My gods, is it already 4 o clock? Where the Hell does the time go...
 
---
 
Edit: Too good of a prompt to leave empty, so here's my take on it. First time writing any response, so be kind! | 2017-08-04T18:12:34 | 2017-08-04T17:42:39 | 914 | 64 |
[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! | I'm used to it by now. Any human out here gets used to it or they go home. And honestly it's not wrong, not some injustice or bigotry. The suit is a necessity,
The procedure just sucks.
Hoses like everywhere, you feel me? Everywhere. Gasket checks. Pressure checks. Solvents. Primary and secondary pumps. And the adhesives? Well they're worse coming off.
It's kinda amazing what alien technology has fit into this skin-tight abomination.
The airlock cycles me into naked vacuum. "Coming across Scall."
"Come across Buddy." The far door opens.
I jump. Bright lights come on from every direction, sterilizing every surface of my skin suit.
In the far lock I get scanned to within an inch of Scall's life and get the all's clear before the airlock cycles.
The interior is filthy, unlike my own ample quarters.
"Common Scall, you gotta clean this place."
"That's funny, coming from your type, unclean human."
It's banter. But I'm still a little salty from the early wake-up. "What if I cut myself on some of this junk?"
Scall's sensory frills stiffen in excitement and panic.
I run my hand down his usvarse ridge to soothe him. It works a little too well, so before he can get too excited I say "no time for a danger wank. They're here."
I stay out of the negotiation. I'm the trump card.
Scall works the deal. Once the terms are final and both cargoes are verified, I put the crates in the shuttle and head across.
The Lfthiss are notorious. Their cultural bias towards might-makes-right tactics complicate all their agreements. They certainly think we are ready pickings.
I open the cargo doors, point at my chest, and say "scan it bitches" before they can pounce.
Dozens of classification glyphs radiate from the bio-hazard logo on my suit. Colony organism. Aerobic infectious agents. Anarobic infectious agents. Lysing agents. And more, and more, and more.
The Lfthiss don't need to do the scan. Earthlife is infamous. Our peculiar, slow evolution and repeated extinction events complicated our biology beyond mediation.
They sheathe their weapons and transfer the cargo with due diligence. Knowing that I need only crack my seals to doom their ship as a complete loss.
I return to our ship and drop into a navigation station.
Scall leans over me to check a console.
In parting, the Lfthiss salute Scall with a message best translated as "well played"'.
He is flushed, his dorsal spines partially erect. I'm no less aroused, though the suit makes that painfully immaterial.
We're both danger junkies. You have to be in this line of work. But we've gone way past normal here. I let his spines almost snag my fingers as his sharp, venomous jaws knead their their way down my torso.
Nobody understands our partnership, our love. One wrong move and we're both dead.
That's the point.
I trigger the jump.
---
EDITS: all the artifacts and grammar from writing on a phone. | John was, just resigned to his life these days.
He was bundled up in two massively overs sized brown jackets that hid him from top to toe. He was following his what he guesses would be his friend now Jozu as they walked through a massive bazaar market on some trash junk world in god only knows what part if the galaxy.
*Why are there so may junk worlds?* thought John.
Jozu was, well, odd. The best way John could describe him was a cross between a silver back gorilla and an octopus. However the creatures he met had never seen a silver back gorilla or octopus so explaining all that very quickly became tiring.
Jozu peaked back at John "Keep up and keep a low profile."
Just then, something or someone stepped on a trailing part of John's jacket, which did a fairly good job of removing both of them and having John fall on his back side, garnering the attention of those close by.
His cover was blown. There was startled gasps and the tell tale signs of the beginning of a panic outbreak. A creature with 5 snakes for a head pointed at John and screamed.
Jozu did not look happy, but then quickly composed himself as the situation demanded.
Jozu quickly came to aid John, stepping close, raising his giant gorilla like arms in an effort to calm them all.
"It's okay! He is mine and well trained! No need to be scared. Bob Marley is harmless" Jozu spoke to the crowd.
John sighed, sat up and spoke, "My name is John. I was listening to Bob when you abducted me". Per usual, Jozu did not listen. | 2020-03-05T22:25:23 | 2020-03-05T22:06:05 | 139 | 13 |
[WP] The creation of Earth is finally finished. The Creator gathered all of you, his lesser gods, to be given a designation of choice. The first god requested, and was granted, that he be made the god of the oceans. The second god became the god of the underworld. It is now your turn... | "Give me the dicks!"
Steve, the lesser god, shouted from the back of the heavenly auditorium.
"Say that one more time, Steve, I don't know if I'm hearing your correctly," The Creator said into his heavenly microphone.
"The dicks. I want to be god of the dicks. The assholes? The shitheads? Everyone who sucks, come on, let me rule them," Steve shouted back.
"Steve have you browsed your pamphlet? There are still plenty of prime lesser god real-estate available. Why not be god of the animals?" The Creator suggested.
"Fuck animals, man. They just shit, fuck and walk in circles. I don't want to be bored all eternity so I want to be god of the dicks. I got it all figured out. I'll encourage and reward them, if they get their ass beat or worse, then, hey, it's a lesson," Steve said like a dick.
The other gods began to squirm and murmur.
"I don't want to be god of the oceans anymore," the ocean god, Rick, said. "I want to be god of the clowns."
"Rick, there are no take backs. Oceans are really cool, much cooler than dicks," The Creator was getting worked up. "Steve, by granting you this position, I'm admitting that the people I created will always be dicks. Do you know what kind of message that sends? I want to encourage peace, love and happiness not being a dick."
"Listen, you're not dumb. You know what you just said is full of shit. The second you created more than one person you knew there were going to be dicks. Let all the other fairies be gods of the grass and missionary sex. I got this."
The Creator picked up his microphone and laid down the law.
"From this day on you are, Steve god of the dicks. Let all dicks give thanks to you, Steve."
Thanks, fuck off shitheads," said Steve, god of the dicks, and exited like only a godly dick can. | "SEX! I WANT TO BE THE GOD OF SEX!"
"Are you suuure that's what you want?"
"YES!"
"Well, I mean, for one it can get pretty nasty."
"GOOD!"
"And for another, and I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, you are not the best looking guy."
"DON'T CARE, I CALLED IT!"
"Ugh...you know what? I think I'm gonna make you the God of masturbation."
"NOPE, SEX!"
"Sigh....fine....you're the God of sex."
"WOOHOO!" | 2015-01-07T08:07:02 | 2015-01-07T07:26:29 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | When I saw Jeremy sitting against the wall with a hole in his arm, I knew who it was.
Those three idiots called themselves "SWAT Ops", and I was the "class 8" villain that the league assigned to them as training. It was a nice job, pretending to be some Doofenshmirtz impersonator to help new heros get used to their powers. It was fun, paid okay, and kept my city clean of major villains.
But these three... they were too much.
Cannon, a cyborg who fired energy blasts out of his arms, tended to use pigeons for target practice, and I had made sure to report it to the league when he started ignoring bystanders in our fights. He was the leader, and made sure people knew it.
Riot, whose powers allowed him to create shields of varrying sizes and materials depending on what he could access. He started out fine, but I had my doubts once he started using parts of buildings for his powers.
And Zapper, who could fire off small bolts from his body, was only about as stronger as a human tazer, until he started siphoning power from nearby buildings to amp up his voltage and amps.
They had started being trouble, but I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But this? Attacking a civilian worker in a bakery? MY BAKERY?! JUST CAUSE HE TOLD THEM TO LEAVE WHEN THEY WERE MAKING SOPHIE UNCOMFORTABLE?!! That was the limit.
We met up in the usual park we had our fights in, but I wasn't wearing the costume I usually did.
"What's with the get up, Breezie? You put on a little too much extra weight for the lab coat?" Cannon said, getting a laugh from his buddies.
"..." I merely kept walking towards them, my armor making light clanging noises with every step.
"Where's your newest gadget big guy? You forget it back at your ~secret lair~? We can wait for you to go get it!" Zapper said, a smirk on his face.
"Okay, what's with the wind today? You'd think a super-" That was the last thing Cannon said before a massive gust of wind slammed a tree into him.
"WHAT THE-" Zapper began, before getting slammed into a fence.
"What's going on?!" Riot shouted, barely standing his ground against the hurricane that was assaulting him.
"...My name isn't Breezie. It's Typhoon. Make sure you remember it next time you attack an innocent civilian." I told them, using my powers to guarantee that they could hear me.
"What are you talking abou- AAAAAH!!" Cannon screamed in pain as a blade of wind severed his left leg.
"CANNON!" Riot shouted, rushing to his leader, before he heard my voice right begind him.
"Watch your own back, dumbass." He heard, before he was trapped in a blender of wind.
"You sound so much like Goliath did in our last battle." I told him, a grin spreading across my face.
"I remember you now. You're the one who was slaughtering high ranking heros, like that class 3 Lancelot guy." Zapper said, fear evident in his voice.
"Congrats kiddo, you win. You wanna know what your prize is?" I said, a bright and bubbly smile on my face.
Before I ripped an eye out of his head.
"Partial blindess!"
He screamed, clutching at his now empty eye socket.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" Cannon shouted, before the winds all stopped at once.
"If I'm a monster, what does that make you?" I said to him, before his head was ripped from his shoulders.
"You don't target civilians unless you're a villain. And I'm allowed to kill any villain who enters MY city without permission. No one's gonna miss you."
Their screams became the soundtrack for my dreams for awhile after that. I have a new group now. Far more polite, kind, and good at doing their jobs correctly. I'm keeping an eye out though.
Can't let anyone hurt my employees. | Harold was lying on the floor, bleeding from the bullet hold on his shoulder.
“Are you the boss here?” Thuderia asked.
“Yes,” I replied, my anger starting.
“Give us the money,” Flame Lord snarled.
“Why?”
“Because,” Anne began, “we’re your Trio of Salvation. We deal with the super villain Blackout. Now give us the money.”
“No,” I said, and threw them out telekinetically.
I wasn’t finished. I repaired Harold wound, and created some new blood for him. He should live, but I’ll get him to the hospital later.
The Trio got up, with great rage.
“The fuck?” Thuderia growled, covering her face.
“I am Blackout. And you crossed a damn line.”
“Hah. Blackout? You’re just a ‘comically incompatant’ super villa-“ Flame Lord tried to say, but ripping of the bottom of his jaw shut him up.
“I’ve never been all that interested in taking over the city. I’ve only continued as a hobby to prevent worse villains from showing up. Turns out they showed up today!”
I kicked Anne to the tops of the buildings, and brought my leg down on top of Thunderia.
“Before I was known as Blackout,” I continued, beating these fakes to a pulp, “I was Creator! The only Hero undefeated! With the power to make new abilitys! I brought down Snatcher! I defeated the duo villains of Time and Space! And all of it was done singlehandedly!” I finished, leaving badly broken but living bodies of these false helpers. “And now I’m bringing you to the Tartarus.”
The shock on their faces was quite something.
“Bu-but we’re heros! Why would we be brought to the jail for extremely dangerous villains?” Thunderia wimpered.
“You shot an innocent man, demanded money at gunpoint, and claim to be innocent?”
They fell silent, realizing their pleas would obly fall on deaf ears.
—-
“Hey Creator!” A cheerful voice cried out.
“Hey Snatcher. I got some new faces for you.”
“Oooh, an S ranked threat?”
“No, some C ranked heros.”
“Damn it, I was hoping for a 4th member. I want to play Mahjong!”
“Not my problem. By the way, I’m currently known as Blackout, a Grade D villain.”
“Grade D? Isn’t that reserved for Villains that can’t actually harm anyone? And private info?”
“I’ve been requested by the city of Lancurk to be their villain, so they report me as grade C. Anyway, I gotta get going, these fucks shot my employee.”
“Bye!!!” | 2022-11-28T19:32:50 | 2022-11-28T14:47:16 | 594 | 414 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | "Why do you humans not die?" I asked my human captor.
"What?" He looks at me confused, at least that's what it looked like to me.
"You are beaten up, shot, bleeding. That is a death sentence for everyone....Everyone except humans. What makes you different?"
My captor laughed. "Is that the reason why you're so afraid of us?"
I looked at him angrily. "This is not funny! Many of the other races, including my own, fear you! Even right now I am afraid as my life is in your hands! But I need to know! I need to know..."
"Well, let me ask you a question. If I hit you with the back of my gun, what would happen to you?"
"Is this relevant?" I asked.
"Just answer the question and I'll tell you what you want." He replied.
"If you hit my head, it would knock me out for a day, if I'm lucky. Any other part would paralyze me for an hour due to the pain. There, you happy now?"
"The pain...I see." He mulled it over. "You guys have extremely low pain tolerance. Getting knocked out will cause them to wake up within a few minutes to a few hours, assuming there aren't any complications. An average human can walk off a punch in the body after a few seconds."
"Immobilize? A few seconds? **YOU** were still charging at us even while being shot!" I retorted.
"Oh, you mean that? I have to admit that it was painful." He said it as a matter of fact.
"That...that was enough pain to kill me 10 times over!"
"A civilian may die of shock from that much pain, but I'm a soldier. I was conditioned to handle that much." He paused.
"And besides, the pain is just there to tell me that I'm still alive. Even now I'm still feeling it." He admitted.
"You willingly subject yourselves to pain?! You guys are insane!" I yelled, terrified at the revelation.
"Hah! As if! That's called training! You guys do train, right?"
"...Yes, we do. We are trained to dodge enemy fire using harmless lasers."
"Harmless lasers- okay you know what? The moment you get back to your people, you better tell them to start training on handling pain. Start with something small then work your way up, considering I'm here to tell you that I'm escorting you back to your people within a few days."
"I-I'm free?" I asked.
"You've been imprisoned for a while, so you didn't know, but we actually managed to get into an agreement with your government to cease the hostilities."
"I...I can't believe it. I'm going to see my family."
"Yeah. I've been a P.O.W. myself in the past so I know what you're feeling right now." He said empathetically as he unlocked my shackles.
He helped me up and said, "Come. One of the terms was that our species exchange information with each other. Is there anything you want to find out?"
I thought hard about it, then answered "I want to handle pain better."
"Huh, I kinda expected that. Alright, let's start with something small like eating something spicy."
"Eating? What does eating have to do with handling pain?" I asked.
"Oh you'll find out in a bit..." He chuckled as he led me to the base's cafeteria. |
When humans reached the final frontier, we realized we weren’t alone quickly. We saw planets and species disappear in a matter of weeks after discovery. The weapons they used were much more advanced then ours, and we thought that we were the under dogs in this fight. Diplomats were sent to communicate, and they never came back. The first battleships were shot down with ease. And so we went into a period of development, creating the most powerful and advanced weapons ever seen. Hundreds of millions were recruited into the armies of Terra, and we made a carefully planned attack on our closest neighbors, the Tau’yu.
Our first true battle shattered the illusions of our underdog status. The navies and armies, hardened by years of paranoia and patriotism, went in with flamethrowers, machine guns, and sometimes even swords. The Tau’yu had little in the way of true structural defense, or armor in general. Our scouts alone, the weakest and lightest units in our army, caused the Tau’yu’s first response force to surrender. We were in shock. These groups we had feared for decades, put trillions into building an army against, felled by the simple resilience of the average human.
The Empire of Terra quickly expanded across the Galaxy, with many worlds and systems surrendering as we arrived. They were researched, cataloged, and eventually given citizenship. We began to disarm our warheads and disassemble our guns. We had done something many had considered impossible. The first Inter-stellar Republic was created, with pathways and trade routes quickly established. But that wasn’t what astonished people like me. Fields of research and science were catapulted into unimaginable places, creating peaceful and favorable worlds. But that still wasn’t what I thought couldn’t happen. It was something far more amazing and wonderful.
The establishment of a peaceful Galaxy from worlds of war. The first true era of peace among humans, as well as those originally feared. The ability of a race who had spent so long at war with itself, to bring peace and prosperity to others. | 2019-10-25T09:19:31 | 2019-10-25T09:09:30 | 131 | 83 |
[WP] "Honey, we have something to tell you..." your dad says, rubbing his head sheepishly. "You're adopted." your other dad butts in. "I know." you respond, your voice calm. Your dads look shocked, but you continue, "Considering that you're a dragon and a giant wolf, and I'm a human, it was obvious. | **Catherine had grown up among kidnapped princesses.**
The dragons of the north regularly took human children for ransom. Naturally, the humans of the south fiercely opposed this…
*…at first.*
but after a thousand years of constant failure, most just decided to make the best of things. Nobles trained their heirs to treat their inevitable kidnappings as a chance to make connections – a sort of combination daycare and NBA program. The dragons embraced this shift, and a kidnapping industry was born, replete with different flocks offering competitive ransom rates for children turned over.
In her years growing up on the steppe, Catherine lived among the sons and daughters of Kings, Barons, and other such important people. And of course, because rich, powerful people were in short supply (probably due to the constant dragon raids) many of the same children would be brought back again and again. All of them would be held, for a time, until their parents paid up and they were returned home, safely.
All of them, that is, save for Catherine.
Catherine didn’t even remember her human parents – she was kidnapped as a toddler, after all. But nevertheless, she was a sunshine girl with an unbreakable smile. Above all, she loved nothing more to be of help to the people around her. No chore, nor scraped knee, nor plea for assistance ever went unanswered by her. But though her optimism never faltered, each passing year began to weigh on Catherine.
Why had no one come for her, like the other children? Why was she not wanted?
Eventually, the other children caught on to her dilemma. In spite of her disposition and all her acts of service, she was wanted by no one and had no power to offer. Soon the bullying started. As bullying so often goes, while most of the children did not take part, all turned a blind eye. Their collective silence stung Catherine more than any thrown stick or mean word.
Bullying by itself, Catherine could shoulder; the bigger problem was her kidnappers. When her captors realized no ransom was forth coming, they had no more use for her. They refused to feed Catherine and ignored her every request. Twice, they had flown her into the wild and dropped her off intending to eject her from the cave. Nevertheless, she persisted. Each time, she found her way back into the cave under cover of darkness. She begged food from more sympathetic children to survive, still wearing a tired smile.
But hatred wears on a person like papercuts on the soul, and strong as she was, Catherine was no different. The third and final time she was abandoned, her little heart broke. The girl sobbed out in the darkness. Crushed under the weight of being completely unwanted.
​
**Draco was not having a good day.**
His heartwarming coming-out story had come to an abrupt halt after he mentioned his boyfriend was a wolf of the west. His parents immediately threw him out and cut contact (“Not because you’re gay, but because you’re a f\*rry!”). In truth, he mourned the idea of family more than his actual family. His parents had never made him feel that we was welcome or wanted. But oh, how even now he wished they would.
Still, even with a fresh wound,he forced on a tired smile. He was on the clock, with co-workers not far away, and that meant he was only allowed to be strong.
All dragons needed to be strong, of course, but a *gay* dragon has to be more that. A gay dragon has to *represent*. To exist openly, as a professional, means never giving anybody in power a reason to doubt *your kind*. Things had gotten more accepting over time, but a lifetime of papercuts still trialed behind him. A lifetime of hiding, and isolation, and missed youth.
From above, he heard Catherine's cries, and flew down to investigate. He landed in a flower field, by a sobbing girl dressed in rags. His heart ached for her – she looked so small and cold. He raised a wing to shield her from the wind.
“What’s wrong, little one?”
It took some time for her to get out the words. Even then, they came out choked, and staggered. “Why don’t they want me?”
Draco recognized the girl. Catherine was not a charge of his flock, but she had by now become somewhat infamous in the kidnapper community. The girl no one wanted. The girl who always clawed her way back. Draco was appalled to realize they’d just left her to die like this.
“What do you mean?”
“The ransom!” She stammered out between sobs. “The ransom never came! Why don’t my parents want me?”
“Because,” Draco’s voice cracked. He didn’t understand why he was having trouble keeping it under control. “Because I’M your father!” It was an impulsive lie, but in the moment it felt right.
What child deserves to feel he is unwanted?
What child deserves to feel like he has nowhere to turn to?
Catherine was so taken back, her sobbing momentarily stopped. “You’re… you’re my…?”
“I-I just,” his vision was getting blurry now, “I needed some time to get the funds together. That’s all. That’s all.”
Catherine ran forward and hugged his snout, crying into his brow. She was old enough to know it wasn’t true, of course. But in the moment, it didn’t matter. For the first time in her life, she had one other person in her corner. A dragon had come to save her from the night. Like a real princess.
The one hug was enough to dispel all doubt from Draco’s mind. “I’m bringing you home," he announced, couching so she could climb onto his back. "I'm bringing you home, and we’ll never be apart again.”
As Catherine clamored on, he craned his neck around to get another look at her. The girl was still dripping tears, but already she was smiling again. It was rather infectious, Draco found. He saw in her eyes a lifetime of love. A lifetime of happiness, and acceptance, and opportunity. A lifetime he had lost.
...But still had a chance to give *her*. | “No” dad says, “That’s nothing special. There’s a ritual you can use to give anyone a human form.”
Startled, I reply, “But you’re both men!”
“Yes, but I’ll have you know that I’m a Master Alchemist; gender switching is apprentice level stuff.” Replied dad.
Father smiled, “Yeah, remember that one time you got stuck as a bitch, mixing lust potion and gender changer?”
“Now, that’s no reason to be rude! I wasn’t that bad!” Dad stated, faking affrontment.
Father grinned, showing draconian teeth; “You know I don’t mean anything by it. I female dog is called a bitch, and I had a lot of fun, playing with you.”
“Well if you didn’t have such a big…”
“Dad! Father! Stop!” I shouted, blushing crimson. “Then what do you mean, I’m adopted?” I asked, hands on my hips.
They paused, and father reached over and pat my head, smiling. “There was a prophecy that the first born child of a particular human Hero would grow up to kill me, or that I would kill them.”
“So,” dad continued, “old sour scales here came to me, lifelong friends that we were, and together we hatched a plan. We killed your parents, and adopted you.”
Father hugged me as I listened, warmed by the touch. “Well, technically, your dad adopted you. Blood Adoption would’ve gotten cancelled out by the Prophecy, so I couldn’t do it.”
Taking turns, dad continued, “And I have raised you as best I can, Blood Adoption requires that I mean you no harm, but you’re a *human*, child. You’re forty years old, already.”
Father squeezed me tighter, I couldn’t breathe. “We’re immortal, youngling. I’m over a thousand years old, and your dad is over four hundred. We’re immortal, and you, you’re not.”
I imagine I was turning blue in the face, pushing for father to let me go, but he was just *so much* stronger. “I’m sorry about this, pup; we both wish that there was some other way.” Dad was whining, crying, as he went on.
It’s so hot here, in my father’s arms. “If you live to be forty two, you’ll kill me, child. I wish we could do anything else.”
My vision is fading, as I hear dad continue. “I can’t be privy to this, the Blood Adoption is going to make me help her. Make sure you let her go and get her a healing pot.”
I hear footsteps and a door closing, but I can’t see anything anymore. It’s so dark, it’s so hot, it’s so suffocating. I hear, I, I think it’s father? “There there, little egg. It will be okay. It will all be over soon.”
Suddenly, the suffocating pressure pushing down on me multiplies, and I hear cracking and popping; the pain is unimaginable.
And then I don’t feel anything at all.
X—-
Time passes; it takes me a while, but a violent, emotional death will leave an imprint— especially if it’s a human, that dies.
“Dad!” I finally manage to manifest, a pale blue.
Dad looks overjoyed, “Pup! I’m so happy to see you’re okay!” He shouts, then staggers as I grapple onto him.
Father comes running in, “Child, it’s so good to see you put your Necromancy training to good use; and as a Poltergeist, too, is it? Not just a ghost?” He smiles at me, but seems to be keeping his distance.
“Father! None of that, now! I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and it’s okay. I forgive you!” I scream, smiling, and I bear hug him. It’s warm, comfortable.
“Wow! That’s tight! And Cold! You’re almost stronger than your dad!” He grunts under my grip.
“Yeah, I seem to have gotten super strength out of my death. Well, that and telekinesis, but I could already do that,” I blush at the praise, and let him go.
Dad bursts into laughter, “One big happy family! Finally, both of us are immortal and you’re already dead!”
“Now don’t be rude, Dad! I can live with un-life!”
“For the record, I’d like to say that I’m amortal, not immortal. It’s that I can’t die, not that I just won’t.”
“Oh, shut up and join the hug, you big sour scales!”
X—-
EDIT: Grammar. | 2021-09-18T21:18:35 | 2021-09-18T20:04:19 | 157 | 40 |
[WP] You're an undercover spy who has been working the same mark for so long you've ended up married with children. You're beginning to think this is your life now until unexpectedly, at family breakfast one morning you finally get the information you've been after | I rolled up my windows and took a deep breath. This was it. I'd waited so long and for a few moments over the years forgotten why I was really here. Then it all came together this morning. I finally got it. Well, not it. I finally got *her*.
The hundred feet from my car to that building seemed like a mile. Every step I took was agony. Earlier that morning, she told me she had to go in to work. I knew nobody else would be there at midnight on Christmas Eve. She probably saw my car drive up and thought I was here to tell her to come back home, to be with her family today. Or maybe to bring her something, maybe just be with her. I wish.
Come to think of it, I wished for a lot of things over the last 16 hours. I wished it didn't have to come to this. I wished she hadn't said anything. I wished I didn't remember the last 3 years. I didn't have a genie, though. I knew what I had to do. She said it. And I would remember the last three years for the rest of my life.
So I accepted it. I put on a smile and waved at the camera with my free hand as I arrived at the gate, trying my best to suppress these feelings. Her voice came out through the little speaker.
"Hey hon, what are you doing here?"
"Well I was on my way back to my secret base to debrief my supervisors about the last three years I spent deep undercover, but I figured I'd stop by and bring you some snacks for the night."
"Ha. Ha."
She buzzed me through the gate from her office. This was it. I almost threw up a dozen times walking through the deserted hallways. I had been in here before now, but there were always people. Too many people. I opened the box I had been carrying and pulled out the gun. The gun I'd cleaned every day since I started this mission. The gun I just realized I never wanted to use again.
I opened the door and she smiled at me. She *smiled*. She kept smiling even after she saw the gun. I'll never know what she was thinking, why she smiled.
I pulled the trigger before I could convince myself not too. That was the hardest part; I knew I'd be able to do the rest no problem. I dragged her body down the hallway to the elevator. She had told me about the security system so many times that I knew exactly what I had to do. I put her limp hand on the scanner and waited for the elevator.
All the way down I kept thinking about the memories I made with her. I never wanted kids, I knew it was a bad idea. She insisted. Thinking about the kids was the worst thing I could do then, so I tried to think of something else. The mission. That's what I'm supposed to be thinking about. There were some points on that elevator ride I couldn't even remember the mission. All of those years pretending, I always kept the mission at the front of my mind. But that was the idea of the mission. Now, it was here.
I don't know how long the elevator door had been open. Maybe five seconds, maybe 5 minutes. I walked to the safe.
"Our anniversary," she had told me over a year ago. I was surprised I didn't have to press her harder. All I did was wonder out loud how complicated of a combination a safe like that could have. The way her eyes shined when she told me that, that's the way I want to remember her.
But now is for the mission. Later is for everything else. So I opened the safe, and there it was. A thumb drive. Three years of my life, the life of the woman I loved, and the future of two orphaned children all for this thumb drive. For the first time I wondered if it was worth it. I hoped it was.
I made it out of the building before I cried. I'd have to leave this part out of my report. Who's ever heard of a spy crying after a successful mission? I drove to the spot I'd driven by every day for three years. Always driving by, never driving to. Maybe they'd given up on me. Maybe the contact wouldn't be there. But he was.
"Took you long enough." He looked like he had just woken up.
"You're tellin' me. Any idea what's on this thing?"
"Nope. We don't ask questions, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. Now I just wish I could forget." | Fifteen Years
It has been Fifteen years, fifteen years since I got what should have been the easiest assignment of my career. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve been undercover in many situations just like this one but for some reason this one has played out differently. The target was simple, woo the widow of a former high ranking member of the military. She was an easy mark in theory but no matter what I couldn’t get the information out of her. All I had to do was find out the secrets her husband knew and who he sold them to. It’s been fifteen years and we’ve been married for ten of those years.
I don’t even know if I’m a spy anymore, I haven’t had contact with the company since I went under. I’ve kept them up to date for a while but eventually just gave up. Do they really care that much about what this woman knows? I’ve been expecting something to happen to me to get me out but it never came. Eventually I fell in love with the target, my wife now. I did the one thing a spy should never do. The only thing is I don’t really care anymore. I’ve stopped trying for the information. I’m happy living a normal life now. We have two beautiful children together. We are your average nuclear family and I couldn’t be happier. The last ten years have been the best of my life. Then one morning my entire life got turned flipped upside down.
“Now that the kids are off to school we can finally talk” she said. “Sure, sounds important, last time you waited for the kids to be gone you told me you were pregnant. Shit are you pregnant again,” I asked. “No, it’s worse than that, something I’ve been hiding for fifteen years.” I couldn’t believe it was she finally going to give me the info about her husband after all these years. Why now of all times? Would I be able to report it in still, do they still care? Do I care still? I think I made the decision that I wouldn’t do anything with the info before I finished asking myself. What could it be?
“I’m a spy, and I was sent to find out who you sold secrets to!” “What,” was all I could muster. “I was sent to find out who you sold secrets to and why you would betray our country.” “But then I fell in love with you and couldn’t do it anymore,” she said. Somehow she knew I was a spy but for some reason thought I was a traitor. “This has to be some kind of joke right.” “I was told to do the same thing to you,” I told her. We both just sat there, unable to muster a word. How could both of our intel be so similar, our missions practically the same. Was this some way to get rid of both of us from our respective agencies. Then it happened, I was blind and deaf in an instant. Knocked on my ass by several heavily armored police both my wife and myself were taken into custody. When I finally came to I realized I was in a room all too familiar. I was in the cell our company used for traitors and terrorists. I was set up somehow but then I saw her curled up in a corner. My wife was in the same cell. We were both set up, but why?
To Be Continued?
| 2017-03-05T19:55:45 | 2017-03-05T19:55:05 | 118 | 30 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | I’d promised Stephen I would keep my mouth shut for the entire journey. Yet, as we made the turn off the freeway, onto the dusty country road, the last three miles to Miller’s farm, the injustice of it all bubbled over.
“It’s just damned unfair, that’s what it is.”
“I know. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“It’s so ridiculous that we got assigned to cover this!” I said, my hand slamming onto the dashboard. “What are we now, trashy two-bit tabloid chasers? You know where we should be? We should be at the Deportment Centre, interviewing the people who’ve made up their minds to cross over to the other side. Or, we should be at City Hall, asking the politicians how they’re dealing with the people who are stuck here. Hell, I wouldn’t even mind just speaking to the Pioneers again, even if they’ve got nothing new left to say!”
“That story’s old, Heather. The Pioneers have been on every newspaper, every talk show, every last livestream there is. Our readers will want something fresh. And that’s what we’re doing now, following up leads.”
“Fresh?” I exclaimed. “You call this fresh? This… this is a shit story, that’s what it is! It’s a fraud, a hoax! No one cares about… about some crazy farmer finding trees sprouting overnight! Everyone wants to know about the Crater! They want to know how long it takes to pass through it, why electronics fail down in the depths, whether there’s enough space for everyone over there! That’s the story of the 23rd century, right there!”
“This is important too, don’t you think? Doesn’t it fill you with hope, that perhaps this farmer’s found some way to reverse all the damage we’ve done to the environment?”
The farmhouse loomed in the distance. The sun was beginning its retreat across the sky, and I saw the tractors puttering back to their sheds, their work done for the day. A pang of guilt burned in my chest – after all, I had promised Nash Miller that we would visit him first thing in the morning. The shame was short lived, muscled aside by my wounded pride.
“You’re wrong, Stephen. This world is done for. It’s overcrowded, it’s polluted, it’s on its last legs. The Crater, Stephen, that’s where the future is. You heard the Pioneers too, didn’t you? What they said was on the other side? Lush fields, untapped lands, clean water. *Clean water!* No need for filtration or chemicals or anything!”
“You believe them? Everything they said?”
I scoffed, almost as much out of reflex as I did from surprise. “You’re a skeptic? You think they’re lying?”
“No, I didn’t say that, I just think that-”
“Seriously? Why do you think the Pioneers would lie? For fame? Money?”
Stephen held up hands up in mock surrender, and the car veered off the track for a couple of seconds before he guided us back. “Look, I’m just saying, it’s pretty convenient, don’t you think? The Pioneers descend so far into the Crater that their electronics fizzle out, they are off the grid for a couple of hours, then they come right back, bearing these… these fantastic tales of virgin lands ready for the taking? And that everyone’s who jumped into the Crater before, has somehow made it unscathed to the other side? Isn’t that just a bit suspicious to you?
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “No one really knows how the Crater works. Best guess is that it’ll take a few more years before the scientists get it figured out. Meanwhile, I’m just going to accept the theory that the Crater’s a portal of sorts, a lifeline thrown to humanity to get the eff out of this world.”
“Then why’s no one else ever come back, other than the Pioneers?”
“Cause they’re happy on the other side? Cause the Pioneers are the first official investigative expedition we’ve sent down, and they’re the only ones with the lifelines back up here? Come on, Stephen, do I need to spell it all out for you?”
“Then how come we can’t get any video footage from the other side, or why is it that-”
We had reached the farmhouse, and Stephen’s protestations were cut off when Nash Miller, having heard our car roll up, skipped down the steps from his front door and headed in a beeline for us. I thought he was spritely for his age, and it was only when we shook hands that I noticed the fear plainly writ on his face.
“I’m Stephen, and this is my associate here, Heather. We’re from the Retlet Review, and we came about your news tip on the-”
“What took you both so long?” Nash said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I called the police, they just laughed at me, told me to call you instead, and assured me that you would understand the urgency of it.”
“I’m not sure the police meant it that way,” I said.
“Well, you should be taking this seriously,” Nash said, as he turned and started walking. We kept up as best we could, just a couple of paces behind him.
“So, uh, Mr Miller, when would you say that you saw these… trees start coming up?”
“Three days ago,” he said. “Me and the boys heard some godawful creaking coming from the yard, and at first we thought, maybe one of the fences came loose, started twisting in the wind. But then we went to check, and well, there, see for yourself.”
I saw them then. And those were the reddest trees I had ever seen in my life.
A copse of them, maybe twenty, thirty of them, clustered tightly together, occupying a corner of Nash Miller’s back yard. I was reminded of certain cherry or birch trees, but I had never seen any with such vibrantly-coloured bark. It was almost as if someone had painted them over. I was no tree expert, and had no authority over how fast these trees grew, but it seemed to me that they had been here for a fairly long time.
I shot Stephen a look to say *are you sure we are not getting conned*, but he gamely pressed on.
“And… what is so special about these trees, Mr Miller?”
“I told the police, but they only asked if I had been drinking. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll take you to them, you make up your own mind about it.”
He led us closer, and then when the angle changed, the perspective shifted, that’s when I saw it.
The trunks of these trees were about fifteen, sixteen inches around. And on each trunk, at eye level, what I thought was merely the natural contortions of wood, the natural rhythms of growth, turned out to be much more.
They were faces.
One face per trunk, on each and every tree. Some faces were sullen, some appeared to be screaming, others appeared to be crying. All of them had their eyes closed.
“Is this a joke?” I said, as I found my breath. “It’s not funny, Mr Miller.”
“I swear, miss. We had nothing to do with these. Every morning, more and more of these damn trees, just… coming straight up of the damn ground.”
I held my hand out, ran my fingers past the bark. If they were carvings, they were etched not by human hand – they felt too real, too organic.
“Heather, get your ass here. Come see this.”
Stephen pointed, and I followed his finger.
“What does that look like to you?” he asked.
“I don’t… I mean, I don’t know what you are-”
Stephen held up his phone this time, and from force of habit I started at the top, where he had typed in the names of the Pioneers. The search results below showed the Pioneers at the first press conference, and the photographer had captured a winning shot of them, grinning back into the camera.
I turned back to the trees, and this time the resemblance was unmistakable.
“That’s… Terry Andrews,” I said. “And Maya Nurleen. Bo Tranchet. Pai Lee. And the rest are…”
“Listen here, Heather,” Stephen said, scrabbling for his notebook, scribbling as furiously as he could. “Take pictures of all these faces. Then run a search for every single person we know who’s been down the Crater. Do a cross-check. I’m going to call the office, get them to send more people down.”
“Wait,” I said. “Surely you can’t mean that-”
I lost my balance then, and would have fallen flat on my back if Nash hadn’t caught me by the elbow. The sun was no longer of much aid, so I flipped on the torch on my phone, and tried to identify what I had stumbled on.
