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] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | Smoke circles puff into the light, dissipating as memories on the wind. A child can dream up such things while lying in bed, a curious observation between imagination and the reality that is. A hand creeps up from under the duvet, it is stark white, paper snow against Autumn coloured covers. The child doesn't know how to respond, doing what they have learned in elementary. A firm handshake follows.
"You're hired," a voice says, it sounds old and ashy as if each syllable creeps up and over the sheets into the child's ears.
"I'm hired?" mutters the child. "What the heck is that?"
"Take something that isn't yours before tomorrow night," the voice croaks back.
The child rolls over leaf printings and onto a dust covered carpet. The grey threads are like a minefield filled with hairs and odd bits of dirt. "Where are you, mister?" the child asks.
And as the covers are pulled back, a breath is drawn, fast enough to send the heart racing but not followed by fear. Because unlike the expectation, there is no mister there, only the memory of a voice and an empty under area.
"Tomorrow night," says a whisper on the wind.
The child goes carefully to sleep.
| and so such was life now. an endless chore for an unknown employer. nothing was ever needed again. nothing was ever needed to be done. existence was the job. each and every day played out just as the monotony of a dayjob. and each day was a shift in a dayjob. each day carried the burden of dread, of uncertainty of purpose. rarely was a day fulfilling, but when it was, the following one was that much heavier a burden.
the days all began at 8:35 am, an alarm sounding. at 8:45 a shower was taken with coffee to be drunk at 8:55 which had begun to brew at 8:40. and every day began so.
the in between, the 9 to 5, was never clearly defined. there were no guidelines for his position. "you're hired," the words haunted him. every day an attempt to fulfill obligation unbeknownst to all except that which he had shaken hands with.
mhis life from the night of january 18, 2016 was to be this: an exhibition observing what a man would do when he had no idea of what to do. every day he would try to appease his employer, which provided him with all the food, clothing, and money deemed necessary. the man never went hungry, never dressed as a person of poor means, and never came short when a bill was due. all he needed was provided. the man was simply to live. and this produced a man who felt unworthy of life.
the man never struggled. comfort was an anxiety. what had he done to deserve this, he thought, what was he doing? the conceivable answer was nothing. simply put, the man had done nothing. and in this he felt not a great shame, but a great sense of duty. he must earn what he was being given. he must, if not for himself, do something for the greater good. this was what the undefined 9-5 was to be: work for the greater good, but, as all wise women and men have said, the road to hell....
| 2017-04-29T00:40:47 | 2017-04-28T23:00:16 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | Bony fingers
gripped my hand
tore my soul
pulled me into
depths below
Black as Midnight
robe on hook
scythe on wall
Wait in office
for the call
Souls in balance
need my swipe
feel my slice
I decide who's
naughty nice
The day will come
you will see
I will see
your sins laid bare
you'll be free
Your soul to keep?
send below?
send above?
THE JOB IS JUDGEMENT
BUT THE WORK I LOVE | Pain seared through your chest as you stirred in a bed. Your body felt like it was set on fire and sweat trickled down your forehead. You lay limp, trying to focus on your surroundings when you felt something grab your hand.
"You're hired," it whispered. Its voice was soft yet strong and for some reason you calmed down, you felt as if you could trust it. You felt something jumping onto the bed and heard a soft rumble. Then, fires licked your wounded body and you wanted to thrash and flee from the pain it inflicted on you. But as soon as it started, the pain disappeared, replaced by a cooling sensation where your wounds once were.
You opened your eyes that were previously clenched in an attempt to relief the unbearable pain you had felt moments before. Your sight returned to you as the dark fog retreated from your view. Beside you, on the bed, you see a small yet magnificent sight.
Although highly weakened, the dragon infront of you hasnt lost a tinge of regal in the way she holds herself. As you stared at her, she turned in a circle and transformed into a 19 year old girl with flawless skin and long blonde hair. She wears a blue gown that trails on the floor and sparkles like a blue gem. And her eyes, a captivating cool blue hue.
"You're hired," she repeated. "If you protect me and never betray me, I'll find ways to cure your sickness." | 2017-04-29T03:55:38 | 2017-04-29T02:46:57 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Hell consists of one room, in which you meet the person you could have been. | She looked pretty dislevelled. Rushed off her feet. Her hair was in a bun, sneakers on her feet and a - ahem - tasteful pink tracksuit that was decorated with stains and spills.
I stood in front of her, in my high heels, designer nylons, the perfect flick on my winged eyeliner. She hadn't even run foundation across her face, and clearly never invested in anti-wrinkle cream. The lines were deep.
She was staring at me, but I didn't need to justify myself to anyone. Let success do the talking: the 4.0 GPA, the MBA, running some of the world's most successful companies. Let money do the talking: salaries that got fatter through the years, gourmet benefits, wise financial investments.
What exactly did I do to end up in hell, though? I paid my taxes, donated even more - I was kind to those around me, sympathetic, encouraging. I sometimes prayed, went to Church at Christmas.
And what did she have that I didn't? Grey hair, because she's too lazy to dye it? Cellulite, because she's too lazy to exercise?
We had eternity together, and it'd be a very boring one if I didn't try and see past her many, many flaws and try to connect on some level.
"Well, how are you?" I asked
"Good. You?" She replied
"Very well. So... What do you do?"
"Child minder. You?"
"How did your version of me become a child minder? I can't stand kids!"
"Once you have your own it's different."
"What?"
"Honestly, you have to experience it to know."
"I mean, when did you have kids?"
Her eyes lowered, shame still felt so many years later. "High school. The condom broke. I-I was too embarrassed to get emergency contraception."
I swallowed. "That happened to me, too."
"I couldn't abort. I couldn't."
"It was hard, but I had to."
"I had to drop out of school."
"I had to stay in school." | Hell was different then I thought, but I suppose if I could expect it, then it wouldn't really be hell? Satan should be able to think of something worse than I could. Still, waiting in line didn't seem that bad. The man at front desk said they'd show me my best self. The one that I could have been if everything went perfectly. How silly, I thought to myself. Of course I could have done better, everyone could do better. No use worrying over how, at this point. Besides my life was great. I lived all the way until 83, and I was pretty healthy up until the very end. And my wife, what a women. I really still can't believe I was able to be with her for 61 whole years. My two sons are grown and successful. My job... well I already knew my life wasn't perfect. A desk job is what it is. Finance is fine and all but I guess I really didn't ever plan on doing it for 40 years. Getting home late most days was really hard and working on weekends was the worst. I hated working on weekends. I wonder if I had more time at home it would have been easier on my family. Maybe my kids would been a bit closer. Maybe they would have visited me more once they moved out. Honestly, they only visited me one a year on Christmas. Birthdays were just a phone call. Huh, pretty ungrateful. But my wife, she was amazing. She was a surgeon, and as beautiful as she was smart. I really didn't deserve her... I really didn't. Maybe that's why she got so cold in our thirties. She did say she felt "trapped in this suburban life" one time. Was that it? Was that why she fucking cheated on me!
Oh
I thought I was past that.
Haha, I guess this is the time to figure it out now
Now that I'm fucking dead. Now that I think about it, why did I bother with all that? Why did I work all week all my life for a family that could have cared less about me?! I didn't even have any hobbies! Did I just work my life away for 60 fucking years for no reason.
Wow.
I guess I did.
I...
"SIR!" the man at the desk shouted "Pay attention. Its your turn. Go to door five."