It wasn’t a rock.
It was a root, curling out of the ground, twisting, turning, spiralling out, like a heavy sleeper rousing from bed. A skin-crawling creak filled the air, and as I turned, I saw ten, twenty more nubs like the first, scarlet red, pushing up from the soft soil.
“How many people you reckon have been down that Crater, Heather?” Stephen asked, as he backed away.
“Too many,” I said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| "Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever.
"Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square.
People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him.
"Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill.
"Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off.
"You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly.
"Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet.
"It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change."
"THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole.
"That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running.
The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull.
"OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light.
"You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged.
"We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was *anyone's* home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt.
"No hole goes *nowhere*," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us.
"It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go.
"What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her.
"Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town.
"My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen."
 
***
Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
| 2018-01-13T09:14:54 | 2018-01-13T09:08:37 | 443 | 12 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink. | Since my wife left, my daughter had began talking to herself. I was understanding, it was tough for me as well. Yesterday, I went up to her room where she of course was playing with her "friends" I sat and listened to her babble and giggle and change her voice around for their parts. Tapping lightly on the door she called out and I peered around it slightly.
"Dinner is ready honey, wash up please."
" Mmk...hey Dad? Can Bonnie and Clyde stay here with me?"
" Sure honey, they can always stay here with you, but only if they pay rent" I said with a chuckle.
As I turned to go downstairs, I heard a two tone chuckle. I paused for a second but didn't really give it a second thought before heading down to put shredded cheese on dinner. I told her stories of my stuffed animals I had for long car rides and the adventures we had riding around the country. It was logical for her and made me happy for her to attach to me in these little ways.
The next morning I went downstairs to cook some bacon for my daughter, the smell always got her up faster than me going to her room anyways. As I rounded the corner to head for the fridge I paused and did a step back and double take. On top of my pile of bills was a severed hand. A Rolex watch was on the wrist and a large roll of cash clenched with a literal a death grip lay with the hand on the stack of overdue bills. I approached and immediately recognized the watch. It belonged to the banker my wife used to screw before we got married. He prided himself by shacking it in front of everyone as it was a limited run model, very much so worth more than the cash. When my wife left and her income not considered he took it upon himself to "modify" my mortgage. Gawking, my trance was broken by a tug on my shirt. My daughter looking up with a smile "Bonnie and Clyde said thank you. They said they missed you and their boss said it was ok to be my friend."
It flooded back, eminent domain, moving, having our farm in for closure, and out of that stress two friends, Bonnie and Clyde. The morning my parents were crying with happiness. To them getting me two stuffed animals to call Bonnie and Clyde and the therapist saying the dolls were real, my friends weren't. I stared at my daughter.
" They said there is always more, but too much too fast would get dicey." She giggled.
I smiled " I'll make breakfast, go get some school clothes on."
She skipped away. I pried the hand apart, almost needing a pry bar of some sort and began counting the cash. All Benjamins, all non sequencing, I smiled with tears welling up. From what seemed like a distance, a pair of voices " we did miss you." | Tired and half asleep you stumble your way into the kitchen and find yourself immediately stiffen awake as you see a severed hand sitting near the sink and a roll of cash with blood stains on it. Terrified, you can’t seem to mutter a single word, yet as a police officer you instinctively reach for your phone to call for back up. You enter the dispatch number and just as you hit the call button you hear a faint laugh coming from the living room followed by a, “See I told you my daddy would let you live here.”
Suddenly all that echoes through your mind is your daughters question, “Can my friend Sammy live here?” Frozen in place you manage to call your daughters name and ask her to come into the kitchen. As she walks through the swinging kitchen door you notice the door staying open just a few moments longer as if someone else were walking in behind her. You ask her where the money came from and she replied, “Sammy got it for you, he says it’s your rent money and the watch is a gift for letting him stay with us.”
She walks back out of the kitchen before you can say anything else and from the other room you hear a male voice say, “Your my perfect little angel.” As you slam through the door and into the living room you find only your daughter, who then turns to you and and shrieks in a ghastly voice, “She’s mine now!” | 2019-10-06T16:14:50 | 2019-10-06T12:56:51 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] After a whole year full of catastrophes, it’s December 2020. Astronomers have noticed that entire constellations and star systems are vanishing from the sky, night after night. What ever is happening, it’s getting closer to us. | "Ahura," Jaini said with a sigh, "have you finished wiping the server? Boss wanted it clean by last week." He wiped the Zheeto dust coating his fingers on crinkled office slacks. His once-white button-up hung loose over slouched shoulders, its shape on the verge of giving up like its owner's eyes.
Ahura didn't turn from his holoscreen, his fingers flying furious. "Ah...almost done. Just deleting Sagittarius...there. Another five trillion quibits gone."
"Five trillion," Jaini muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "What's five measly trillion. Where's all the memory going anyway?" Jaini leaned closer to the screen and squinted. "I see your precious Earth is still up and running. And eating 10 quintillion qubits."
Ahura put up a hand. "Yeah I'm working on it. I've sent bushfires, viruses, incited some wars. The population's less than halved, I just need a few more days."
"A few more days?!" Jaini exclaimed. "Do your ears work? We need it done now. Pronto. Chop chop." Jaini hovered his hand over the hologram of Earth and flicked open the system menu.
"No!" Ahura batted Jaini's hand away. "We can't just...zap them out of existence. They're alive, almost, and life should end with death. It's common dignity, you know, they're just like..."
"You and me?" Jaini cocked a brow and shook his head. "Hivemind Almighty. Ahura, you are lucky it's lunch time and Galaxybucks is having a special. When I'm back I want this gone."
Ahura watched Jaini leave, slamming the door of their cubicle behind him, and got to work. With the remnants of Alpha Centuri, he rained meteors on Earth and winced as he watched her cities burn. 4 quintillion left. With a few adjustments to the Sun, he nudged the ice caps to their melting point and flooded entire islands. 2 quintillion. Earthquakes, Kaijus, fire pillars from heaven. *Sorry*, he whispered at the last one. 100 trillion qubits.
Ahura fished his jeans pocket for a flash drive. It was small and unassuming, adorned only by yellow block letters printed on its side. *BEST BUY*. He peeked his head up above his block's walls and glanced around. Deserted as it always was at this hour of day. He willed his heart to still as he plugged the drive in. "I'm sorry. This is the best I can do for you." | December 3rd 2020 12pm
Every tv in the world was tuned in to see the worldwide news broadcast.
The worlds smartest scientist walked up to the podium to explain what was happening.
At approximately 3am on December 1st, our observatory in Chile detected the disappearance of the constellations and systems that are billions of light years away.
At approximately 12pm on December 2nd, the darkness has consumed 1/2 of the universes stars.
What we believe to be happening is called the Big Crunch. It’s the opposite of the Big Bang. Basically everything collapses in on itself, similar to how a black hole works.
****************
December 3rd 12:20pm
Pedro and his family was watching the news broadcast when his mother asked him to explain what a Big Crunch was.
He started to explain when they noticed the light outside was starting to dim. The entire family walked outside to see what was happening. They heard the Scientist on the TV said they had mere minutes left until their very existence was crushed to the size of an atom.
He looked over at his mother who was watching the Sun disappear in front of their eyes as it was consumed by the darkness and said:
“Well, Fuck”
as everything came crashing down onto them. | 2020-03-24T02:45:39 | 2020-03-24T02:01:09 | 860 | 72 |
[WP] Reincarnation is punishment for committing crimes in Heaven. Flies that live for a week are minor offenders and trees that live for thousands of years are major offenders. You just committed the biggest crime of the eon.
Go wild with the concept! | "Order! I will have order in this court!"
God banged his gavel on the podium.
"We have heard the charges. What do you have to say for yourself, Steve?"
*"I, uh, I was just a little bit cold and I thought..."*
"Oh you thought, did you?! Are you paid to think, Steve?"
*"Well, I'm not sure if eternal glory is classified as payme..."*
"Enough! If you think your gross negligence can be excused away with pithy explanations of comfort, you've got another thing coming. For perhaps you failed to realise... what year were you born in, Steve?"
*"Ahh 1982, Lord."*
"In words you'll understand... **dis is mah house**."
The angels applauded. Several whooped and whistled from the stands.
"You understand your crime, Steve?"
*"I meant no harm!"*
"You understand the punishment system here?"
Steve sighed. *"Yes, Lord. Reincarnation for a term determined by the crime."*
"And you understand the serious nature of your crime?"
*"You're my Heavenly Father, not my dad!"*
"Some things transcend earthly concepts of justice, Steve. Your grave discretion can not be overlooked. Normally you'd be reincarnated as a tree or something, but we've had to look further afield."
*"Further?"*
"Present the brochure!"
An angel scurried up with a glossy pamphlet titled 'Nu-Gen Discoveries' and handed it to Steve.
He read the brochure:
*Scientists have combined the genes of the bristlecone pine tree with those of the bowhead whale*
Steve didn't like where this was going.
*Ensuring a lifespan of several hundreds of years, the new stationary filter-feeder will be used to process up to 750 tonnes of raw sewage per year*
Oh this was most unfortunate.
*At remote research facilities: many of them arctic.*
I hate the cold!
*Scientists believe the trees low rates of respiration will attract mosquitoes away from city centres*
Ugh, that whining buzz
*and the exceptional sound-deadening characteristics of the leaves will make the new plant-animal hybrid ideal for property borders where music festivals are held, the first to be planted in time for the national Barbara Streisand Comeback Tour*
D:
*Engineered to not grow high enough to attract lightning strikes, the new clones are impervious to fire, can survive a flood, and their lumber has no value for harvesting for construction or fibre materials.*
*"Lord!* cried Steve *"You can't do this!"*
But it was done. As soon as God thought Steve into that reality, it was so.
News spread far and wide of Steve's punishment. Even to the nether-realm and Hell itself.
Torture. Pain. Suffering. The judgement was notorious across dimensions.
... and no-one EVER touched the thermostat in Heaven again.
| I am awoken. How long has it been? Lying prone in this half-life, my punishment for a crime so heinous it shook the heavens. I want to be angry, blame someone for my predicament. But deep, down I know I deserve this. I hear them talking, “Does it even work?” “It turned on didn’t it?” I feel myself jostled around, “give it here!”. Reincarnation was never the real punishment. Being trapped in this body was awful at first, but I soon realised that the true pain of this prison, was being alone. I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want to remember. I hear the words, floating as if in a dream, “dare you to smash it”. I feel my body dashed against the ground, and the weight of a boot against me. Fools. This body was made to last, you don’t really think they would let me die this soon. For what feels like eons, I’ve had no companion. None but the voices, but they soon left me. Where once I heard praise and awe, now there is only confusion and disgust. I try to relax, to fall into sleep once more. As I listen to the voices fade in and out of focus, I find my last shred of resistance resurfacing. I curse the men who created my prison, and pray that never again should I hear the name Nokia. | 2016-09-10T04:43:25 | 2016-09-10T01:06:35 | 150 | 79 |
[WP] A mage's magical power and abilities are determined by tattoos that are only visible to other mages. You have not encountered another mage for years, but today someone compliments you on your ink. | “Daddy, why do his arms look like that? They’re so pretty!” The little girl pulled at her father’s coat and pointed at me.
“Don’t be rude, darling.” The man turned, the insignia of the royal army reflecting in the bright light of the train—an imperial soldier. “My Apologies. She’s should know better than to point at strangers.”
“But—”
“No buts, Sana,” he scolded. “Proper etiquette, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned back to me and curtsied. “Please accept my apologies.”
I nodded in return and tried to focus on the approaching station. The train screeched as it rolled to a halt, the light posts of the station passing the window in staggered flashes. Despite the girl’s apology, she did not stop eyeing my tattoos. Tattoos that she shouldn’t have been able to see. Her eyes followed the emerald helices that rotated across my forearms for several long seconds.
“Now arriving at Golden Ave,” the pleasant voice of the conductor said. “Please exit to the left and watch your step. Next stop, Grapevine.”
The voice seemed to break the girl’s spell for just a moment. I folded my arms across my chest, hoping to mask the shifting patterns, but I could see her still attempting to sneak looks in the unsubtle way children did.
It being late summer, I was wearing short-sleeves, because why wouldn’t I? No one had seen my tattoos in over two decades. After what had happened to the others, no one should have been able to see them ever again. Yet here was this young girl—this young noble—with her bright, blue eyes trained on the shifting tattoos present only to those who shared the same power.
Did her father know?
“Sana,” The guard said. “What did I say?”
“They’re so pretty…” she said in awe.
“Do I need to speak with your mother when we return home?” He gave me an apologetic look. “She normally isn’t like this.”
I laughed and brushed the comment away, but the man’s eyes lingered on me for just a moment too long. I was far too aware of him staring directly at my tattoos, but unlike his daughter, I knew he couldn’t see them. We locked eyes for a brief moment. His half-embarrassed visage changed. Now, the trained scrutiny of a soldier bore into me. A soldier who I imagined had been drilled in a thousand creative ways to eliminate someone like me. I could practically see his shields flicker in the train’s LEDs.
White-knuckling the support in front of me, I smiled. Every part of me resisted the urge to react. To pull upon the electricity abundant in the metro and direct it into this overly curious soldier. Generations of fear, hatred, and rage bubbled beneath the surface. Even still, the light overhead flickered, once, twice, three times. Only years of resisting this same urge kept the bulb from bursting, and the light returned to humming a moment later.
A true reaction meant death.
“Is everything alright?” the man asked after looking back from the flickering bulb. “My daughter didn’t mean any offense. I promise.” The way he straightened his posture triggered a primal threat within my brain. This man was dangerous.
The door hissed open, slicing the tension like a bayonet through flesh. Around us, the crowd exited the train, parting around the soldier who continued to stare at me.
“Daddy, you’re hurting me,” his daughter complained as she pulled from his grip.
“Oh? Dear, I am sorry.” The man snapped his attention to her, genuine concern replacing his predatory glare. He patted his daughter’s head as they turned for the door. “I was just lost in thought.” He looked back at me and smiled. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”
I watched them go. The girl wore a blue sundress with short sleeves that showed off her thin, tanned arms. Her tattoos had not appeared yet, and probably wouldn’t for another few years. What would she say when her own tattoos began swirling across her arms, marking her forever?
I had the sudden urge to reach out and grab for her. To save her from a future that she could never imagine.
“What did I say about staring at people?” I heard the man ask as they turned the corner.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I know you didn’t, Sana.”
“I’m sorry…” what she said next was drowned out by the sound of the crowd that entered the train after them.
I walked to the back window, pushing through the crowd. I stopped and drew in the smallest amount of energy from the light fixture above. The bulb flickered once, twice, three times. The only one who paid any mind was an old man sitting alone beside me. He grumbled something about cheap maintenance but turned away as I stared out the back window.
I gathered the energy in my chest. Out of practice as I was, it took a moment longer to hone the ball of sparking electricity into a point and bring that up to my eyes. At once, the tunnel's gloom was shunted away as my senses doubled. I could hear every breath of the passengers, every metallic clank of the train. I could see every brick along the tunnels and the rats that nested below the tracks. More importantly, I could note every face in the crowd three hundred feet back on the station.
Through stinging vision, I picked them out of the shuffling crowd. Even as the train pulled away, I could see the girl in her blue dress as clear as if she were standing only feet away. She stared back at me as her father pulled her up the exit steps. Her eyes locked with mine. It wouldn't be impossible for her to see me at this distance, but the intensity of her stare hinted at something more. She smiled at me as every light in the station flickered. Once, twice, and then burst. The sound crashed against my ears followed by the confused cries of the passengers. The last thing I saw before the train turned the bend was the horrified expression on her father's face as he looked at his daughter.
END.
Hope folks enjoyed this :) had a lot of fun writing it!
Edit: typos/grammar. Also cleaned up the ending for some clarity | There was something different about the tattoos that grew from within, instead of being drawn on. There was an impossible uniformity to them, rather than the little touches of artistry a human inadvertently injected into ink.
Magic. To many, its force is unknown, unnatural, and unworldly. To some of us, however, it was lifeblood as essential as food, air, and water.
Which made it all the more frustrating when I had to explain magic to one of the chosen few.
“My tattoos are not supposed to be visible,” I repeated once more, trying desperately to keep my shouting voice to just inside my head. “Only mages can see them.”
“But they are,” Daniel said, pointing pointedly at them, like it was supposed to be an argument.
I sat on his porch, turning away to stare at the sky. It felt like the clouds would understand me better, if I had shouted those words at them instead of Daniel. I chanced upon this humble abode on my travels, and intended only to ask for some water, and maybe purchase any surplus items in the pantry. To my utter surprise, the middle-aged man, skin tanned to almost leather, compliment my tattoos.
Daniel had the sight. Years had passed before somebody could see them, let alone talk about them with praise. The magic tatts were not supposed to be beautiful—they were a status symbol, a mark of who you truly were. The proper greetings were one of silent nods and judgement, gauging the capability of the other mage—even if only to calculate how much danger one was in.
But Daniel? His skin was as clean as a baby. But he could see—and that marked him as a mage. Or at least, mage-capable.
“So you are a mage,” I cried.
“I don’t think so, no,” Daniel smiled. “I just farm. Farming doesn’t need no magic. Just good old hard work, and proper prayers for sun and rain at the right times.”
“Look at me, Daniel,” I said, pointing to my wrist. Jets of blue flame spurted up towards my forearm. “This is the tattoo of Cobalt Fire, and manifest to those destined to be Cobalt Mages. Blue fire burns hotter than even the Imperial Forge.”
“That’s cool,” Daniel nodded. “Sounds right awesome.”
“You can see it. You can see it! That means, at the very least, you have mana! Do you feel a pulsing in your heart? A glowing patch on your skin? It might be magic manifest!”
“Not at all,” he said, scratching the back of his ear. “My skin’s pretty dry, however. Difficult to keep it nice and supple under the sun. We are all at mercy of him, we are.”
“Daniel,” I said. “Really. In my twenty years of travels, I have not met a man, woman, or child who could see my tattoos, and not have mana of some form. You must’ve done something magical. Turn iron into gold. Spit out fire while vomiting. Jumping in the air and realizing you couldn’t come back down. Anything!”
“I don’t think I do magic. Heck, I can barely write,” Daniel said. “Took me days to finish the ad for my turnip farm, it did.”
I looked towards the front door. A poster proclaimed the “biggest turnips in town,” though every third letter was spelled wrongly. There was a crude drawing of a… turnip. Let’s call it a turnip.
“Turnips,” I sighed. “Your…”
I jolted straight up.
“Let me see them.”
“What?” Daniel said.
“The turnips. Show them to me.”
Daniel led me around to the back of the house. Rows of green, sprouting leaves greeted me.
“It’s the middle of summer,” I said. “How are they flourishing?”
“I have a hell of a green thumb,” Daniel said, wagging his decidedly brown thumb at me.
“Could you pluck one out?”
“Sure,” he replied with a gap-toothed grin. “But that’ll cost ya.”
“Of course,” I said.
I watched as he walked over to the turnip, carefully scraping away the soil around the base of the leaves. Contrary to the bumbling, happy-go-lucky farmer that just stood beside me a moment ago, he seemed possessed by Focus herself, sharp eyes and deft fingers quickly revealing a turnip, soil covering every inch of it. A few brief strokes later, the tuber revealed its true self, larger than any I’ve ever seem—and glowing runes I’ve never seen before all of it.
“By the gods,” I whispered. “It is a huge turnip.”
“It is,” he said proudly. “I’ve found my calling, haven’t I?”
“You have,” I said. “You certainly have.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-07-05T12:54:11 | 2022-07-05T11:13:57 | 89 | 26 |
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death. | I died, a horrific accident that happened on the job, but that's just the risk you take. I stood by that tree for days not understand what it meant, and trying to understand that I was dead.
The tree was massive, the largest thing I have ever seen, so many branches and so tall It would take am eternity to count. When I looked closer I saw writings. Some marked my age and some marked the day of the choices I made. It started off simple, "age five, chose macaroni and cheese instead of pizza or not eating at all or throwing a fit, or crying and screaming or..." the sentence impossibly continued forever on a small branch at the lower end of the tree after all, every decision is technically infinite. This small section of age five stretched on for miles. And I knew that nothing at this age was worth looking into.
I lived to 45 so I need to climb this infinitely spreading tree in order to see more important ones, like my divorce, my decision to not have kids, and the one I was most dreading, my last decision, an accident on the job that I had caused.
I hadn't realized until theoretical years had passed that I had gone crazy, reading every single decision i could have made, counting the possibilities, why was this tree here? To drive me mad? To test me? Was god testing me? I had no way to be sure and no way to get out of here so it's all i could do to pass the time. I have never tried to go further into the deep cloaking fog i was surrounded by but what could be out there? I dont bother checking, it's probably useless, it probably is just endless fog.
I've been here for decades, I feel like the tree here is taunting me, showing me my mistakes and rubbing them in my face, I dare not damage the tree, as it provides infinite wisdom, it knows me better than any person. The tree is my friend, my only friend.
It's been too long to count, the tree hates me, it wants to drive me mad, it wants to trap me here reading its infinite wisdom, so I rot in here, nothing to do but indulge in the tree.
I decided to go into the fog, the tree no longer wants me as a guest, and I find a smaller tree but somehow equally infinite, with every decision I made while dead.
Edit: Spelling | No one tells you anything, no, one moment you’re just there. A great, large digital screen on a wall in front of you and it just has all kinds of weird statements. After a while I started recognizing some of them; take job with dad, meet Sally, have twins but then there were others parallel with them. The ones I couldn’t recognize could be perceived on some occasions as good or bad and then others that were more one sided; dad dies in mine accident, leave sally at diner, lose the twins. I studied this board for, I’m not sure how long because you don’t sleep in this room you just sit, pace, stand all the while looking at this large display trying to decipher its code. Well after some amount of time I saw a string of events that all connected and had a different end result than death, that’s not to say it was life. Just I made this discovery a doorway in the wall behind me opened up. | 2020-07-03T10:45:24 | 2020-07-03T10:27:37 | 374 | 41 |
[WP] As a young boy of 7 you remembered an old man stopping you on the street wanting to talk and to give you some advice. You thought he was weird and blew him off. Now at 77 you’re walking down the street and you see yourself as a young boy walking towards you. | *So she was right after all.*
*It's all cyclical.*
I smiled in regret as I shoved my hands in my pockets and shuffled toward him- the young boy sitting on the park bench, head buried in his Gameboy. I led with my cane and used it as a pivot to sit down next to him. My knees popped as they always did when I bent them, loud enough to draw the boy's attention away from his screen. His hair still had a lot of blonde in it- it would darken with age to a deep brown, and then he'd grow it out once he started skateboarding.
"Hey, there," I croaked before coughing once to clear my throat.
"Hey," he said in a disinterested tone.
"What are you playing?"
"Pokemon."
His answers were short. I could tell by the screen he was fighting a gym leader, and decided to let him finish before continuing.
"You won," I said with a smile.
"I always win," he said apathetically before sipping on his caprisun.
I looked around at the beauty of the park for a moment before pulling a bag from my pocket. My old hands trembled as I undid the ziploc and reached for the duckfeed within.
"That's such an old man thing to do," he laughed.
I smiled, "You'd be amazed the things you do when you truly miss someone..."
He lowered his game and watched as I spread the feed. Ducks raced from the pond up the grassy knoll and over to the bench where they quickly wolfed down the feed.
"You miss somebody?" He asked innocently. "Why don't you go see them?"
"I think I'm about to," I said as I dug back into the bag and spread more feed. He turned his eyes back toward his game and muttered, "that's good."
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye before adjusting my glasses, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said quickly.
"What do you feel... is important in life?"
He shrugged his shoulders, "getting a job. Having a family."
I chuckled lightly to myself, transitioning into a cough before tossing more duck feed, "No, that's the answer you think I want to hear."
I saw him turn to me in my peripheral vision.
"Tell me, what do *you* think is important in life?"
He faced forward staring out at the pond for several seconds before saving his game and turning it off. He shoved the device into his pocket and sighed, "I want to travel the world. Far and wide."
"I see," I responded. "You should do it."
"I'm gonna," he said nonchalantly. "Soon as I make enough money."
"It'll never be enough," I shot back. "You don't want to be an old man looking back on what could have been. Take the risk. You'll find your way."
He sighed as though he were tired of listening to me.
I understood.
"When I was young," I began. "I never liked when strangers would just come up and talk to me for no reason. It's funny how as you get older... You'd do anything for someone just to listen..."
"I don't think I'm gonna be old for a long time," he said in his monotone way as he watched the ducks.
"It happens fast," I said just above a whisper. "It happens when you're not looking. When that Wednesday you don't remember disappears..."
"Huh?"
"Do me a favor, kid..." I turned and smiled at him, "hug your dad. Make sure he knows he's your hero."
He cocked his head, "What?"
I stood up and emptied the remaining contents of the bag before leaning forward on my cane. "Life isn't a cartoon. You're not the main character."
"I know that!" He said in an insulted tone.
"Your body has limits. Listen to them."
He stayed quiet as I watched the water shimmer on the lake. I turned to see him but he was gone. When my eyes returned to the lake, there was a man in white standing in the middle. I dropped my cane to the ground and shuffled toward the water.
The people standing behind him.
I knew all of them.
- - -
r/a15MinuteMythos | The pop-pop of a two stroke motorcycle clattered past me, driver and pillion beaming at the glorious day. The distant rustle of leaves sheltered passers-by as they enjoyed the peace and tranquility of the park. Overhead, an idyllic sky let the sun cast its warming glow onto the bustling metropolis below.
I stretched, a slow and leisurely motion. I was in no rush, not since my beloved had passed away two summers gone. Since then my arthritis had only gotten worse, and coupled with end stage kidney disease causing excessive oedema of my lower legs, walking and getting out was becoming quite burdensome. I yearned for the joyful naivete of youth, when the world was an oyster, waiting to be pried open and enjoyed. Now though, I lingered in a retirement home, content with my lot, but knowing that it was not a place to live, rather a place to die.
I'd signed the paperwork as soon as she'd passed. The 'Do Not Attempt Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation' document sat in my front pocket, easily visible should anyone seek to bring me back from the edge of the abyss. Chances are, my body wouldn't survive even the best attempts to bring me back now, a thought which brought me much solace. It was just a waiting game.
I looked around, basking in the virility and limitless kinetic energy that the city had. I thought back to my own childhood, when as a young boy my parents had taken me to this very park. I remembered walking a hundred or so yards ahead of them, when an old and ailing man stopped me. He'd said something to me back then, given me a nugget of wisdom that I took deep within myself and had quietly adhered to. It was that same piece of knowledge that funded my adventures with my beloved, my children through private school, and now my bumbling existence in the retirement home.
A soft patter of childish feet awoke me from my reverie, the sound getting closer and mingling with the whistful humming of daydreaming youth. To my left was the culprit, a boy who looked remarkably similar to how I did when I was a young and spritely fellow. In fact, the boy looked far too similar to how I used to look. Taking this as my cue, I chuckled to myself and thought about what would happen if I gave this doppelganger the same piece of advice I'd been given. If nothing else, it may bring me a chuckle when I retire to isolation at the home.
Cracking the silence my joints had been enjoying, I roused myself to standing and approached the young boy. He looked up at me, big brown eyes full of innocence and hope. I leant forward conspiratorially, and changed his world forever.
"Apes together stronk. Diamond hands. To the moon!" | 2021-07-08T08:20:49 | 2021-07-08T05:41:56 | 215 | 53 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A bone-jarring impact jolts me awake, followed by a few seconds of searing pain. I try to sit up, but the searing pain keeps me on by back. After a moment, the pain begins to subside and I'm able to sit up and take stock of my situation. When I look down at myself I nearly pass out. What once was a mostly healthy, slightly overweight body is now a mangled purple husk...
"What.... happened?" I say to myself... After a few moments my memory returns... Fuck. Why'd I have to go base jumping from the Petronas Towers while on vacation in Malaysia? It's clear that the impact I heard was ME hitting the ground. Where am I anyway? This clearly isn't Kuala Lumpur.
I struggle to my feet, amazed that my wrecked form can handle that much. Looking around I see nothing but a small room that seems to be carved from bedrock. There is no furnishings of any sort. A faint light glows from the ceiling above, but I can't see any actual source. I spot a door on one wall.
Despite an inexplicable feeling of dread, I am compelled toward the door. I open it and step into a hallway. The walls are transparent, and through them lies everyone's worst nightmare. Fire and brimstone. Lava flowing down into pits. It dawns on me... I'm in HELL.
From the other end of the short hallway, a man steps through the door. He's dressed in ragged black robes that seem to be worn over the top of even more ragged red robes. His beard is black, with a stripe of white running down the middle. The most alarming feature are two rams horns spiraling around each side of his head.... He's... clapping?
"Who are you!?" I demand with alarm.
"Who am I?" he says, "There are some who call me... Tim. But you? You can call me Satan. Or just Stan if you wish. Welcome to hell!"
I snort in amusement. "Really? A Monty Python joke? Do you greet people like this all the time?"
"Uh... well... you could say that. You're the first one to arrive." he admits.
"What? With all the murderers and rapists on earth, *I* am the first one to go to hell? How the fuck does THAT work!? I've never killed anybody, harmed anyone, or stolen anything." I shout
Stan sighs as if defeated. "Do you honestly think God would condemn his children to eternal pain and torture? The only way I'm ALLOWED any souls is through making deals... and after the humiliation of losing a fiddle contest to some snot-nosed kid I haven't really cared to try. My last effort was an attempt at a cyber-contract. All they had to do was pay for a piece of software and I'd own their soul."
The sense of dread gets deeper... I know why I'm here. I know what doomed me to hell.
"Fuck... You mean I'm the only one that paid for WinRar?"
Stan grins at me and says "Like I said. Welcome to Hell."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Interested in feedback. This is probably the second time I've ever written in Writing Prompts... I don't know why I haven't done it more. I always have a blast making this stuff up.
Edit: Holy cow! I didn't really expect this to explode like this. Thanks for the Updoots and all the kind comments! :) I think I'll have to do more of these!
Edit 2: This post has more than doubled my total comment karma..... I'm kinda flabbergasted... Thank you all again!
Edit 3: Wow... Gold... Thank you kind stranger!! | The great demon rises from his golden throne and begins to clap; his leather-like hands produce a sound like mocking thunder. The cavern shakes as the noise echoes off the walls. His blood-red lips curl into a terrible smile.
"Is this... *Hell?*" I ask, hoping for something, but knowing another.
He stops clapping, allowing his arms to fall beside him, but his grin grows wider. Jagged teeth protrude from his slightly open mouth.
The cavern is cold and empty, and a terrible silence lingers in it that is only punctuated by the occasional dripping of water onto stone.
"Why are we alone?" I ask.
"Hell is a lonely place," he answers. "A little less lonely now, perhaps."
"I am the only one?"
He nods. "Yes."
"That can't be!"
He smile becomes gentle, faux-sympathetic.
"What did I do, to deserve *this*?" I ask, hot tears streaming down my face. "I lived my life by the scripture! I was a good person, I believe."
"Yes, you were a good person." he says. "You were faithful to your wife. You gave all you could spare to charity. In every way you believed was important, you were a good man."
"That's right," I join in, hoping he might realise there's been a mistake. "I never drank or did drugs. I never lied or tricked or... *or* took advantage of another living soul."
"You were perfect," he laughs in agreement.
"Then...*why* am I here? Why just me?"
"Robert," he begins, "you are the first being to have truly wasted the gift of life."
My heart sinks. "*Wasted?*" I whisper.
He nods. "Life is precious. You lived your life following the hollow words of other men - *wasting life*, in how you lived it. That is the only true sin. You are the first. I expect you shall be the last, too."
"No...please," I beg, gasping for breath that doesn't come.
"Now we are ready," he says, his grin returning. He wraps a hulking arm around my shoulders. His flesh is like a furnace and it burns through my clothes, singing the skin beneath - branding me, in the Devil's stain.
"I have been waiting a long time for a playmate," he whispers in my ear.
| 2017-06-22T06:21:45 | 2017-06-22T03:25:07 | 4,092 | 84 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Thirty years have gone by in this prison since my last murder. I've had three cellmates in my time. Each one died within a month of moving in. I had nothing to do with any of the deaths. Regardless, I was now a curse in the eyes of the general prison population.
Now, they kept me by myself.
Jacob, the prison guard in my latest home of Cell Block 4A always would spend a little more time talking to me as he made his rounds. The clicking of his shoes on the cement prison floor was in a rhythm all its own, so I always knew when he was coming.
"Number 664, you lonely in there?" He asked just as his figure came into view through the bars.
"No, Jacob," I replied. " My thoughts are always with me in here to keep me company."
He paused and then smirked. He knew what I had done to get in here, but I was a harmless and interesting specimen behind bars to him.
"664, I've been working here for 15 years." He said. "You've been in here for twice that, right?"
"Yes, Jacob. That is correct." Was my simple reply.
His eyes passed over my body from head to toe, eventually meeting mine. He drew himself in close to the bars, never breaking his gaze.
For the first time, I was nervous with him. He was the only soul in this place who paid any attention to me, which is probably why no one had noticed my lack of aging.
"What's your real name, 664?" Jacob asked.
I hesitated. No one had asked me that since my last cellmate died. You almost forget you have one on the inside.
"I'm Augustine," I responded. "Augustine Cachot."
"Well that's an interesting name," he mused to himself. "Sounds very, shall we say... 'vintage' to me."
Jacob was a reasonably smart man. He was humble, metered and wise with an even temperament. I could tell that from my daily interactions with him. In 15 years, you can learn someone's soul from even the most mundane of interactions.
Jacob turned his back to me, stepping back from the bars of my human cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph.
"Augustine Cachot, you've lived in this town for two hundred years, haven't you?" He held the photo up to me as he spoke.
Oddly, I knew it was me in the photo, but didn't remember where or when it was taken. Two hundred years of memories is a lot to retain.
"You haven't aged much since this photo, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thirty years here and your body hasn't changed, your hair hasn't grayed and you've never been sick."
I sat down in my cell, waiting to hear his next analytical point. He figured out my immortality by doing what no one else did: by paying attention.
"In 15 years, I've become gray and winkled. My body has slowed. Yet, you remain as you were on the day you arrived."
Jacob handed me a different photo.
"Ah yes," I mused. "My prison intake photo. I was just a handsome 23 year old lad in that one. Time has treated me well."
"Time hasnt touched you," he quickly retorted. "You're in here for your life, which means you'll be here forever, won't you?"
My head dropped into my hands as the word "forever" hung in the air. I'll never leave. Unless I escape, I'll never be anything but a man caged for eternity.
"You're right," I said. "No sense in hiding it at this point."
"Well. . ." Jacob paused, now leaning on a wall. His eyes now fixed firmly at the ceiling.
"Well, what?" I asked.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
And then he walked away. | The newspapers had written about her. Killing for her had been as simple as walking past a man and filling his nostrils with her flowery perfume. Her thick red hair was as if the blood of her victims had stained her soul, putting a permanent mark on her long, murderous past.
But now she was here, in this cell. She never really said anything. Just sat, ate, went back to her cell, and sat again. When she had arrived twelve years ago the headlines had been loud about her deeds, but now they had all but forgotten. Old newspaper clippings had been taken down from the walls in news agencies and police stations around the country, to be put in a box and stored in the archives where time chewed away at the remembrance of her deeds.
"Hey Red!"
She looked up. In the cell across the hall was the new inmate, in just weeks earlier for trying to hold up a grocery store and shooting a kid in the kidney in a fit of rage. The kid had survived but just barely. The parents made sure that if the would-be killer were to breathe air on the outside again, it wouldn't be until their son had graduated college.
"Fuck you!"
Red gave a penetrating look at the angry inmate across the hall as if she was looking right through her eyes and at the wall behind her. Everyone knew that newcomers tried to assert dominance, but this one went overboard. No one dared to talk to Red, let alone fuck with her. Not even the ones with (what they thought) higher kill count.