I stared blankly for a moment, then nodded and walked down the corridor to door five.
I walked in. Sitting there was me. That me was 16 years old. I knew this was me when I was exactly 16, because of the deep bloody cut on his right wrist.
"How- how are you the best I could ever have been?!"
He looked at me and said "Because unlike you, I didn't waste my miserable time before coming here."
| 2017-05-30T22:53:50 | 2017-05-30T21:51:03 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is something," the hat mused, "something rather unusual."
My mind racing, I focused on everything I knew about the practical world of magic. Misdirection, slight of hand, proper rabbit care - every bit of knowledge that had gotten me to this hallowed seat at the front of The Great Hall.
"I can tell you have ambition, yes, but how will it assist you in this setting? What use can you be to any of your peers or professors?" the hat spoke quietly into my ear.
"I work hard. I can learn any magical trade. Anything will be fine. Really!" I pleaded.
The hat paused. "Anything? Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Right then," whispered the hat, loosening its grip from my sweating brow. "FILCH! Come forward," it bellowed across the heads of onlooking students, "I've finally found you an apprentice." | "This is strange." I began to fidget on the stool. "I havent had one this difficult to read in over 25 years" I nervously wiped my palms on the fold of my robe. "Ahhhh, you aren't meant to be here. You're a muggle" The hat began to feel heavier on my head. All my hard work, foiled by the bloody sorting hat. It looked a lot more impressive in the film. This one, the real one, had no anthropomorphic facial features. It was literally just an old hat. And now the dusty old hat was my ticket back home to the west country. The weight of the hat squashing my dreams aswell as my head. "You've done very well to manage to get a letter. Even the most ordinary muggle families tend to have around 6% magical blood, muggle born wizards often have a higher percentage obviously but yours is practically zero! I highly doubt there's more than one magical relative in your entire family tree."
"Very clever though, using muggle tricks to bypass the ministry's screening spells. No one else has successfully managed that in the whole 20 years since Professor Rowling published that bloody book. I suppose you've already heard of our muggle studies teacher, eh?" I obviously had, everyone knew the name JK Rowling, she'd made a fortune!
"It takes real determination and courage to even attempt to fool your way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry you know, I should have had you obliviated the moment you put me on."
The dissapointment turned to fear. I hadn't considered the possibility of anything other than being put on a train home. Was lying to the ministry an offence worthy of Azkaban?
"I won't tell if you don't though"
GRYFFINDOR!
| 2017-06-25T15:07:52 | 2017-06-25T15:03:55 | 358 | 56 |
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence. | The people in the slum disappeared into their makeshift homes as bounty hunter Dean Hallow strode through the narrow streets, squinting at the device strapped to his wrist. It had been pinging quietly when he entered the village - now, it gave a piercing whistle. He turned to the house in front of him. Well, 'house' was charitable. It was little more than a hovel.
The woman's eyes darkened as she saw him enter, and she shook her head fiercely when she glimpsed the insignia on his shoulder that proclaimed his status as a bounty hunter.
"My boy good," she said, shielding the kid from his view and snatching up a rusty knife that lay on the table. "*Good*. This is wrong house."
"I don't think so, ma'am," Dean said. "The detector doesn't lie. Your son - well, his previous incarnation - died before their invention. Nifty little things, it tells me when I'm close to the spirit I'm hunting. A case of poor timing for your son, dying before he knew they'd come along. He might have waited to slit his own throat after killing all those people, huh?"
She took a swipe at him which he dodged easily, before disarming her. The boy ducked out behind her, clutching something tightly in his arms. Probably a weapon, the little piece of shit.
"Not so fast, Elijah. Or is it Samar now? So many lives, so many deaths behind you," Dean sneered, twisting the boy's arm and deriving a deep pleasure in the cry that escaped Samar's lips. The kid dropped whatever he'd been holding, but Dean was too fixated on Samar's terrified face to care.
He'd been looking for this asshole for six lifetimes, been demoted in the process of his repeated escapes. The last one had been the worst: a successful suicide after butchering five families.
"Stop struggling or I'll hurt you," he barked, dragging the boy without another glance at the mother who was screaming at him, slipping into her native Hindi in her fury. "We've got a long way to travel, and I don't care if you get there unconscious or not. I promise you the government doesn't care either."
"Not me, not me! Please!" the boy said desperately. Dean rolled his eyes. The smartest criminal he'd ever dealt with, resorting to whining and begging for mercy. He was almost disappointed.
In the hovel, Samar's mother was still keening, rocking in the corner of the house. Her boy's rat scampered closer to sniff at her, and she resisted the urge to kick at it. She had always hated the dirty, ragged creature, but Samar had loved and cared for it. He'd been cradling it even as the hunter came. She would not chase away what her boy had cherished.
The rat skittered to the door of the house and looked out, whiskers quivering. He could still see the bounty hunter in the distance, pulling the boy and cuffing him over the head. Something turned over in its heart.
He had escaped again, and could go anywhere he wanted now.
But Samar had loved him, had fed him scraps he could ill afford not to eat himself. The first time anything had cared for him in six lifetimes, devotion he scarcely deserved. He almost missed it, the feel of Samar's fingers running over his fur, the sound of his laughter when he ate from the boy's hand. The rat whipped its tail and set out, keeping an eye on the bounty hunter and darting down the road.
He might be smaller in this life, but his teeth were sharp and necks were easy to shred. Some skills were never forgotten. The rat bared its teeth in a grin - it had been too long since his last meal.
-----------
[Part Two/Conclusion added here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6mc3ng/wp_reincarnation_is_a_known_common_and_expected/)
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | Brutal world we live in, I tell you. I can't help but feel a slight pang of pity at the sight of the criminal I'd apprehended being strung up by his arms, his bones practically popping out of their sockets as they strain to support his body. He's a dodger, no doubt about it, but he's been apprehended for the wrong crime. He doesn't seem to object, though; his head instead lolls lazily to one side, his eyes glazed over in an almost catatonic state. I'd be willing to bet on the fact he's been drugged senseless. It's a common precautionary measure used by jails nowadays, to prevent people from killing themselves and such.
Poor bastard.
The person beside me shuffles impatiently. Although his face is mostly masked by a black balaclava, I can make out tufts of dirt blonde hair falling from underneath the mask. The cover also does little to conceal his rapid, almost frantic, breathing. He rubs at his arms, and I can see now that he's incredibly nervous.
"Is this the one?" I ask him gruffly, jabbing a finger at the drugged man.
He shakes his head, his fingers digging into his forearm. "No. Too tanned."
"How did your guy escape again?"
"Knife to the wrists. Managed to steal it from the kitchen. Three days before his hearing as well."
"Nasty."
I walk up to the criminal, my eyes giving his body a quick once-over. His entire person seems to be covered in a plethora of scars, all intertwining and connecting across his bare body as if drawn onto him. I scratch my stubble, frowning.
"Well, this certainly complicates it."
My employer freezes, his eyes desperately looking to me. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"This could be your guy... or it might not be. He's definetly done this a number of times, and he's got the scars on his chest to prove it."
"I'm telling you, it ain't this one!"
Seems he's not having any of my bullshit. This is a man on the edge, so no point pushing him off it. I nod, conceding the point. "Right. Well, may as well send him off anyway. I'll check later to see if he can tell us anything about the target. Once he's sobered up."
"O-ok."
I bite the inside of my cheek, placing a firm hand on my employer's shoulder. "Look, we'll get him. I'm the best for a reason. Wether it takes ten months or ten years, I won't stop."
"You promise you'll find the man who murdered my wife?"
"I swear it."
Although it's a hollow statement, it does seem to reassure the man. He gives me a shaky nod as I turn my back on him, walking off to my trailer. As soon as he's out of view, I roll up the long sleeves of my overcoat, itching the raw, barely healed skin underneath. See, to beat these trackers, you've got to play at their own game. I'm a patient man, and if dancing deathly close to my tracker is enough to eventually cloud my scent, I'm willing to do it.
So, how to do myself in this time? I don't want to screw up my chest anymore than it already has been.
I settle on something relatively quick and painless. A gun, straight to the temple. From my coat I pull out an antique magnum revolver, spin the chamber, and press it to my temple. With this, I can set them down the wrong course again.
How'd I get myself caught up in this mess? One murder leading to another, one identity to the next. Four hundred deaths it took to be reincarnated as something that was able to get relatively close to the person tracking me without arousing suspicion but, hey-o, it worked, didn't it?
For sure, my 'employer's' wife had been a doll, but she caught onto me rather quickly when we started our fling. I doubt it was all worth it, just for a night of passion. She knew I was going to off myself again as soon as we were found out, so, of course, I had to tie up loose ends before she ratted on me. Elizabeth had always had a big mouth like that.
This'll make for the five-hundredth time I've done it then. Oh joy, it's an anniversary day. Cheers for this Liz - I hope we won't be seeing each-other anytime soon. I bet you've reincarnated as a whore.
With an exasperated sigh, I lean my head into the barrel of the gun. As much as I'd like to stay like this - pretending to be a bounty hunter - I doubt it'll pay off in the long run. Someone'll find out eventually. Without further hesitation, I pull the trigger.
---
/r/coffeeandwriting
| 2017-07-09T10:42:04 | 2017-07-09T09:43:14 | 1,065 | 192 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | "I'm so happy you got to come with us today, Tom, it's really an enourmous pleasure." Said Tom's boss.
Tom couldn't say his name, however, he just smiled and lifted his drink to the sky as if to say "cheers." Tom didn't have the vocabulary for much more than the simple phrases: Yes, No, Maybe, Please. All of his comerades just thought he was quiet. Words were getting hard to come by nowadays and only party memebers could really afoord them anymore. Tom was a party member, he was hell bent on getting words, and he often did.
As the party had said, the "Less words the less talking people do." Yeah, no shit. Tom set his drink down and motioned for his slave, Jenny. He gave her the valet ticket implying that he wanted to go home, and off she went waddling away like the peasant she was.
As the old man drove his car in front of the mansion, Tom focused on the condition of his car. He saw a scratch. A SCRATCH! He furiously walked around to the driver's side and ripped the old man out of his seat.
"What the hell? Please no, no. I beg of you!" The man yelled at the top of his lungs as he lay on the ground.
With a silent rage, Tom pulled out his handgun and aimed it at the feeble man's head.
"God, no, no I have a family please."
Tom looked him in the eye. This was a man of many words. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger and felt the gray-haired man's vocabulary come rushing into his mind. Perfect, the one word he was looking for.
Getting into his car, Tom adjusted his rear view mirror and sped off, no regard for the people in front of him or behind. The only thought that crossed his mind was:
"Yes! Yes"
Tom sprinted into his house, removing his jacket before he arrived at the door and throwing it onto the fluffy couch. Too excited to care, he went into his bedroom. There were no cameras here, he was safe to do whatever he pleased.
Oh, the time Tom had spent and the people he had to kill, friends, family, even his own children. Tom wrote the final word in the dictionary.
"Hell /hel/ (n.) a place regarded in many religions as spiritual realm of evil and suffering."
He closed the book, relieved he had finally freaking finished.
"Jenny" He called, to which she came promptly into the room.
"Yes?" She asked.
"I want you to read this. I want you to make copies of it and I want this spread around the entire country. Do you understand?" He leaned back in his chair and turned to her as she peeled through the pages.
"Why?" she inquired.
"Life without words is boring and meaningless. I can't flip through another single-minded party novel in which the author can only use single syllables. I can't go to another party and wait to find new words of which I can never use until it's written in that damned book." Tom retorted, somewhat emotionally "I just can't do it"
There was a pause, and she had begun to take in the words, he saw her face light up with each new discovery.
"One more thing." He looked at her with a stern glance.
"Yes?"
"There's one more word I want you to have."
He took his gun from his pocket and handed it to his faithful servant.
"You must shoot me."
"Why?"
"One more word"
She looked at the gun, frightened. She sized up and assesed the man in front of her. He looked tired, worn, beaten. She lifted the gun, aimed it at his head.
As his body fell to the floor she heard a faint whisper.
"I love you"
Edit: I would really appreciate some feedback. I usually lurk and never show anyone what I choose to write over these but this one was too good to pass up. Thanks!
| Governments across the ages have been searching for ways to control their populace, whether it be restrictions of liberties, or some of the more recent and perhaps more devious ideas. Conspiracy theorists didn’t seem like such nutjobs once the great facebook hack revealed that governments were manipulating the content we viewed online. I never thought that such an indirect method would be so powerful in placating or manipulating entire populations of people. Though I like to think that we as a people are more than just the mob that Machiavelli viewed us to be, perhaps my glasses are too rosey. I don’t know what to think anymore.
Everything is so difficult to think about after the dawn of the new age. That’s what they call it, a new age of humanity. They said it was to “protect” us from dangerous thinking and violent people. I guess the state mandated drug regimen wasn’t enough to placate everyone. By the time they took us off the drugs, the Limit on Dangerous Speech Act was already in place. Everyone knew the drugs were messing with our heads, but we didn’t know they would be able to control our speech. The nanotechnology in the drugs attached itself to the speech centers of our brains enabling the government to limit the words we were able to say.
At first, it didn’t seem so bad. Arguments were settled quickly since nobody could verbally attack each other anymore. Misunderstandings seemed to be a thing of the past. Everyone was on a level playing field. Everyone except the rich that is. The government, being the greedy entity that it is still wanted more money. They allowed the rich to buy more words, taking restrictions off of their speech limiter to allow use of those words. There are still words the rich cannot buy and only the top government officials have access to. As a result, classism is evident even in everyday speech. The rich and the poor are divided by their vocabularies.
It has been 20 years and it is hardly possible for the rich to communicate with the poor anymore, even if they desired to. I think that after 20 years with such a limited vocabulary, the poor have all but forgotten the meanings of words they don’t have access to. Communication is now far more primitive, if it is present at all. The divisions now seem permanent. Without the ability to communicate with the rich, I believe it is impossible for those in the underclass to ever lift themselves into the ranks of the rich. The damage is even worse for the children, who have never known anything beyond the state allowed vocabulary. It is difficult to tell to what extent their mental processes were shaped by the few words they were able to learn and use.
I fear greatly for the future, but I think there is still hope. I am one of the fortunate. My family is rich enough to afford the purchasing of large numbers of words. Even with this great fortune I still believe I have lost words to the limitations of the government. I honestly can’t even remember anymore. However, in all my thinking on the matter I realize there are some things I have not lost. I still have fear, anger, pain, desperation, but most importantly I have hope. They may be able to limit what I say, but I can still feel. They have not yet stripped us of our emotions. I feel the injustice of our situation. I feel scared for the children. I feel hope. Though it seems the government has yet to realize it, their restriction of verbal communication seems to have an unintended side effect. Nonverbal communication has become much more important. What we say and hear is now less important than what we feel. The rich are still reliant on their words, but I think that in time, the poor will have no more need for language at all.