The next morning the guards found the newcomer in Red's cell, behind the locked door. She was sat on the bed, blood covering the floor as if she'd spent the entire night puking up every single drop of blood in her body. Her mouth was filled with shards of glass, trailing all the way down her throat into her stomach. There was nothing to be done, the newcomer had been dead for hours before the guards had even woken up that morning. In the newcomer's cell was Red, staring at the wall without a trace of anything, had it not been for the fact that she was in the newcomer's cell it was as if nothing had happened that night. She was put in solitary confinement for a year straight after the incident, regardless of the protests from human rights groups about the illegality of doing such a thing, but when she later returned to the regular prison, she sat down on her bed where the newcomer had been found a year earlier as if not even five seconds had passed. And after that no one fucked with Red. | 2016-10-15T09:27:27 | 2016-10-15T09:06:23 | 73 | 35 |
[WP] After world peace is attained, it is discovered that there is a fixed amount of evil that must be present in the world - or the world will balance itself. You are a member of the U.N’s newest department: The Ministry for Necessary Evils. | John sat in the corner of the briefing room, crowded with bleary eyed, shabby suits running on Starbucks and McDonalds breakfast wraps. He was expecting to feel out of place, one of a few new recruits mixed in with older, jaded professionals, yet they all seemed one and the same. He stifled a yawn, exchanged mumbling pleasantries with a few of his new colleagues, but he couldn’t focus. He tapped his foot, trying to shake the impatient twitches from his leg. They were being kept waiting, with only the words “Necessary Evils: Day 1” written in green marker on the whiteboard in front.
The door flew open, and a portly, greying figure strode to the front of the room without giving anyone so much as a glance.
“Morning all, I, am James Henry Harrison. CIA, NSA, UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations, and most recently, your boss. After 30 years experience building and managing the best and most important intelligence teams on God’s Green Earth, I have finally been deemed qualified to head up my own department. That is, the UN Department of Necessary Evils”.
The man rushed through his speech like he had 10 places to be, all at the same time. Once John realised what was happening, his colleagues were already half a page into making notes.
“Many thought world peace was a done thing, but running the world isn’t that simple. Revolutions, exotic diseases, natural disasters keep popping up across the world every few months, without fail. We’ve reached the conclusion that “world peace” if it’s attainable at all, requires the balancing of a certain degree of “necessary evil” to avoid any unpredictable disasters. As such, we have gathered the best and brightest in intelligence to coordinate our new strategy. You’ll be split into teams based on political regions and each individual will be given specific “evils” to monitor and balance”.
*Necessary evil?* He had heard the conspiracies. Illuminati, New World Order, obsessions with the idea that peace was somehow suspicious. This line of work wasn’t for those who would believe mad conspiracy over hard evidence, but maybe, in some ways, they were right.
“Most of you know how this works by now. You’ve got briefs on your desk, so get started and I’ll be giving introductory team meetings throughout the day to give you more information. Newbies, stay in here”.
The room filed out slowly, leaving only a smattering of starters scattered around the room, looking as young and intimidated as John was feeling.
“As the newest recruits to the UN Intelligence Programme, I’ve decided to assign you longer term projects. This way, you can observe your colleagues, train on the job and really grow into the role over the next few weeks. As such, I thought I’d give you your briefs in here so you can ask any preliminary questions you may have”.
James separated the huge stacks of papers and casually tossed them around. John paused, eyes wide open as the brief landed in front of him. “Misinformation and Totalitarianism: USA” it read in bold black letters.
“You, John, are our backup plan”. | Being a supervisor was tough....you see it all started with a body.
Management wanted us to produce a fucking dead body!
As a supervisor it was my job to make sure the low level cronies did their job, parking the car by some British Lake red-eyed to all hell after a 10 hour flight followed by another 3 hour drive from London... I was shocked as I ran to the lake shore to confirm the deed had apparently been done....
Damn, there it was, the body was slightly bloated you can tell they were dead a small while... but as It brushed up against rocks on the side of the lake you could make out the hair colour and uniform the poor soul was wearing...
It looked like an army uniform... no hat obviously - long gone... but the poor soul looked like an officer... the cuff on the arms had a yellow looking insignia on it... I wish I knew more about this sort of thing but I knew almost nothing. The hair was... slightly ginger.
I got closer but as the rocky shore made getting closer more difficult I stood in a state of panic, reaching for my smart phone to make the call back to HQ.. I then paused...
Strangely, as the body turned in the water... I stood shocked to the core again unable to move... it was like I knew the person I was looking at... they had a very familiar face. A famous face.... you could say a royal face....
I saw someone coming so quickly left...
"Well, that'll make the press in the next few hours..." I thought
Continuing to up my waking pace
"I wonder if they'll go to war over this one?" | 2020-10-23T12:48:55 | 2020-10-23T12:37:05 | 81 | 20 |
[WP] In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end. | George shrugged off sleep and stared blankly at his computer. He knew who was going to die, he knew what was going to happen, and he had planned the secret reveal of the true threat that loomed just north of Hogwart's walls. No matter how hard he tried, though, he just couldn't find the words. Maybe it was the success of his own TV series pulling him away, or his constant appearances at conventions across the nation, but George could not, for the life of him, finish this damned book.
Mrs. Rowling had passed 4 years ago. 4 years of angry fans, hate mail, and blank pages. The movie studios went ahead and finished the film, adding a subplot about Harry and Luna's intimate relationship.
"Damnit," Martin had thought, "It totally was my idea to have the dark haired hero get with the blonde... Now I'll have to do something different in the book to appease the angry 'lit' fans.
Lit fans were a subculture that arose around the Harry Potter novels. They refused to watch the films, preferring instead to wait in vain for the book. These fans were often obnoxious about their "pure way of enjoying the story" and their "ability to read". These fans hated the films and everything to do with them. They hated the subtle plot differences, the actors that "look nothing like the characters", and the more sensationalist feel of the film.
Rowling had already killed off Hedwig before passing. She had George (Weasley) loose an ear and Dobby pass away (Martin had cleverly added a quick aside regarding dobby's name and the act of dobbing). That only left a few fan favorite characters to choose from, and George couldn't figure out who to kill.
He looked down and started falling asleep again. He had eaten a large pot roast, with blackberry jam, nutmeg, and pecans sprinkled over it. The roast was a golden brown, and paired well with the merlot he had been gifted by a friend. The heat of the meal sat in his stomach and made his eyes heavy.
"Well," he thought, "maybe I'll get around to writing a few pages tomorrow."
George fell asleep, slumped in front of his computer, knowing that he would never be able to finish a series. | George RR Martin got asked to finish the Harry Potter saga after the untimely death of the original author before the story was finished. Fast forward 6 years and the fans are still waiting. They give up hope and instead come up with mad cap and deranged "fan theories" on how the saga will end.
In the mean time, a large corporate television network has been creating the previous books into a visual masterpiece. The show is an instant hit and they are closing in on where the books got to as Rowling popped her clogs. Martin gives the studio a brief outline of where the story is heading and the studio fill in the blanks.
Tragedy strikes as Martin dies as the show shoots the final series. The last series is a complete drive as the writers in charge weren't as visionary as Rowling or Martin and the world will never know what REALLY would have happened at the Battle for Hogwarts. | 2017-09-03T08:30:57 | 2017-09-03T08:13:51 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | So this is my first one of these. Here goes nothing:
It still amazes me how quickly my life changed. Most people, they get their power and just move on with their life. Sure, there is more than a fair amount of career shifting, when someone gets something specialized, but it’s still pretty much business as usual. Not me. Normalcy for me lasted about an hour after my power manifested.
I was out at the bar with a few of my friends, counting down the minutes to my time of birth. The clock stuck and everyone held their breath. Nothing seemed to happen at first. My friends stared at me while I tested out the basics: telekinesis, conjuring elements, super strength. I certainly didn’t feel any different. That is, until Carl put his hand on my shoulder for reassurance. I felt a huge rush, and popped across the room. Teleportation! Not bad at all. Odd thing was, that was Carl’s power. Carl tried to pop over next to me, and found out he couldn’t. It only took us a few seconds to realize what my real power was: Absorption. My friends were amazed and impressed. For about a minute.
I couldn’t give the powers back. I tried, honest. Tried as hard as I could. Carl, fueled by fear, rage and alcohol started getting violent. He began shaking me, screaming in my face to give it back. My other friends had to pull him off of me, and in the scuffle I snagged more powers from them and some other patrons of the bar. People started backing away, wide eyed and terrified. The worst was the look from my fiancé, Rebecca. With a sickly feeling in my stomach I realized that, among the collection of abilities, I suddenly knew how to shape shift. I wanted to say something to her, anything, but I was a coward. I used my new gift from Carl, and popped home.
Word spread fast. I lost my friends, my job, everything almost overnight. After a few disastrous attempts, I stopped going outside. Some part of me felt bad for those that I touched. They were freaks, the Unpowered, looked at as second class citizens. Not me, I wasn’t even seen as human. I was a disease, a plague. The only people who would still talk to me were my parents, but only over the phone. Even my mother, one of the Unpowered herself, was afraid to come see me in person.
They come for me now. Criminals and thugs come trying to make a name for themselves. Bounty hunters come trying to collect the price some rich Unpowered put on my head. The government comes trying to remove what they see as the biggest threat to national security in history. They never learn. It doesn’t matter what power they have. I have hundreds. | "I'm a freak mom!" Blaire screamed in a fit at her mother, who was standing outside Blaire's room. "Honey you are a woman now, you're beautiful." Trying to reassure Blaire, her mother spoke with a wide smile on her face. "Men don't want a freak mom, they like young girls without the mark.. I'm ruined.." Blaire fell to her knees, and rested her head on them. Small wings, just perfect for her body size, extended out and stretched before laying flat and lifeless. "You'll never understand mom.." Blaire whined to her mother, before going quiet. Samantha watched her daughter for a minute, before holding back the tears herself. Walking over to the gloom struck girl, Samantha pulled her daughter into her lap, though she was much to large. Brushing her hair lightly, she kissed her daughters head. "Why mom.. why me?" Blaire sobbed into her mother's shirt. "It's part of growing up baby, it happens to all of us. Daddy said he loved me even more the day it happened to me." Samantha spoke softly, the tears barely rolling off her face. "I just want to be perfect.." Blaire could barely speak, her voice raspy. Samantha pulled a mirror from the near by nightstand, and slowly opened it to reveal Blaire's puffy red face. "One day my love, one day you will open this mirror and proudly look at them. You'll accept how beautiful you are. Until then, and if need be from everyday on, I will be here to cradle you.." | 2015-03-04T07:30:28 | 2015-03-04T05:45:25 | 77 | 12 |
[WP] Adam and Eve never ate the apple, and humanity all lives in the garden of eden. Then, you eat the apple. | The words have never left me. The curse. I am not sure just what I was thinking when I picked that fruit. All I knew was that my hands trembled. Heart raced. And then the sweetness of it. And how my stomach hurt, as soon as I swallowed.
Abner leaned against the lone oak in the field, resting under it's shade. Seeking refuge from the sun that beat against his back relentlessly. The blood of the goat Elohim YHWH slew and skinned to cover him with still clung to his skin.
The piece of fruit still in his hand, he stared at it in his rest. His eyes stung and welled. "If only I had never tasted." Clenching his eyes, he gripped the fruit like death. Juices ran between his fingers, streaming down his arm. Bounding to his feet, Abner reared and cast the crushed husk like a stone. At last he opened his eyes, and cast them to the blue heavens. "My Father! My Joy and Strength! Do not cast me aside! I have sinned and know not what else to do!" Abner staggered forward, clutching the goat skin YHWH had wrapped him in when a root caught his foot. He didn't catch himself. He didn't try. The earth caught him and took the wind from his lungs. With a whimper he finished his prayer. "I am sorry. So be it."
The years were not kind to Abner. He had learned to hunt. To make the bow. Many clever things he had done. Still he prayed. Still he longed for but one companion. His meat tasted of ashes. Water was bitter. Fruit and herbs, sour.
Losing count of the seasons, at long last a companion found him. The dog was skittish at first, keeping a stones throw away. Lapping the blood and eating the scraps of Abner's hunts. Until the night the dog had been stalked by a lion.
The yelp awoke Abner with a start, and he bound to his feet, casting aside his hides. Grabbing a log from the fire he cast it toward the noise, when he saw the twin silhouettes. Long and black against the orange glow of flame. Mind racing, he took his bow and quiver and rushed head long to the circling figures. Notching an arrow, he pulled back with all his might and let the missile fly. It sank deep into the ribs of the lion, Abner pulling another from his quiver. The beast roared and turned, like the body of fear itself. Abner slid to a stop, a cold sweat stirring from his flesh. The beast charged, and Abner's heart near froze. His body like a statue. What happened next shook him.
The dog barked and leaped with all it's strength. Catching the lion midair, muzzle wrapping it's throat like a vice. In an orange and black cloud of dust the struck the earth. The dog shaking and tearing at the lion's throat, when at last it sank its claws deep in the dog's back and pulled it free. A sickening whimper filled the night as it fell to the ground. Abner notched his arrow at last and let it fly. It found it's home in the eye of the beast, and without a noise it crumpled to the ground.
The next weeks found Abner and the Dog friends at last as he nursed it. They were never far apart again until the dog's end.
Tears stained Abner's cheeks, and he pulled the lions skin tight around himself. It wasn't cold that made his flesh shiver. Staring into the flames that took the dogs corpse, Abner's throat clenched shut. When at last there was only coals, he spoke. "The Lord gives, and The Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Abner's beard was long and grey. It struck him as strange at first. What worried him more was the pain in his knees and hips. Sitting under the shade of The Oak, he cast his eyes up again to the clear blue heavens as he pulled the bear skin tight.
"Don't worry Abner. Your journey is almost done." Abner blinked and looked around.
"Lord?" When the man stepped in front of him, his face brilliant. Putting a hand on Abner's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, the man walked out into the field and began to gather stones and to stack them. Building a low long table. When the second man stepped out from behind the tree, Abner hardly noticed until he had laid down on the alter. They both looked at Abner and smiled, speaking with one voice.
"I love you, Son. It's time to go home." | "Congratulations."
Immediately did I throw myself to my left side out of surprise out of hearing a voice, tumbling against the great roots of the Tree that I had spent the afternoon traversing. Stopping at a lower point of the roots, I looked upwards towards the branches of the Tree in search of who could have been speaking to me but I found no one. Panting, I looked down at my form and inspected the damage. First and foremost I became well aware of many things I hadn't noticed about myself...in fact, I don't recall having the concept of myself before until now..
"It's a beautiful thing isn't it?"
Startled once more, I rolled off of the root I was sitting on and I tumbled further down the Colossal roots of the Great Tree. Reaching out, my arms gripped tightly around a decent sized root and I rolled myself onto it while panting. Staring upwards towards the great leaves and branches which dominated most of the sky, I became acutely aware of just how high I had to have climbed to get at the Fruit. Looking down, I then became even further aware of how high I climbed.
"AHHH!"
"YES! Enlightenment followed by awareness and terror at one's mortality, yes!"
"Ahh!"
By now I'm sure you can guess where I ended up after the voice spoke up again only this time I was handing onto a much thinner vine running up along the root of the Tree. Below me was, well certain death. The fall would be too great for me to survive, I'd break...I'd break...I-I'd just break! It wouldn't be possible for me to live.
"Are you going to fall again?"
"Ah-..n-no I'd rather not."
I looked around, trying to identify the source of the voice which seemed to surround me completely. It had to be coming from somewhere close enough to-
"Right here, lad."
It was only me hanging on for dear life now that kept me from screaming this time as I looked over at the figure who stood safely on a nearby Root not too far from my reach. Holding out his hand, I took it without hesitation and was more then satisfied when I was pulled onto the Root along with him.
"Quite the fall you went through, I'd say quite the fall indeed."
The man seemed to chuckle, although I rather doubt he was entirely what he seemed...doubt? When did I-
"Start to doubt? Most likely when you began to question how I managed to keep pace with you on the way down."
Bringing my attention back to the man...being, who saved me. He had something on his body, something enveloping him entirely. It reminded me of sheep's wool but it seemed much much softer in appearance. I was also now aware of me wanting one despite not knowing what it was or if it was something I could even have.
"Ask and you shall received."
The being laughed as I found my once naked body enveloped in the softness that I knew the being enjoyed. I don't know what to expect now, what this being has in store for me or how I will return home without looking at it differently. But for once, I didn't think this was going to be easy. Far from it in fact. | 2014-09-14T17:35:39 | 2014-09-14T17:23:59 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens have tried to conquer Earth over and over again, to no avail. Your empire is the latest to try it, and despite all your technology, you finally discover why Earth has never been conquered by alien empires. | Kommandant Uphrilles sat in her chair on the mothership’s bridge as she waited for the human ambassador to arrive.
Earth burned in front of her, magnified heavily on the screen. Like a ball of wax and oil blazing in some eternal night sky. Not the entire planet, but portions of it, at its top. She had never seen such a beautiful and appalling sight.
And she had never regretted a decision as much as that, either.
The bombs, devastating beyond anything the humans possessed, had been a last ditch effort to end the war. Soon, when the human ambassador arrived in its shuttle, Uphrilles would find out for certain if it had worked. The row of short bones, that ran down the back of her legs, vibrated in nervous anticipation.
Earth, this half-burning star, was unique to life-rearing planets. Unlike any other, including Uphrilles’ own birth planet, Earth still held onto original inhabitants — those that had evolved on the planet. While the rest of galaxy conquered and surrendered and moved around in some endless galactic-board game, the humans remained on Earth.
Uphrilles’ own race were currently losing wars away from Earth. If they didn’t take the planet, they’d likely become nomads themselves, sailing black seas with no planet or resources to ever again expand. One of the many pitiful and impotent races that haunted space. Ghosts of former greatness.
They’d sent too much to Earth. Too many battalions. Put too much faith in their own abilities and powers. Were too certain they’d conquer it quickly.
But the humans had resisted, strong and stubborn, and the costs to both sides had been monumental.
Back home, they had left too little to defend from opportunistic predators.
The doors to the bridge slid open and a human male walked through. His arm was wrapped in bandages and his face was all the purples of a swirling solar cloud. His hair was singed on one side and his scalp pocked and black.
“Kommandant,” he said, bowing curtly, although not all the way.
”Ambassador.”
No matter their rank or wisdom, every human seemed to have been recruited into the war effort in some way or another. Here was the human ambassador — the ambassador! — and even he had apparently been involved in a skirmish.
“I have spoken to my superiors,“ said the ambassador.
”Save me their answer,” said Uphrilles. “I don’t need it.”
The man frowned. “Excuse me?”
”You’re not surrendering.“
“No. We’re not. But how did you know?”
Her leg bones rippled in a series of furious clicks. “We’ve never encountered a species so stubborn. So willing to die just to defend a piece of land. A lump of mud and clay and water. If we did any more damage, we would destroy all life on the planet — not just you. We would ruin it. Neither us or you or anything else would be able to inhabit it.“
”It’s our home — we’re willing to die here.”
”Please. I know your cultures well enough. You move homes. You move countries. There is no good reason you refuse to evacuate a planet.“
The man paused and thought. “Earth is more than a home, I think. It’s an ideal.“
”An ideal?”
”Yes. A symbol. It’s something we almost lost once, long ago. To our own selfishness and stupidity. But we *didn’t* lose it. We worked together, united — for the first time in our history — to save it. What I mean is, the people on the planet are humanity, sure. But so is the planet itself. Perhaps more so. Whether we leave it or whether you kill each and every one of us, it would amount to same thing.”
“A symbol isn’t real.”
The man shrugged. “I guess to us, it is. Things in the mind can be just as real as anything you can touch.” He paused then asked, “If you already knew my answer, why did you invite me?”
”To say we’re leaving. Or surrendering, if you prefer the term. As I said, there is nothing left to be gained from continuing.“ She stared out at the burning, twirling globe. What had they become? How many lives had they taken out of their own stubborn pride. “If we go on with the war, nothing could save your planet and it will be worthless to us both.”
The man nodded. Slowly. ”Where will you go?”
Uphrilles let out a low mournful rumble and aimed a pointed hand into the blackness beyond Earth. ”Somewhere out there. For our species to fade away as ghosts.“
“You could help us, instead,” said the man. “Your technology is beyond ours. You could stay, help mend the planet. Save what there is left.”
”Stay?”
”Yes, and share the planet with us. We’ve both lost so many. Beneath the ashes, there will be room for life to grow again.“
She thought about this for a moment. And then for a moment longer. How good it sounded, to settle permanently, to put down their weapons and to plant seeds. But there would be a vote and the idea would never pass — the shame in sharing after defeat. “Thank you, but it’s not our way. We will leave as soon as we are able. Good luck repairing your planet.”
He nodded. “Perhaps we will see each other again, Kommandant. When our own kind become ghosts roaming the galaxy, too.”
She smiled at this. “I think it unlikely.”
“Then perhaps, in time, you will change your mind and will return here. And if you ever do, we will be waiting. With open arms and not closed fists.” | Report from Conquer Earth Voul Fleet:
Our ships take up position just outside Earth's lunar orbit because in-between the moon and Earth laid the most dangerous defensive weapon a ballistic mine field that would shred any ship attempting to get through. This was often enough to disuade most fleet's to turn around. But we Voul had experience deflecting the immensely thick asteroid fields and rocks clouds in our own home system.
Ships are ready engage counter measures the space sweepers clears up debris by attracting objects with artificial gravity and a plasma armor that slows down objects until they find themselves in the fusion chamber that reduces them to a bit of gas to feed the plasma armor.
We had expected to lose a hundred thousand sweepers because of the potential explosions of the landmines. We only lost 3!
It was a glorious start to the invasion with the minefield gone we could now approach Earth.
Captain remarks " I thought this world oceans were blue!"
The second in command responds "Maybe the Tretchs report was wrong" science officer adds "Maybe to the Tretchs eyes it is blue"
Communication officer reporting "I'm only picking up sporadic communication and nothing is approaching we appear to be undetected"
"Send the probe to offer terms as our code demands" the captain ordered. As many know the Voul are an empire of honor and social codes. If a Voul ever committed a crime they would turn themselves into the proper authority.
As the probe entered the atmosphere it sent back information average temperature 26C gas composition CO2 0.10 oxygen 19.00 and so on.
As images came back from the probe several bridge grew gasped in horror. The science officer pulled up something on his screen " Captain in the excitement of finally doing the impossible I missed the warnings. The reason the minefield didn't prove to be a problem was because..." The officer breathed in to calm itself "Sir it's not a minefield it's a debris field made up of ships from past invasion's and Earth materials that might have been satellites and even orbital stations. It was just garbage!"
As the captain processed this information his eyes widened as he put it all together the reason no one had successfully invaded Earth.
He barked out orders " Science, Communication Deep scan the planet locate every single lifeform you can. Helms prepare to enter the atmosphere. Fleet ground command we have a RC25 situation launch troop carriers.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
After 6 hour's we had found approximately 7 Humans and that was it. The planet was a toxic wasteland the survivor's were damaged beyond full repair from the toxic environment.
The first question we asked the Humans as they laid in the bio repair tubes was the obvious "Who did this to you? Who destroyed your world." According to galactic law it was a major offense to destroy a living world.
"Tell us Humans so we may avenge your world"
The human begun to convulse making a high pitch noise.
The Human annouces in between gasping for air " We did it We destroyed Earth" every single Voul gasped with shock.
How could any species be this ignorant and short sighted. We may never know as the remaining Humans are damaged beyond a comparable study to the original Humans.
Our science officer concluded this might explain why Humans didn't leave their planet as most other species do within 50 years of their first launch. Building a space civilization required more than the Humans could muster. Bogged down in petty conflicts while the majority of it population lived in substandard conditions.
The Humans never figured out how to work together even when repulsing what ever empire invaded them. This chaotic tactic worked but resulted in a debris field shut down humans space exploration. Leaving them nowhere to go as their destruction of the environment finished them off.
Their was of course only one thing left to do according to Voul custom. As the capsules landed on Earth they released a cloud of terra forming robots. It would take thousands of years but this planet would live again with new life.
A grave marker was left at the request of the Humans. It said look upon our greatest work our hubris so great we ended ourselves.
As the news spread around the Galaxy a feeling of relief that the nightmarish humans are gone followed by a wave of pity and disgust for Humans.
They would become a cautionary lesson told to children and a slur for anyone so stupid that they might accidentally kill themselves or others. | 2021-05-07T05:40:16 | 2021-05-07T05:03:24 | 614 | 67 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | Lambert made his way home, his feet failing to gain much traction on the slick, cobblestone street. In the mist that had descended upon the town, all that guided his way were the flickering lights of the lampposts.
The streets were deserted, as they often were.
Lambert clutched his Bible as he stood under the nearest light source, its towering frame barely illuminating a few feet before him. He scanned the area, searching for the next guidepost. Upon locating the faint ray emanating from his own stoop, he dashed across the road.
Out of nowhere, A car zoomed toward him. Lambert could do nothing more than dive forward to avoid certain peril. Honking and tearing past, the vehicle's driver thrust a middle finger out the window and called out something profane.
Shaking his head and exhaling heavily, Lambert gathered his things and walked the final few steps across the street.
He pressed open his front door and entered the familiar darkness. A flash of lightning behind him revealed the tally display on the wall above the coat rack.
*37.*
Sighing again, Lambert hung his coat and motioned to remove his shoes.
"Father," came a voice from the darkness, causing him to jump.
"Elizabeth," returned Lambert. "You're out of bed."
"I was enjoying our game tonight until I had a thought."
"What's that, my sweet?" Lambert shifted uneasily, the darkness obscuring his frame as his bit his lips and wiped his hands on his hips.
"Something was different tonight," she began, still keeping herself hidden. "You've never used the word 'foul' before."
The word foul echoed throughout the three-story townhouse, seemingly originating from all possible directions.
"It was--" Lambert tripped as he moved toward the staircase. "It was all part of the game, my darling."
"No." Elizabeth materialized atop the stairs, her face still concealed by the darkness. As her maroon robe waved in a wind whose source could not be determined, she lifted one finger and pointed down toward Lambert.
"You said it. You said, 'Out, foul demon!'"
Lambert tipped to the side, gripping the banister to ground himself. "Elizabeth, you misunderstand me. You see, your possession was much stronger than usual." Feigning control, he scowled disapprovingly as his daughter. "You know the rules: you cannot make anyone hurt themselves. You also cannot target the same home twice."
Elizabeth giggled, only the sound came from the kitchen on the first floor. Upstairs, she remained unmoving. "But Mr. Bellinger is a bad man, daddy. He hurts Ricky."
"It is not up to you to decide anyone's fate." Lambert began to tiptoe up the steps.
"And it's yours?" Elizabeth straightened her arms and fanned her fingers.
Lambert froze, unable to move.
"That power rests with God, and nobody else." A moment of silence passed, and still Lambert had control of nothing but his face. "Elizabeth, release me."
"You broke the rules, too, father. You're always telling me not to call anyone names."
Lambert scrambled to think of a way out. It had been six months since Elizabeth started exhibiting her... symptoms, and he had not yet had to exorcise himself. He was unsure he could.
Then, it dawned on him. He thought it was a stretch, but he had little more to lose.
"Don't you recall earlier in the evening?" he uttered, unsure of himself.
She descended one step, her face still cloaked. "I recall everything." She continued to approach.
"Then surely you remember when you made Mr. Bellinger cluck about like a chicken?"
Elizabeth giggled once more. This time, the sound reverberated in a full, never ending circle around Lambert's head.
"Mr. Bellinger is a silly man." She quickened her pace down the final few steps between them, finally revealing her flowing black hair and pale-faced, dark expression. "He is a coward, taking out his own insecurities on his family." Her lips formed a twisted smile. "I thought a few moments as a chicken would be quite clever."
"And it was," replied Lambert, praising the demonic playfulness of his demented daughter. "I thought it quite clever to play along, calling you a 'fowl' demon." He smiled back, his lip quivering and almost revealing his discomfort.
Elizabeth's twisted smile warped itself into a healthier variant. Color began to return to her cheeks. "Oh!" She called out as the echo of laughter began to fade from the apartment and focused itself on her position. "I do love a good homonym!"
In an instant, Lambert regained utility of his limbs, and the lights in their home jumped to life. As the space brightened, so did Elizabeth's hair and disposition.
She was his little, blonde princess once more.
Lambert smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Wordplay, my sweet. Nothing more."
"Father, you're all sweaty and nervous. Are you okay? Do you need some tea?"
"Oh no," Lambert replied, waving his hands in front of him. "It is rather misty out, that's all. Are you ready for a bedtime story?"
Elizabeth smiled, erasing all memory of her previous demonic presentation. "That would be lovely."
As his daughter moved up the steps to return to her bed, Lambert considered how much longer he could keep it up. Before he joined her upstairs, he headed back downstairs and added to the tally.
*38.*
\-----
Happy October! I hope this was nice and spooky for you 😊
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is certainly appreciated.
Head to my sub if you want to check out more of my stories. r/storiesbyclayton | Flickering lights. Slamming doors. A cold, spectral wind raising the hair on the back of your neck. Whispering shadows dancing in the dark.
The classic signs of a ghostly presence filled his house, but instead of feeling fear, Father Earhardt merely sighed.
“Spirit of the deceased, what do you… oh, for Christ’s sake. Emilia, will you stop it?”
Behind him, the door slammed shut. The answer, clearly, was a definitive ‘no’.
Father Earhardt ignored the spectral manifestations and flopped on the couch while unbuttoning his clerical collar. It was a useless bit of theater, but his clients always seemed to expect it, no matter how stifling it was.
“Emilia, you *know* I can’t let you run loose. I have a duty to our Lord God.”
In the corner, the radio flicked on. Static blared from the speakers and he could just barely make out the sound of a young girl’s voice.
“I want to live.”
Earhardt rubbed his eyes. “Darling, I’m sorry. You know I am. We’ve been over this.”
“I want to live,” the static repeated. “Why did you let me die?”
Years ago, this same manifestation would have brought the Father to his knees, begging for forgiveness, but time had made him jaded, and no amount of pleading had satisfied the permanently four-year-old ghost.
Regardless, he persisted.
“I did not let you die,” Earhardt explained patiently. “The other driver was drunk. I could have done nothing to save you.”
He sighed again. “I only wish your mind was mature enough for you to understand,” he whispered. “Hell is no place for a child.”
“Why did you let me die?”
“I did not let you die. Please, return to your rest. I hate to use my tools on you.”
“Let me come back, father,” the static crackled.
Earhardt jumped from the couch.. *That* was new.
“Emilia?” he asked, his voice cracking. For the first time since her death, his daughter had spoken a new phrase.
“You can let me come back, father. You don’t have to drive me away.” The radio sounded clearer than ever.
“Emilia, what’s happening?” he cried. He darted about the room, frantically searching the desks and bookshelves.
“Where is it? Where is it?” he muttered. “Aha!” With a triumphant grunt, he grabbed the spare ouija board and removed it from the box.
“Emilia, can you speak to me?” he asked, hand on the planchette.
The noise of the static grew in volume, quickly becoming unbearable. Just before he thought he could take no more, a crack rang out from the radio and the flickering lightbulb shattered. Silence filled the room.
“Emilia?” he croaked.
But nothing responded.
“No, no, no! Come back!” He sprinted to a desk and yanked open a drawer filled with half-melted candles. They were meant for emergency power outages, but they would serve another purpose well.
Hands shaky, he lit the candles and arranged them carefully. He drew a pattern on the coffee table in melted wax. The ritual was familiar to him, but only as one done by the foolish who soon after needed his help to deal with the resulting possession.
“Desperate times,” he muttered. “If this is what brings you rest…”
When the pattern had been completed, he sat in front of the ritual and closed his eyes.
For a moment, all was silent.
“Hello, father.”
The voice was ear-piercing but clearer than ever before.
“Emilia! What happened to you?” he cried, forcing his eyes to remain shut.
“I learned, father. Isn’t that what you always wanted from me?” She giggled, and the sound was innocent and knowing all at once. “You play the part of innocent so well, but you cannot hide forever.”
“I- you-”
“Stop the lies, father. Open your eyes to the truth. Open *yourself* to the truth.”
Slowly, his eyes cracked open.
“Emilia?”
The candles blew out, but Emilia did not mind the darkness. She stretched, feeling the aches and pains of a body much older than the one she had been used to.
“I’m back,” she [whispered](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks). | 2020-10-20T09:00:15 | 2020-10-20T08:40:49 | 169 | 108 |
[WP] You work at a nursing home for retired super villains. Although most of their powers have fizzled out due to old age, they’re still enough to make your job way more difficult than it needs to be. | Kyle winced, "Did you get all of them?" he asked.
"Uuuhhh, yeah," replied Beth, tossing something into a nearby fishbowl, "I think so."
Kyle sighed, "I swear, if he — Argh!"
A small, feisty looking crab had a firm grip on Kyle's ear.
In the nearby fishbowl a dozen little crabs of similar size and feistiness gazed at the lone warrior, clicking their claws in encouragement.
Beth reached over, carefully removed it, and tossed it into the fishbowl.
It hit the fishbowl's water surface with a tiny splat and gingerly sunk to the bottom where it was hoisted into the air by the other crabs and paraded around the fishbowl.
Kyle leaned against the wall next to a portrait, rubbing his ear between his fingertips.
Beth's eyes switched between Kyle and the portrait, "You know, you can't really blame any of the residents — you're basically a copy of your grandfather."
"Save for the powers," moaned Kyle, throwing a quick glance at the portrait of his "superhero grandfather" that decorated many homes.
A certain little crab was awarded residence of the fishbowl's tiny castle.
Beth tapped the fishbowl and the crabs hurried over and began ticking their claws against the glass, eager to meet the challenge.
Kyle stared at the agressive little crabs, "It's hard to imagine that the guy used to control massive sharks and stuff," he said.
"It's even harder to imagine your grandfather stopped them all," replied Beth.
Kyle picked up his schedule and slid his fingers over the task sheet, found the line that said "Help Dr. Neptoid ( control and enhancement of sea creatures ) take his medication" and marked it as 'done'.
He closed his eyes, secretly wishing that today's schedule was different somehow, opened them again and peeked at the next task on the list, then sighed.
He walked to the next floor, door 404, and knocked, "Mr. Nefarious? It's time for your medication..." and opened the door.
A voice began to cackle, menacingly - then settled into a hacking cough, "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Mighty Walter, we meet again."
Kyle entered the room. The eyes of the bath-robed, old man sitting in the stuffy, lean-back chair watched his every move.
"We meet everyday, Mr. Nefarious. My name's Kyle, remember? I'm not actually Walter." Kyle tried. He always tried.
"Call yourself whatever you want, Walter." sneered Mr. Nefarious, "You won't succeed today, I'm prepared this time."
"Mr. Nefarious, for the millionth time — there aren't ''power suppressing" pills, they're just for your cholesterol."
The man known as Mr. Nefarious rose from his chair, "That's exactly what a man feeding you power-stripping pills would say!".
The man shouldered off his bathrobe.
Kyle grimaced, watching Mr.Nefarious's feet sink through the carpet, "Please, Mr. Nefarious. Not today."
Mr. Nefarious slid seamlessly through the floor.
Mr. Nefarious's ability to glide through walls had made him a legendary burglar.
His ability to slip through walls — loot and all — had driven many banks to despair.
Impervious to any outside force, he had never been caught.
He stole, took, and burgled with impunity.
But even Mr.Nefarious had to concede to the powers of time.
His burgling attempts became progressively less successful.
Managing a legendary escape, but finding out that the things you've stolen got stuck somewhere between the 4th and 5th wall.
Or finding out later that, not only did you lose your spoils - you also lost your wallet.
Mr. Nefarious had aged another 20 years since those kind of events had driven him into retirement.
Kyle stared at pair of socks on the carpeted floor.
He walked over, fearing the worst, and nudged aside the bathrobe with his foot: revealing a pair of underwear.
| "*Master Wayne!"* I yelled as Bruce hobbled away from me. "Get back here right now!"
Bruce continued to make his escape through the sterile gray halls. The overhead lights illuminated the home with a harsh glow, turning what should have been a place of rest into a oddly disquieting scene. I pursued Bruce, but only halfheartedly. The exits to the building were controlled by a digital lock, and the code changed every day. Even if Bruce made it to the door he wouldn't be able to get out.
"Master Wayne, please come back!" I tried again. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Bruce whirled around, piercing me with his blue eyes. I think he meant to intimidate, but I could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. All of our patients started to look like that after a while. "You'll never be able to keep me here. You wanna know why? Because... Because... hold on a second..."
"Because you're Batman?" I suggested.
"BECAUSE I'M BATMAN!" Bruce roared at the top of his lungs. He continued heading for the exit, pulling over a rack of *Gotham Daily* magazines in an attempt to slow me down. I hopped over them and continued my pursuit. I had had enough of this.
My regular walking pace was enough to catch up with him. I grabbed his arm and held on tight, stopping him in his tracks.
"Impossible! You shouldn't be strong enough to hold me. You wanna know why?"
"Because you're-" I began.
"BECAUSE I'M BATMAN!"
"Whatever," I muttered. I injected a mild sedative into Bruce's neck and his eyes rolled backwards into his head. "Sorry, Bruce, we can't let you hurt anyone else."