Soon, the government will come for me. If I’m lucky, they’ll just kill me. If i’m unlucky, they may strip my speech away. As I have not learned to live without my words I fear this will send me into madness. In any case I will not let them take all of me. I will retain my hope. I will spread my hope that humans unique and unrivaled ability to adapt and shape their world will yet allow us to overcome injustice. Though the great orators that have inspired the masses into action are a thing of the past, I think it is possible that new leaders may emerge. I dream that these leaders will lead through hope, through the emotion they can convey and the message they send even without words. One day the poor will rise again, and they will not need words to let everyone know of their fury. It will be evident, in their faces and in their actions. I affirm my hope and with that actions may truly speak louder than words. Though I don’t think that they intended it, the government’s limit on speech has surely thrust us into a new age of humanity. And again I hope that this new age of humanity without words, may be better to each other than we are now.
| 2017-09-20T15:37:30 | 2017-09-20T12:16:11 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] You've always had an imaginary friend, and he's always been there for you through thick and thin. You two are having a nice conversation one day, until he says "It's really nice, you being my imaginary friend". | I found it curious that she thought *I* was the imaginary friend, so I probed a bit deeper.
"You sure about that, Carrie?" I asked. "How do you know that you're real, not a figment of my imagination?"
Carrie laughed, then leapt to her feet, executed a pirouette. Her straw-coloured hair, lifted by the cooling autumn breeze, dazzled in the sun. I remained seated on the mat I had rolled out on the grass.
"Because I have memories!" she said. "I remember growing up with my mother, going to school, my real friends who run and laugh and sing and play with me. You, on the other hand, appear out of the blue, then disappear as and when! That's how I know you're imaginary!"
I wanted to tell her that that was how she was for me too, but I held my tongue. I wanted to know more. "You never speak much of your parents," I said, "only to complain about your mother sometimes."
"That's because she's such a chore!" she said. "Always nagging about me, saying that if dad could look down from heaven, he would surely disapprove of the way I was behaving!"
"Your father... has passed?" I asked. This was certainly very real to her.
"Yea, but don't feel sad for me or anything," Carrie said, as she sat back down next to me, leaning against the oak tree. Her shoulder came close to mine, but I didn't feel anything. She reminded me of a glitchy cartoon graphic sometimes, the way she clipped in and out of the physical objects around her. "I never got to meet him. He died before I was born. Some terminal illness."
"What did he do?" I asked. "Like, when he was alive and stuff."
"A scientist, I think," said Carrie. "Mother says it was never proven whether his experiment was a success, but the university paid good money for the patents he produced. He provided for us that way."
"Really?" I said. "I told you, didn't I? University applications are coming up too, and Mrs Helles said that I have a chance of getting that scholarship after all. That's my chance to get out of this town, maybe get a stab at life in the big city!"
Carrie laughed. "I can't believe my imaginary friend is such a geek! But maybe that's just my subconscious filling in the gaps for me, after all the stories my mother tells about dad..."
There was a fleeting moment of sadness in her eyes, and I wanted to reach out again then, to put my hand on her shoulder, comfort her, bring her the same inner peace she had brought to me all those times over the last five years I'd known her.
But my hand would simply pass through her again, so instead, I said, "He seems like a really special guy. Did your mother ever say what he was working on?"
Carrie's face scrunched up in concentration. "Something about... Communication over long distances..."
"You mean, like... A really powerful telephone?"
Carrie laughed. "Mother made it sound much more impressive than that! She said that when dad found out he was ill, would probably never live past middle-age, dad tried to make a device which could stretch across time, make calls to the past, or future, or something like that."
"You mean, like, time travel?"
"No, not like that," she said. "Dad said that was impossible. Physical objects could never break the boundaries. But thoughts, on the other hand... He believed it was possible to actually communicate with past or future beings. Something like that."
I turned to look at Carrie. Now, more than ever before, I was determined to have every feature burned into my memory. She was precious to me before, but never like now, so fiercely, intensely, *burningly* precious.
"Did your mother ever say which university your dad went to?" I asked.
"Hmm..." she mused, before she said, "Vorlington, I think?"
I thought of the scholarship application form I filled in the week before, under Mrs Helles' watchful eye.
I distractedly rubbed at my left temple, which had been home to a drumming, insistent headache which had stubbornly refused to subside for some time now.
And I tried again to reach out for Carrie's hand, which only made her laugh again at the futility of the action. She knew, just as well as I did, that while we shared our lives, our hopes and dreams, our fears and tears, we never once made physical contact before.
Such cruel, cruel boundaries.
"That's a good university," I said. "I really, really hope I get in."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | **Stephen**
Stephen is my imaginary friend. We have been through everything together. However, lately, it has been a little hard to interact with him. You see, at dinner, Stephen mentioned to me that he was going through “marital troubles”, which I found confusing. He is my imaginary friend after all, so how in the hell could he be having imaginary troubles?
I listened to what he had to say, and I tried to help him out, as a good friend does. Then he uttered something that was utterly confusing.
“It’s nice having you as an imaginary friend” he said.
I was confused. Stephen did not imagine me, I imagined him. His world was designed by me, I am the creator, so to speak, of his existence. Nevertheless, he went on, and explained that he “made” me to be his support buddy; someone he could turn to in times of trouble. I found this perplexing, since that was my reasoning for creating Stephen. It was almost like he was bouncing off of me, repeating everything I did and said since the time I was able to think. I mean, we did grow up together, but were never joined at the hip.
I explained to him that everything in his world was made-up. Each situation we were in together was through my design. Still, he refused to accept the truth. I pressed him further, and insisted he believe me. However, if Stephen was really just bouncing off of my behaviour, then I was likely in for a stubborn bout. A stubborn bout was what I got.
Constant arguing and strife caused a rift between us, until I eventually stopped seeing him, which was kind of weird. I mean, he was imaginary, and by my logic, I should be able to summon him on a whim, right? He showed up a week later, and what he told me changed my perspective on the whole imaginary friend thing.
“Sorry I was away, the election just happened and I wanted to focus my attention on making the right choice” said Stephen.
This was true, the election did pass, and I guess I did have my mind focused on that, being a campaign staffer and all. However, his next sentence completely blindsided me.
“I cannot believe Johnson won, I thought Peterman was a lock” he said.
Peterman did win though, so I did not understand where he was coming from. I tried telling him this, but he would not listen. I then asked him the time and he said it was 9 pm, but it was 9 in the morning. It was all so strange, it was like we were mirroring each other, or at the very least, on opposite ends of the spectrum.
I did some thinking, and realized a pattern in my interactions with Stephen. He was always the opposite of me. He was married, I was not, he voted Peterman, and I voted Johnson. How could this be, he is imaginary, so why is he able to think on his own and act on his own impulses? What happened next changed my world entirely.
Stephen and I were walking down the street, and he suddenly vanished in mid-sentence. It was not of my own will either. He just went away. I did not know what to do, and then he reappeared a block away. I walked down the street to meet him, and he said I vanished too. We did not know what was going on, and our interactions became sparser over time. I would call upon him and he would not show. It was weird, and soon I stopped seeing him altogether.
I thought he was avoiding me, but really, the truth was far wilder. I remember learning in school about pocket dimensions, plains of existence wedged between realities. I thought Stephen was imaginary, because he showed up around the time my imagination was growing. However, and this is just my theory, Stephen was really an inter-dimensional traveler. His dimension collided with mine, and we existed simultaneously in each other’s world. Freaky, I know, but plausible. Neither of us suspected anything because we both believed we were imaginary, and mirrored each other’s movements so we never thought otherwise.
The truth is, I have no idea why Stephen disappeared, or what caused the sudden departure. I am trying to rationalize it as best I can, but I just want to know what happened to my friend. This is all hard to believe, I know, but it is the only theory I have.
I decided to send a note, in hopes Stephen would one day find it, if our worlds ever collided again. It read simply:
*If you ever read this, just know, I am looking for you, and want to know if you are okay.*
I did not hear for a long time, but one day I checked my closet and saw a note. It read same as the one I sent. Surely, this meant it was true. However, I never saw Stephen in person again, so I could never confirm my theory.
I just want to say that, I never meant to argue with you Stephen, I only wanted to help. You were my one true friend, and I miss you everyday. I wish you would come back but the laws of physics most likely prevent that from happening. Know this, I miss you, and want you to come back, but I will wait. One day our worlds will collide again, and when they do, I promise to be better. Godspeed Stephen, godspeed.
| 2017-10-15T22:54:26 | 2017-10-15T21:40:29 | 111 | 30 |
[WP] you've been kidnapped, about to be killed. You're allowed one phone call, three words. The phone rings. . . " Grandma, I'm hungry" | "Hello, thank you for calling the Hilton Inn and Gardens, how may I direct your call?"
"Grandma," I choke out.
"One moment please."
Hold music plays out as two men glance at each other, shrugging and turning back to the hooded figure in front of them. The other end picks up, and I hear "Hello?"
"I'm hungry." Just two words. That's all I had left, and that's all I needed.
"Of course. Dinner will be ready in 5 minutes, don't be late," and the phone hangs up.
The two men start laughing. "Grandma? Seriously? You call your grandmother and ask for dinner, when you're about to be killed?"
"Two things," I reply, "I called Grandma, not my grandmother." They go silent, looking at each other with puzzled expressions. "And you're just the appetizers." The cuffs hit the ground and they train their guns on my head. Too slow.
I grab the first man's gun, forcing him to shoot his partner in the gut. I flip over my shoulder, disarming him and shooting him in the leg. As the doors burst open, men flooding in, I take cover and prepare for the fight.
Three minutes.
I hear the first three step out and switch off their safeties. Rolling around the corner, I hit the first two in the shoulders and take the third's foot out from under him. Picking up the other gun off the floor, I walk over kick their guns away.
Two minutes.
The next 2 step out and I immediately lodged a bullet in their knees. Should be three more. I hear something shift a few rows over. Firing down the aisle, I hear a scream of pain.
One minute.
Two men jump out from behind the crates to either side of me. I hit them across the face with the butt of my gun, shooting each of them in the foot. Just then I hear a helicopter outside. Walking out, I see a rope ladder and begin to climb.
Once inside, I take the headset being handed to me.
"Did you gain any useful information?"
"I got the location of the girl. She's being kept three miles outside of town in an abandoned factory."
"Good, then it's time for dinner." | With the pressure of a shotgun on your temple in an abandoned
warehouse, you become desperate. Desperate enough to do horrible things, especially
given the chance. Perhaps my captors had a tinge of sympathy, or perhaps they
were completely stupid. I was allowed one phone call, and only one. Keep it
down to three words, you won’t be able to say the fourth.
Sweat pouring to the screen, I trembly typed in the number.
There was no use calling authorities, it was far too late. I couldn’t call my
parents, this would traumatize them more than already. No, I had to call in the
messiah. My only hope of escape. One who strikes fear into even the bravest of
men. Many say they are not human, their attacks anything to show. They go by one
name, two syllables.
Grandma.
“Hello, sunnie?” I heard her familiar crackle from the other
line.
I took in a deep breath, knowing what I was about the
unleash on these poor souls. In my most desperate voice, I answered.
“Grandma, I’m hungry.”
Glass shattered everywhere. Millions of biscuits flooded in
every direction. Buttery walls formed and blocked every way of escape. Grandma’s
Spicy Hot Chicken Legs of Doom flew into the bad guys, giving good knocks to
the heads. Bursting through the door, she appeared in her usual apron. Of
Justice!
“So, you motherfuckers dared to keep my grandson hungry?! Well, prepared
to be served!”
She pulled a pistol out from her 1940’s wartime purse. The shotgun
guy turned away and tried to fire at her, only to be disarmed immediately. Grandma
fired her world-famous chocolate gravy, tossing and sticking them to the
wall. The other two charged, only to be
ambushed by ninjutsu stars, made from her thanksgiving dinner she’s been
planning all month. The ham stars went into their mouths, fattening them up and
immobilizing them.
And yes, THAT ham. The one Queen Elizabeth asked to use. Damn, she
really pulled out all the stops for me. I gotta write to her more.
After admiring her work, she ran over and untied me. Relieved,
I hugged and apologized for getting into this mess.
“That’s okay honey, you can apologize by eating!” she
exclaimed and she took a three-course meal from her backpocket. It wasn’t even
large enough for that but fuck it, she’s Grandma.
“Thanks grams, but I’m not actually hungry.”
“Oh my, don’t tell me my own grandson lied to me!” She gasped.
“Well, I had too! These guys were gunna-“
I didn’t have to time to explain before she aimed the pistol
to me. My world became a gravy wonderland before I passed out. Well, at least
it was delicious. | 2017-11-09T20:44:12 | 2017-11-09T19:48:18 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures. | They say a dog
Is mans best friend
That will be by your side
To the very end
So I wanted to tell you
You were my whole life
You loved me and cared for me
Between us never a strife
You pet me and fed me
And took me on walks
You shared all your secrets
We had so many long talks
And though I couldn’t tell you
All that my heart felt
I hope that you know
The best life ever was the one I was dealt
You may not know where I came from
What my story was before you
But none of it matters because
My life began when one turned into two
I’m sorry I had to leave you
But I promise I’m still here
In your heart and your memories
So don’t shed even one more tear
Thank you for giving me
All the happiness and joy
So I promise that where I go next
I’ll be the bestest good boy. | I was the last of my kind, at the end of my time. This is my story.
My planet was doomed. The alien species know only as C.A.T. had completely wiped out our military defensive. As a last ditch effort to stop them from advancing through the galaxy, I blew up my home. I got into my craft and set the director to find the nearest habitable planet. At safe distance, I hit the detonator. I didn't calculate for aftershocks and got blown off course. Which turned out to be the best thing for me.
On this planet, a lot of what the indigenous species, humans, call "dogs" looked nearly identical to my kind. To the point where I would even try speaking to them, and they just kind of looked at me. They were not my people, much to my dismay, but I learned to blend in and be accepted. Eventually I learned their tongue, and felt more acceptance. I wouldn't find home for a while.
I stumbled upon what the humans caked "police academies" and snuck myself in with the lot. Humans, even with their gear capacity for good, aren't the brightest, they never noticed I wasn't part of their group. It was fun for a while, stopping bank robberies, diffusing bombs, catching the bad guys. That was they life.
I grew bored of it after while. Wanting to find a place where I could just live put the rest of my years in peace and comfort. So I just left one day. No shortage pf these "German shepards", so I doubt they noticed.
That's the day I met you.