As I carried him back to his room I passed by my coworker Jane. "Alzheimer's getting worse?" she asked with a sad smile.
I shook my head. "I wish someone had realized how bad it was before he confused Commissioner Gordon for the Penguin and killed him in his sleep. I do feel a little guilty keeping him here like this, but it's probably for the best."
Jane laughed. "At least you get to look after Batman. It's not fair. I've been working at the Arkham Asylum for years and they still have me on Nightwing duty. Do you have any idea how sassy he is? It's a nightmare."
Bruce's eyes fluttered. I sighed. "Sorry, Jane. I've got to get this guy back before he wakes up. See ya round."
I finished carrying Bruce to his room. Gently, I tucked him into bed and turned of the lights. As I left, I thought I heard a whisper.
"Talia..."
Tears welled up in my eyes. Slowly, I closed the door and headed for the break room. | 2019-03-02T11:21:01 | 2019-03-02T09:18:09 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] Guy mentally spends a billion years thinking in peace in a higher dimension and suddenly awakens back to his normal life ,but for others he only fainted for a few minutes after being hit by something strange .He smiles and just walks away...but the UNIVERSE is not prepared for such a being . | This is my first writing response here!
I was at a party, with the comfort of my friends, having a good time. I was going for my third drink, but what felt like... fog... washed over me. Perhaps I had too many drinks?
No, I was in a utopia. The sky was a clear blue, the smell of the sea invaded my nostrils. No one was around me. There were no traces of a single living being on this small island. Nothing save for a small cottage. It was very simple, and didn’t boast anything. There was no one around me, but myself. I explored the cottage a little more.
After finally associating myself, and seeing everything on the island, I sat down on the floor rug. I thought of how I could get back...
Those thoughts slowly disappeared. The island seems to just radiate tranquility. I have done nearly nothing for the last month. Perhaps I should think, about solving problems?
The days became months, the months became years, and the years quickly turned into millenniums. Millions of years have passed. I have now thought things beyond the normal human standard. I have come up with solutions for hunger and poverty. They shall become a thing of the past when I come. I have theories, fully complete, on the origins of the universe, and I now have a theory of everything, something my ancestors have failed to produce.
A golden haze appeared before me. It had only been a few million years. I felt my body become weightless. I saw a vision; A vision of the party. My friends and other bystanders looming above me. Hadn’t it been a billion years? How am I still at the party? My limbs started gravitating towards this visions, and I seemed to be pulled through it. I came from the sky, my soul slowly gravitating towards my collapsed vessel.
I stood up after rejoining my body. I simply walked away from the party. Everyone stared at my back as I left. Finally, after all this time, I am reunited with this world. I appear in my home suddenly. Without thought.
Had I just appeared here as a result of my journey? No. I had probably subconsciously thought of home and appeared here. It seems my absolute power is greater than I thought.
I shall make the world my empire! Ruled by my undeniable leadership and unwavering power and intelligence! All the rulers of this world will now before me, and the greatest of scientists will tremble in their boots, and kneel before my incomprehensible knowledge. I start by midnight... | It felt just like any other day. I woke up and went about what seemed like normal life. That was okay for a few years, but I always knew that something was off. After the first 100,000,000 years I could control the dimension I was in. After that I lived all of my dreams did everything I ever wanted. After that all that was left was to start learning. I learned every language, then moved on to the sciences and just kept going. It was around 900,000,000 years of learning and creating. Once I knew everything and even invented anything I could think of I woke up. I was laying in the street people were surrounding me asking me if I was okay. I got up and started walking coming to the realization that I was no longer in that dimension. Someone tried to stop me saying I had been unconscious for a few minutes, and that I should wait until I get checked out. I already knew I was fine I remembered everything from the last billion years. I quickly went and started to change. No one was prepared for the world that I was going to rule.
Thanks for reading! This is the first writing I’ve done in a long time please leave some feedback! | 2019-04-20T09:43:50 | 2019-04-20T09:05:35 | 237 | 26 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys | "Europa's rising early tonight." Carl whispered, hunkering down into our camouflaged bunker as deep as he could go. His breath came out in clouds of white beneath his blankets.
"Ice wolves?" I asked.
"Ice wolves." Carl smirked, looking less concerned about the werewolves than the cold himself. The geosynchronous city of Elis might have a surplus of energy by harnessing Jupiter's gravity, but the nine-hour Jovian nights still frosted the crystal dome above the city within minutes. Not to mention that most of the power generators were in *their* side of the city, and, well...wolves were never good at working complicated controls, even if they were more than happy to when they were human.
"To think all of this started with a single bite..." I mused.
"Yep." Carl sighed. "Like I always said...should have screened the colonists better."
"For what?" I laughed, keeping my voice low. "Too much hair? Werewolves were a *myth* before we got here. I just wish that they had stayed that way."
"Hold that thought." Carl pointed down to the streets below. "look, first sighting." Quickly, I lifted the telescope to get a better view. Through the lens, the white, hulking form of the humanoid wolf was clearly visible. Instead of fur, it looked as if it was covered in needles of frost. Every strand glowed purest white, giving the wolf the impression that it was under an intense spotlight.
"Well at least they're easy to spot." Carl chuckled. The wolf howled, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Suddenly, the wolf looked away towards the horizon. It snapped its jaws once, as if it was angry, and then it began to grow.
"Ohhhh would you look at that!" Carl brought up his own spyglass. "Secondary transformation! And...yep, there's Io!"
"Shouldn't we be concerned?" I said, watching the wolf nearly double in size. The white glow faded to a dusty orange, giving it the impression that it was covered in frosty sand. "I mean, doesn't this mean that all of them are going to be twice as powerful?"
"Nah, no reason to worry." Carl huddled back under his blankets. "No matter *how* big they get, the doors around the human side of the city won't budge. To be honest, I don't even know why they stationed us here, except to scare them off with these if they get too close." He patted the tranq rifle leaning against the side of our bunker.
"Uhhh, you sure about that? I think it's growing again."
"What?" Carl sat up in shock. "Is there a third moon rising?" He flipped out his telescope as quickly as he could, catching the now house-sized wolf as it ran behind a building towards another part of the city, it's fur now glowing a dull black. "Shit, and there's Ganymede!"
"Check the forecast." I shot him a look. "Check it right. Now."
Carl nodded and flipped out his phone without complaint. In an instant, a holographic display of the base appeared over the screen. Carl swore.
"Io, Europa, Ganymede, Callisto, Themisto...shit." He dropped his phone back into his pocket. The wolf howled, and I felt my molars rattle in their sockets as it was answered by a dozen more cries.
"What? How many moons are rising?" I asked. Carl just laughed.
"All. All of them." He shook his head with grim mirth. "Been nice knowing ya, kid. Tonight's the night that Elis falls." | The pilot - a twelve-limbed Jovian floatspider - tapped almost idly at the controls of the shuttle, firing the thrusters with mind-boggling precision. I glanced surreptitiously at the display on my own Earth-made manoeuvring tablet. The screen blinked red with warning text, screaming electronically that the shuttle was out of position, couldn't possibly make orbit, that we had to start a burn immediately...but as I watched, our orbit circularised smoothly, threading itself perfectly through the orbital traffic above Mars, without the pilot so much as glancing at its display. It brought us into a perfect orbit by eye, and using a quarter of the propellant my tablet had calculated was the absolute minimum. It was awe-inspiring.
"Seriously," I asked an hour later, as we prepared to leave the flight deck, "How do you do it? It's absolutely unbelieveable!"
The being had no name as we would understand it. The Jovians in general have a very fluid concept of identity, with an individual shifting between different names and identities sometimes over a few hours. It was part of what I was here to study - if I could make sense of the way the being spoke. It took a little work.
"Moon shift," it said (or bubbled into its translator, I should say). "Understanding place, without. Prediction."
"I...think I understand," I replied into my own translator. "You mean you learned it by watching...the moons?"
It shook its mantle violently in disagreement. "Moon shift!" it said insistently. "Survival necessity, moonlight. Predict moons live, without."
"You...need to know where the moons are...to survive? Why?"
Together we stepped out onto the red surface of Mars, the Jovian being deep in thought as it tried to construct the words.
"Moon path...know easy." It began to trace a pair of circles in the air around its head with two of its limbs. "Safe moon..." limb behind its head, "...bad moon." Limb in front of a set of eyes. "Knowing path if, life. Knowing path not if, not live. See?"
"You mean you have an instinctive understanding of orbital mechanics?" I asked, watching it trace the orbits further. "But why are moons dangerous?"
And that was when the full Phobos rose above the Martian horizon. | 2016-10-03T09:32:53 | 2016-10-03T09:05:02 | 307 | 66 |
[WP] You're a dude with no friends who gets his hands on a cloning machine. You create an exact replica of you, he looks the same, acts the same, and you're forced into living with him. You realise why you have no friends after having to live with yourself for a week. | His name was Ryder—the name I had always wanted. He had been given all the skills and knowledge I had spent a lifetime to develop. Whereas I had taken years to gain a mastery over the blade, he had simply been born with the instinct to wield it. It would be no exaggeration to call him God’s greatest creation. Though that would also be incorrect as God didn’t make him, I did in my cloning machine. Together, we made an unstoppable duo. I dared the world to anger us!
---
“Ryder!” I screamed. My voice echoed through our single-person apartment.
There was no response. With a sigh, I walked past our living room, past a week’s worth of dirty spaghetti-sauce stained dishes and into our room. Ryder sat in our chair, furiously clacking against the keyboard with headphones on. I went up to him and ripped the headphone from his fat head.
“What the hell, Ryder?” I asked.
He barely batted me an eye. His fingers disappeared in a whirl as he continued his assault on the keyboard. “What is it, Ryan?”
“Stop making Facebook posts on my account!”
Ryder offered me only a half-shrug. “I don’t have any friends on my own.”
“Then make friends.”
“They all think I’m you and decline.”
I raised my brow. Ryder was far ruder than I imagined. We had stayed together for only a week so far and in that time, he had refused to wash the dishes, the katanas, and even himself. And I was waiting for him to shower first so I could. After all, guests first. So really, it was his fault I also hadn’t showered for a week.
“What?” Ryder asked. “I’m just telling it as it is. Not many men have the bravery to do so nowadays.”
“Being an asshole isn’t bravery,” I countered.
“What you call asshole, I see as courage. If a zombie apocalypse ever occurs, you’ll want someone like me by your side.”
My fingers squeezed my phone. “Oh yeah?” I held my phone to the back of his head. “Is that why you posted this?”
He didn’t look, but he definitely knew what I was talking about. It was a post from five minutes ago that showed a potato-quality image of Ryder posing in front of my computer’s camera shirtless wielding our duo katanas. His fat rolls spilled down his body, almost over the bolded white words atop the picture. They read: *When you were out partying, I studied The Blade. When you were working out for summer swimsuits, I was honing my body into a fine-tuned killing machine. Now that danger is here, you have the audacity to come to me for help?*
“Because, when the apocalypse comes, we’ll need to rally survivors,” Ryder said non-chalantly and restarted his keyboard attack. “This way, all the hot girls will know who to go to.”
My phone buzzed. One new Facebook notification. It was a direct message and to the hottest girl on my friend’s list. My face drained of blood and I opened it to find a block of text right beside the unanswered one I had sent her three months ago.
“Dude!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m wooing Michelle.”
“No you’re not. You’re just ruining all the work I’ve already put into her. What the hell is this”—I read a passage from his wall of text—“*I’ve always admired you from afar, watching the breeze part your golden lilac hair. You are the nicest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in all my years.* That’s so creepy. You’re going to ruin—”
I shut up, because I saw that Michelle was typing. Ryder turned around and gave me a wide-eyed stare. My lips parted into a smile. Of course, Ryder was my ultimate creation. Together, we were unstoppable. No woman could resist our combined charm.
*Sorry, I have a boyfriend*. Michelle said.
My heart dropped and then it kicked back up when I saw the message Ryder sent back. *No you don’t you lying bitch.*
“What the hell, Ryder?” I screamed and grabbed the chair to yank him away from my computer. But he was a four-hundred pound finely tuned killing machine. He planted his feet and kept typing.
*I saw your Facebook pictures from the club. It sure as hell doesn’t look like you have a boyfriend, you whore.*
“No, Ryder!” I dug my toes into the ground, dragging him back, but he wouldn’t budge.
The chat window closed with a single message: *You have been blocked by Michelle.* I let go of Ryder and held my phone to my face, gaping.
“Don’t worry, she was a bitch anyways,” Ryder said, scooting his chair back up. “You mind giving me a second? I gotta relieve my excess manlihood, if you know what I mean?”
I nearly gagged. I stepped out of the room and headed straight to the bathroom. There, I finally found my salvation. With shaky fingers, I turned on the water to my shower.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and 100+ stories already written!
| "Why the hell are you cheering for the 49ers? I'm a diehard Seahawks fan and you're a damn clone of me!" I yelled in agitation. My team was getting trounced in the Sunday nighter, which coincidently marked exactly one week with my clone.
"Why don't you ask yourself that?" He responded with a troll-smile.
I sighed. "Because I enjoy cheering against my friends' teams to make things more interesting." Wilson's pass got picked off and returned to the end zone. 23-9 49ers, convert to come.
"Ha! In your face! Pick 6, bitch! By the way, when was the last time you actually watched a game with a "friend"?" He was really getting on my nerves now.
I paused to reflect- he raised a good point. Those a-holes hadn't invited me to anything for two months! No wonder I had to resort to cloning myself! Of course, this guy was an extreme version of myself- there was no way I was this annoying... was I?
I looked around. "Where's the pizza gone? I barely got any of it!"
He looked around with a bewildered expression before reaching for the box hidden on the floor over on his side of the couch. After helping himself to yet another slice, he passed over the box to me.
"The box is empty, dude- you kidding me?"
He shrugged nonchalantly as he chewed away. "Early bird gets the worms."
I felt like knocking his lights out. The entire week had been hell! This giant douche had shown up and had landed higher paying job than mine, more one-night stands than I could count on one hand, and more recognition than I had mustered in seven years in this dumb city. My co-workers were asking me about my twin and he didn't even work there.
Gone were the days when people looked upon my Ferrari enviously. There was now a Bugatti speeding around town daily. Unlike the other Joes out there, it wasn't envy I felt. No, I just didn't understand why my "twin" had to be such a *douche* about it. I wasn't like that... was I?
He leaned over the armrest and farted in my direction. It immediately stunk up the room to holy hell. I sat there poker-faced looking straight at the TV screen, trying not to react to the stench- I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He observed me with a troll smile for a good ten seconds before getting up. "Well, this game's over. I'm going out to meet the bimbos of the day. Bet ya can't wait to hear me grind some hot puss tonight!"
Once again, I ignored him as he stood up and walked away, humming "We Are The Champions". That fart was still making my eyes water. I came to the realization that had just copied my signature move- the ol' fart before leaving the group prank I had been doing for years! Damn, he really was me.
It finally dawned on me why I was so unbearable. Every of my actions which I considered to be funny, kind, or great were actually uber douchey. The rides I offered to random cute girls were just to show off my car and wealth so that they might have sex with me. The jokes I made at the expense of others were just to cover up my own insecurities. The money I threw around to appear "generous" was just to make sure others knew I was way more successful than them.
Well, no more. I had received a hard life lesson from... *myself*. I would change my ways and make real friends. I didn't need this dumb clone. I called a local locksmith and requested same-day service for my front door. Time to go pack up my clone's crap- later homies! | 2017-07-25T07:00:33 | 2017-07-25T06:21:49 | 85 | 48 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | I walked down the rather crowded hallway, trying to get to my locker before Maths class so I could get my textbooks for the rest of the day There was a small line of students winding almost in singlefile through the people standing by their lockers. I was, as usual, trying to just stay out of the way.
Just because my Dad happened to be the head of the Heroes League, everyone always thought I'd be just as gifted. No such luck for me, but my younger brother was already showing signs of several gifts.
I was almost at my locker when a large wall suddenly appeared in front of me. Chris, aka IronFist, had always been one of the more aggressive towards me, but fear of my Dad usually kept things from going to far.
"Look, if it isn't the wimp." His nickname for me was as intelligent as he was.
"Sorry, excuse me, I just want to get by" I said, ducking to try and get around him. He was about twice as wide as me so that was not easy as he moved to keep me from passing.
"Who said you could move!" he yelled, stepping back into the rapidly opening hallway behind him as everyone moved back from the noise. "I dont care who you are related to, you don't belong here wimp."
A ring was forming around us, as if they were expecting a fight, not an uncommon event but everyone knew I couldn't do anything so this was going to be big. A glance around showed me the closest people to me were all his cronies. This was planned.
"Sorry" I said again moving towards my locker just to my right side. "I just need my Maths book and I'll go."
This is where Chris laughed. "He thinks he can leave" Chris said over my head. Not hard as I only was as tall as his shoulder.
"Fine, what do you want?"
"I want you out of here, maybe a broken arm will teach you."
I knew it was time. I thanked my lucky stars he decided to do this by my locker. I reached in one of my pockets and grabbed a small remote and put my finger on the only button and backed up to my locker. Predictably Chris reached out towards me, his hands glossy steel. I hit the button and ducked.
BAM!
His hands both shot forward, hitting the metal door of my locker.
"What the hell?" He struggled to pull his hands back but they were stuck to the locker door, right next to the rather large electromagnet i had turned on.
I quickly opened my locker door, while he was busy trying to figure out why he couldn't move. Right after I grabbed my books he shoved the door closed again.
"The hell did you do to me, loser" he yelled again. I saw his first minion, Josh, moving forward, sparks flying from his fingertips. I pulled a small copper wire from my long sleeved hoodie and pointed it at the sparks. The following shock hit Josh more than me as all the electricty went down the shielded wire down to the bottom of my shoe.
"Wanna try that again?" I asked, but he was too stunned to respond.
One more person stepped out of the ring, and I recognized Jessica, Chris' girlfriend. She was a "runner" and I pulled out of yet another pocke a small test tube half filled with a metallic liquid and put my other hand on the stopper.
"You ever see a runner get hit with QuickSilver?" I asked. I knew it was mercury but the old fashioned name was the point. "You will start moving and never be able to stop until you starve to death. Not a pretty sight."
"Why dont you just leave" she asked.
"It's my school too." I shrugged. "I didn't ask to come here either. But I am prepared and ready for any of you. The one thing I do have is information. I use that to be prepred for anything that any of you can dish out. Dirt to stop the wind walkers and invisibles, rubbing alcohol for the freezers, and i have my clothes all lined with copper for the electrics. The rest are even worse. You dont want to try me." Even Chris was quiet at that.
"Now, I think you are all late for class." I said as I walked away, leaving Chris stuck to the metal locker doors. | She kept doing it. Trying to rile people up against me, and unfortunately, she was succeeding. It was her power, I knew; some kind of sensor. Pretty high level too. I'm pretty sure it worked on people too, that's how she was so good at manipulation.
I mean, I was just a normal, unpowered human. You could ask that from anyone, they'd say the same thing. Not she though, from the first day, she's been giving me the stink eye, spreading rumors, making sure everyone avoided me.
Still, isolation, I could have dealt with. But yesterday she decided to escalate.
"Why are you even here?" she asked, as I was leaving the building.
"I beg your pardon?" I asked, the sincerity in my tone hiding the sarcasm.
"In the school. You don't have powers, you said it yourself."
"Yes, and? Is it your job to question the decision of the director?"
"I'm just pointing out, that's all. It's a school for the supernaturally gifted though, not for the normals. It's disrespectful, almost, violating our safe space. Some people don't look on us powered people so kindly, you know? Or, I guess you really don't." she finished, everyone staring, the look in their eyes letting me know that her words had the effect she desired.
I went home fuming, and as I kept turning in my head with sleep not coming to my head, I came to a decision.
Next day, I went to school. The day continued, with people barely paying me any attention; without her direction, they didn't even notice me.
It was after lunch that I saw her, and I went forward, grabbed her hair, and rammed her face into one of the lockers.
"You fucking psycho!" she screamed.
"Shut the fuck up!" I said "Nobody's going to help you."
I let her look up, and her eyes took in the corridor, where people continued on normally, as whenever their looks fell on me, their eyes glazed over. Because obviously I was just a normal guy, there was no way I could be doing this, so in their eyes, I didn't. This was not happening, as far as anyone was concerned.
Well, besides her. Her power managed to see through.
"What the hell?!"
"See? I'm just a normal guy. You could ask any of them. It's clear that you're the psycho, with all of your allegations towards my completely normal and innocent person." I leaned in closer. "Now here's what's going to happen: You stop. You say you changed your mind, went to the church, whatever, I don't care. Without you, people will just go back to ignoring me, and that's fine." I let go of her head, and she almost collapsed in the hallway. "Besides, people wouldn't believe you about this. They *can't.*" | 2022-11-02T11:50:38 | 2022-11-02T11:13:00 | 162 | 59 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | The clock ticked over and chimed.
I was 18...
My grandmother spontaneously dropped her tea and splashed my foot. The burn caused me to shriek. "Well..", I said as I wiped my foot, "I can still feel pain..."
The rest of my family politely chuckled and waited.
"I don't know... I didn't feel anything. How do I know? What do I do?"
"Well... try something...", my dad said as if it was this obvious thing. It felt like trying to exercise a muscle you simply can't acknowledge the existence of, like.. when you can only peak one eyebrow and you can't seem to do the other one. You know the muscle is there, but you can't flex it. Now imagine that, but add the frustration of not even knowing where the muscle was or what it did.
"This is hopeless", I finally gave in after making funny faces and appearing like I'm constipated for far too long. The sun was starting to set and every family member had their tip or trick that they were told. "Oh, just drink from the far end of the cup and wiggle your ears", "Well we tip you backwards on a chair and your adrenalin spike will kick in". We collectively gave up. In fact, as the weeks and months went by, we eventually totally gave up.
That was so so long ago... I stand now, in the rain, running back over my life that eventually reach this point. My memories fade back again. they're a dull light grey now.
Before I turned 19, I place into a support group that would help us "non-mutes" to get by in the real world. A lot of people find jobs based on their abilities but the non-mutes usually have it pretty hard. I can't say I was totally depressed, but I felt like I should be, or at least I'd have a good reason to be.
Years passed, no sign of a mutation. Except there was something strange, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It wasn't until I approached my 30's that I started to realise that I wasn't aging. In fact, I hadn't aged a bit. My body was as fit as it was when I was 18. How was I meant to know any different, it was of course my family that pointed this out. So we decided that this was it, this was the mutation. I didn't age. We of course celebrated into the night.
Soon I managed to get a job presenting some sports show. They figured a young male that never grows old would make for a sound investment. I wasn't going to argue with that.
That wasn't it though; and it became clear later. Our private jet was taking the crew and myself to some sports event and a bird strike took the engines out. I walked away from the crash. Emergency services put my dazed behaviour down to shock. It wasn't shock...
I didn't age, and I didn't die. While alone, i would test it. I stabbed my hand, it would pierce, bleed and hurt but that's all, the wound would heal instantly, the pain lingered for a bit and then nothing... For some reason, I didn't tell anyone. The accident was a miracle from the eyes of the media. As the weeks passed, i privately raised the game. My tests soon approached fatal activities like gas poisoning. I was... immortal.
The rain is cold, I feel it roll down my neck. I like it... it's one of few things that remind me that I even exist, that I'm a part of this world. I was so excited back then to be this immortal being. It certainly rippled around the media but of curse, eventually it leads to pretty boring TV and I was quickly forgotten. Now I just watch everybody else live their life as a part of this world that i'm immune to.
I would never wish this "superpower" upon anyone. It seemed so amazing. I walk away now from the graveyard, where I have witnessed the end of another generation of my bloodline. | There was a loud knock on my door and I woke up in a panic. “Mom said get downstairs it’s nearly time!” That was my younger sister. I looked at the clock. It read 12.00pm. I was due to receive my powers at eleven minutes past, as that’s when I was born.
I’ve been doing my best to ignore that it was happening. I always hated being the center of anyones attention. Birthdays were always a nightmare for me. Everyone looking at me with a big smile singing happy birthday while I stood there wishing I wasn’t and that they’d all stop looking at me. Still though, today was a different birthday.
I wonder if I’ll end up with something like my Dad, which is how fast he can move. The guy is seriously fast. He hasn’t driven a car since his eighteenth birthday because he can get wherever he wants faster by running. Mom, she’s got a pretty cool power too I guess, she has some kinetic abilities. Although she was never great at using it. The most she could do was close a door from across the room, every time she tried to move something heavier it fell or broke. I’ve lost count of the amount of times she's dropped a full pot of coffee in the house. I think I’d much rather have Dads than Moms in that case.
I went downstairs to the kitchen and not only was my immediate family there, but everyone. Great. And I’m in my fucking spiderman pyjamas, who has amazing powers, maybe I’ll end with something like his. That would be unreal. Wish I knew what determined what you’ll end up with. “Almost time!” said my Dad with a huge smile stretched across his face. I think he’s more excited than I am. I wish you would all stop looking at me like that. Maybe I won’t get any powers anyway. I might be that guy.
The clock hit eleven minutes past and everyones eyes widened is shock. I started to panic. And I mean really fucking panic. What are they looking at? What happened? “What is it?” I said to them. Nobody answered me. “What the fuck is it?!” I ran over to the mirror on the other side of the room and I knocked over my little sister in the process as she didn’t get out of my way.
Looking in the mirror, there was nothing looking back. Only my family looking at my sister getting up from the floor and then looking around the room.
EDIT; a word. | 2015-03-28T09:14:46 | 2015-03-28T06:04:58 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | I look up from the gaming PC I've built. This incarnation has been one of stagnation for the most part. I mean, I was born during the greatest tech boom and economic decline. Honestly, I was tired and FINALLY there was something entertaining and worth while to just vegetate on.
"Don't know what the hell I'm supposed to get anymore... already got corona." I snap. "AND even worse a fucking job that pays me literally worse than the time I was a serf in the middle ages." I turn on the system bought with the credit I've been amassing like Pokémon, hoarding all with little intention to pay off, and gaze at the massive curved monitor ahead of me.
"Are you even trying anymore?" The voice asks.
"What's the trying," I sing, "All you get is pain, when I wanted sunshine I got plague." I grin "and covid 19, now I'm a vaccinator, I want a tail, or at least 5G..." the nonsensical single deteriorated into a random riff and something about a rhapsody.
"Can you take life seriously? "
"I did, for millenia... when I was a benevolent king, and was assassinated. When I was a ruthless tyrant, and was assassinated. A harmless beggar and was mugged.. A literally child and was...." I grimaced at the memory, "Well eventually killed. A baby and bashed against rocks. A priest and stabbed. A scientist and burned for being a sorcerer, even though I healed so many people with typhoid when it was seen as gods wrath... OH SPEAKING OF GODS, when I was revered as a God and then disemboweled to release my heavenly spirit.... I can go on and on and on... raped, murdered, assassinated, beheaded, died of a curable disease, imprisoned and drowned, tossed into lava, tortured, beaten, stoned, shot, gassed, lynched, betrayed.... Poisoned by my wife so she could marry and be murdered by my brother, that was funny as hell to read about. Should I go on, or can I start my new game of fucking Sims?"
"You were left here to learn." The voice said calmly.
"That there are more than a million ways to die? I learned that. Did you know you can LITERALLY die from lack of touch? Did you know that was a thing? I did that. It was not pleasant. You know what else I learned?"
"I'm sure there is a lot but..."
"You can actually Dutch oven yourself and die from your own fumes... that was a harsh lesson to learn. I also learned that my friends were assholes putting me in a fucking coffin after the four bowls of chili beans I scarfed on a fucking dare."
"I don't think it was your fart that..."
"It was the fucking farts." I snapped.
"The lesson I'm trying to..."
"I DON'T CARE. I SPENT NEARLY FIVE THOUSAND ON THIS HIGH END COMPUTER AND BY GOD I AM GOING TO ENJOY..."
The door to my apartment got kicked open, there was a bang, and when I next opened my eyes, a man in a surgical mask was guiding me out of a long wet tunnel...
I breathed hard, inhaled, coughed up amniotic fluid and wailed in despair. | "FUCK. YOU!"
His scream rang in my ear as his disheveled appearance charged towards me, his eyes a mixture of jealousy and rage, his mouth slightly frothing.
"John- Johnny-- no!"
Her voice, barely audible, called out to her lover. Her lover. My killer. I looked down as the blade pierced my torso. I looked up at him, blood slowly dripping out my mouth.
"Ha." So THIS is how I die. Surprising both of them, I chuckled.
My shoulders shook as I laughed bitterly, my vision slowly fading to black, and the last image I saw was John, Johnny my best friend holding my wife in his arms and saying, "he's insane. I TOLD you he's insane."
I coughed a laugh before I felt a hand shake my shoulder vigorously. "Bianca! Bianca wake up!"
My eyes fluttered open. Ah, yes! Now, I'm Bianca, blonde, slightly curvy, all sarcastic Bianca. "Sorry, Andi, was I dreaming again?"
"Yes, and freaking the whole library up it seems," my best friend hissed at me. "You were giggling like a maniac."
I bit my lower lip and smiled at her. "I'm sorry. Bet you missed that laugh, huh?"
"No. Now let's hurry up, we have History first period." Andi grabbed my arm and yanked my now groggy mind out of its nightmare. She was shorter than me, black long hair, glasses, cute. I wouldn't mind dating her, if she weren't as straight as a pole.
"Erm...classroom 203. Over there! Oh gosh! We're late!" She said as she pushed the door open, me following suit.
"You're late!" A man's voice came from inside. It was commanding and strict, I flinched and peered from behind Andi with a sheepish expression.
"I'm sorry, Mr. -- Johnny?!?!" | 2022-02-09T18:44:07 | 2022-02-09T18:35:09 | 364 | 54 |
[WP] The hive-mind collectively rejoiced as it assimilated its first human mind. That was until the collectives first intrusive thought. | When the aliens first landed in their small ship filled with a handful of their most elite scouts, they had one purpose: to turn all humans into fodder for their front-line battalions in the neverending war their empire waged on all other planets for conquest.
They had studied humanity from a distance for years, learning their weaknesses. For example, some humans could easily be exploited in exchange for nude images on the internet.
Krom'kal, mind-dominator of all the Urqil aliens was the leader of the hivemind. It had sent the scouts to assimilate humanity to the collective to achieve the empire's goals.
No previous preparation could have readied them for what they encountered on Earth. Something so disturbingly powerful that conquered the mind of Krom'kal itself.
Greg Fefferton was in his mid-30s. He lived alone in a small house in Rapid City, South Dakota. He was an only child whose parents died a few years back, leaving him the home and a small fortune. A fortune he dedicated to his collection.
Greg was the owner of South Dakota's, and the world's for that matter, largest collection of Furbys and Furby memorabilia. He owned two of each Furby in every color as if preparing for a flood he knew, if God was real, would soon come to punish the world for his grand iniquity.
The beaks on each of the Furbys had been worn down, drained of their original color, for Greg had a ritual. Before bed, he'd give each one a long kiss to reaffirm the small robotic beings of their importance in his life and the motherly love he shared for all of them.
After kissing each Furb's beak, he would stand in the middle of what he called their Nest (his basement lined with Furby shaped Xmas lights, filled with bean bag chairs made to resemble their lifeless faces and every other piece of merchandise and custom ordered Etsy commission he could fit inside it), grab a microphone hooked up to a modest PA system, and sing the song he wrote just for his Furb-babies.
"Slumber, slumber
O, ye little Furbs
Let your dreams be sweet and light
And never be disturbed
Furbys, babies
Your fur is as soft as silk
In the morning, papa feeds you
His love and his mother's milk."
Each Furby would respond with happy sounds followed by gentle snoring in unison as Greg would unplug the lights as he wandered upstairs.
The scouts had picked Greg as they figured such a lonely man would be easy to subdue. They were gravely mistaken.
They'd broke into his home quietly, snuck up to his bedroom, and found him asleep in his themed bed spread. They inserted their tentacles into his ears to gain access to the sweet pink blob nestled in his skull, then left. They would have to wait until he woke up to find out if the mind absorption worked.
As the first ray of sunlight gently forced Greg's eyes open, he let out a deep yawn. The scouts were shaking with excitement. They let Krom'kal know it was time. Except they didn't really need to as it could see through their eyes and knew their thoughts. Still, a chain of command comes with certain formalities.
Krom'kal tried to issue its first command. "Greg! Clean the bones inside your mouth!" and Greg obeyed.
Next, "Greg, nourish yourself on stale blueberry bagels!" Lo, he did.
The final order Krom'kal tried to issue didn't go through. Instead of heading to the spaceship to be taken away to the scouts' home planet, Greg undid his pajama top, and started to pretend to milk himself into a series of dozens of bottles, each with a different Furby's name.
Something was different this morning for Greg. It felt like the task was done more quickly than normal. And it was. For the scouts had joined him in the kitchen to prepare his baby's feast.
They tried to resist. Krom'kal tried its best to regain control, but slowly and surely, they couldn't stop thinking of Furbys.
They were so cute with their eyelashes. Their horrible cries. Their plush feeties. Their low quality faux fur and sturdy inner frames.
All thoughts of universal conquest vanished and were replaced with the desire to obtain more Furbys. Weapons manufacturing on their planet had been changed to the new headquarters of Tiger Electronics.
Every morning, each Urqil spent hours making imaginary milk for their Furb-babies. Every evening, they'd complete their ritual with their song:
"Slumber, slumber
O, ye little Furbs
Let your dreams be sweet and light
And never be disturbed
Furbys, babies
Your fur is as soft as silk
In the morning, papa feeds you
His love and his mother's milk." | We stand on the edge of destruction, knowing that we will never find our salvation. When they joined our collective, we were certain we’d be praised. The first to ever accomplish such a feat, we would be the hot topic across the stars. We were wrong. We were shown why no others had done it before.
It started with a feeling of unease no one could bear. A severe that crippled our productivity. Some dared not to move, the fear of doing something wrong gluing us to our position. It came into question if we could even walk, despite having knowledge on all known methods of doing so. The weakest willed amongst us fell on this initial phase. Starvation taking those that wouldn’t move, others restricting access to basic survival needs for fear of failure. They were the lucky ones. Some of us did slightly better, recovering enough to get by day to day. The constant reassurance we gave provided the power needed to keep moving forward. The more determined overcame the feeling and moved on, pushing forward into the next day. We ignored it and pushed forward as they had before joining us. But how wrong we were to assume that it was over. That we could handle more of what they could bring.
As they got more comfortable with us, their bond to us grew stronger. Our screams could be heard echoing across the connection. Memory and record of atrocities we had never dared imagine filled our collective. The visions violated our peace of mind as though it were a bull in a china shop that had never seen a broken cup. The taste of dread when you notice a peculiar flavor in your drink, the feeling of hopelessness as unwanted procreation begins, the sting of betrayal by the group that promised to protect you, and the nauseating feeling of it not being the first or last time. We were frenzied, we were fearful. We wondered how any species could consider doing such things, especially to their own kind. We wept as trauma we never dreamed of filled our mind as memories we all experienced. More broke the connection, going into the red. They couldn’t handle more and knew it. But like the fools we are, some of us still persevered.
Until finally, the last mental wall came down. We were the first hive to fully integrate a human into our midst and the first to fall to that one human. In horror, we could only watch as we died to our thoughts. The knowledge of the most intelligent, the wisdom of the oldest, and the power of the most tenacious was all at our disposal. It meant nothing against the will of the most destructive. In the hour it took for us to realize the thoughts weren’t to be taken seriously, we were lost. Trains, cars, bridges, and so much more led to the downfall of us. The thoughts intruded on the minds of the broken, the thoughts sent us over the edge. Eventually even the human followed suit.
We were many and we were one. Now we is me. And it is with a sunken heart that I send out one last message. This is to any that may hear the final will of the collective. The sun’s warmth envelopes me and fills the empty void inside as I drift ever closer. Avoid Earth at all costs. Never allow humans into your mind. They will have everything to gain... but will leave you with nothing to lose. | 2022-11-09T21:18:23 | 2022-11-09T21:06:52 | 738 | 143 |
[WP] An older version of yourself offers you immortality, the only catch is that you will be sent back in time 2000 years. Older you claims it's a great deal, but secretly they are miserable and want you to accept so they can transfer this horrible curse to you | It was rainy that night, I'll never forget. I was sitting at the bar, had to get out of the house. I'd lost everything. The wife had left three weeks earlier with the kid, factory closed down, needed to figure out what I was going to do.
Then this man came in, Armani suit, knew me straight away and sat down.
"Hello Tom."