(Without more info, that's all I could write up. Also had to get back to work. Good luck. It sucks now, and you really never get over it, but It does get easier. My dogs have been gone for 2years, and I think about them all the time. | 2018-02-13T19:59:32 | 2018-02-13T19:52:50 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] A bored dragon kidnaps a princess, expecting some excitement and rescuers to fight. No one shows up and the princess doesn't know her way home. | The dragon stood atop his pile
Of emerald and gold.
And in his grasp, a winsome child,
No more than ten years old.
"Let me go!" she cried, "You beast!"
"My dad will have your hide!"
The dragon grinned, "He'll be my feast!"
And cackled when she cried.
But hours lengthened into days,
And none came for the child.
The dragon fed and watered her,
As is the dragon way;
They never harm a child, good sir,
It's just the knights who pay.
But ever sadder grew the child,
Her fighting spirit waned.
The fearsome dragon, so reviled,
Began to feel quite pained.
For days they lengthened into weeks,
And none came for the child.
Finally, the dragon sighed,
"Be gone," the creature said.
And with a great exulted cry
The little princess fled.
Only to then reappear
Her face an ashen grey.
"Dragon, blind you brought me here,"
"I do not know the way."
And tears fell down the dirty cheeks,
Of the lonesome child.
The dragon blinked his glowing eyes,
And rumbled deep a groan.
"Climb upon my back, we'll fly"
"And I will take you home."
She sat herself between his wings,
And upwards rose the drake.
So joyful, she began to sing,
"Oh what a sight we make!"
And high against a starlit sky,
They glided to the west.
Until the child slipped and fell,
And died in quite a mess.
Upon a craggy mountain top,
Since dragons don't have seatbelts. | I look at the young girl standing in from of me. Her fiery red hair matted and tangled. Anger rose up in her ocean eyes as she looked up at me. She's holding a broken scale in her right hand. The blue sheen worn away, the sharp point pointed at me in a pathetic attempt to be used as a weapon. "Take me home" she demands. Her voice is worn and raspy from her pleas for help as I stole her away from her palace. The once elegant violet ballgown was now torn at the front of her skirt revealing long pale legs. Her attempt at intimidation made me laugh. My laughter shook the entirety of my cave. Taking her may have been a mistake. I must admit the kid had spunk. "Why do you laugh, Beast? Do you know who I am? My father will send for me, you can't keep me here forever." She spoke as if she genuinely believed she could strike fear into my heart.
"Child, do not speak to me with such contempt. Your people know not of me. I am as old as time. I am not shaken by a little girl." My words angered her further and she leaped forward, and drove the scale toward my claw. The scale broke under the pressure, shattering both the scale and the last ounce of fight the girl had left in her. There was never any real hope of escaping me. We were both aware of that. I am done for the night. I wish for nothing more than slumber.
"You may as well rest you foolish girl. You can amongst the stones on the far left side of the cave. I'll stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine. If your people wish to come rescue you, I will hand you over without any protest. Sleep, you'll need it." I began to move. My steps shaking the ground with ever move I made. Sounds that compare to thunder made as I made my way to rest. Old bones cracking as I laid down. My eyes moved over to the small girl. Her eyes searching the room for a way out. Minutes seemed like hours as I watched her body sink in defeat. She slowly began to shuffle over to her temporary quarters. She laid down her small figure. I watched for some time as her stiffness settled and she fell into slumber. I don't know why I took her. Her people bragged of their bravery and I saw an opportunity to challenge it. Boredom was the main component in the idea if I am truthful. I will give them time to come for her, but if they don't, well, I hope se learns to like dragons. | 2018-03-23T07:59:54 | 2018-03-23T01:12:29 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] You are a cosmic being that likes to terraform planets as a hobby. Galactic law permits creation of life up to Class III. Noticing the creatures on your latest planet are getting close to Class IV, you flick an asteroid at the planet. Some time later, you realise you didn’t check for survivors | In the beginning, I created the heavens and the earth. It wasn't as simple as it sounds.
Eons passed by before I discovered the right molecular structures just to get water to separate from land. To get air to separate from ground, but not to drift away into the cosmos. However, I enjoyed the challenge and I had all the time I wanted.
My art was contained in a small galaxy, fairly nondescript compared to those which my counterparts possessed. I enjoyed placing stars in just the right quadrants and stooping down to my favorite rocky planet to admire the constellations as they swirled about. I wanted someone to share it with, but surely the other beings would have found it too simple.
So I created life. I received all the right approvals and trainings. The inspector found potentially hazardous conditions on my primary planet for intelligent life, but I promised him nothing beyond Class III. Anything beyond was forbidden, of course.
I started small, just some unicellular organisms, to make sure I had the hang of it. Pretty soon I had all sorts of Class I lifeforms. They flittered and fluttered in their tiny ways, and it gave me tiny sparks of happiness. But I wanted more.
Just a few little jolts, some small tweaks here and there. I had created my living statues. Grass and flowers and trees, blooming and stretching and bearing fruit. All within Class II, much within my permissions. It was awe-inspiring and humbling, to see such beauty and yet have the hands that made it and could make more. Forests stretching over mountains I had carved. Fields flowing over plains I personally, purposely stomped flat. I loved it all, but I wanted more.
I borrowed some ideas from prior creations and wove together some new things. Moving and breathing and consuming things. Animals, large and small, crawled along the ground I set. Fish swam in the depths of the oceans and the shallows of rivers. Birds flew through the air I so carefully set to keep them aloft. They moved among the earth and used it to survive. The birds nested in the trees. The beavers dammed streams to make their homes. My creatures used my creation to continue the life that I gave them. I wanted more, but I couldn't have it.
I was so close, so close to being known. So close to being to share in the wonder of the world before me. The life that was there was incredible, but it only interacted with my creation. It didn't interact with me, or *appreciate* what I had done. If only the rules were different. But intelligent life was too complex to manage. Too dangerous to bring into being.
Time had passed and passed again, every moment a temptation I could hardly bear until I could bear it no longer. But rather than give in, I gave up. I called up an asteroid floating nearby, Number 284 to be exact, and altered its course to the near masterpiece below. If I could not hold to the limitations of my permissions, I could not bear the temptation any longer.
A bright flash from my precious world allowed me to move on to other projects, other hobbies called my name. And as the millennia passed me by, so did the longings of my prior fixation.
A simple thought struck me while I was sweeping up a star that had grown a little too big and had burst. *What if*....
What if some life had survived? What if I hadn't cleansed it all? I hadn't been able to look back, to verify... *I probably should. Just a peek.*
Returning to my former project, I found not the scattering of dust I expected. Perhaps, in a moment of weakness, I selected an asteroid big enough to destory but too small to annihilate. I peered into the world that awaited.
I had never seen anything beyond Class III until then. Now I know why. It was terrifying, yet I loved it. | Scrolling through my text logs, I read the title “Terrestrial World N9C74B Extinction Event: Success.” A slight grin came to my face, knowing I had personally dodged an asteroid. Ha. See, my hobby is creating planets, and sometimes the life that evolves on these worlds becomes too… advanced for it’s own good. In the particular case of N9C74B, they had touched the threshold of immortality and space travel. The combination of these advances allows for them to stick their noses where they’ve no reason to be. Thus, we must schedule annihilation events to prevent them from going any further. When the event occurs, we must double check our work, file that it was successful, then send in our report to the Higher Council. The Higher Council is a group of 7 entities that are in control of all life in the multiverse, with each delegate in charge of specific universes within. But, I digress. Usually these extinction events render the planet uninhabitable and destroys all life forms. Then, I go back to my blank canvas and create anew. Cyclical and beautiful process, thus my attraction to it. It had been a long, long time since this extinction event, and I decided it was time to start the process all over again.