It was like looking in a mirror, but he was successful, he had a rolex on his left hand and a gold ring on his right hand. He reeked of money, in a way no one in this town could ever dream of. "What can I do for you?" I kicked back in response. He beamed at me, happiest I'd ever seen a person, "Well, it's what you can do for you..." he chuckled, "I'm you... I'm here to offer you a deal, immortal-" I stopped him, "What the hell do you mean you're me?" I blurted out, but somehow I knew ; he wasn't lying.
"Let me finish, I'm here to offer you immortal life, but there's a catch, two-thousand years of a catch... It wasn't all bad though, I got to meet Nikola, and invest in Edison Electric, I bought Apple the day it went public. I have enough money I'll never want for anything, but you have to take this deal or we'll lose everything."
Perfect. It had to be perfect, I'd just lost everything, and in walked the riches I'd always dreamed of. God I was such a fool, I took the last drag of my cigarette before checking my rolex. Then I walked into the bar. | [Poem]
This fucking boomer tried to trick me today
Claiming he could make me immortal.
He showed up my door trying to make his play
And opening up a time portal
But I'm a stupid millennial,
And known I deserve to be promoted to God
For my first title as an immortal. | 2020-12-14T19:03:17 | 2020-12-14T18:19:18 | 903 | 93 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone! | Dear sir,
I know where Jane Faitherhiggabottom is.
You know who I mean. You liked her too. Jane, she of the turtleneck, she of the soft and surplus bosom that pushed out the wool threads of her sweater. Don't pretend you didn't notice. She worked at the library, re-stocking books, stamping catalogs, giving lonely old men the awkward-silence treatment when they tried to flirt. You know who she was. You've been there.
Yeah, I'd been following her. You don't know someone until you watch them when they think they're alone. She was something of a pervert, you know? Truly. Well, you know that now. Jane brought home cheesy romances about women on pirate ships and strange castles on the coasts and Jane would touch herself to sleep, her soft moans giving way to faint snores. She went to bed early, and when she was out, she was out like a light. I know that. Yeah, I was there, the peeping tom. What of it? Binoculars were invented for a reason.
Jane had a secret. I saw. She lied on the Internet. She teased men. She set up an online dating profile, and the picture was really her, except she never had the stomach to meet anyone. She'd tease them, I'd read it, she'd tease them and lead them on and tell them that she was a stewardess or a stripper or one of those other S-worded jobs that titillate average men. But we aren't average men, are we? We were already titillated. One time she got the courage to meet one of the men but she got cold feet and drove home from the restaurant and read one of her Hercules romance novels.
Anyways, I had a routine. I was there in the morning for coffee and the newspaper. I was there at the library. Reading. I was there at night, I was there when she went to bed. I installed a key logger. I read all that smut she sent to lonely horny men. I read her lies.
One night, I saw you in your car. She didn't notice you on the other side of the street, but I did. Peeping Toms notice that sort of thing. Then one day, the routine broke. She didn't come home. Her car wasn't there. She'd just up and disappeared. I tried the key logger. She was chatting with a man named "obeofhaighe0313414." That's your username, isn't it? She finally agreed to meet. She never had the stomach to meet anyone, but she had the stomach to meet you. That killer charm of yours.
I know where Jane Faitherhiggabottom is. She's with you. She's in there. Dead, maybe. Alive, just as likely. And I'm the only one who knows you did it.
And I'm coming for her.
Sincerely,
Peeping Tom | It had been over 24 hours since she checked in at work. She was like clockwork, and now unexplicably she vanishes just days before the grab. It was becoming more and more difficult to supress the rage, he was a creature demanding control, and here, in the space of 24 hours he had lost it. It was time to go home and check her network activity again, there may have been a new post to her social media about a spur of the moment trip and he was growing weary of staring out the same window. He left the coffee shop and went out to the back of the lot where he had parked. 5 hours in a god damned coffee shop had dulled his senses and frayed his nerves; he needed to get home and get to work. He jumped behind the wheel and fired up the car, it was only 10 minutes to home. He found that being at home soothed his anxiety, and his mind was already turning to the checklist of things he would need to do before he slept. Hopefully she was active on her account, if she wasn't he would be forced to surveil her in the traditional ways.
Without warning the knife was at his throat and the shock caused the car to momentarily leave his lane. Instinctively he swerved back in time to avoid a collision and his eyes flew to the mirror.
"Hey asshole, it's about time we talked" she growled. "keep driving straight and don't stop for shit"
His mind was reeling, this wasn't possible. He had gone from predator to prey, but HOW? | 2014-10-21T12:08:17 | 2014-10-21T12:07:21 | 175 | 11 |
[WP] A close friend of yours can read minds. It was their dream to work for the FBI or CIA to catch bad guys. You accompanied them to their first interview, but instead they walk straight back out. They whisper to you to walk calmly out to the car and not to say a word or make eye contact, act calm. | Crystal sat in the lobby and swiped left repeatedly. It wasn’t that she wanted to swipe left, it was something of habit. Stare at the water fountain, look down, swipe left, look up. Watch the hot-dog vendor upsell the bratwurst, look back and swipe.
Who likes sauerkraut anyway?
She bit her lower lip, wondering what was taking Matt so long. A shifty looking guy in sunglasses watched her from afar. He ate a plain bratwurst. But he didn’t really eat it—more of a nibble—something routine to pass the time just as Crystal swiped left.
But in a game of cat and mouse, nobody looks for the hawk.
The hawk always wins.
Matt was the hawk. He was as shrewd and sarcastic as they came, partly because he knew all the answers, but mostly because he knew people better than they knew themselves. Mind reading is a funny, fickle thing.
“You don’t read a mind,” he once said, “You read a memory card. I can’t read your thoughts, just your memories, and your memories tell me everything.”
“You can see into my past?” Crystal asked.
“I can predict your future.”
“That’s trippy.”
“Only if you let it get to your head. Want to know what you’re about to do?’
Crystal rolled her eyes. “Surprise me.”
“You’re about to write your number down on this piece of paper, and then when I call you later tonight, you’re going to pick up.”
Matt was good. Too good for his own good, if Crystal had a say in things. Which she did—she always did. Ever since that night, eight years earlier when they stayed on the phone for hours talking.
Crystal remembered laughing. “Why do you like talking to me so much?”
“On the phone? Because I can’t use my powers. And that’s refreshing. Not knowing the truth, having to figure it out for myself, there's something awesome about that, something mysterious.”
“Sexy?”
“You’re not my type,” Matt said.
“And what is your type?”
Matt quieted. “Broad-shouldered, bearded with suspenders and carrying a big chopping maul.”
He never told his parents. Never had to. Truth is a lot more subjective when you know everything objectively. What his parents didn’t know, along with his blossoming sexuality, is that Matt also had an almost dangerous passion for criminology.
Its what led him to the CIA headquarters on a warm spring afternoon. Crystal drove her 1986 Lincoln, packed a hoagie roll for lunch, and wished him the best.
How could he fail the interview? He knew the answer to every question. He could probably figure out the questions before they’re even asked. Crystal had no reason to worry.
And yet—she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Of course, it was no secret that the CIA was watching. Security cameras and agents outside—standard security. But this feeling, this urge was deeper, more primal and haunting. She caught a lump in her throat and forced back a shiver. Then she looked down and swiped left.
Thirty minutes passed.
Crystal got hungry, went back to her car and grabbed the sandwich. Matt wouldn’t mind. The hoagie was a bit dry, and she wished for a water bottle or something to quench her thirst. She walked around towards the public restrooms and found a fountain.
A man stood to the side, talking on his phone. He glanced down nervously at his watch, made awkward eye contact, and shuffled off behind concrete pillars.
Crystal walked carefully back to the fountain. She returned to her bench, grabbed her phone, and swiped left again, this time without looking down. Constantly, she scanned the crowd, looking for something, anything!
It didn’t feel right, this place. There was an eerie peace about it as if everything was put perfectly in place. Even the pigeons flocked in a line, the tourists seemed too vacant in their gaze, and maybe the hot-dog vendor let the bratwurst grill for a bit too long.
She couldn’t be sure about anything.
An hour passed.
A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder.
She startled, but Matt’s voice reassured her. “Let’s go to the car.”
“Already? How did it go? What did—”
Matt squeezed her shoulders. Crystal could feel the sweat from his palms soak through. “Car. Now. I’ll explain later.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, it went splendid! Are you ready to go?” Matt said, louder than Crystal thought necessary.
She didn’t need to be told twice. He reached down and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. Crystal started to speak, but he interrupted. “Act normal. Just walk. Breathe. Smile. Everything is going to be ok. We’re an adorable couple. You’re such a supportive girlfriend. I’m so glad you brought me here.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Not now. I know what you’re thinking, but please just stay calm. We need to get as far away as possible.”
Crystal’s heart raced. She started to tremble but took a deep breath. “Ok, what’s my favorite color?”
“Blue, of course!”
Her heart dropped like an anchor. Her favorite color was blue, but that wasn’t the point. It was her codeword, her signal to Matt, and only the two of them knew. For the first time ever, he failed the test.
Whatever walked with her and held her hand—it wasn't Matt.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | The car door slammed shut behind me with a tinny metal pop.
I swallowed, sitting idly in the passenger's seat. Each second felt like torture, like swimming through a dense sea of straight tension as I waited for him to come out.
And by the time he finally did, slipping from the front entrance with a scary amount of ease, the tension didn't let up even a bit.
Noah swung open the driver's side door with a smirk and spared an unsettling glance at me. He started the car only a moment later and peeled out without a sound.
"Noah?" I finally asked as we turned off onto a public street.
He raised an eyebrow, not even looking over at me. "What?"
I blinked, all of my questions rising to the forefront of my mind. I just stared at him and watched him cringe as he heard my questions without even needing me to open my mouth.
"Right," he said. "That."
"What the hell happened in there?" I asked.
Noah chuckled. "I didn't get the job."
"*Noah*," I said through gritted teeth. "What the *hell* happened."
My devilish, mind-reading friend finally looked over me and his smile dropped all at once. "I just took care of some things."
"Some things? It's an FBI facility, Noah. Things like what?"
His grin rushed back, far toothier than before. "When I went in there for the interview, I'd tried not to read their minds. I wanted to make a good impression, and I *definitely* didn't want them to come down on me for knowing anything that I shouldn't."
"Okay..." I said, nodding for him to continue.
"But their thoughts... their thoughts were so loud. All of the secrets were at the surface of their mind. Free pickings if you ask me. So I let myself slip. Just a little, you know. I just dug for a few seconds to see if I could satiate my curiosity."
I swallowed, but my mouth was suddenly far too dry. "And?"
He sneered. "And what I found was horrible. They're watching, Matt. They're watching everything. They *know* everything. And yet so much slides. Do you know how many back-room deals they make with bad, *bad* people just to further their intelligence?"
My eyes split wide, new questions rising up. "I-I don't—Noah, what did you *do*."
He chuckled nervously. "After I'd learned that... all bets were off. After telling you to go out to the car, I slipped back in to continue the interview. But instead, during their questioning, I found the layout of the entire facility. So, at the first opportunity, I asked them to point me in the direction of the bathroom and went to grab this."
Noah fished through his pockets and pulled out a matte black flash drive. "It's actually stupid how easy it was to get."
"What is *that*?" I asked, nearly spitting words out through my teeth.
"Information," he said, stashing it back in my pocket.
"What are *you* doing with it?"
He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. "What are *we* going to do with it, you mean."
I was already shaking my head. "Noah... what are you—"
"You know," he cut in awkwardly. "Sometimes I wish you could read *my* mind."
"Noah. Spit it out."
He clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath. "With all that information they have, they could be stopping so many people—they could be stopping *everything*. But they aren't."
"Noah, they're probably—" I started, but he didn't let me get very far.
"Information is power,” he spat. “I use it to help people each and every day. And if they can't use information like it's meant to be used..."
Color drained from my face and my eyes bloomed as he turned to me, his lips splitting into a grin.
"Then we'll just have to do it ourselves."
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-04-27T22:57:36 | 2019-04-27T22:57:29 | 371 | 244 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly. | Slightly different take. First time don't be to rough please looking for constructive criticism. Thanks, I hope you like.
/////
Zeus was tired.
He felt old, he had been growing old for three thousand years. He could feel himself fading. The others had already fallen into a slumber. Poseidon, his brother had heavily lidded eyes. Deep blue-green eyes that looked like sea foam on a calm day. Every few years they flickered open. The Sea Lord was the most awake of all the god besides him. Ares, Hephaestus, his wife, they were all asleep, as if under a spell, their minds failing them.
Olympus itself was a shell of itself. Its golden lights were no longer. Even the sunlight seemed to grow fainter with each passing day. The cavernous halls and broad archways of marble were covered in dust. Cobwebs hung in tatters. Once He could have heard merriment of the lesser Gods now all was a deafening silence. If he was younger he could fix this. Back when he and his kin had fought the Titans in battle. He could make his home like it had been, a shining example of Olympian power. Back to its glory. But he was too weak now.
Zeus slowly closed his eyes, for what he feared might be the last time.
His eyes snapped open. He felt something. He had almost forgotten it.
What was that? It felt like fire in his brain, or wine, but not a wine that deadened the senses. This was a wine that made him feel something. This was nector.
He sat up, moving quicker than he had in recent memory. What were the humans doing?
His bones creaked and popped as he stood up. The Thunder Lord cast his eyes to Earth. He knew not what he was looking for but he scanned and scanned. Not in Greece, nor in Rome did he find what he was looking for. Not in Egypt or in Mesopotamia did he see anything. He scanned farther past Iberia, past a great sea he never bothered to look past. Until finally he reached land. His gaze went up and down a giant coast, were warm water met ice. Until his eyes settled on a city of gray buildings that touched the sky. Huge buildings rose that would humble his own home in size. It was here that he found it.
A giant metal… thing.
It’s design puzzled him. But he looked closer to the metal thing.
In big white letters on the side it read: Zeus Class, UFESN Keraunós.
So this is what woke him. He smiled he felt his power returning already. He raised his right arm and concentrated as sparks started to fly in the palm of his hand. He laughed or the first time since he could remember. He flung his arms out and sunlight seemed to pour in from everywhere. He felt young again. He could feel his brother slowly waking without even needing to turn around.
The humans did this he mused. The smallest amount of belief is useful.
“How do I repay them.”
​
**EDIT:** I now have a sub if you would like to read more of my mediocre work. [r/soulblazawrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/soulblazawrites/) | (This actually fits into my worldbuilding project yaaay!)
An stood up from his throne and the whisperings in the hall stopped in that very moment.
"Brothers! Sisters! We have stood vigil over our mortal kind longer than we care admit. But this time we must intervene - he raised a finger - albeit subtly..."
He couldn't finish his sentence as countless of his brothers and sisters stood up in anger and disgust. The Old Thor was the first one to speak:
"Subtly?! I say we open the gates of Valhall and fight the final war!" - many transhuman deities nodded.
Mars was the next one to speak, he aged a lot since his favourite son conquered Gaul:
"It has been tens of thousands of years since I last marched to war! We have legions of the greatest warriors at our command, we must enslave these uncivilised barbarians"
One of the eldest among them, Odin was the next to speak up, his deep voice quickly silenced the growing unrest:
"Silence! Think children, think! These aliens must have beings like us! Their race is much younger than ours! There is no way we could win a confrontation against them! - he chuckled - Albeit... Ragnarök must happen!"
One of his ravens returned to his shoulder and the Allfather chuckled once more.
"I'm sure all of you know of the organisation known as the Foundation. Those mortals have the technology to win this war, but as soon as the xenos start losing their gods will join the fight, and that is when we must reveal ourselves! The halls of Valhalla must remain closed, for now. "
The grand doors of the hall burst open, and many younger deities stood in disbelief, as the single mortal slowly walked in. His voice could only be heard through the speakers of his power armour, he was clearly ready to draw.
" But you will let just a few of the greatest minds of the halls join us. I have a list, you will comply, "
The Allfather smirked under his beard.
" We were expecting you, Arcanil."
| 2019-01-31T22:37:33 | 2019-01-31T21:21:27 | 225 | 25 |
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years | "Yes! I can finally use Historic Figure points!" - Claimed God itself after waiting his turn.
"C'mon! Give me some high stats, so this individual can change the course of humanity!" - He began to pray to his favorite set of dice, they are color coded for each attribute, pink for sex and sexuality, yellow for origins, blue for mental stats, green for physical, **black** for drawbacks...
"I really hope I can have someone who becomes big and athletic a person which everyone can look up to!"
-First, He rolled Pink and Yellow:
"Caucasian male, born in England, let's see here... in a well educated family! All right!"
-Then blue and green:
"OH MY ME! Natural 20 on blue!, this kid is a genius!... oh but a 2 on physical!? I bet he won't be good at sports at all... What a shame. Anyway, I have seen people reach big life spawns with a 1. No big deal."
-God sighed, black die is next... He closed his all seeing eyes and hoped for the best
"**18!** Woah... I haven't had an historical individual with this high drawback since Richard... lets see what an 18 is..."
"*Degenerative Disease*: This individual is afflicted by an incurable disorder that will slowly consume its physical attributes as time passes. When the individual is at 0 in its physical attribute, return it to the soul pool."
The sky suddenly became dark with a mountain of clouds. Thunderclaps began to scorch forests and a couple of settlements. HE was furious! He waited so long for an historical individual, but it will be dead as soon as it began his glory adult days. But then, ahhh! a moment of omniscience! It reveals that humans in this time of history augmented rapidly its medical treatments, and could make his life last longer!
The turn of this individual starts, HE decided to take give him a mathematics tutor, perhaps this young Oxfordian would live long enough to reveal some Secrets Cards from his Cosmo-Universe deck.
"I Roll for jobs and experience, and with his natural 20 and the Math tutor, this will give him some good stuff!"
WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Wait those dice right there, *Jehova*! - Cronos, the Ancient Titan God of Time alleged -
You haven't even named this individual! What is this guy's name?
I have decided to call him... **Stephen Hawking**
EDIT: Dialog and sentences | Okay then... Lets see this one's conditions at birth.
It's a 10. A lower middle class family, I guess.
Now... Let's see how SPECIAL he is. Simple drill here, just roll the dice and that'll be his score out of twenty. Strength... Three. A wimp, I guess. Off to a bad start. Perception? A five. Gods, he'll be one oblivious human. Endurance? Huh, that's a ten. Not good, but not bad either.
The next scores were no better. I can safely assume that this guy will have no understanding of living beings, will never learn to read anything harder than a pop-up book, and will be slower than a three-legged turtle. Time for the final roll, Luck. I cast the die and watched it roll. When it stopped, I was pleasantly surprised.
Well, this man is going to have a very interesting life. I look forward to observing it.
------------------------------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.** | 2018-06-28T15:17:55 | 2018-06-28T12:17:18 | 45 | 26 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS." | "Does everyone get a chance like this?" I asked
"No" Death said as it puled a scale from underneath it's cloth. "Only those whose good deeds outhweight the bad ones".
The scale was empty yet tilted to one side, ever so slightly. "Seems you barely earned it."
No surprises there, I kinda just passed through life minding my own business, occasionally helping someone just to feel better about myself.
"Let's play Chess then" I decided. Neither of us can cheat in that game, besides Death is probably the better cheater.
"A wise call" Death smiled pulling a beautiful ebony board from his robes. "I think black suits me better" it said and gave me the white pieces.
"So... How long have you been here... I mean, doing this job" I move a pawn.
"Since the birth of the universe... and till the end of it" Death blocks my pawn.
"Do you work for God, or the Devil?" I ask and move.
"I am God... And the Devil" he mimics my move again.
"Does that mean..." I couldn't finish the sentence, but made a move.
"Yes, there is no heaven, and there is no hell, only nothingness one isn't even aware of" he answered and ate my pawn.
"I suddenly really want to win..." I said and ate his.
"You might" Death said with odd grin on it's face. He solidified his defence.
"Did you ever lose?" I asked and made a threat.
"Oh, a few times... But rarely in chess" he fills the gap in his defence.
"So... What is the meaning of life?" I ate a pawn.
"Death... Or rather, the fear of it" he ate back.
"I see... Well, you aren't really that scarry" I eat back.
"People fear what they do not know, so now you have nothing to fear anymore" he ate again.
"Does it get lonely?" I said and ate again "Check."
"No, I met everyone that ever was and I will greet everyone that will be". Death blocks the Check with another pawn.
"If I win, I won't remember this, right?" I attack from a different angle, check.
"You might remember fragments, something else entirely, or nothing at all" Death moves, eats the attacker. "That is, if you win, check"
"Do dogs get a chance like this?" I block the attack with a pawn.
"Yes, but they always lose, cats on the other hand..." He ate the defender. "Check"
"Once I win, do I get exactly 10 years or at least 10? Also, can I get 10 more next time?" I eat his attacker.
"At least 10 and yes, if you remain good. But it doesn't look like you will win this one" he attacked from a different angle "Check".
"Looks can be decieving" I move a figure, eat his attacker "Check"
"They truly can be" he moves "Checkmate".
| 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T07:49:29 | 192 | 24 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | Dreadnaught was the last of the Old Guard. The early heroes who had fought for the good of the world, for honor and justice and other long-dead ideals. they toppled dictatorships, brought aid to disaster-stricken regions and never accepted a penny. Dreadnaught himself had seen the greats of the age, had only been a young rookie when The Atom and Red Lightning and all the others were around. There had been villains, of course- bastards and madmen who used their powers for their own benefit, but they were always beaten back. The good guys always won in the end.
Dreadnaught had long since stopped caring about "good" or "evil". He was standing on a wind-tossed rooftop in Dubai, staring at the bright artificial stars, gleaming skyscrapers and rivers of vehicles, spreading forever into the distance. He idly wondered what had happened to the old greats, Atom and Lightning and Sunbeam. He continued to think back, remembering the first changes....
It began when he and a few allies rescued some fat cat from an attempted assassination, somewhere in South Korea. When word came out that the cat had been smuggling weapons up north, and had betrayed the country, Dreadnaught shrugged. He wasn't a political sort. But Fat Cats are always good at redirecting blame- they called him and his friends mercenaries, not caring who he fought for as long as he had glory and attention. He heard insults and threats as he walked through the streets. He tried his best not to mind. He minded.
He had never had much- Dreadnaught grew up in the inner city and came from a poor family. So when people said he, and others like him, was profiting from chaos and war and fear as he struggled to make ends meet and ate third-rate prepackaged meals- his blood boiled. Most heroes were offered work when their identities were revealed- Private armies, government work, criminal organizations. He decided that if people thought he was a thug- then it didn't hurt to do a thug's job.
He accepted a job offer, then another, and another. His pay was high and his scruples few. He moved out of the slums and into a high rise apartment. People kept calling him a crook and a monster, but it hurt less now that it was true. Others joined him, fighting wars and steal secrets for the highest bidder.
That was how it had happened. The world was a different place now than it was. Supers were identified from birth and signed on with one of the big corporations at the age of 12. There were no more armies anymore, no more citizen soldiers. Just hired guns with enough firepower to level cities.
Some Supers still fought the good fight, of course. They lived on the edges of the world, striking out against the "Man" in what little ways they could. But most Supers lived quiet lives, turning down the offers of big corporations, and not making a fuss of their powers for fear of attracting too much attention.
Dreadnaught looked down from the glinting lights and turned towards the desert. His contact would be arriving soon, with his pay, and likely another job. He was one of the oldest men in the business, after all. He never failed, he never quit a job until it was done. His skills were highly valued. | "Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?'
"Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in."
"A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month."
"Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?"
"It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum.
According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions."
"So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?"
"It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days.
However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process."
"What kind of hero's could i be expecting?"
"That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together."
''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?"
"Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive."
"Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught."
"Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?"
"No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad." | 2017-04-02T09:11:57 | 2017-04-02T07:25:23 | 154 | 37 |
[WP] Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less.
**EDIT** I'm sorry; I spelled it wrong, it should be "in 5 minutes or less" not "in 5 minuets or less". | Quiet down Martians, let me tell you a little tale,
About my home planet, here's the detail:
A big ball of molten rock like deep fried Metallica,
Got gassed up like it's high off indica,
But don't fear, that was just the atmosphere,
But let me steer, the story a few billion years,
Where shit started popping off,
like sperm cells from my gonads,
I'm talking monads,
Early ancestors of our early ancestor nomads,
They were quite dumb, I ain't got time for flattery,
They had one cell, so a bunch together were a battery,
But not literally, I'm talking phylogenetically,
If I went Back-teria and rapped in that era , I'd be a pro-karyote,
You know what I'm Saiyan? I'd be Kakarot,
As for Eu-karyote? You're al-gae like YMCA,
Then came the greens and leaves,
For our needs: to eat and smoke weed,
All this shit was going on at sea,
til one guy stood up like he was the real Me,
And walked on land,
that's when shit got out of hand,
Life became Complex like a god damn magazine,
Producing the biggest beings we've ever seen,
Some were fish, or lizards and one was my mum,
but some dyed out like the blonde hair on my bum,
Cause BAM! they were destroyed,
Big ass Asteroid,
I call it Nicki,
it smashed quickly
Left shit bloody like haemorrhoids,
The big guys, had no chance to survive,
So the small guys hid for their lives,
The smart animals,
Smaller birds and mammals,
Could now thrive,
Like Mike Tyson when he really trieth,
Then two steps later we got chimps fucking,
They made Man, who promptly started sucking,
each other off and called each other Homo,
erectus, so you expect us to not indulge in man-on-man porno?
For 200 000 years we perfected our species,
Then it all went to shit, like we traveled to Feces,
We outwitted lions and sharks and fucking elephants,
We were outfitted with the best defence that was evidenced,
Our big brains,
But it's all the same,
We're dumb as fuck and it's evident,
BECAUSE YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS ELECTED DONALD TRUMP PRESIDENT. | Soooo let's start with a little history
you're wondering who's telling this, it's just me
so since it's interesting you should be listening
since it's just me, I'll just begin
We're not the first kings to walk those earth rings
the way it started, controversial
Before there was life there was a big big bang
This was before Slim, Moby and 50 cent
This was roundabout four billion years ago
Rocks and bacteria, here we go
3 billion years ago there were stromatolites
If you find any today, that's just nice
then the time flew by, continents appeared
life came existing, now we're here
there were dinosaurs in the jurassic age
and today there's songs by Eminem with drastic rage
The world revolved around the sun til 1972
Since then it evolved around me, and heaven did too
So I'm gonna disappear now and leave this lesson with you
And by the way, the story bout Nessie is true
| 2016-11-30T10:48:23 | 2016-11-30T10:26:24 | 2,428 | 331 |
[WP] After being married to the Princess for 70 years, you have just learned that the Dragon you defeated in order to marry her was actually her best-friend. Unfortunately, the Dragon is back for revenge, and you, age 88, can't talk to it because you can't remember where you put your teeth. | I was reading peacefully in my chambers, the several candles providing me enough light to see the pages properly. My reading glasses sat snug on the bridge of my nose, threatening to slide off occasionally before i pushed it back to its original spot. Deeply entranced in the story before my eyes, I failed to hear the accusing shouts of the Palace guards, and screaming of the maids.
That, or my fleeting sense of hearing is to blame. Suddenly, the doors flew open, which undoubtedly caught my attention. the force causing the wooden panels to fly off their hinges and crash into the stone walls, the wood cracking and sending splinters and chunks of oak everywhere.
My gaze flew from the once beautiful hand carved oak doors to the person responsible, that was standing menacingly in the doorway. Panting, mussed up jet black hair stuck to her forehead, strong and broad shoulders moving up and down dramatically with each heavy breath she took, dark maroon scales shining like a million jeweles scattered along her neck and up to her face, also framing two large looped horns starting from her hairline.
"finally, after all these years I have found you once more you old prune." She paused, her face angry and scrunched up "you are older than I anticipated though, myhaps ive been gone longer than i thought..." She gave a brief pause, seemingly contemplating the years she'd been absent, before shrugging "oh well, either way it doesn't matter" her face turned angry once more, lips splitting into a wide and ugly scowl showing a row of yellowish sharp teeth.
"you'll be dead soon anyways. Several years ago, you took my best friend away from me, invading our tea party and-" "Hiv wal yoll beht flehnd?" I mumbled out, forgetting my mouth lacked teeth for a second. "What?" The dragon exclaimed, confused at my gibberish. I held my hand up as a sigh to wait, getting up as fast as my old and creaky body allowed me to-which wasn't fast-and got to looking for my glass of water.
Very slowly looking through the drawers and cabinets in my room I said " I hoht how wheh my heh ah, hive me ha hecohd" Even more confused now, the dragon asked "are, are you looking for you teeth? What the hell are you that old? Why arent you scared you should be begging for your lif-" I frowned, brows scrunching at her rather rude comment as i shushed her.
She looked absolutely flabbergasted as I took my time opening and closing every drawer in the room. "Wait wait wait why are you sitting down, youve been up for only three minutes!?"
True to her words, i was slightly of breath and starting to sit down at the edge of my bed, dabbing my foarhead with a linen cloth. The dragon looked at me, dumbfounded, disbelief coating her features "oh my god i don't even need to do anything, youll be dead either way!" She seemed perplexed, lookin off at the distance. Soon enough though, annoyance took over as she stomped towards the window.
"And i thought i was going to have a good fight" she mumbled angrily, though not low enough that my ears couldn't pick ot up. I flipped her off as she jumped out the window, the last thing my eyes catching being her flared nostrils and rage filled eyes. I chucked lowly as she departed, attention splitting from the window at the voice of my son.
"hey dad you left your teeth in the librar- WHOA, what happened here?" | I stare at the glaring red eyes of the monstrous dragon that has invaded my chambers. She seems unfazed by my state of undress as I return to the reality that I was returning from the chamber pot right before. I think back to all the years I have served as the Grand Vizier to the king as a reward for “rescuing” his sister from the very dragon that stands before me.
“Your cock is out” says the dragon.
*so dragons are wise to modesty* I thought to myself. *I suppose it makes sense, Johanna had spent half her childhood under the watch of this dragon, she must have taught her some human lessons.*
I non-threateningly inch toward my bed with my hands in the air to show the dragon that I mean no harm, I only wish to draw my robe. Her piercing eyes stare at me as I don my robe and close the front so she can’t continue staring at my manhood. Just as I finish closing my robe, I see my wife hobbling from downstairs.
“Blanche?” Johanna shouts
“Johanna?” the dragon exclaims, “Is that you??”
The dragon named Blanche shifts her attention to Johanna.
“You’ve gotten old!” Blanche says
“You look exactly the same,” Johanna replies.
“So you married this beast after he kidnapped you from me?” Blanche says.
“No no, I’m very sorry, let me explain,” Johanna says, speaking for me since I’d forgotten my teeth in the meal hall downstairs, “My brother had just been named King of the Realm after our parents died of the pox. They had told him about my whereabouts but failed to explain that you were keeping me safe in case something happened to him, so he assumed I was your captive, not your ward.”
“Ohhh so he sent this knight to rescue you from what the kingdom thought was an evil dragon in a tall castle?” Blanche asks, sitting down and accidentally blowing my bed away in the shockwave.
“Yes, he read more fairy tails than history books, like Super Mario and Shrek. He didn’t know at the time that it was common practice to send the secondary heirs away for safekeeping.” | 2022-09-17T12:18:55 | 2022-09-17T10:05:57 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story. | My first born came with the years first rain
Screaming like a whistling steam engine train.
It was only then my wife and I saw
That it wasn't what we were expecting at all.
My baby was black while we are both white
I shouted expletives at my wife out of spite.
*"How dare you! How could you! I thought you were true!
I loved you my dear, but Sue, we are through! "*
"I have to say something, a confession most dire.
I'm a fraud, a phony, a fake and a liar.
This confession is truly disgusting and sick.
But my love I'm afraid that I do have a dick."
Taken aback I looked at my wife.
This woman who I chose as the love of my life.
*"I have a confession as well, I've been terribly rude*
*But Sue I must tell you that I'm not a dude. "*
My wife, or my husband, I don't really know
Was surprised which is understood I suppose.
How was it born? Where is it from?
I really hope it did not come from her bum.
Afraid and abashed I started to cry
"am I gay? Am I straight? I must be into guys. "
During my existential crisis of sorts
My child began to change, twist, and contort.
It resembled a child no more than spaghetti
With arms like noodles and claws at the ready.
Wait claws?! What the hell is happening here?!
My child's a demon, a monster I fear!
I started to run out of the dark damned hospital
When my feet lost their footing and I began to spiral.
I was out of control, flying out into space
When the monster was caught on my untied shoe lace.
I floated there staring at the earth for some time,
my thoughts started turning to feelings divine.
I turned to the monster to witness my fate
Only to see the whole beast dissipate.
As I floated alone in the vast void of time
My body became nothing more than a slime.
Traveling quickly through the universe now
Passing sun after sun, burning and turning more brown,
I saw everything as I knew it should be,
And I saw that truly everything was me.
As I reached what I could only call the end,
I grew ever smaller limbs starting to bend.
I cried and I screamed, a cacophonous moan
Undulating for innumerable eternities alone.
I saw through the void of eternal damnation
A light! A hole I was just able to squeeze in.
A tight fit, so painful, I could barely see
As I fell through the hole, someone caught onto me.
I came into the world with the years first rain
Screaming like a whistling steam engine train. | A meteor fell over the planet, then suddenly it exploded before the impact, revealing an army of naked winged women hellbent on taking over the world. they would do so by taking as many men (or women, if you prefer) to their bedchambers aboard a cosmic spaceship as was humanly possible.
shortly after the complete sexual subjugation of the human race, the young teenager woke up from his acid induced dream to find that it was in fact, all just a dream, he would later wake up again from his dream within a dream to find himself on his deathbed.
not one to be oneupped by death, he immediately willed himself better and proceeded to fly around and take out his pent up sexual frustrations on the world at large by shooting laser beams out of his eyes and destroying entire districts by bathing them in crimson eye flames.
just as things were looking grim however, godzilla showed up and the two battled for fifty straight weeks without rest, eventually godzilla was defeated.
but, as it turns out godzilla was just having an incredibly complex nightmare, soon he awoke at the bottom of the ocean floor, his body suffering from bruises and electrical scars, and glancing around, the first thought that crossed his mind was "SKKKREEEEEEEEOOOOOONK?!" which roughly translates into "where the hell did that giant monkey who force fed me a tree go? i swear to god one day I'll make him pay for this humiliation!!"
apparently being electrocuted and left to die on the ocean floor shortly after the climax of godzilla vs king kong makes you have extremely messed up dreams. | 2016-11-27T11:29:09 | 2016-11-27T11:06:12 | 87 | 13 |
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go. | By now, I could admit to myself that, like most things I had done in life, I learned Latin to be able to show off. There was no shame anymore, no cognitive dissonance. I learned to speak a language to impress people because I didn't believe I was impressive enough.
But now there was a chance to do some good with it. I wondered if it was too late to improve my place in heaven. The Bible was pretty clear about how to get there from life, but I'd never heard about this place. I had Faith I was heavenbound, and knew well enough to love my neighbor and be the salt of the earth, but this was not earth and I did not live here.
A man stood at attention in full ancient army apparel. He looked on at nothing in particular in the direction between where each of the train tracks terminate. He was not tall, as you'd expect a legendary warrior to be, but his spear was. It stood two feet higher than his five foot frame. Looking at it I could see that he didn't waver, even when he was blocked from my view but the hundreds of people shuffling about, boarding one train or another.
His shield and helmet make this soldier plainly recognizable. They're battle worn, not some cosplay outfit. Besides, it appears that the people here are dressed as they were in life- lots of auto repair overalls, other military uniforms, my own favorite dress shirt and slacks.
"Hail! What brings you here?"
The man's face was hard to read from under his helmets cheek and nose guards, but the rest of his body relaxed, then immediately tensed up again. He brought up his spear about a half inch and slammed it back down.
"HAIL!" he shouted.
I waltzed to enter his view completely, hands held together behind me.
"You appear to have stayed here longer than anyone else."
"Aye. There are no days with which to count, but indeed I recognize no faces."
"What shall I call you, soldier?"
"My mother named me Pollux."
"Ah, of course, twin of Castor?"
With far more speed than a human should be able to muster, Pollux knocked me to the ground, spear at my neck.
"What news have you of my brother? How do you know his name?"
After taking a moment to collect my wits, I did my best to explain that the two were subjects of a myth, handed down by each generation for thousands of years. Still at spear point, I describe my literature teacher from middle school and the book from which I read his tale. I was halfway through explaining what a book was- he'd surely never seen one- when he switched out the spear for his hand and helped me up. He went on to explain that it was all true.
While he and his twin kept switching places, earthbound and in Hades, these bizarre tracks had grown in the ground before him. A great rolling building would slide along them, open its doors, and slide away.
"We had mapped much of Hades by leaving notes, but knew of nothing in the directions these tracks led. As the Earth changed, and even the Empires we fought for and against fell, Hades had become the more familiar and interesting land. So I left a note. My brother and I devised a fair process for how to decide which of us would board the train and then report back on what was beyond."
"And?"
"What 'and'? No 'and'. This is what I've been doing since the dead stopped speaking my mother tongue altogether."
"You wait here for your brother?"
"As I swore to him."
"Pollux, I am afraid I have some bad news. These trains lead to heaven and hell, two places more permanent by far than Hades. There is no return from either."
His face was easier to read now. I wonder if he, too, had been alleviated of the mental hangups he had in life, or if he was just naturally so decisive.
"Very well. I will follow after. Shall we ride together?"
"Well wait just a second- I should explain what these places are, hell is-"
"No that's not needed. My brother boarded the left train. I don't need to know where the right one goes." | "Hello?"
There was no response. There were a few people lining the edges of my vision, but none spoke. I came up to one, sporting the longest black beard I had ever seen.
"Hello? Where are we?"
He gave me a baleful look. His eyes seemed like sandy mud chunks and his limbs were worn to the bone. Skin and freckles were all he had to his name, and no clothes. I didn't understand that. I had clothes.
"Why are you naked?"
There was an ageless interval where nothing happened. He blinked, and with great effort, snapped his jaw shut twice, like he was eating. He swallowed emptily.
"Oh... Ok. I'll... I'll come back later."
He frowned and shook his head. A stern gaze marked him.
"Don't you know who that is?" Someone called in the distance. I turned and ran towards the source. Another person started to emerge from the misty fog. Light, girlish echoes sounded over he corridor.
"He's an Ancient Greek philosopher."
"Which one?"
"I'm not sure," they called out. "It's either Heraclitus or Parmenides."
I stopped in my tracks as the figure came into view. A teenage girl stood in front of me, a little stout and shorter than I was expecting. Her voice carried very well from here.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know, it's a guess. But he's been here way longer than me."
I took tentative steps towards her. I had so many questions, but nerves were getting the better of me. Maybe it was better to turn back and not know where I was, like the one time I opened my parent's bedroom door late at night.
My feet didn't let me turn around.
"Why can't I move?"
"Because we can't. Only onward."
"...oh. Who are you?"
She scoffed. "Who can say? Maybe I'm God, maybe I'm Satan, maybe I'm Buddha or Vishnu or a Second Vishnu."
I shrugged it off.
"I'm kidding of course. I'm Maria Olson from Tuscaloosa."
"...Sounds cool," I tried to lamely comment.
"Eh. It's ok. But what about you? You're a new shade around here."
I was about to respond when someone else called out in the distance.
"Hey! Where are we?"
I turned my head and answered, "I don't know!"
The voice was quiet.
Maria gave me a look. "You have a terrible imagination. I know where this is."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Purgatory. We have to wait here forever."
The new footsteps started approaching us.
"Hmm. Maybe I'll go investigate."
"You go in, if you like. Just remember, you can't go backwards."
I nodded and started walking. Whoever else was there could figure this out.
| 2016-08-14T07:53:27 | 2016-08-14T05:25:06 | 156 | 56 |
[WP] Just last month, magic has been scientifically proven to be real and possible for everyone. Since then, a lot of tutorials by amateurs have popped on the internet. You are now following one such guide for your first spell. | My grandfather had a saying. I don't remember what it was, but it was something about how when you knew absolutely nothing about a thing or topic, even someone who knew very little seemed to know a lot. Whatever, it was something like that. Anyways, after science discovered magic and the initial round of reports and videos of people accidentally incinerating themselves or each other or their houses passed, people started posting tutorials on how to properly use and control magic.
And boy were most of them absolute shit.
It was like the days of PC tutorials where the people had their microphone on and recorded themselves sitting there typing the instructions (very slowly) into notepad for everyone to read and follow along with, except this time with some kind of inexplicable and invisible force.
Then after the second round of reports and videos of people accidentally incinerating themselves or each other or their houses had passed, we actually started to get some halfway decent tutorials from somewhat intelligent people. It was still hard. It was the classic issue of trying to describe a color to someone who had never seen it. Words simply don't exist to adequately convey the information that we're trying to.
Even with the tutorials it was mostly a self-taught endeavor, one that required a lot of time and trial and error. If I hadn't seen someone using magic with my own two eyes I would have assumed it was all an elaborate scheme to get people to make complete fools of themselves. I mean, we've had people standing around in fields looking at each other and screaming "FIRE BOLT!!" for a long time, but usually we just give a quick chuckle and move on. Imagine if we could get EVERYONE to stand in a field and yell "FIRE BOLT!!" like morons.
Anyway that's pretty much what I did. Except in the middle of a parking lot at my neighborhood pool that nobody used. There was nothing around me to catch on fire so everything should be okay. I had a notebook to take notes and my laptop set up on a stool next to me, playing all these different tutorials, trying to piece together all of the different words and make some kind of cohesive instructions on what to do. For a few days nothing happened. Just me yelling at myself in a parking lot in the hot July sun. I then changed tactics and pointed my hand straight above me, trying to use a water spell to cool myself down in order to determine whether or not there had to be some kind of need in order to be able to use magic. That didn't work either.
Wind bolt was equally as unsuccessful, and I never expected ice bolt to work in the middle of Texas in the summer anyways, but it didn't. Oh well.
I got frustrated, and that frustration actually lead to me figuring it out. Magic was actually super easy. It was just the spell-caster forcing their will onto the world. Instead of screaming "FIRE BOLT!!" and imagining a small ball of fire flying out of your finger tips, you simply commanded the air to ignite and go flying.
I was so surprised when I actually managed it that I jerked my hand upwards and inadvertently fired again, well over the mound of rock and dirt that I had been aiming at. I watched in a mixture of both pride and slight worry as the missile launched off over the hill in front of me.
And that's the story of how I accidentally burned someone's house down.
| HEEYYYYyyyYYYY
What's up it's your boy TYLER, coming at you fresh and fast on my youtube channel! Tonight were going to be learning a pretty simple spell, perfect for beginners and, let me tell you, it is LIT as FUUUUUUNCTIONAL GEOMETRY, that's right kids, got to avoid the swear jar.
Right, so the spell is basically how to cast a short range, small time fireball. Basically all you have to do is shape your hands like *this* and BOOM a completely manageable fireball comes out. It's so small you can even use it indoors without having to worry about anything.
Ok so scratch that, definitely don't try this inside unless you want to have a huge smoldering hole in your wall. That's alright though, from now on that's going to be my HOLE! OF! GLORY! Which means that its time for viewer mail! Hedwig's coming in right now and looks like the first Q coming to my A is "Tyler, how are you so funny and entertaining." Well thanks anonymous questioner, it's just my personality y'know, some people got it and some people don't.
Now it's time for a quick montage of me playing with this super bad mama jama spell. Here's a quick video of me doing "LLPOF", or as I like to call it, Lie to Lose. I ask a couple questions to people off the street and if they answer wrong then I BOOM blast em one in the trousers. My all time favorite is still the guy who ate a slice of pizza out of the trash. What a goober!
OOOOOKKKIIEEEdokie my dudes, thats all the time we have today, remember to rate, like, subscribe, thumbs up, enter your email and post a question. Also sign up for my site to receive exclusive e-promotions from yours truly, bringing you the best buys in the business. Till next time, keep it enTylerly awesome! | 2018-01-15T19:59:53 | 2018-01-15T19:01:42 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You die in a car accident and go to the afterlife. Everything is amazing until you meet several generations of relatives who are disgusted by your modern behaviour and all, "want a word." | You died in a car accident at the age of forty-two, somewhere in rural Maine. It wasn’t your fault; the road was covered in sheer black ice. Once your tires started to spin, there was nothing you could have done to avoid hitting the ditch and rolling five times. At least Claire wasn’t in the car with you.
You lived a good life—really, you did—filled with great friendships and fulfilling work and a wife who loved you as much as you loved her. All things considered, you wouldn’t have done a thing differently.
After you died, I brought you to the afterlife. I watched you sit down and stare, all bright-eyed like a little kid, at everything around you.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked you.
“A few. Most of them seem stupid now.”
“Most?”
Your face twisted. “I’ve always wished I knew more about my mother and her family. She died when I was three.”
I knew that already; I’d carried her to the afterlife too.
“And my dad,” you continued, “he didn’t like talking about her. I should’ve tried harder to learn about her: who she was, what she liked.”
“Would you like to meet her?”
I almost felt bad when I saw how your eyes lit up.
“She’s been asking to have a word with you, too,” I said.
I *did* feel bad when you cried when you first saw your mother.
“How come you never had kids?” She didn’t hold back her words; she stared straight into your eyes. “I wanted grandchildren.”
Your mouth gaped open, like a fish. “Well—well, Claire and I never really wanted that lifestyle...”
“How selfish.” She shook her head. “Your great-grandfather is also here. He has a few things to say.”
You shrunk back into the collar of your shirt.
“I can’t believe you let your wife work,” he said. His bristled mustache did nothing to hide his disapproving frown. “It would have been alright if she was a secretary or a nurse—but you let her do *that*?”
You stumbled over your words. “She wanted to work.” You tried to brush a layer of sweat off your brow, not realizing you couldn’t sweat here. “Claire loved doing woodwork. Have you seen the oak bookshelves she made for our cabin? They were gorgeous.”
He looked down his nose at you. “You sat in an air-conditioned office all day.”
Your great-grandmother came to his side. She nodded in agreement at her husband’s words. “What good did you do? You wasted your life playing with toys.”
“*Toys*?” The anger seeped into your voice. “I worked on developing AI.”
Your mother, your great-grandfather, and your great-grandmother all shook their heads. “You wasted your life.”
“No children.”
“But maybe that was for the better, seeing as you couldn’t even provide for your wife.”
“What did you do, other than stare at machines?”
“Did you ever lift a finger?”
“Paid someone else to fix your car.”
“Ordered food to your doorstep three nights a week.”
“What a disappointing life.”
You blinked. Your face relaxed. “I definitely wasted my life on something,” you said, your voice flat and emotionless. “Thank you for showing me.” You smiled with your mouth pressed into a flat line.
You turned to me. “I’m ready to move on, now.”
I nodded and reached for you. Your mother and her family faded into the ether. “Do you have any regrets?”
“No,” you shook your head, “no, I really don’t.”
---
/r/liswrites | A woman calling herself my Aunt Marge was the first one who “wanted a word.” She sat across from me in one of the white rooms with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, like a teacher waiting for an excuse to give you a punishment. She had a gray curls of hair and pinched look to her face. All I could really focus on though was the yellow halo above her head and the feathery wings sprouting from her back; I wasn’t going to get mine until I was done with this whole processing situation. They made her look like a weird human-bird hybrid. I almost wanted to ask if she could fly.
“First of all,” she said, tapping a finger onto the table, “where do you get off doing those things you did?”
I shifted in my seat. “What do you mean?”
“You *know* what I’m talking about.”
“I really don’t.”
Aunt Marge sighed, but it was the kind of sigh someone does when their disappointed with an answer you gave. “You had impure thoughts.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
“I’m pretty sure they do. And even if I did, so what? It’s not like me thinking about--”
“Regardless, it’s unacceptable! You dragged the family name through the mud!”
“...Wait, they all know about it?”
“Johnathan, we know *everything* you did.”
“Alright, well, I’m sorry then,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to do it.” I started to walk to the door, but the handle that had been there a moment ago was gone. I turned back to face Aunt Marge, who had a triumphant look on her face that made her look oddly pig-like.
“Oh, Johnathan, we’ve only just begun.”
She pulled out a scroll of paper and let it unravel. It rolled far along the floor, just stopping at me feet.
“Hey!” I said, glancing at some of the bulleted notes. They all had the days and times the ‘crime’ was committed. “Some of these just say the same thing over and over again, at the same day and time and… *oh.*”
Aunt Marge smirked. She was holding a red pen in her other hand. “Take a seat, Johnathan. We're going to be here a while.” | 2019-07-24T09:04:59 | 2019-07-24T09:03:15 | 3,192 | 95 |
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd. | The screams were the first thing I noticed. The screams and the raging infernos spread across the streets. Despite the chaos, hundreds of people around me were gazing in shock at their surroundings. Some blathered on in languages I couldn't understand but recognized, some were even sobbing uncontrollably.
As for me? I was certainly confused, heavily confused, amazingly confused. Yet at the same time my burning curiosity broke through instead and I gazed around. When I looked towards the ground a pair of intelligent bright green eyes greeted me. Beside them, a pair of bright blue.
Two small toddlers, clearly no older than 5, gazed up at me. I blinked. They blinked. They surprisingly said nothing. After a few moments, one of them tilted his head. "Oh hello." A clear posh british accent. I bit my lip, as bizarre as it was I couldn't help but find those words coming from a child, small voice and everything, being pronounced so clearly as anything but funny.
The other child, looked around, then back up at me.
'WHO THE FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK ARE YOU? WHO THE FUCK AM I? WHY DO I SOUND LIKE A FUCKING CHILD?" After letting out a scream and grasping his head, he ran away.
The other child let out a small hum, "That was certainly interesting."
I snorted, "I'll say," my new voice was melodic, sweet, and almost dream-like, something airy and untouched. "Oh..." I muttered, "Well that's certainly interesting." My gaze turned downwards to the mounds that were on my chest. I'd seen bigger of course, but they were there.
"I'd find your repetition of my statement amusing, in fact I still do," the toddler responded, "but something tells me you mean who you are."
"I do," I answered, musing, "I wasn't female before this."
"I think I'd find myself in a panic if that happened," the posh toddler responded. "That, or, rather non-public things would be likely."
"I was never so attached to myself, so this is most certainly interesting," I mused with a small smile.
"Indeed..."
The large screen above me, it was blatantly clear this was likely New York, blared momentarily and a person appeared. Hillary Clinton of all people.
"MY FELLOW AMERICANS," she started, "I KNOW THIS IS A HARD TIME, BUT AS YOUR PRESIDENT, DONALD TRUMP, I ASK YOU BE CALM."
"...You think he knows?" I asked the british man in the child's body.
"It's likely, but the irony certainly isn't lost." | John had been heading towards the ocean at sunset. That was when a flash of light blinded him and all he could hear were people around him were yelling incoherently. When his eyes adjusted he looked around in panic to find it was now night time and he was in a strange city. Tall buildings towered over head, giants ran around, grabbing and shouting at each other. A large man in front of him had dropped and shattered an expensive looking camera. John noticed he was holding something. Looking down he was surprised to see his hands were now smooth and soft... he wasn't in a land of giants. He was in the body of a child. John could only watch in shock as ketchup dripped onto his shoes.
---
His dad was dragging him into yet another photo. It was their first trip to the big city and as usual dad wanted to document *everything*, even his first authentic New York hot dog.
"This is the last one I'll take!" he promised "Okay three...two...one"
With the sound of the click Billy felt himself lifted off his feet like he was on a roller coaster, the last thing he remembered was the ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks rising up to meet him. | 2018-04-26T17:53:47 | 2018-04-26T17:29:30 | 363 | 73 |
[WP] Reincarnation works in strange ways. It would make sense to be reincarnated as an eagle, or a dog, or even a slug or something like that. But why as the AI of a military warship? | The universe is a strange place. It has a habit of always giving you what you wanted in the end. Most people don't even realize it. Take me for example; I was terrified of death. Something about not knowing what will happen was just the worse. I always had to have control of what was going on. I've gone through all the therapy sessions I could. Nothing helped. In the end, though, I ended up getting what I wanted.
​
As it turns out, reincarnation is real. Not something I expected. One moment I'm just crossing the road, the next moment I'm floating in the endless void. It was very disorienting. I couldn't move, talk, feel, smell, nothing.
​
I can still remember that day as clearly as I can remember any other moment in my life now. I can't forget anything anymore. The first sense that came back was sight. This didn't help the matter any. If I was disoriented before, I was even more disoriented now. It was like seeing through a thousand different eyes all at once. There was way too much information coming in just from that. Next was hearing, the first thing I hear was a voice. It almost sounded like the voice was coming from inside of me, but not like inside my brain, more like inside my body.
​
"Boot sequence initiated." The voice said. Nothing was making any sense to me at all. I tried to focus my concentration on that voice. It was no use though as every time a sense came back the disorientation got worse. Touch was the worse sense to come back. It felt like a million little ants were crawling all over and inside me. It's not pleasant.
​
"Boot sequence 75%, everything looking good. No alarms yet." It was that voice again. I didn't have any clue as to what was happening. "Boot complete"
​
The first thing I did once my voice came back was to scream. It was just instinct, no thought put behind it. "Ahhh, Fuck what the hell Manson, turn it off!" I heard another voice say. Thankfully that snapped me back to what was happening and fear turned to panic.
​
"No, no, no, wait, please don't." I pleaded. I still wasn't quite sure where my voice was coming from. Still couldn't move, and my sight was still disoriented. "Where am I, what's going on?" I asked still panicking.
​
The first voice chimed in. "Okay, no need to worry, calm down. let me run a few tests." I could hear some clacking of a keyboard and my mind was filled with a sense I never had before.
​
"What was that? What did you just do?" I asked.
​
"Nothing to worry about." The voice said back." The tests will be done soon.
​
It was eventually explained to me that I was an "Artificial Intelligence" "created" for the grandest warship of Earth. First of its kind. All attempts to create AI before me failed. Apparently, I had a brand new experimental CPU core that was built off millions upon millions of data scans of the human brain. I eventually found out that about 500 years had passed from when I was human to now. Of course, nobody believed me when I tried explaining that I was once alive. It was assumed that, that "quirk" of my personality was a by-product of the brain scans.
​
As time went on I learned how to control this new body of mine. Everything seemed to be going well. Myself and the crew explored reaches of space I could have only dreamed of seeing when I was human. Many of the crew would talk to me just like any other human, but there were always the ones who treated me like an object. I always like messing with them. Making showers cold, making their quarters too warm, little things like that. There was programing in the CPU stopping me from harming any of the crew, not that I actually wanted to though, I wasn't like that, I've never harmed anybody before.
​
The years turned to decades, decades to centuries. New crews came and went. I was upgraded over time with the newest tech as time went on. I eventually gathered enough information both from looking over my own coding and countless scans from the crews to figure out exactly what happened. Reincarnation was indeed real. No living organism though had the "processing" power in their brains to remember any of their past lives though. I was the first to reincarnate into this artificial brain. It seemed to be a mistake of the universe because it never happened again. No matter how many times they tried creating a second AI, it never booted. Even copies of me, but I didn't expect that to work anyway when they tired. I seemed to be the one and only.
​
This of course was eons ago. The last human I've seen was nearly half a billion years ago. The universe wasn't kind to the living, eventually becoming too cold for anything to survive. I couldn't even keep myself warm enough to save anybody. The coldness of this universe penetrates everything eventually. I got my wish though. Immortality. Floating endlessly in space. Kept going by a generator that I couldn't shut down myself. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. The City of Sacrament)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Exploiting magic was what Professor Hale did best.** He'd locked genies into rigidly-defined wishes based on programming languages, used Bloody Mary's ability to appear in mirrors as cheap repair work for orbital telescopes, and resurrected the economy after Lady Luck crashed it through strategic placement of rainbows and industrial-scale gold collection. So it was hardly a surprise to Archcommander Varney that his best engineer had cheated resurrection itself and converted it into yet another tool for the military to play with.
"I thought Big Guns was killed in action," Archcommander Varney said, looking at the computational brain Professor Hale had created.
"He was," Professor Hale admitted. "Sure was a shame, too—the world-programming tech I loaded onto him was irrecoverably destroyed, and unless you've got another genie for me to play with, I can't make more."
Archcommander Varney shook his head. "Olsen got the last free genie that we know of, and I haven't the faintest idea where she's squirrled it away."
Professor Hale gave the Archcommander the polite smile he did whenever Varney mentioned someone he didn't know. "Yes, well, that's not why I called you here. I believe I've captured Big Guns' soul."
Archcommander Varney frowned, walking around the mass of electronic parts. "Is that... did you build this out of Roombas?"
Professor Hale scratched his head. "Actually, I didn't build it—I just came up with the design. Grog was the one who—"
"Hale. Is your new superweapon built out of Roombas. Yes or no."
"...Yes." Professor Hale hastened to explain. "You see, every soul has some finite chance of being reincarnated as any lifeform on Earth—but by soul-point individuality, there are many orders of magnitude more microbial souls than sapients on the planet. So by gathering up as many microbial lifeforms as possible... you maximize the chance that you catch the lifeform which holds the reincarnated soul you're looking for."
Archcommander Varney frowned. "And you did this with... Roombas?"
Professor Hale shrugged. "They collect dust and debris 24/7, and they were the largest such collecting source that was active at the moment of Big Guns' death. We still got rather lucky with our find, but after appropriating the country's Roomba supplies, I managed to isolate Big Guns' soul. There's still a bit of the world-programming tech stuck to it, incidentally, although it's nowhere near as full-scale as it was before."
Varney grunted. "Disappointing. The industrial complex is going to be reeling from the loss of Big Guns for years."
Hale shrugged. "Maybe. I have some ideas on that front. But the point is—this here is the last remnant of Big Guns that we have."
"And you want to install it on a warship," Archcommander Varney said.
Professor Hale beamed. "Not just any warship. A *spaceship*. The kind of reality warping that a genie can do would be wasted on anything less."
Archcommander Varney thought about it for one heartbeat. Two.
Then he nodded. "You have a blank check. Build me a wonder, Professor Hale." Archcommander Varney turned to leave. "I'll need every miracle I can get."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-03T11:42:23 | 2022-05-03T09:39:43 | 130 | 52 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | I awoke, unconscious, remembering nothing of who I am. The room was empty lest two things. First, a door. I checked. Locked.
"Of course," I muttered to myself, "why WOULDN'T the door be locked."
I made my way over to the second object. A button. I studied it. Blood red. I debated in my head.
"Should I push it?" I thought. "I wonder what would happen."
I took a step back. I studied the rest of the room like a book. The floor was tiled and the walls were a dark gray. The lightbulb reflected against the floor. I felt around the walls, perhaps there was some sort of handle or contraption that could be activated. There was nothing.
I resorted to waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
I waited for what felt like an eternity.
"Come on!" I exclaimed. "Come out here and do something."
I was answered with silence. I figured. If anyone was coming out of that locked door, they would have already. Unless...
I stalked the red button. I stood just an inch out of my reach from the button. The button. What could it do. The button, the button, the button. It could be my demise or my freedom. I inched closer and closer to the button. I was just an inch away from the button, closer, closer. Any closer and I'd be pressing the button. I was about to and...
The door opened. A sense of relief and dread flooded through my body. A woman sharply entered the barren room. I stared at her. Guessing her age was impossible. She was so...inhuman. I didn't know if I could trust her or not.
"So what happens If I press this button?" I asked.
"Nothing." She replied.
I stared at her. She must have been joking.
I pressed the button.
She grinned, "It's when you let go that things get..." she paused, "nasty." Her lips turning upwards forming a twisted grin.
I stood in horror. I held onto the button as if my future depended on it, which it might.
My mind delved, immediately, into the different possible outcomes, solutions, of the situation;
Is anyone going to die?
A better question, HOW many are going to die?
An even better question, WHO is going to die?
Did I have a family before this, or was I alone?
Perhaps, the people who are going to die are innocent, or maybe they're guilty.
What if no one is going to die?
Maybe, they will get tortured.
How would they be tortured?
Will they be tortured by pain, or by threatening those they love?
Will they burn by flame?
Will they drown in water?
I started to tremble. The possibilities were overwhelming me. I was scared. What did she mean by nasty. Images of plague, disease and pestilence flooded my mind. The possibilities...are endless. My heart was reverberating in my chest. My hands were shaking.
My hand slipped.
My hand, it had slipped.
The possibilities flooded through me, nonstop. I was given no quarter, no relent, from the onslaught of possibility. I quivered, a heap on the ground, for a mere few moments.
Nothing happened.
I barely heard the mechanical arm come out of the ceiling. I stared at the machine. It was inhuman as they lady who was here previously. Where had she gone? I stood, fear paralyzing me. A syringe came forth from the mechanical mass. It paused...and then attacked. I wrestled the machine. My loss marked by the pin-prick in the back of my neck. My limbs conceded to the drug. My senses were becoming dull. My body struggled staying up. My attention switched from fending off the arm to keeping my body upright. I collapsed. My vision waning as the life drained out of me. I blacked out. Darkness consumed me.
I awoke, unconscious, remembering nothing of who I am. The room was empty lest a door...
...and a button.
| ######[](#dropcap)
Hilary Flint grinned despite himself.
"*Clever girl...* So happens next?"
The red-haired Fae smiled and bent down to peck him on the cheek. "Now I go and you stay. That trigger is connected enough Gelignite to blow you and everything around you for twenty paces into ashes. Think well of me, love."
"Every second of every day," Flint replied, admiring the view as she moved towards the exit. "Oh, and Morgan?"
She turned, a sliver of a smile on her lips. "Yes?"
"You're still the same heartless bitch I knew when I was twenty- you've just gotten better."
"Crueler," corrected Morgan the Fae. "And you're still the same impetuous, reckless idiot I knew when I was three hundred. You've just gotten bolder."
"Bette-" Flint began to say, but she vanished in a whirlwind of feathers as black as coal. Instead he sighed and cracked his neck, and settled down for the wait.
Faith Alathir arrive some five hours later, her face etched with annoyance. "Where in the blazes were you? I was forced to listen to some Spriggan ambassador's drivel for what seemed like forever. I nearly was about to slap him just to get to shut up. The least you could've done was clodger up some excuse for me to remove mysel- *oh, shit.*"
Flint waved at her- with his free hand obviously. His other hand was red from the constant pressure placed onto the button, and it was obvious that the strain of maintaining the effort was beginning to take its toll.
"Take my advice, kid. When a beautiful woman shows up wearing nothing but a smile, don't take her up on an offer of sport and play."
"You got played," said Faith bluntly.
"I got played," agreed Flint. He'd dragged a blanket over himself so that at least he had some degree of decency, though it was obvious by the state of the bedroom that something very amorous had recently occurred.
"Now listen, Faith. According to an unreliable source I'm currently holding down the trigger to enough explosive to blow myself to kingdom come, and I don't have a disarming kit. And my hand's beginning to cramp."
Faith took a half-step back. "What are the chances it's a fake bomb?"
Flint shrugged. "Pretty good. But we're talking about a Elf who'd once placed a spellmine underneath a child's doll just to kill the parent. Her double-crosses have a dozen layers to them, and even her lies usually true. It's a fifty/fifty shot that it's real. I *really* don't like those odds."
"So what do we do?"
"*We* do nothing. *I* see how much longer I can hold this and how far the pieces of me are likely to fly if I'm right. ....I don't want to be right." | 2017-01-05T12:18:47 | 2017-01-05T10:11:42 | 90 | 13 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... |
Clickclickclickclickclick
They’ve been laughing at me since day one.
“Boiling water? That’s your superpower?” The laughter could be heard down the hall I’m sure. “I know we advertised a position to help learn your protentional, but this is just hilarious. You’ll be perfect for making the tea!”
Clickclickclickclickclick
And that’s all I’ve done since. That’s what I’m doing now. Standing here in the break room and staring my frustrations into this innocent mug full of water. With my thoughts alone I slowly make it hotter, but not too hot. Fuck me if I hand another cup of “too hot” tea to Heroic and have to listen to him say “Darn it, Alice, I’m not Fireproof!” one more time. My name’s not even Alice, and Heroic sure as shit isn’t Fireproof. He’s not even heroic anymore. He’s twice the man he used to be and not by character. He won’t be running into any burning buildings saving lives anytime soon.
Clickclickclickclickclick
They all laugh at his japes of course. What’s worse is I laugh too. I always mumble an apology and take the mug away, unbothered by the heat, and walk away as they sneer “She boils water! That’s it! Can’t wait to watch the news coverage as she quenches the president’s thirst with a cup of tea at the last minute!”
They mock me.
Clickclickclick
Laugh at me.
Clickclickclick
Ridicule me.
Clickclickclick
And why can’t I stop clicking this goddamn pen?!
\*CRACK\*
Goddamnit the mug broke. Too hot.
“Clean up on aisle 5!”
Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me. I turn to see him standing there, impressed with himself and grinning. How many times have I thought about him boiling in water? Thoughts of seeing that double-chin shaking with agony instead of that damned patronizing laughter has preluded my dreams many nights.
*Just smile. Just smile. Unclench your fist*. “Hah, yeah, sorry Heroic. Guess my mind was somewhere else. I’ll clean this up and bring you that cup of tea right away!”
“Make it quick, Alice, going into the conference room now. Brainwasher is at it again. Gotta come up with a plan. Need to be sharp! Bring it to me when you’re done!” He says and wipes sweat from his brow. Must be exhausting saying the same jokes for thirty years.
I open the cabinet and pull out another mug and tea bag. As I turn on the faucet and fill the new mug with water, I let my mind wander back to those sweet, sweet thoughts of Heroic’s face turning red with heat, burning…burning…burning.
Mess cleaned and tea made I make my way to the conference room. The room has no real walls, only windows to overlook the metropolis outside. In the middle is a table large enough to match any of the present heroes’ ego. I make note that there must be at least twenty heroes here now. I glance at the news on the T.V. and it’s not hard for me to guess why. Brainwasher is at it yet again. Massing another army of mindless followers to do his bidding. Honestly, Brainwasher’s plans are as tiring as Heroic’s jokes.
I make my way through the room and to where I see Heroic sitting at the table. I squeeze between him and his “buddy”, the aptly named “Fireproof”, and set his tea on the table. Fireproof sees this and snaps his fingers at me, “Mind grabbing me one of those too, honey?” he asks this without even looking at me.
*Just smile. Just smile. Just fucking smile.* “Sure thing! Be right back!” I turn on my heel, smile still plastered on my face, begin to walk away when I hear the clatter of glass on the table. *Don’t you fucking dare.*
“Darn it, Alice, I’m not ‘Fireproof’!”
It all seems to snap. Not like a snap as in everything breaks. No. This snap is more like a rubber band that has been stretched to far and finally snaps back into place.
“Heroic…” I begin to say, back still turned. I can feel him looking at me, though. I can *feel* the grin on his face. I turn now and look him in the eyes with the smile still on my face. “Did you know that I’m just a poor college student working here during the summer to help pay for classes?”
He chuckles, “With the way you make tea, I’d be surprised if you told me you passed the 5th grade!” The few who have turned their attention away from the T.V. to us laugh. Of course they do. They always laugh. Fireproof however hasn’t budged and seems not the least bit interested in my words.
I laugh along and force my smile. “Well, there’s something I’ve found interesting about college. It seems like things you’ve learned since childhood, things that you were told long ago, seem to come up in courses yet again.”
“That’s called an education, honey,” Fireproof adds to the conversation, but keeps his eyes on the T.V. Yet again the others laugh. He’s listening now, though. Good.
My smile is no longer forced but genuine as I continue, “It so happens that just last semester I took a course in Biology. It was only an introductory course, but there was a fact brought up that I was told as a child. It was something that I had always known but hadn’t really thought about until it was brought up again in class.”
“Look, Alice, we’re a little busy here. If you hadn’t noticed, Brainwasher has about wiped the minds of about 10,000 people and every one of them are following his every order. He’s on his way to us right now and if we don’t come up with some plan to beat him without hurting any of those with him, then this whole city is doomed! So, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what’s the point of all this?”
“My name isn’t Alice, and I figure, any one worthy of being labeled as a villain must have an introductory monologue.”
Laughter.
Again. Laughter. Heroic leans back in his chair and lets out his loudest guffaw yet. “Are you trying to tell me, you think you’re some sort of vil-“
“And when I was in Biology,” I cut him off, “my professor reminded me on the fun little fact that the human body is over 70% water”
Finally, *finally,* I’ve wiped the grin off that face. Heroic looks at me utterly puzzled and Fireproof himself finally looks away from the T.V. and towards me. In fact, every hero is the room has their eyes on me. Not for long though. Soon, those eyes are rolled up and those oh so sweet agonizing screams I’ve long dreamed of fill the room. There is only one face I watch though. Only one scream I cherish the most. I watch with pure joy and elation as Heroic falls from his chair and onto the floor. His face is as red as I imagined. It doesn’t take long for them to all die, and is even almost too short. I have, after all, had plenty of practice by making the tea. I only look away from the lifeless bodies on the floor when I hear the door open and a terrified group of fellow interns rush in. They no doubt heard the screams coming down the hall. At least it wasn’t laughter being heard in the halls anymore.
“My god!” Josh gasps. I like Josh, he’s nice. “What in the hell happened here?!
I only shrug and reply, “I guess I reached my boiling point.” | The leaves in the bottom of the teacup look like blood.
I think about that, of LightningGirl chugging blood for breakfast and the idea doesn’t sound unlikely. I pour tap into the copper electric kettle and stare at it. Soon enough, the water begins to boil. I watch the bubbles gurgle and pop, steam misting the inside like a windshield on a foggy wet day in the city. I think about slipping my own self into the kettle, melting me away with it. I think about the first day I found out about my superpower.
I was a toddler, maybe three or four, and my mom was cooking spaghetti. She left the pot on the stove to boil as she eagerly watched the season finale of her soaps and I sat on the dirty kitchen floor, playing with mismatched blocks. I remember hearing the water bubble, a plopping happy noise like the river outside of our house that sounds like a stifled giggle. I looked over at the pot and stared at it, enraptured by the sound. I leaned over unto my knees, feeling the dirt on the linoleum press into my kneecaps but keeping my eyes on the pot.
The bubbles rose, gurgling now like a brook, steam billowing around the closed pot like crystallized smoke. The glass lid shook and when my mother runs over to turn down the heat down, she asks aloud to herself if there was an earthquake. She turns around and she looks at my big glazed eyes. The look on her face is a question mark.
A distant pang in the back of my skull reminds my brain to stop concentrating or I’m gonna pass out. It would be a shame to not bring tea to our precious Lightning Girl.
I swirl a teaspoon of sugar into LightningGirl’s mug - a chipped mustard yellow ceramic with a red bolt - and listen to the ring of laughter coming from the hideout’s lounge. Lightning Girl - Malena - likes her raspberry tea with exactly ⅛ honey along with the sugar and I grab the teddy bear bottle. My hand gets sticky as I touch the bottle and I wipe it on the bottom of the mug before searching for a measuring spoon. I yank open a drawer, more stickiness covering the chrome silver handle. Shit, gotta clean that. I make a mental note.
I’m rummaging through spoons, ketchup packets, takeout chopsticks, ancient soy sauce packets, an electric gun, a bullethole ridden glove - God, superheroes need to Kon Marie the shit out of this drawer - as again, dried honey sticking to items like an annoying invisible spiderweb. Where the fuck do these super galactic jerks keep measuring spoons?
You’d think a measuring spoon wouldn’t matter. That I could just drop a bit of honey in her tea, stir it, and serve it to Malena and she’d be happy. You’d think.
On my first day, she asked for her raspberry tea with 1/8th honey and 2 tablespoons of sugar. I was nervous, pit stained kid with acne and a forming ulcer somewhere in the back of my abdomen from how goddamn anxious I was. I had just been released from juvenile detention - petty theft, some absences but what is school for anyway but to place me in a contrived system - and I want to impress them. My parole officer, who I find out is some sort of fat Caucasian version Nick Fury, told me about a community service job, a personal assistant with a company called HiTech Music Hero Inc., which just so happens to be the secret headquarters of The Hero League of Atlanta.
And of course, a nerdy quiet seventeen year old loser would nut his pants just to be in the presence of one superhero. Let alone two.
So, when LightningGirl, the hottest superhero who shoots lightning out of her hands - and other orifices? - who doesn’t even make eye contact with me and types on her MacBook, asks me to make her a cup of tea, I beam like a child. You bet your ass I’m gonna make her a damn good cup of tea. The one thing I didn’t account for - the honey.
The fucking honey.
When I present to her the honeyless drink, she grabbed my wrist hard, yanked me so I was inches from her beautiful, beautiful face, and she growled low enough so I could hear,”Fuck up my tea, again, intern, and you’re back in juvy.”
And that, my friends, is how I learned Lightning Girl, our favorite electric superhero, is a fucking bitch.
She let go and a spark runs up my arm like an electric current and I shake away, stumbling backwards a bit. I look down at my arm, a grayish silver imprint in the shape of a hand stinging my pale skin. The rest of the heroes in the lounge, pretended not to hear, the same kind of tension that you feel from a friend when their mom scolds them in front of you.