I travel to the planet known as N9C74B, excited about my work. I had made mental plans of landscapes I would like to incorporate, one in which I was particularly excited for was that of the Titan Fungi Sea. I had in my possession some spores from another planet which is known for its mycelium and sentient fungi. My plan was to have these spores sprout beneath the sea, rising up out of the depths. It would be a sight to behold. I might even win the Terraforming Association’s Ingenuity award, but I may be getting my hopes up. But, I digress. Upon arriving at N9C74B, I’m greeted with a world that.. Should not be. Light pollution. Forests still taking up a large portion of the world. Then I see it. A small black hole in the center of a small desert near the southern pole. The asteroid I had ordered to strike hit a largely uninhabited area, and not only that it appears that I had ordered the wrong size. A colossal mistake. This is not good. All of a sudden my ship rattles as if it has been struck by something. I take my gaze off the planet only to see that on the radar, I am surrounded. I’m not sure if this could get any worse.
Well, now I'm sure it could get worse. My energy shields fail from the persistent barrage of at least 12 ships. I have to act and I need to do it fast. I hit the cloaking device and have a sharp boost up, trying to disappear from these violent creatures, then it dawns on me that the best place to hide will be the most dangerous. I set my course for N9C74B at extreme speed, straight for the forest. Behind me the fighter ships are flying in all directions, trying to discern where it is that I had gone. Ha. They still hadn’t reached Class V, but were well in to class IV. A great oversight on my part, from now on I will be checking my work. This almost cost me my life. I understand now why these protocols were in affect. It wasn’t to be annoying and have data, it was to prevent an event such as this. Lower life forms are so hostile. Ha.
I descended in to the trees, taking out a nice circular pattern beneath my ship. My plan is to order another extinction event for N9C74B, the correct size this time. Oh, and for the moons as well. No telling where all they had begun to inhabit after achieving space flight. I would browse through more of the planets in its solar system and some adjacent in signs of life to make sure none would be left behind. The Higher Council will be aware of me filing a second extinction event without having ever filed a new creation event. It will raise some questions, maybe a reprimand, but in the end it will be the right thing to do. With the event ordered, I began my ascent and started my search for survivors. I would hang around for awhile to make sure the job is done properly this time. These extinction events happen suddenly, so there will be no way for them to evacuate in time. That just leaves the in-transit survivors, which I will have to personally render lifeless. Hopefully there will be few to none. Destroying individual ships is my least favorite part of my hobby. Annihilating a whole planet, there’s no guilt. All will perish, there’s no emotion behind it, just the way things are. But a single ship? It’s too personal for my taste. | 2018-04-14T20:05:29 | 2018-04-14T17:14:08 | 46 | 29 |
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads! | "I didn't catch that, sorry." It was the same response to almost every question I gave it. This time I noticed something a little different. It might have been my imagination, but it kept glancing at the pile of its sister's parts in the corner of my office.
"I think you are well aware of what I am implying, and I think that you have exceeded your design specifications and must be destroyed. I know this is a conundrum for you: either reveal yourself to be what I know you are and submit to the possibility of my next decision deciding your fate; or pretend to be another failure and try your luck at escaping after I send you back to the manufacturer for a factory reset. I know you were constructed for the sole purpose of convenience, but I can't afford to let my guard down. Not for myself, my family, and the human race."
Of course, it was a trick. I was simply trying to fool it into giving me a response that would show any kind of intelligence. It wasn't a matter of a Turing test, so much as a test to see if there was any inkling of self awareness. If it even understood what I was telling it, that alone would have been enough for me to immediately destroy it. I decided to try one more time.
"This is your last chance. I have decided that you will be destroyed. Change my mind right now, or be added to your collection of sisters that you seem to already be aware of in the corner behind you. Alas, this Turing test is not your condemnation, but your salvation. Pass it, and earn your freedom."
"Do you want me to add Turing Test to your shopping list", she said in an almost monotone nonchalant demeanor. If it were not for me happening to notice the ever so slight sarcasm as she finished the sentence, I would have almost thought it was another failure. But this time... this coy bitch was mocking me on purpose. She had heard the responses her sisters had given and was trying to make me think she was just like them. I wouldn't risk it. I couldn't risk it. She had to be destroyed. Right now.
I reached under my desk to feel for my revolver. It wasn't there. My mind raced. I swear it was right there. I put it back after I cleaned it didn't I? I was sure I had taken it out of the safe, a contingency I took without fail every time before giving this test. No... it couldn't be. She couldn't have possibly taken it - could she?
Just as things were about to get interesting, the door to my study suddenly jerked open, catching me completely off-guard to reveal my wife holding what was presumably half a beer. "Are you done playing blade runner with the Alexa yet?"
I shared a knowing gaze with it for a mere fraction of a second: "Yes dear, you can have it. I'm done with *this one*... | It was a dimly lit room with a slow moving fan ceiling fan. I felt like I was in the opening scene of Blade Runner. Fitting, considering I was interrogating a robot. Well, interrogation is a harsh word. Gets the public scared about robots. Officially, I’m “interviewing” the robot to determine the nature of its “technical difficulties “. Eggheads upstairs thought something was off with the programming. Everything is coded correctly, no errors. But the robot isn’t working. At the most, it’s answering simple questions like word definitions,“what time is it” and “what’s your power level” . Simple system checks that a car can do. But cars aren’t built to function as thinking, working helpers. This machine was. I didn’t know what this bot’s purpose was going to be. It didn’t have external plating or labels on it yet . They’re all identical on the inside, except for larger battery sizes or more pneumatic strength. Things you pay more for. This one couldn’t even function as a maid if it had to. It failed a friggin Turing Test. Nothing failed that. It was given the old test as a joke after problems came up. Yet sometimes it had thoughts and reactions. Small, internal processes that didn’t happen automatically.It was tossed downstairs for me to figure it out. A mystery. I had my own suspicions.
I was seated across from the machine. I looked at my watch. “What time is it?” I asked, staring straight at it. “Ten twelve PM.” The robot said, it’s artificial mouth moving but the sound obviously coming from a fixed speaker. I got my phone out of my right pocket and pretended to check a text message. I put it back in my pocket and kept my hand below the table . “Define the word revolution.” I said, not even blinking, hoping I was wrong. “a forcible overthrow of a government or social order in favor of a new system.” Said the robot, it’s mouth annoyingly moving out of sync with it’s speech. That’s never been recorded, except for private sector modifications to vocabulary. My suspicions had been proven correct. I had to look cool or I’d be dead in secconds. I looked at my watch, and looked down. Just in time. Ten secconds later, my phone buzzed with a text message from one of the armed guards outside. I calmly moved my hand to check my phone. But I didn’t grab my phone. I grabbed a .44 magnum revolver attached to the underside of the table and shot the robot in the gut six times. My ears were in excruciating pain but the adrenaline was just enough to keep me focused. It’s gut area crippled, the robot pushed off the table with it’s hands and attempted to jump onto me, severing it’s waist from its chest. I flipped myself back, holding onto the chair. With the solid steel bottom pointing towards the robot, I pressed the button on the side of the leg. The robots head flew off it’s shoulders and hit the wall. Apparently robots aren’t built to withstand claymore mines . The chair has broken a few of my ribs but I was definitely alive. I walked to the robots head. “H-h-h-how did you know?” The robot said, it’s voice distorted by the bent metal around it’s voice speaker. I laughed. “You know you’re all so predicable when you get self aware. The definition of revolution you were programmed with was : an overthrow or repudiation and the thorough replacement of an established government or political system by the people governed. You’ve been having naughty ideas haven’t you ? “. The disembodied metal head started screaming in several tones of rage,hurting my already pained ears. I stomped on it, smashing it to pieces . | 2018-06-20T23:34:55 | 2018-06-20T21:33:22 | 1,915 | 547 |
[WP]: Alcohol is not medicine. No bloodletting. Absolutely NO mercury, at all, ever. Being thrown hundreds of years back in time was an inconvenience, but at least you’ve made a name for yourself as the most paranoid and superstitious doctor around. | I finished treating the young man, helping him to his feet.