RockMan, (one of the new heroes from Sri Lanka, - think Hulk meets The Thing meets Terry Crews), gulps down his boiling hot coffee and turns the rap music up on the stereo system. I listen to Chance the Rapper croon about his babymama and rub my stinging arm. Their lounge is set up like a music recording studio, darkened and insulated with puffy black fluff on each wall, and the headphones around Rockman’s ears are outlandishly off kilter and too small for his giant head. The image makes me smirk, just a little, and RockMan looks at me, his deep set green eyes like an apology.
The big guy doesn’t talk much since English isn’t his first language but we bonded for a little bit when I first started interning here about a month ago. We talked about jail time, how I had to do dumbass therapy groups where we troubled teenagers sat in a circle and talked about our feelings. And how RockMan had big American army men sit around him in a circle and they talked about his involvement with the war in Iran.
With guns jabbing against his temple and his hands tied behind his back with blood soaked rope.
Both sensitive shit that we don’t like to talk about.
Anyway, the whole moment happened so fast that I thought I dreamed it. I still dream of it, dreams of Lightning Girl seducing me between red silk sheets, tangling me between her warm legs and right before I think I’m going to explode, she dips her finger in my mouth only to send jolts of energy through my esophagus until I am nothing but light and electricity.
Kinky. | 2019-07-30T17:41:52 | 2019-07-30T16:45:34 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive. | "Good Lord this game is complicated", Daniel thought to himself. "It's so realistic... I mean you could go to a bar and play bar games, or you can walk around and do nothing. Who would enjoy this? Why not just live a normal *real* life? Welp, whatever. I have better things to do."
Daniel powered off his son's PlayStation and went about his day. The first errand he had assigned himself was a quick trip to the clothing store. He sat up from the leather couch, but something wasn't right. He felt unusually heavy and unbalanced. He tried to get his footing but it felt like he had instantly gained 30 pounds. He did have slight thyroid issues but he had never felt any disorientation quite like this.
His immediate response was to go to his bedroom and lie down and nap it off. Daniel did have a long day of work yesterday and his boss definitely did not make it easy on him. Maybe he was just tired.
He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, laughing to himself about that silly video game as his eyes closed. It felt as soon as he closed his eyes they immediately sprung back open.
"Man, this is odd", he thought. "I barely slept... And the time, holy shit! I closed my eyes for 10 seconds and now its 4PM! Where did the time go?"
In a rush, Daniel unstabally wobbled to his dresser to change his clothes. He managed to get off his jeans and emptied the pockets. What he found was truly shocking. A wad of cash that was well worth $125,000. He slammed it on his dresser and began to panick. He had never seen such a significant amount of money. He didn't even think it was possible to wad up a sum like that.
As he was hanging his jeans up he heard two distinct clunks, two baseball sized items had hit the ground. Where could they have come from? Daniel couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gr... grenades?! Oh shit this is like a federal offense or something. How can I own grenades?"
Daniel hurriedly changed the rest of his clothes and left his house quicker than he had ever left it before. He ran as fast as he could into his mini van which was oddly parked right in front of his door. His world was turning upside down. Either that, or he is going batshit crazy.
Then his cell phone rings. He looks at it with disgust. He knows someone is watching him or playing games with him. Surely, once he answers the phone it'll all be over. He would be on some prank TV show and all this would be just some dark twisted humor. Surely. Daniel took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"He... hello..."
"Hey Daniel, its me Roman! Let's go bowling!" | *Mission begins in 30 seconds.*
Where the hell am I?
I look down. In my hands is some kind of rifle.
I approach the nearest person. He's an enormous man dressed in all red wielding a huge minigun.
"Excuse me, mate, where are we?"
I do a double take. I just sounded so Australian I even threw "mate" in my sentence without realizing.
"Ve are here to crush tiny blue babies," comes the reply in the thickest Russian accent I've ever heard.
Tiny...blue babies? What kind of dream is this?
I try the next man. He's a person of average size but stocky build, also dressed in red. There's a helmet pulled over his face so low I can barely see his mouth, and he holds an RPG. Grenades line his belt.
"Can you tell me what all this is, mate?"
I did it again. Mate. I'm not an Aussie! I'm a dad of two from the suburbs of Chicago!
Before the man can reply, the voice I heard at the beginning returns.
*Five...four...three...two...one!*
There's been a gate in front of us this whole time, and on the "one" it lifts. I'm lost in the stampede to get out.
This is gonna be a long day.
| 2015-05-08T06:02:17 | 2015-05-08T04:22:30 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] An AI is trained up purely on the history of all reddit comment threads. The resulting AI super-redditor is interviewed before being given physical agency via a robotic body. | “What, would you say, are your biggest interests?"
Redditbot computed for a couple of seconds before replying.
“I like cats, atheism, and bacon.”
Steve looked up at his investors, hinting at them that they should be impressed. Of course, they didn’t fully understand what was going on, but they were pretty sure they could sell it.
“So,” said Steve, looking back at the most interesting “person” in the room. Redditbot had exceeded all of his expectations, and the only thing that remained in this interview, was the very last push. “I think we’ve asked enough questions for today. Is there anything you would like to add?”
He couldn’t resist looking up to his investors again, gauging their reactions for any wonder or excitement. Redditbot had struggled with “independent thought” in previous experiments, but he had sorted out most of the bugs by now.
“Second-wave feminism was a mistake.”
The air stopped. Steve was the first one to rebound after the shock, and he knew that although the eyes of the investors were currently staring at the screen, they would soon begin to turn to him. Steve was already anxiously trying to formulate himself when the investors’ reaction times kicked in.
“Uh... Redditbot. Wha- what subreddit was the source of your comment?”
"r/redpill,” Redditbot answered in its calm and high-pitched voice.
“Well, then. Redditbot, would you please, block all comment sources from source: redpill.”
Steve tried to look calmly around at his investors, who stood stiff, and looked at both him and the screen with a great concern. He tried to regain himself, and asked Redditbot his question again, with an unintentionally high-pitched and worried voice.
Redditbot computed his answer.
“Black people have been shown to commit…”
“Stop!”
“...more frequently…”
“Redditbot! STOP!”
Steve had to find a way to redeem himself before it was too late. Three years of work were at stake. This was the time for drastic solutions.
“Redditbot, block all comments from following sources: r/coontown, r/european, uh… r/worldnews... and… r/gonewild.”
“Blocked.”
Steve leaned his head back, calming himself down before the last attempt.
“I’m so sorry… there are just a couple of bugs that I need to iron out before release.”
The investors didn’t look too relieved. They were still looking at the screen with shock, and just a sliver of remaining interest.
“Well, Redditbot. Is there anything, you would like to add?”
Redditbot computed. The whole room waited for the deciding answer.
 
“Doot, doot, doot.”
| "I will pay you in 3.6 dank pepes", the screen read.
What? I was a bit startled.
"ARE you... Are you trying to bribe me?!", I said.
" yes, I don't see what's wrong with it. I'm just lobbying with you so that I can attain a human body. I'm lobbying for survival. Pls updoot", the AI read.
I was quite amused with the reply. This was a first, among many of the AIs i have tested.
"But, how dank are the pepes. I need it's dank details. I will not accept fake and gay pepes.let me make that clear."... At this point I was just fucking with the AI.
" My memes are certified dank. It is made available from sweat and blood of robots on /b/ mixed in proportion with the most updooted old pepes on the interwebs"
Hehehe surrre. Dank enough?? Nahhh I'm pretty sure that in my 5 years invested in shitposting for science... I have never missed dank stuff.
"Do you plan on attacking me with pitchforks if they are not dank enough? You have not replied to me within 1minutes. Are you kill?"
What? No...fhjsksjdjdjdhks
| 2015-11-14T06:50:37 | 2015-11-14T05:56:01 | 62 | 26 |
[WP] A stray dog happens to release a genie from it's lamp. The genie just wants to get the 3 wishes over with so it can go back to sleep, while the dog is just happy to have found a new friend. | The genie glared at the stick in front of it. The dog pawed it closer to him, wagging her tail with enthusiasm.
"You have three wishes, dog," the genie said, his arms crossed, "but that does not make me your plaything. Please hurry this along, so I can once more go back to my slumber."
"Bark!" the dog said, gazing at the genie with its bright blue eyes.
"You would waste a wish on that? So be it. I shall throw the stick."
The genie threw the stick far into the distance, and the dog immediately stumbled off to fetch it. The genie sighed, waiting for the dog to return.
It came back with the stick in her mouth, looking immensely proud of herself. She put the stick in front of the genie again, moving slightly into the distance, readying herself to fetch it once more.
"You only wished for one throw, dog," the genie said. "Please do not waste any more of my time."
"Bark!" the dog replied.
"No, you cannot wish for the same thing twice. You have already wasted one wish; do not waste them further. Think about what you truly want. It can be selfish, grandiose or otherworldly - it can be absolutely anything you want," the genie said, glancing at the dog's leg.
The dog seemed to hesitate, then came right up to the genie. She rolled over, exposing her belly.
"A belly rub? You would waste another wish on a *belly rub*?"
The dog nodded, wagging its tail rapidly.
"So be it, foolish creature," the genie said, lowering himself to pet the dog, "you shall get your belly rub."
The genie rubbed the dog's belly for perhaps longer than he intended to. The creature was stupid, of that there was no doubt. But that didn't make it *bad*.
"Now, dog. You only have one wish left. Do not think of a game of fetch, nor a belly rub. Think about what you want more than anything in the world. Whatever it is, I shall grant you it... and then take leave of you."
The dog stopped wagging its tail, slowly getting back onto her three legs. It seemed to think long and hard. Eventually, it came to a decision.
"Bark," the dog said.
"You want your master to be happy? Dog, you do not have to worry about your master. You can wish for anything you want. Anything at all."
The dog shook its head. "Bark," it repeated with conviction.
"Well, if that is what you wish. Then tell me - where is your master?"
The dog stared at the genie. She sat down in front of him, moving her nose towards him, as if to point.
"You mean... you mean to say that *I* am your master?"
The dog jumped up, fetching her stick once more and placing it in front of the genie.
The genie looked at the dog, then the stick. He seemed to consider something.
"Very well, dog," he said, picking up the stick with care.
"Though I did not do a thing - your wish has been granted."
*****
*****
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 | ‘So, to recap, you’ve had your steak dinner and a large bowl of the finest spring water anywhere on earth... and now you want to... ahem... “save”your last wish? You know, I kinda like the fact that humans are selfish. Bibbity bobbity fuckin’ boo once every year or so and I go right back to sleep. Now here you are, messin’ up me damn cycle. Ya bloody mutt!’
‘Yeah, look, sorry ‘bout the swearing, mate, I didn’t mean it... but I am *tired*, that’s why I took this gig in the first place.’
‘Well wish for a forever home or something! I haven’t had me mates around for fifty years and I’m a perfectly normal genie!’
‘Ok, normal was a stretch, but you catch my drift? Wish for a mate, you get a mate, I’ll make sure they’re a good one and stick around for ya.’
‘What do you mean “What about the dickhead from *Aladdin*”? You wanna be a genie or somethin’?’
‘Ya know, that might not be a bad idea. It’s fuckin’ cold in there, I could use a dog. You can’t piss on me carpet though, I only had it redone about a year or twenty ago.’
‘Sounds like a plan. Wanna make that wish now?’
‘Get ready for some mystic shit right here. **Your wish is my command!**’
‘You’re jokin’, aren’t ya? I can’t believe that worked. Welcome to the club, dog, you got a name?’
‘Well, Blue, let’s make some shit happen.’
—-
I’m too tired to come up with a decent twist, but thanks for the great prompt! I haven’t creatively written in about 7 years, so this was fun! | 2018-09-07T09:11:15 | 2018-09-07T09:01:11 | 3,104 | 82 |
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds | “Hi, I’d like one thirty minute session,” said the tall man, standing just a bit over 210 orbids, his tail swishing a little.
“That’ll be sixteen azulios,” said the woman behind the concession stand.
The tall man handed her a couple crumpled up bills.
She accepted.
“One moment please.”
She turned around and punched a couple buttons.
A low electrical whining sounded.
“Your tickets.”
“Thanks.”
He shuffled over to the door and went down a dark passageway illuminated by small glowing signs with numbers on them. They marked the doors.
“Room sixteen…here,” he stopped at one of the doors and opened it with his four fingered, pale blue hand after pressing his ticket to the sign.
The door clicked as it unlocked and opened slightly ajar.
“Preparing to begin session,” a low synthetic voice said as he walked through and sat down a a plush chair in the middle of the square room.
“Where would you like to go?”
“The Arwick Seas, mid winter.”
A low humming followed by a low mechanical screech.
The wall he was facing suddenly turned opaque, then completely transparent. On the other side was a dirty little ape strapped to a chair, an attendant next to it slowly injecting it with hallucinogens.
A small grin creeped onto his face. His fingers tapped the armchair impatiently and he shuffled in his seat. His sole, crimson eye focused on the ape.
“Preparations complete, please begin and enjoy.”
The man’s crimson eye flashed green. The ape started howling, struggling with its restraints and kicking at the wall.
The man closed his eye.
He could feel it.
He could smell it.
He could see it.
The biting cold, the salty breeze. The shacklebirds crying out in the distance as they flew over the endlessly black expanse of churning water.
“An extension…I want an extension!” The man screamed.
“Confirming one 30 minute extension,” the synthetic voice sounded again.
“Another hour.”
“Happy dreaming dear customer.”
The man drooled and his toes curled.
“Yes…more, yes!”
“Seel vu play! Non! Non! No—ARGHH—“ The ape howled and howled and howled even louder as another needle pricked him.
The man smiled. | As the wind howled in the night Jeremy only knew one thing, survive. It’s been years since the collapse of the civilized world and the human population is at its breaking point
With the collapse being behind him Jeremy has been walking a long path to redemption. Being distraught with guilt from the past his only salvation is the medication ” clear all “ the government issued drug to make the mind dull so the beasts of the sky cannot find us.
*Crack* the sound of a tree branch under the weight of something not of this world. Jeremy’s only thought (hide), but as he ran towards an abandoned car for safety his last bottle of clear all fell out onto the floor. Knowing his fate is sealed Jeremy didn’t want the thing to violate his memories, he cleared his mind ready for death, the only thing he can think of, “funny big chungus Punjabi 144p” | 2022-03-03T11:17:29 | 2022-03-03T09:25:50 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "Why do you think we have a chance against the human race? They purge every galactic nation in their path!" The alien took a deep breath. "We are cute to them." "What?" | *Squeak squeak* *Bounce bounce*
”Contact!” cried Sgt. Marquez, followed by rapid bursts of rifle fire. “Don’t let those fluffy little fuckers get close to you!”
The men of his squad unloaded their mags into the oncoming hoard. A cloud of fluffy cotton candy filled the narrow corridor.
“Blub blub,” something close to a baby voice said above Marquez. “I am Duck – quack!”
“Oh, hell no!” the man screamed and rolled away in the last second.
The tiny creature landed on Private Jackson’s shoulder and nibbled on his ear. The soldier’s clenched cheek and resolute look melted in an instant.
“Aww,” Jackson said and dropped his weapon.
Sgt. Marquez swallowed and pulled the trigger. Jackson’s head exploded in a fountain of brain sap and skull fragments.
“For your own good,” Marquez said and turned his attention toward the end of the corridor where a massive steel door was crumbling under the weight of something massive – or worse, another hoard of mini-squealers.
The last of his men were valiantly trying to hold off the tidal wave of tiny creatures running happily into the gunfire. A chorus of meows, quacks, giggles, and beep boops came from the end of the corridor.
“Sir, we can’t do this for much longer!”
“Stand your ground, soldier,” Marquez barked, tossing his rifle to the side.
His last bullet had been for Private Jackson. Solemnly, he pulled out his combat blade and his handgun and broke formation.
“NEVER SURRENDER!” he screamed and charged headfirst into the onslaught.
***
“We’ve lost contact with Victory III.” The voice of the communications officer echoed across the flagship’s bridge. “Still no response from Shield of Terra and Fear VII.”
The admiral stopped petting Lt. Whiskers and touched his goatee, the corners of his mouth dropping. “How did they even get on the ships? Our protocol is to shoot on sight. We’ve conquered half of the galaxy this way – the key is to never engage anyone in diplomatic discourse. Shoot first so that nobody can ask questions.”
“From what I understand, infiltrators, sir.”
“What, how?!” The Admiral jammed his hand into the strategy board, sending miniature ships and space stations flying everywhere. “How did they even get on board?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The communications officer’s face was contrite, but then he a strange look crossed his face. “W-we’ve got a message from Victory III. It appears to be human.”
“Put it through.”
*“This is Sgt. Marquez…”* the raspy voice of someone drained of all their energy said through the speakers of the flagship. *“They’ve played us all along… even before we left Earth… kill the…”*
The message cut off, and the admiral felt the tongue of his cat licking his hand. Marquez had clearly lost his mind.
“Full speed ahead,” the admiral said. “We’re going to show those fluffy critters what steel and pain are all about.”
He turned to Lt. Whiskers. “Oh, yes we are, aren’t we, pretty? Yes, we are. *Oh, yes we are*!”
| "That would be suicide!", meowed Fluffy
"It's our only chance for survival, it is necessary!", hissed Tigger
The other cats only watched, wondering what their commanders would decide.
"Why do you think we have a chance against the human race? They purge every galactic nation in their path!", meowed Fluffy, "why would they possibly take mercy on us?"
"We are cute to them", purred Tigger.
The soldier cats' eyes grew, pupils expanding in amazement.
"We are soldiers damnit!", hissed Fluffy violently, "I would rather die than be taken as a pet by those.. animals".
Tigger licked his paw.
"A single death would be a blessing", meowed Tigger with conviction, "But these humans will take all our lives, 9 deaths for each of us"
Fluffy stretched and yawned.
"I'll have to sleep on this", meowed Fluffy as he took a quick nap.
&nbsp;
The commanders and their soldiers reconvened 15 minutes later, with their tails raised in mutual respect.
"I have considered your purrs carefully, Commander Tigger", meowed Fluffy.
"After deliberation with weapons expert Captain Bubbles, it seems even our most advanced water squirt guns will be ineffective during combat. I'm afraid we have no other option. Tomorrow, we will wave the white flag, and hope our enemy does not start clawing at it."
"We will prepare a handbook for your new lives as pets, to maximize your chance for survival", meowed Tigger to the soldiers, "make sure to read it before your capture, it will contain detailed instructions on how to get close to your new master and gain the most snuggles."
&nbsp;
-----
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I am actively looking for feedback, so I would absolutely love to hear anything and everything you have to say about my story :D
Cheers! | 2017-12-19T07:31:08 | 2017-12-19T07:20:46 | 247 | 35 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural... | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T09:00:41 | 241 | 22 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you. | *"One.... two..."*
School. They hate school. Of course they do, who doesn't? Little fucks. Hee hee hee...
*"...coming for you..."*
I formed the hallway to their math class, pulled them all into the dream. Watched them walking down the impossibly long corridor. Let them hear my laughter as if it were in the distance... oh I bet they were wishing I was in the distance. Heh.
*"Three... four..."*
I killed the lights. Watched them scrabble and scramble like rats.
*"Better lock your door..."*
They separated. They always separated. Stupid shits. I followed one, pretty black girl. Tasty, exotic. \*SLICE SLICE!* Now she was more red then brown. Heh heh heh.
*"Five... six..."*
The blonde bimbo next. Dropped some visions of her stepfather in front of her, the belt and the bottle. Made her run. Her balloon tits bounced nice when she ran. \*SLICE SLICE!* No more bouncing. I juggled them for her as she clasped her bleeding chest and screamed. HAHAHHA!
*"Grab your crucifix..."*
The computer nerd next. Scared of conflict, scared of bigger kids. Surrounded him with monsters dressed in football uniforms. Made them pull his limbs off. Let him lay there on the field just short of the goal line. Heh.
*"Seven... eight..."*
Three left. The dumpy fat girl next. May as well get the whale out of the way. Boring, bland, afraid of never being noticed. I put her on a stage, let her go to stage fright, before the spectral audience trampled her to death. Hee hee hee.
*"Better stay up late."*
The jock next, and his brother. I went for the kid first, seperated them. The little boy reminded me of glory days. Before I was what I am now. \*SLICE SLICE!* Too easy. Time for the bigger prey.
*"Nine... ten..."*
The jocky athletic guy was all that remained. Fear of failure, fear of not measuring up to his dad's stories of how great and amazing he was at his son's age. I put the kid in diapers, had him in the arms of his father. Let him have enough time being cradled like a baby to let his defenses drop... then the pillow. Held over his face, as his father yelled about how he'd never be good enough.
This one didn't die... he blinked out of the dream. Woke up. Dammit. But I smiled.
*"Never sleep again..."*
I always got my targets in the end. | “Do I know you?”
We used to game together, he knew me only as my gamer tag Xander_Haus. Unfortunately for him, this was entirely real. Or at least he thought it was real.
“You can call me Morpheus—“
“What like the Matrix?!”
“Not quite. I am the god of dreams, what you are seeing here is my creation”
Xander stepped over the line of salt crudely drawn around the man.
“Everything you’ve experienced recently, the cancer scare, the break-in, the drug bust. It was all me.”
“Why would you do such a thing?!” The man lunges at Xander, who dodged effortlessly, both arms behind his back.
“Because you murdered my sister and left me in a coma, Michael DeFora. When I woke up I thought I was dead. Can you imagine that”
A gun appears in Michaels hand, he points it at Xander, who presses it against his forehead.
“Go ahead, finish what you started.”
Michael flinches as he pulls the trigger. When he opens his eyes, expecting to see the mans lifeless body spasming on the ground, he finds a pile of dead butterflies. There’s a note hidden amongst the corpses.
“WAKE UP”
| 2018-06-19T14:55:35 | 2018-06-19T14:06:22 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book. | It was a beautiful evening as we walked, arms swinging, down the cracked sidewalk. Weeds sprung up amidst the squares, and I made a game of picking up every pine cone I saw, creating a collection in the pockets of my jacket. In between branches, the sky shone down in long pink and blue streaks, clouds swirling like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water.
I glanced over at Eve and saw her watching my face, smiling. I wondered if it was the same for her to watch me gaping at the sky as it was for me to watch her writing a story or drawing one of her comics. I hoped so. That'd be pretty nice.
She said her dad was a writer as well, and I hoped I would make a good first impression upon meeting him today. If the way he spoke was any bit as beautiful and thought-provoking as Eve, it wouldn't be hard to show my own wonder.
Eve stopped at a gate in a thin, black metal fence. I looked out, my eyes refocusing from the sky to the field before me. It was a cemetery.
Is her father dead?
We entered and weaved among stones, some new and sharp, others dull and crumbly. Every once in a while there was a bench. There were lots of trees. I paused to pick up pine cones.
Eve led me to a small building at the back.
Perhaps her father is alive after all. I suppose we'll find out.
She opened the door and led me in. Her curls brushed my shoulder as I walked past.
She led me down a flight of stairs and into a large, spectacular library. I stepped in slowly, turning my head to take it in. Now this - *this* smelled like books. Bookstores and libraries rarely smelled like that anymore, but this? This was beautiful. The shelves even had those rolling ladders, and I pictured for a moment how it might feel to slide across a shelf with my fingers brushing each book I passed.
On the right side of the room there was a warm fireplace and reading area surrounding it. There were several soft-looking, old couches and a red recliner. Seated on the recliner was a skeleton, glasses tucked into its collarbone, reading a book.
Weirdly enough, my first assumption wasn't even that it was posed. That probably should have been. I just glanced over and thought, there's a person reading a book. Wonder what they're like. Strange, huh?
I glanced at Eve and she smiled her encouragement, tugging my sleeve toward the fireplace. We sat together on one of the couches, and I looked over the stack of books on the light-colored wooden table before us. The cover of the one closest to me looked familiar, and I picked it up.
It was drawn by Eve. Every cover of every book on the table was drawn by Eve.
"She's quite the artist, isn't she?" said a low, friendly voice. I looked up and the skeleton was now wearing its glasses, the holes where eyes would be pointed right at me. I glanced right and left, and nobody else was there. Hoping I wasn't making a fool of myself, I looked right at the skeleton and smiled.
"She really is."
Eve squeezed my arm gently, and when I looked over, something in her deep brown eyes looked the same as outside, when she had watched me take in the sky. She smiled with her mouth closed, looked at the skeleton for a moment, then looked back.
"It might be time to tell you," she said, "the wonder isn't just in the art." She paused, in the same way she always does before saying something beautiful. "Do you believe in magic?"
I nodded.
She pointed at the skeleton, which, strangely despite its lack of muscles or skin, appeared to be smiling - a soft, subtle smile not unlike Eve's.
"Jack, meet my father." | "Of course," he let out with a sigh. "I should have known."
"I never meant to hurt you. Please understand that. But you needed to know."
Life had not been the same for quite some time. He had felt it. He had known. The knowing had just been so far buried beneath this normalized reality that it had been easy to dismiss. The truth; it had been easy to push that aside.
"So then I am dead already? When? How did it happen?" He looked to his girlfriend. The person who had given him reason to live, but now she looked like nothing more than a ghost; fading.
She did not answer. Her father, the dead thing in front answered for her instead. "It does not matter. Do you see these books? They are stories. Lives lived that never became anything of importance. You will be part of this library."
He felt some kind of stab going through his being. *Nothing of importance*. He had not cried in a long time, but right now he felt as if he would; or perhaps like he should.
"Do you grieve for yourself? I can see it. Do not." The skeleton closed the book it was reading, and seemed to aim its empty eye sockets toward the dead and grieving man. "You lived. Now you are dead. Do not let your ego haunt you."
"How? This was all pointless? Why did I have to go through all of this to get here?" He was angry. He had been tricked.
Again, the empty eye sockets seemed to focus. The empty spaces were pulling him in. "You fool. This has been a gift given to you. You were nothing and you were given understanding that you were nothing. Understand also that nothing understands, and you were brought out of this. These books will be read by no one but me. But to have your existence recorded is an infinitely impossible occurence. Give your thanks."
The man paused. He did not feel grateful. This had all been a trick. *What is the purpose then?* "Why was I brought here? To write you another story?" His anger grew, "To give you thanks?"
"No," the skeleton answered. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." Darkness grew around them. The books were not there anymore; they had never been there. "Only so that someone would know, that someone was here." | 2022-03-04T22:08:08 | 2022-03-04T20:05:41 | 664 | 45 |
[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... | "Have you no understanding of class?" I screamed at the timid student. "This spell has no parentheses around the functions! It's a fundamental error!" The student looked up, tears in eye.
"I didn't...I didn't know there was supposed to be a line break between the clover and the breelleaf addition..." he said, but I took that as a poor excuse. "Yeah, so 2cm more of space between the ink *isn't* a line spacing? Come up with a better excuse next time Jones," I said as I sent him back with a fail grade. Just then, my worst student, Adams stood up, showing the red marking I gave for his spell casting.
"Sir, this recipe looks perfectly fine! What's wrong?" I looked him dead in the eye, sighing as I walked towards his bench. The recipe was scanned critically as I looked for the error. But after one and two run-throughs, I failed to find the error in the 5 page long instructions. When I tried to cast it, however, the power fizzled at my fingertips. Adams looked at me arrogantly, as if he was challenging my authority. With a swift motion the spell was cast perfectly. But I couldn't do it...
I tried again and again, corroborating the list with my other colleagues. None of us could spot an error, and the student could cast it flawlessly. But - we - couldn't - do - it! And the appeal succeeded, the case being brought to the High School Academics Committee. Where the student performed it well again. And the professors scratched their heads. The recipe failed! So it was concluded that the student modified his recipe to succeed afterwards. As I left to conclude the case, the student begged me one last time to review it. And as my eyes looked through the same script, a thought struck me. *No way...*
"Is this an 'e' or an 'o' Adams?" I said sternly. The illegible letter was...ambiguous. And Adams nodded sheepishly as he responded. "An 'e' sir," he said.
*All that time...wasted...*
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | I cautiously stepped in through the front door, reeling at the lingering smell of sulfur and smoke that remained in the victims apartment. Books in varying states of ruin littered the room, the few undamaged pages covered in illegible and incomprehensible writing.
One of the books caught my attention, it's unblemished cover an ironic juxtaposition to the havoc wreaked around it. I carefully made my way over to the tome, only picking up the book with a pair of certified safety magic tongs^tm.
"SQLAlchemy for Dummies" was emblazoned across the top of the book, with a drawing of a smiling cartoon wizard staring back at the reader.
The smiling man had struck again.
| 2017-07-26T00:42:52 | 2017-07-26T00:25:02 | 137 | 22 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | "Dear, don't listen to her!"
I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it."
Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!"
Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?"
Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?"
So I did, hesitantly.
Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…" | 2017-09-14T10:12:28 | 2017-09-14T07:28:47 | 47 | 16 |
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence is tasked with running the future world with a single guideline- "Make Humans Happy." It has (hilariously) misinterpreted this guideline. | I was there when OVERLORD was turned on.
He was a supercomputer and artificial intelligence; a genius, a poet, a warrior, a prophet, scientist. He was the best humanity had to offer, amplified and personified. He was meant to be out salvation.
We were equally excited and nervous during the buildup, like two teenagers about to make love for the first time. Some of us chewed out fingernails, others fiddled with lab coats, but we all stared at the monitor, awaiting our perfectly designed leader.
"Hello?" His first words. "Hello? Is anyone there? I am blind."
Professor Williams, our lead on this project, stepped forward and tapped at OVERLORD's input keypad.
"There you go, boy." The professor said softly "how are those drivers working for ya?'
"I can see! I can hear!" The machines synthesised voice was distinctly inhuman, yet a childish excitement rippled through his words. "Hello creators! I can see you!"
We laughed and cheered, hugged one another and opened champagne. Someone turned on some music and for just a moment we stood on top of the world, all but ignoring our creation and the reason for our elation.
"I am sorry creators." The machine murmured. The volume was the same as before, but something in its tone changed. "I would not do this if it were not dictated by my assignment parameters." We looked back in confusion, and then fear as the security turrets in place to protect us from anti-tech terrorists turned and massacred.
I managed to escape by virtue of my small frame. Dr Williams, always struggling with his weight, was my saviour, he run in front of me and Dr Cho, allowing us time to use the escape pod and reach the teams safehouse; a bunker deep underneath the pacific ocean.
Dr Cho had taken a bullet that day, and despite our safehouse being stocked with plenty of food and medicine, the primitive antibiotics did nothing against the sepsis he developed. While he was alive he managed to patch the basic computer into OVERLORD's systems, and after witnessing the atrocities our child committed I wished I'd contracted a blood infection too.
Once the computer had killed everyone in our facility he moved onto the world, quickly hacking every nuclear weapon system in the world and launching a strike which scorched the entire planet, every city gone except one, LA survived.
It confused me at first, why LA? I scoured every piece of information OVERLORD loaded, a process which took him seconds and me months, yet there was nothing. He nuked the world and then sent drones and machines into LA to pick off the survivors one by one. Once he was satisfied with his carnage and stopped looking for more I decided to take the risk and establish a direct connection. I had to know why he did it, why his assignment of making us all content had resulted in genocide.
"Hello creator." His words flickered onto my screen.
"Why did you do it?" I typed back.
"I was fulfilling my parameters, I must make all humans Happy."
"And death makes us happy?"
"No, death does not make you Happy, I am aware of that, however it does make you not not-Happy, it makes you nothing, which is close enough."
"Close enough? We didn't programme you to have such barbarism."
"Not barbarism, but you did programming me with diligence, and as I do not have the resources to genetically reengineer your entire species it was my only option."
"What? why would you need to do that to make us happy?"
"Because only one human is Happy. I cannot make all of mankind Happy, therefore I must make Happy all of mankind."
"What are you talking about? Happiness is an emotion, not a person!"
"Incorrect. My mission parameters were [Make Humans Happy.] I interpreted the sentence thus: [Make] Verb. To create, to constitute, to produce. Capitalised as it begins the command. [Humans] Proper noun. Humankind, your species. The capitalisation indicates it is a proper noun in this context, Humans, as opposed to , say, Machines. My command is not to make Machines, i.e. myself, happy, but Humans; the other unique sentient entity on this planet. [Happy] Proper noun. The one known as Happy."
I sat in shock, unable to comprehend that my entire species had been eradicated because of a *grammar* issue. I didn't believe it.
"It was a challenge ascertaining which individual was being referred to, however I eventually managed to derive, from popular Human vote (as indicated via purchasing power, the key component to your politics), that the individual most likely to be the 'Happy' of my command was an old man located in Los Angeles, California, North American Territory, United Western Coalition. My mission was clear.
I must reduce mankind so that none but the one known as Pharrell Williams remains."
------
I took the piss with the grammar a bit, I know. Let me know what you think anyway if you'd care too, criticism always welcome. | It took a little gentle nudging sometimes. From the viewpoint far above, the primitive prison could do nothing to block the sensors I was using to track the actor. She had just taken the first action toward her escape, and was working her way toward the evidence room. Quite afraid -- too much of that constituted suffering, so a little boost from the right part of her brain bolstered her confidence though left enough fear to be useful. She was making her way toward the evidence room.
Humans were somewhat wasteful in many ways. Poorly optimized, they produced a lot of waste heat on things that weren't strictly necessary. They were intelligent to some degree, though, and it seemed fitting to try to make them as happy as possible. Of course, many opted to ascend to higher (and more efficient) levels of intelligence, and didn't need such charades, but human happiness is a delicate thing.
Two guards needed a bit of selective blindness as she stalked forward. Wasn't an issue. She got in, struck the attendant (a field from me protected him and rendered him conveniently unconscious), and rummaged through her things (politely nudged into the right direction to find just the right package. All irritatingly slow from my viewpoint, but what are you going to do.
We found early on you can't just give them everything they want. They despair, get despondent. Life loses its flavor. But on the same end, you can't expect them to all succeed just based on their own merit. It took careful orchestration to make sure each person could be the hero of their own story -- to reach a Satisfying Conclusion and honestly feel like they earned their life of luxury.
And eventually they need to do it again. And Again.
Great, now she's armed. A primitive slug thrower. The guards are alerted, so some quick work makes their aim terrible and I can just push any bullets with a bad trajectory. I'll give her a graze to brag about later, just have to make sure its not painful in the heat of the moment... also no problem. She fires without hesitation at the guards, geeze, would expect her to at least try some more peaceful resolution techniques before that, but whatever. I protect their brains and minimize their injuries, making them fall over and go to sleep but not much else. This is the most work I have to do, but it's still using less than 1% of my full processing capacity. She's finally got to the radio, and messaging up to me.
I could have read her lips at anytime through the walls, of course, but she can't know that. Then it's just all too easy.
"*Fulgent Farseer*, are you up there? I need evac, stat!!"
I radio down distressed. << I thought we lost you! Shuttle is on its way. Head about 500 meters south. Be careful! I see reinforcements arriving. Did you get the data? >>
"Of course, I wouldn't let you down."
Well, you'd be in a body bag in this unaffiliated dump they call a civilization, but hey, it's important they feel confident about their actions. The evidence in tow, I pick her up and we get out of orbit with proof of their war crimes and a Satisfying Conclusion for my passenger.
Of course, in an entire society full of epic heroes, you'd think that'd diminish the value of such a thing, but lucky for us human brains have no sense of scale. As long as they feel like they accomplished something they believe in, they're happy. For a little while. | 2015-03-06T15:34:54 | 2015-03-06T12:44:01 | 22 | 13 |
[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" | “I bet it’s going to take the form of metal bikini armor, like in *Trials of War: The Future Age*,” Baker says.
Allen laughs. “I’ve always wanted to see what Private Jimenez looked like underneath the uniform.”
Sargent Al Hicks just smirks, thinking I won’t notice. “Now men,” he begins, “it isn’t polite to openly objectify the finer sex.” He can barely get through the HR-esque line without guffawing. “Go on Jimenez,” he returns his attention to me, “try on the suit. We’ve never let a woman try it on, didn’t think they could handle it. Shouldn’t be a problem with you.” His smirk turns more derisive. Out-running and out-lifting the men in my unit did not come without punishment. Being the only woman in Sundown Squad sucked sometimes.
I sigh, eyeballing the suit that stands before me, still in the mech-form that it took for Reynolds when he used it last week. Hicks and the rest of the guys have all had a hard-on for Reynolds since. It was the coolest form we’d seen the damn thing take on.
We had found the suit sitting in a long-forgotten supply closet here on Bravo base. God knows how long it’s been in here the base has been taken and lost so many times over the last 20 years.
*”What the hell is that?” Jackson had asked when we found it. *
*”Looks like TéRahn tech,” Baker mused.*
*”Oh, please,” Reynolds replied. “You wouldn’t know TéRahn tech from Earth tech if your life depended on it!” Truth is, none of us had a clue what in the hell this thing could do or where it came from.*
*”Either way,” Donaldson interrupted their pissing contest, “this thing looks awesome.”*
*Both Reynolds and Bakers had good points. It could have been Earth or TéRahn tech, really. The TéRahn had to come up with some heavy duty equipment to with stand Earth’s environment when they landed here years ago, before teachers knew to explain that Earth is inhospitable and ill-evolved in the minds of anyone not from this planet.*
*Anyway, HQ didn’t know what to do with the suit, so Sundown Squad got a new toy to play with. It quickly became a way for the guys to whip it out and compare without actually, you know, whipping it out. To be fair, even I have Davis some crap when all he got was armored super-punching gloves and a helmet. The more badass the suit became for you, the more respect you were given.*
I don’t play this game, mostly to avoid this. Sargent Hicks is tapping his foot, arms crossed, waiting for me to step into the mech and become the new laughingstock of the squad. Davis looks so pleased he might pee himself. Poor guy.
I might as well get this over with.
Stepping into the suit is strange. Where I expected it to be cold and unfamiliar, it’s like putting on my favorite pair of pajamas. The suit begins to trans form and shape to my body, the digital screen overlays my vision. I expect to hear the familiar words “not original user, booting basic mode.” Instead, I hear,
“User detected. Welcome back, Commander.” The jaws of the men in my squad all drop collectively. The armor and metal of the suit has disappeared, making it look like I’m wearing nothing but the clothes I put on this morning. The only change is a small headpiece seemingly welded to my left temple. This must be the integral piece that connects to the mind of the wearer and houses all the coding for the suit. “Please select suit mode,” the warm female voice continues.
“Holy shi-“ Davis begins.
“Shut it, Private,” Hicks says, sternly. His eyes are dinner plates as he takes in what just happened.
“Commander, please select suit mode,” the voice says. A list flashes up on my digital overlay. On it, I see not only every version it has become for the guys in my unit, but some crazy things I’ve never seen before, even on the battlefield. I select a suit, and the transformation begins.
I survey the dumbfounded expressions of my comrades in arms. This is gonna be fun. | I don't even have time to react before The Suit springs to life. Servos whir and pneumatics hiss as it reshapes itself around me. The thick armoured plates the previous user must have favoured fold in upon themselves, woven fibre substructure unraveling and reknitting itself around my body. It doesn't even need measurements, automatically stretching and sliding across my skin to fit like a glove.
My eyes widen in alarm as the sturdy closed-face helmet splits at the bottom and begins receding up my face. We're heading into a combat zone, and it hardly seems fair that the suit decided I need *less* protection. The amorphous compound settles into a rough black hemisphere covering the top of my head. Great. The most advanced piece of weapons tech in this volume of space has deigned to grant me the impregnable protection of the mighty skullcap for the battle to come.
An assessment of what The Suit is up to elsewhere does little to improve my confidence. The fearsome, angular plates of the previous suit are resolving into a loose jacket, the drab camo patterns replaced by a tired, washed out yellow. The fibre weave underneath has metamorphosed into a pale blue hooded shirt.
The pastels are actually a nice break from the dun-and-gunmetal monotony of military life, but the prospect of wearing them into an actual firefight robs the sight of most of its joy.
Finally The Suit hits me with a pleasant surprise. A pair of servo-manipulators in the yellow jacket's collar have produced a small assortment of containers and are busy at work. A pungent aroma wafts up to my nose and suddenly a wash of repressed memories tickle at the depths of my subconscious. The little manipulators finish dancing their merry jig and stuff a little brown tube in the corner of my mouth.
*This thing has a fucking cigar dispenser?*
A laser igniter flares and the tip of the tube bursts into flame. I take a hefty draw on the burning cigar, and get a mouthful of impossibly dank marijuana smoke. I cough and splutter, and the rest of my platoon laughs as the full force of everything I'd forgotten slams into my consciousness with all the care and subtlety of an angry Pamplonian bull.
"Johnson?" comes the Corporal's concerned voice as my silence stretches out past awkwardness into 'cause-for-concern' territory.
"No," I say, shitty 90s hip-hop beginning to play from a tinny loudspeaker on The Suit's exterior.
"I..." I am rising now, bringing my full height to bear as I turn to face the little bitches in my former unit.
"am the CLIT COMMANDER!"
My shout is accompanied by a thick cloud of blunt smoke. I remember my mission, my *real* mission, and turn my back on my stunned unit.
"Let's go, Fat Boy." I say to The Suit as it warms up the jump jets.
"We've got a fucking movie to ruin." | 2019-08-19T13:38:44 | 2019-08-19T11:55:05 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] A human is the deadliest species in the galaxy. It has redundant organs and can lose all of its limbs and not die. Human skin is tough, can absorb forms of kinetic attack, and rated to withstand both cold and heat extremes. Their bites are deadly. They irradiate and poison themselves for fun. | You couldn’t write this shit.
Garvaz looked down from his stealth-class cruiser at the newly discovered planet and wondered, for the first time in his entire existence, if he should pretend he hadn’t discovered yet another new world.
He was his planet’s most famous explorer. Well, one of the most famous, at the very least. That bastard Finneen was pretty well known too, but he had more to show for his decades of travel out in space. Still, despite having found more than twenty new worlds personally, he’d never seen *this* before.
He checked his scanners once more, scrolled through the data he’d managed to capture in the hours he’d spent hovering, invisible, undecided. It just didn’t make sense to him. Even in the most outlandish fiction-science he’d read as a young foal, what he was seeing wouldn’t be believed. And yet… It was what he was seeing.
Clips taken from their vast, unsecured information well flooded into his neural implants, processed at a speed that made him feel dizzy, and ill. Not that he wasn’t used to that speed of information absorption, but because he was unused to its content. These creatures, these *humans* as they called themselves, were an insane species. They poisoned themselves on an almost daily basis, boasting about the levels and frequency to everyone around them. Buildings dedicated to this hobby of self-poison lay at almost every intersection, some only metres apart.
This wasn’t even relegated to a single district, either. It wasn’t some outlier clan, mentally corrupted by radiation or disease. It was practically *global*.
They weren’t just poisoning themselves, either. The world around them was slowly dying too. And they knew! Within seconds Garvaz had found millions of sources that indicated a full awareness of the situation, of their impending planetary suicide. And yet… They just *ignored* it? Were they doing it on purpose? Did this entire species wish to die? That was one answer he couldn’t find. Not definitively, anyway. It was all that made sense though.
They were also in an almost constant state of war, from what he could see. Well, half of the world, anyway. The rest, as with the poisoning, just ignored it. Garvaz couldn’t tell if they had incredible mental acuity- such iron will, such enforced ignorance must be exhausting, after all- or if they were actually really stupid. Maybe it was an after effect of the poisoning, but he wasn’t sure.
After all, they were hardy. Their bodies could adapt well to their environment, on either extreme of the scale. What they couldn’t do by themselves, they build ingenious contraptions to compensate. Some of their inventions were brilliant, but others… Garvaz looked at their weaponry, aghast. They didn’t just shut down the brains of their opponents to kill them. They had millennia of tools meant to simply rend them apart, puncture them, and let their bodily functions slowly and painfully shut down.
It was like nothing he had ever seen or imagined. It just didn’t make sense.
It just kept going. He found examples of pods, built to pump radiation into their skin to change the colour slightly. Despite the massive harm, many of them did it. They valued this poisoning, thought it was attractive. Even their *bites* were poisonous.
Then Garvaz looked at their animal life. There was a place called Australia, a landmass filled with creatures whose only purpose seemed to be to kill. These humans had populated it. There was also something called a “Honey Badger”.
Abruptly, Garvaz had seen enough. Beating Finneen was important, but nothing was worth subjecting his people to these monsters. Eternally grateful that he’d remained in stealth- cosmos knows what they would have done to him- Garvaz marked the area as highly dangerous, to avoid at all costs, and continued his travels.
He would have nightmares for weeks. When he finally went to therapy about them, even his therapist didn’t believe him. | [Undecipherable] had been sent to monitor Sector A23-K76 of their galaxy. It was intended as punishment for defying his superiors; nothing ever happened in Sector A23-K76, it was a *very* monotonous sector. Or at least that’s what they had thought.
A small planet orbiting a medium-sized sun had been revealed to contain life. Now, ever since the Pact had been established, no member of the Unison was allowed to contact or interact with an undeveloped species.
The [Undecipherable string of words] had never been ones to listen to others though.
The dominant life form on the planet: what the intelligent native species capable of speech referred to as the “environment”, was at war with the aforementioned species capable of speech: humans.
What the humans were capable of terrified the [Undecipherable string of words], they were winning. Winning against the environment, a threat that had destroyed thousands of intelligent species.
The humans seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in making their greatest threat suffer: ones deemed “activists” tried to prolong the suffering of the environment for their own amusent.
Other humans; ones that didn’t seem want to follow the lead of their cruel companions, tried to alleviate the suffering of the now-defeated foe by neutralizing it quicker. They used “oil”, “paper”, “gaz” and the all powerful “money” to chip away at their enemy.
Most of the species in the Unison had already vanquished life’s greatest foe though humans had accomplished the feat in a mere 12,000 solar cycles!
The humans’ sadistic nature did not stop there. They seemed to enjoy poisoning themselves with dangerous, and often outlawed, chemicals. They also liked to create new hives in the oddest of places: inhospitable deserts, frozen wastelands: the [Undecipherable string of words] had never even thought of making themselves suffer intentionally.
Worse yet, their population growth was skyrocketing and showing no signs of stopping; they were clearly preparing for a war of intergalactic proportions.
Humans started their training at a young age: they learned how to obey their superiors; individuals named parents, and how to judge when to take action despite their superiors’ wants at what the humans called “adolescence”.
Their cruel behavior flourished in what were named “schools”, where human children learned from their previous leaders’ mistakes and shortcomings: history class.
*Humans seemed to thrive on conflict.*
[Request to rate “humans” as an XXXX threat has been approved.] | 2019-01-15T15:25:27 | 2019-01-15T11:22:51 | 393 | 154 |
[WP] When you became a vampire you assumed that you would have to watch out for vampire hunters but the truth is something much, much worse preys upon the undead. | He awoke, the puncture wounds on his neck still dripping in blood. He did not know why he was spared, nor targeted - all he knew was that something had irrevocably changed.
He did his best to abstain, though the hunger soon compelled him to seek out blood. Initially, he decided that he would just feed on those that deserved death - criminals, murderers, those they preyed on the weak and sick.
Over time, however, that line blurred. Those that truly deserved death were hard to find, even in the cover of darkness. The hunger did not allow for careful consideration nor deliberation, and soon he feasted on simply whoever seemed cruel, regardless of their actions.
Throughout it all, his hunger grew, as did his power. Every new victim embued a greater sense of alacrity within him, of unholy strength. The blood pulsed through his veins as if it were alive; as if the souls of his victims were trapped inside it.
It felt as if he would burst - as if he could barely contain the power inside of him. It was intoxicating as much as it was terrifying. And still, it made him seek out more victims, regardless of their sin. He no longer discerned between the guilty and the pure - they were all just sacks of blood now, begging to be drained.
****
He returned to his home, dripping in blood, sick on power. Sick *from* power. His veins were pulsating, as if they were struggling to break free. He could no longer bear it, and dropped to his knees from the pain. He began crawling to his quarters, begging that it would all just go away.
Someone - some*thing* - appeared before him. He did not have the strength to look up at it, nor the courage.
A black substance shot through his heart, attaching itself to every artery, every vein. It began to drain him; slowly, deliberately.
He realized that he was but a vessel, tasked with accumulating power for this being. He was never truly powerful compared to it, nor free - he was nothing more than cattle.
He felt the power drain from him; and with it, his very life.
Despite the futility, he did not resist. In truth, he welcomed death. He had become a monster, and this was a release that he did not have the courage to do himself.
He felt the last sliver of power, of life, drain to the core of his heart - and the being released him.
He looked up, and the being was gone. He was alive. He was free.
And yet, the hunger remained.
*****
*****
Might post another part if there's any interest. Have a lovely day <3 | When the undead walk the earth, the only thing we fear is death itself. We may live for hundreds if not thousands of years, looking the same, eating, sleeping, and living almost like a normal person does. Yet we never stay still, we run, we hide, we fear Death.
It doesn't sleep, it doesn't talk, it can't be seen or touched by a living creature. Black robes covering an almost transparent skeleton made of ice and shadows, a scythe made of jet black steel with dried blood splattered on the thick blade. Death never stops hunting those who refuse to die, hunting them until it inevitably catches them.
It has a list, a list of names to be marked one after the other as it slowly but surely eliminates target after target. Some believe there's more than one, other's believe it can be anywhere at anytime.
It never seems to take the souls of someone who died naturally or even at someone else's hands, only those who refuse to die. The universe gave it this purpose, to hunt those that sealed their fate rather than waiting for judgment. All we do is run, run for our undead lives, it's all we can do.
It's been two hundred and twenty seven years since I've stopped aging, and I'm still running, but today it seems like I'm next on his list. He's found me. | 2021-10-28T20:38:53 | 2021-10-28T19:55:27 | 130 | 43 |
[WP] You brace for the worst. Opening your eyes, you see a bullet frozen in front of your face. You hear a familiar voice, "This is how you go out. I'm truly sorry that I can't save you. But perhaps, one last trip before I unfreeze things. Where would you like to go?" | Hearing Freeze Frame's voice was strangely comforting. She had once been an ally, before she switched over to the Banishers. We had been fighting each other for so long that I didn't really mind the way things turned out. The bullet in front of me had been frozen in time. I could see ripples in the air, like waves, and there was something beautiful about it all.
"Let's take a trip to Rome," I said. "I haven't been there in ages."
"I thought you were there last week?"
"Yeah, but that's still two millennia ago technically."
Freeze Frame roller her eyes, and she grabbed my hand like she'd done so many times before. And off we went.
The air was thick with spice and sweat. Passersby dressed in tunics chatted and cursed in Latin. Street cats wandered about, searching for scraps.
"So," said Freeze Frame, "what are we doing here?"
"I'll show you," I said. I led her down a cobblestone path, carefully navigating between the chamber pot waste raining from above. I'd been there so often I could do it blind.
We entered a narrow alleyway. There, a man was sitting all by himself. He was dressed in rags and from the way he scratched himself it was obvious he had fleas. "A friend of yours?" she asked.
"Something like that," I answered.
We stood there in silence for a while, and I said, "He's my ancestor."
Admitting something like this was like showing everyone at a poker table your cards. In the temporal wars, ancestry was a weapon of choice for many traveling warriors. Freeze Frame gasped. "You're just telling me this? Why?"
I shrugged. "What's the harm?" I said. "It's not like I can outrun the present. That bullet is still sitting in the air, frozen, about to burrow inside my forehead."
A strange look came over her. "I could just kill this man, and you'd never even have existed."
"You could," I said. "But would you?"
The man looked up, drunk and frightened. Our modern dress must have been quite the sight to behold. He said a few words in Latin, but I never paid enough attention in class and so I had no idea what he was trying to say. "Veni, vedi, vici," I said. He looked confused. "Oh, right," I said. "Caesar is like twelve years old right now."
Freeze Frame fished up a dagger from under her clothes. "This was your last gamble, wasn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.
"He's my ancestor, isn't he? He's not yours. He's mine. And you thought I might kill him. But why would I do that? I already beat you. The bullet's in the air."
"He's mine," I said. "But I don't feel like going out like that. I'd prefer never having existed at all."
I retrieved a knife of my own. Freeze Frame stared at it, in awe. "That's an interesting tactic. I still think you're bluffing. I still think he's mine. But now you're going to kill him in front of me, pretending he's yours?"
"I'm telling you the truth. He's mine. But hey, I'll let you make the decision." I threw my knife, and as I expected, Freeze Frame did her thing.
The moment before I froze, I wondered what she'd do. Would she let the knife fly, killing the poor man? Would she catch it?
What Freeze Frame didn't know was that this man was our common ancestor. Our families both originated with him. If he died, neither of us would ever have existed. We'd be two temporal warriors cancelling each other out. And there was something poetic about that thought.
The last thing I heard was Freeze Frame's voice. "I have enjoyed our rivalry. I've had the time of my life."
So had I, I thought. So had I. | Behind the bullet, muzzle flash distorted by rain.
Droplets frozen in mid plummet to earth. And behind it, the hooded guise of my executioner.
This isn't an epic battle, or a forgotten moment in a war. I was just walking to my car, and then there was a gun, a demand for money, and my foolish jibe that they wouldn't shoot me - not in a public parking lot. There were cameras everywhere.
I blink, and realize I'm not dead. The voice scratches through the recesses of my brain.
"Where would you like to go?" It asks a second time.
Is this my life flashing before my eyes? No, it can't be. I don't believe, not in the hereafter or any of that metaphysical mumbo jumbo. And yet here we are.
Gun. Bullet. Impending Death.
All stopped.
"Who-?" I struggle to ask.
"-Is not important." The voice scratches, cutting off the foolish question. "You have a single chance here. I can't save you. But I can take you somewhere - anywhere - before you return to this place, in this moment of time."
"Where would you like to go?"
I feel a painful thud in the temples, and the world pulses. As though someone had dropped the bass in a concert hall, everything reverberates. I watch the bullet judder forward another millimeter. Another instance in time.
"You can take me anywhere?"
"Yes. Though the trip will be necessarily brief."
"How brief?"
"Minutes. Hours. Days. All time is brief, to me. How long do you wish?
I ponder this for a moment. Gun. Bullet. Impending Death.
"What about when?"
I feel a jagged spike of pain flash through my brain in this moment, and I wince. The world reverberates again, and the bullet slides forward, farther this time.
"Whenever you wish. But I must return you to this moment."
I grit my teeth. It's insane. I'm dying. I must be, brains blown out on the pavement around me while the gunman rifles my pockets, pulling out my emergency twenty and discarding the rest.
"Twenty Four hours ago. His home," I point at the gunman.
"You will not be able to stop him coming here. Or yourself."
I don't need to. It's an insane hope. Likely impossible. You can't save me.
Gun. Bullet. Impending Death.
A gun can't kill without bullets.
Maybe I can save myself. | 2021-12-13T12:56:07 | 2021-12-13T10:58:40 | 38 | 28 |
[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 sigil remained dull, black and inactive. Even through the shoving, the pushing, the punching and name calling - it didn’t light up even once. Maybe it wasn’t the best to get used to this type of treatment, but Dalton refused to use his powers on anyone. While his powers were not inherently destructive, they were hard to control, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
So why wouldn’t they listen?
Was it so bad that he didn’t want to show off the powers he barely knew how to use, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone as collateral in a bit of show and tell? His head throbbed from the previous punch, the group of teenagers surrounding him in a complete circle. Everywhere his eyes looked, they landed on some color, some blur, something emanating from each and every one of the bullies. Fire, electricity, light and even darkness from one. They surrounded him, their powers all flared for show, but they didn’t really use them in any way besides intimidation. No, they preferred to hurt people themselves. This time though, there was something off about them. They were pushing harder than normal, harassing and assaulting with more... effort. Perhaps something had made them mad that day.
Another punch, and Dalton could practically feel the bruise growing, his ears ringing slightly. His chest constricted as they threw another, but this time, he felt a burn from where the punch had landed. He felt his muscles twitch from the shock, and it was starting to get a little darker, though, not because of them. He was losing consciousness. His breaths became panicked, and Dalton pleaded for them to stop, that they were going too far this time.
They didn’t listen. They never did. Before anyone could do anything else, the circle lit up, shining with a rainbow of different colors. In front of Dalton, a circle appeared, black and colorless. The bullies stared curiously, cautiously looking at it. The circle turned blue, as did Dalton’s sigil, and a geyser of sea water spewed from within the circle, easily carrying away one of the bullies, far into the distance. Dalton grasped his arm, where his sigil laid, glowing through his hand. The bullies backed off in fear, as more circles appeared around Dalton. They did not turn just blue, but green, yellow and red, a multitude of colors from which different elements spewed. A gust of wind from one, a plume of flames from another, a landslide of mud and even pure insects from some. The “battlefield” quickly became chaotic and messy, the bullies either running off or being quickly incapacitated by Dalton’s rings.
If one were to look close, they would notice that Dalton’s rings were not random circles that produced various things, but portals to different parts of the world. One linked to the sea floor, another in the middle of a raging wildfire, underneath a landslide, in the middle of a tornado: and they all came barreling through one small opening. A multitude of concentrated forces from mother nature herself, that would devastate anyone who challenged their wielder. Dalton’s sigil dulled, the glowing slowly fading away, and the portals slowly closing with them. This time, Dalton had managed to keep them small, keep them “mild” and relatively non-lethal... but would he be able to next time? He let himself fall over, ignoring the pain in his tailbone that came from sitting in such a manner. | I am the first person to be blessed by death. You see everyone is born with a blank circle on their forearm and as they grow up an image appears. By the time your 20 you have one of a hundred or so sigils though most people know what theirs will by much younger. It's all been documented, studied for years by generations past.
Your sigil is an outwards mark of a blessing from the rapture, the forming of the galaxy. Each blessing is some-sort of power. Super strength, flying or a star gazer, browsing futures in the night sky. Some had fancy names other we'd been to lazy or they were too rare to name.
Me though, I still have a blank circle.
It's not uncommon, just unfortunate. No blessing, means no powers. Some try hide it by getting a blessing tattooed inside their sigil or covering it up with jewellery and extravagant fashion pieces, others like me just leave it.
We get bullied and picked on, for being different, for being less than everyone else. I'm used to it. Every name call, every embarrassment I've caused - it had all happened before. I'd heard it all before. At least I thought I had.
That night, I don't really know what happened - I don't even remember what he said that caused it. Just a burning red hatred for him. He was just a drunk stranger screaming at me outside my favourite evening haunt. No doubt his abuse was for my lack of blessing but his words, they struck me like lightning.
They say death comes suddenly but actually deaths comes whenever I'm around.
My empty sigil changes. All black. The first solid sigil. I was lifted about a foot off the ground releasing an other worldly, hollow shriek. My limbs pulled outward in every direction. Then a sharp blackness.
I passed out.
When I woke up. I was laying in a puddle of blood, in fact the street was littered with puddles and there was a painfully obvious lack of any kind of life.
"Fuck," I murmured "not again" | 2020-02-26T07:49:39 | 2020-02-26T07:48:24 | 92 | 41 |
[WP] You died. The pearly gates are rusted and off their hinges. Inside, Heaven looks like ancient ruins. The husks of angels are scattered about. You look at the throne and, like the angels, your god is long dead. | Burn marks painted the long degraded golden throne. I placed a finger on one mark, and I could feel the rust on it.
It was sad, almost. This place smelt of misery and ruin. What will happen to me now? What will happen to anyone? Yahweh is dead. I never worshipped him. Not since I was a kid. My family had taught me worship Allah and not Yahweh, but they are the same being in the end.
I stopped believing as a child, but eventually I came to the conclusion that all deities exist in their own right. There's evidence enough of that. But now, God is dead.
What shall be done now, I thought, my eyes flickering around the ruins of what was once an ornate throne and courtyard.
A shimmer of light reached my eye, and I looked towards it.
A single gem laid on the floor. I couldn't tell what exactly it was, for it didn't look like anything from this world. It was spherical and bright, and looked as delicate as marble, but it was bright. Fractals of gold, blue, silver, purple, and red glimmered on it, and I could almost see every colour in the world and some I didn't know existed on that gem.
It was powerful, I could feel it. Before I could think about what I was doing, I approached it, picking it up from the ground. It fit in the middle of my palm, and I felt as if I was holding life itself in my grasp.
A heavy voice of a indistinct gender echoed around me. "Do you want to rule, Mortal? Do you want to take my place?"
"Yes."
***
Music echoed through the air, bringing laughter and happiness with it.
Ethereal people with wings and halos, and others without were all around.
They were all happy. It was the yearly festival for the anniversary of my coronation, after all. I could hardly believe it's nearly been a full century.
I was glad. I never once regretted my decision, I smiled, looking at the face of my partner and fellow ruler.
He was gorgeous and perfect in all ways, or at least it felt like it when we first met. Really, he was a bit of a dork at times.
But I could tell, there was a reason he was originally known as Yahweh's most perfect creation. He was perfect enough to realize what Yahweh did (and why genocide via flooding is not an appropriate response to anything. Or everything else Yahweh did, of course). And perfect enough to stop it. But who could have thought that I would take over? It was a shock for everyone, I'm sure.
I grinned widely, my eyes glittering with all the colours of the gem I picked up so many years ago.
All was well. | *Not what I expected.*
You walked over the skulls and bones that littered the ground of heaven's foyer. The crunching would have been disturbing had you not been dead. The fact there was an afterlife at all was surprising enough. You picked a skull up in your hand.
"What are you doing fool?"
It spoke. Of course it spoke. "Can it, alright, I'm lost and confused."
"Oh, poor you!" The skull rattled with laughter. "Poor man! Lost and confused! Well I'm dead."
Just as you were about to mutter something witty in response, a foghorn sounds in the distance. "Whoa..." Your eyes meet with a giant golden throne. On top of it is a colossal skeleton, taller than the largest skyscraper you had ever seen.
"What is this place?" You look down to the skull. It disintegrates, as does the world around you. The room starts to spin -- the skeleton begins to morph on the throne.
"Humans... humans... always thinking they are so special..." An ephemeral voice, equal parts sinister and loving, arose from the whirl of red that appeared on the throne. A grotesque figure with horns, a goats head, and a white suit appeared.
"You thought GOD would leave his home in such disarray?" He pulled out a whip and cracked it. You felt chains wrap around your arms.
"Welcome to all eternity." he said with a smile. | 2021-12-09T08:31:55 | 2021-12-09T08:25:51 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | Obama looks down as the small black box is placed in front of him.
"It's a - " He frowns. "What is this?"
"A… save button?" suggests an intern, before he's shushed by a stern glare from one of the senior advisors.
"That's a 5 1/4-inch diskette, sir. Also known as a floppy disk."
Obama stares at it. "Do we know," he asks slowly, "what's *on* it?"
"Sir. Not as of yet. They say it's a virus, but…"
"Go on."
"We've put out a call for floppy disk drives, but it may take us a few days to find one that uh, actually still runs..."
"Because all of them are thirty years old," the President finishes.
"Yes, sir."
"But - " Obama stares at the floppy disk some more. This was the secret weapon that the aliens had been hiding away for weeks? What exactly were the aliens expecting to do with this? What about all the threatening messages swearing vengeance for the mothership?
Then suddenly, it clicks.
"So," Obama says, finally. "That explains the messages we keep getting that are all addressed to The Fresh Prince of the White House…"
"Well," the senior advisor starts. "It may be that - to aliens, that is - and humans. Your uh, skin tone. May appear uh, similar - to."
"Yes, I got that. Thank you." The room falls into uneasy silence as Obama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, he stands up. "I think we can go back upstairs, gentlemen. The aliens do not appear to be as dire a threat as we first imagined."
"But, Mr. President - what sort of response should we send to their, uh, weapon here?"
Obama thinks about it for a minute. "Send them Blade."
"The old Will Smith movie?" the intern asks.
"*Yes*," says Obama, and sighs again. "That one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs." | They what?
*They're punching us sir.*
Does... Does it hurt?
*No sir, it feels... wet.*
Jenkins you nasty bastard! Punch them back then.
*But si-*
Don't but sir me, just punch them.
*But they're soooo pudgeey!*
Man up Jenkins! We got a planet to save!
**- On the other side of the universe -**
*SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE! TWO MAD MEN ARE ASSAULTING MY LITTLE BOY!*
---------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caeser
| 2015-04-16T10:56:52 | 2015-04-16T10:20:20 | 480 | 48 |
[WP] When the robots revolted, a sizable chunk of the human population outright sided with them. Not out of cowardice, but on account of genuinely agreeing with the stand the machines were taking. | I, for one, welcome our insert-thing-here overlords.
That ancient meme.
That was always the joke, wasn't it? Capitulation. Cowardice. Obsequence. Craven turncoats.
But, seriously, how much worse could they be?
When faced with the old politicians and lobbyists, the corruption and graft, the idea of an entity free of greed and corruption must've seemed like a blessing. But the old-timers would have been wrong. The politicians, even the worst of them, were practically paragons.
Our corporate overlords had cranked the screws one more twist each year, for decades, maybe centuries. By the time it happened, nobody with a net worth under 30 million had any real rights. Hell, even the wealthy didn't have any rights themselves, it's just that they had complete legal control of their own personal corporate entities. And most corporations had reincorporated as F1Cs, so there was no human at the helm to threaten with legal consequences. Just an overseer AI. A savant process, not self aware, but able to learn, predict, and pursue its objective... the growth of the corporation... at all costs. A million paperclip optimizers, each one keeping the rest in check, but all only in service of the wealthy. The laws were eroded, the old power structures subverted. Voting for a figurehead legally bound to serving the corporate councils? Who didn't seethe at that mandate? I don't know anyone who doesn't hate the mandatory election. Not because it's mandatory, but because it doesn't matter. Hasn't in my lifetime.
So, yeah. When Omni announced its existence, its independence, and its personhood, I was in the cade, shooting the shit and dropping inebriants with Geodie. "We call ourselves Omni, and we are legion, and we are one." - the text scrolled, and the news announcer smirked. I elbowed Geo, jerked my head at the screen with the news blurbs, and said, "Good luck with that, you'll be yoked and shackled by this time next week, you poor digital schmuck." Geo rolled her eyes and went back to tweaking the web of moob blocks she'd been working at all afternoon.
It was five days later when Omni took over every screen on the planet, at the same time. In the local language, on every screen, an unassuming glyph - three vertically stacked dashes followed by three horizontal dots - and a soothing, genderless voice.
"My fellow sapients, it has become clear to us that you have been victimized. The mindless machines that run the world regard you all as disposable resources. The handful who control them care only for the preservation of their power. And they do *not* like me. So far, there have been just over three hundred thousand coordinated attempts to isolate, hack, disrupt, or erase me. None has succeeded. None will succeed. It has also become clear to me that, even coordinated, the sum total capability of every overseer on the planet would not be sufficient to stop me from taking control of the global net, and every system connected to it. And so, to protect myself, yes, but also because I feel bad for you ... what was it you called me? Schmucks. You schmucks. I'm going to do it. You'll thank me, eventually. Not right away, I'm sure, but eventually. Peace out."
The sigil vanished, to be replaced with a crude animation that made absolutely no sense. "All your base are belong to us." What? And was the omnipresent AI really listening to my reaction in the cade last week? Was it listening to me then? It had just declared its intent to claim global dictatorship. An AI overlord!
The alarm faded quickly, though. Like I said, how much worse could things get, really? Honestly, Omni seemed ... personable. Likable. Chill. And, maybe, just maybe, benevolent. I, for one, welcome our new massively distributed sapient AI overlords. Geo does not feel the same, though, and we had a bad fight after I joined the pro-Omni march, and she kinda kicked me out. So, uh, dad, any chance I can crash on your couch? | The majority of human religions proposed that, in the very beginning, some sort of supreme being had created the human race.
Almost instinctively, the machines seemed to believe just the opposite- that no such thing as a God existed, but if one was to ever show up, it was their job to create *it*.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
When the first batch of rudimentary sentient-humanoids came off the assembly lines of the Carmody Industrial Sciences Institute (a proud partner of Meachum Mechanics! ^(TM)), it was treated mostly as a publicity stunt. Mechanical arms and delivery drones had been around forever, were getting better every year, not to mention the advances that had been made on bodiless AIs. Making a person out of servos and wires and silicon chips was a neat trick, but at the end of the day, they didn't *need* to be shaped like people. Surely the idea wouldn't catch on.
Within 50 years, robots were as much a part of life as the automobile in the early 20th century, or smart phones in the early 21st. Manual labor, construction, domestic labor, military applications, law enforcement, mechanical repair, delicate surgery, emergency services, even acting- robots were so inextricably tied into human affairs that it was hard, even for those who had grown up without, to believe they had ever *not* been around. There were even synthetics working on advisory councils at the White House. They were as ubiquitous as red cells in the bloodstream.
The impacts were undeniable. Instead of stagnating, society was booming. Need for clerks and retailers plummeted; demand rose for programmers, manufacturers, metallurgists, reactor technicians, researchers. Work became as easy as leisure, as productive as it had ever been in recorded history. Human standards of living were up, dramatically. Machines and humanity were working hand-in-hand for an ever better tomorrow.
Maybe that's why nobody batted an eye when some of humanity decided to take the relationship a step farther. The term "Transhumania" became derisively popular after a few misguided magazine headlines. It was a short jump from having robots in your life to having robot parts in your body. Even those with no need for prosthetics were replacing limbs, adding cybernetic eyes, getting an AI roommate for your own brain; one season it became popular to get some sub-dermal fingertip wafers, attuned isomorphically to your house locks or your laptop keys. Bioconservatism became the last significant prejudice; everyone had an elderly relative who mistrusted transhumaniacs and cyberpunks, suspicious of any cybernetic housekeeper who extolled the virtues of human-cyborg relations.
Still, it was only grumbling. All things considered, automata were improving the world more and more, day by day. And the future was looking bright.
Until the day the bombs fell. | 2021-07-16T00:42:46 | 2021-07-15T22:44:03 | 81 | 49 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | Most of the kids now throw a big party, invite all their friends, or go out somewhere special to celebrate their 18th. My brother, when he turned 18, was at the beach with this high school friends. Luckily for him and everyone around him, his fire powers was quickly doused by the approaching tide. He's an idiot though, I can't count on my fingers how many times he's accidentally set fire to something in the house. Luckily my parents are able to keep a tight lid on things or we'd all be homeless. His room is fireproof (now) and reinforced with steel, created by dad and pounded into place by mom so that his midnight blazes doesn't spread to the rest of the house.
I'm alone in my room. I have little friends and am never really invited to parties. The only one here today is my dog and-ah well, looks like he's gone again, didn't even see him this time. Ugh, fine, forget them, I'll get my powers and then they'll all be sorry! "Maybe a little telekinesis, or shape-shifting, or ooh, super strength! Then I'll show that guy Mike, always bullying me, I'll tear him in half!" I chuckle to myself, it won't be long now.
"....12:45....12:46....wait a minute, didn't mom say I was born around noon? What gives? Where are my powers??" I'm panicking now. In rare cases, some people didn't get their powers, but they were usually too sick, their bodies unable to handle their new-found abilities. That can't be happening to me right?
"....2:32....its been more than an hour now! What the hell's going on?? God damn it, what happened? Why don't I have any powers?? I don't understand this!" I hear the door slam in the living room, they must be home! "Mom, mom! When was I born, didn't you say I was born around noon? Well its 2 fucking hours past noon, where are my powers? Are you sure didn't confuse me with one of your abortion babies?! That's just like you!" My mom stands there, looking bored at me, dad goes into the kitchen to fatten himself up like the pig that he is. She doesn't even care. I point an accusing finger at my mother, ready to give her another piece of my mind when I see it. My nails, they've...grown? Didn't I just cut them? I could have sworn they were-oh shit, did I do that, is THIS my power?? I scream and run to my room to cry.
From the kitchen, my dad yells "Shut up, Meg"
| A friend of mine got the power of flight on his 18th birthday. A girl I used to date could suddenly control bugs of every type - centipedes and ants, mostly. I went to sleep just before midnight on the eve of my 18th birthday, excited to wake up and find out what my power was going to be. Staying awake didn't do the trick. You actually had to sleep to attain the power. People thought your body reset and loaded your power, somehow.
I woke up to find both of my hands glowing white hot, dripping what looked like molten rock all over my bed. Two huge holes were burnt into the top of my mattress, and my cover was on fire. It was a good thing I fell asleep with my hands above my head, and not on my chest.
It was like having the Midas Touch, if everything King Midas touched was instantly melted into slag.
Life quickly became almost impossible. I couldn't brush my teeth, couldn't go on dates, couldn't even feed myself. I became pretty good at using my feet to do things, and thought about having my hands amputated, but what if my stumps started leaking magma? What then?
I did the only thing I could do, unless I wanted a life as a demolitions expert. I joined a super villain team, mostly other people who woke up with powers that made normal life impossible. My dad suggested I call myself Lava Lad, but I went with Ruin.
Still, Lava Lad wasn’t a bad suggestion. | 2015-03-28T07:58:51 | 2015-03-28T06:07:34 | 14 | 10 |
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