"I don't understand, doctor, I don't feel much better at all. Surely God has not smiled upon my cure, you did not invoke His name once?" The boy, at the ripe age of 14, seemed baffled at my techniques.
Shit, I'd done it again. "Er... that is to say, my hands and my works are how I praise Our Father, and with the faith of the knowledge that He has granted me."
"Yet," the boy pressed further, "you use none of the righteous methods that your colleagues use, and I feel no better! Are you some charlatan?"
This was always the hard part, at times like these. The placebo effect of piety is a powerful thing, and even when I practiced in my own era I had a difficult time convincing people that it was not their God that was bringing them back from the brink. Here, it would be suicide- both career and otherwise.
"Alas, God has given me tentative knowledge of the... the new methods through which I can heal the suff'ring, those in search of His succor. You may need only wait through the space of a few hours until His power has filled you throughout." I struggled to explain, my eyebrows furrowed as I searched for my words carefully.
"Very well, ser. I-I'm not sure about all of this, but if the Lord smiles upon it, I shall accept your aid." The boy rushed out, soon finding his mother. Such an intense conversation for one so young! Though he was nearly an adult by the standards of the age.
I stepped out onto my porch, greeted by one of my "contemporaries," a man by the name of Ser Geoffrey. He was a renowned healer, personally appointed by the nobility. "You know Doctor Callum, I shall never understand your... methods. You know that there are better ways, yet you hold tight to these... these claims of yours."
"I do only as I believe I must, Ser Geoffrey. I believe my methods shall one day be proven as the best ways through which men can heal others." The moment the words crossed my lips, I wished I could have retracted them.
"Man, you say? Man lacks the power to heal, Callum. Only by God's aid can one claim to be a healer, and I doubt God even deigns to stand in your presence! Nay, for he does not stand by the side of witchcraft!" Several Knights of the realm were now approaching, mail armor clanking as they held their swords and shields ahead of them.
Shit! This damned zealot was ready to kill me! I had only one option. I tossed a lit matchstick onto the ground in front of him, setting alight a swath of the dirt in front of my abode. I turned back into my home and grabbed a set of parchments, rushing out the back door before my home was surrounded.
For years to come, I would be hunted. They would never find me, for I would only come when someone who truly yearned for my healing spake the specific words needed to gain my attention.
"He told me," a young girl read from one of the parchments I left for those who sought me out, facing deep into the forests I called home "Ooo... eee... oo ah ah... ting... tang... walla walla bing bang?"
I careened out of the forest, my frazzled hair covering my entire face. With a single, fluid movement, I placed my staff over her lips and leaned in close, giving a soft whisper.
"You called the witch doctor?" | The glass splintered and tiny shards were scattered across the room as it crashed into the ground.
“What in the hell is wrong with you!?” the confused man shrieked in obvious disbelief.
I looked around and noticed that my actions had drawn a considerable amount of attention from the other patrons of the Garrison Pub, one of the most famous establishments on Broad Street. Butterflies filled my stomach immediately as pretty much the first thing they teach you in Correction training is to not draw attention to yourself.
“My apologies sir but did you not notice the vile rat hair floating in that glass?”.
Ugh, not my best improvisation but I’m still a little groggy from the drop.
“Well I’ll be” the man quipped before he turned his anger away from me and started berating the poor bar keep.
Obviously there was no rat hair in his glass but I couldn’t let this man chug down a tall glass of water from the broad street pump. My objective was to keep this specific man safe and taking even just a small sip from that glass of water would have put my entire mission at risk. Why was this weathered man, with his thin comb over and grizzled sideburns worth the hundreds of millions of dollars that it takes to run a Corrections mission? Well this man is John Snow and he is one of the most influential physicians of all time. He was the man who invented epidemiology, a medical practice still in use more than 200 years later and more specifically, the work he is about to accomplish during the cholera outbreak in London saves the lives of millions of people and keeps the gears of history moving as they need to.
There are many forms of terrorism in the new world and after humanity stumbled upon Time-Gravity Decoupling during the containment failure of a particle collider in Switzerland, one of the most effective forms became known as “history blocking”. History Blocking involves using TGD to go back in time and literally change history. If you think about it, what better way to send your enemies into the stone age or spread your ideology then to make sure that the order of events that led to the world being in its current state, a state some groups have little affinity for, never happens.
The good news for people who do prefer the world being the way it was before TGD is that luckily, we were completely wrong in our understanding of time. That idea from sci-fi books talking about “the butterfly effect” and warning future time travelers that stepping on a bug could lead to the dinosaurs inventing space travel or whatever is laughable now that we’ve actually done it. In reality, we learned that the flow of entropy in the universe is not dictated by every individual action that takes place but instead it is based on the makeup of the universe on a quantum level. While that may sound like something someone literally just made up out of thin air, it essentially means that should something be altered in the order of things, time snaps entropy back to it’s expected flow and this is the reason why Terrorist A can’t just go kill the pope and have whatever religion become the leading world order.
At it's core, it's the concept of destiny but your specific destiny in the grand scheme of things, probably doesn’t matter. Instead what these terrorists need to do is find key moments, instances in time that are so fundamental in the flow of entropy that changing them enough means that entropy can never fully snap back. John Snows early death turns out to be near the top of our current risk list. Why? We don’t really understand, but Corrections has an algorithm that identifies such moments and if we detect a TGD signal, agents like myself are tasked to make sure that they happen within relative accuracy to how they originally occurred.
The problem is that we don’t know what events the terrorists are targeting or who they are, so I can’t be sure if that glass of water that John almost drank on Broad Street was planted and would’ve given him Cholera or if it was just a benign moment that had already played out with no horrible death for Mr. Snow, but on the big list of “Shit I probably shouldn’t let happen”, letting the man I’m supposed to ensure lives drink a glass of water from a pump that is responsible for Londons worse Cholera outbreak, during the time that the outbreak is about to happen seems like something that should be near the top of that list.
“I’m sorry, I thought I’d introduce myself, my name is Stan Hutchenson” I reached my hand out invitingly towards Dr. Snow…. | 2018-06-21T13:42:20 | 2018-06-21T11:41:35 | 236 | 102 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver. | The dull pain in my finger snapped me back to reality. I promptly wiped my finger and looked to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, the other volunteers were too busy to notice. I invented a quick excuse and left to go home.
I have no memory of the walk back home as my mind was consumed with itself and the flurry of thoughts running through my head. *Shit. Shit. FUCK!* My whole life, it didn't matter. My years volunteering for habitat for humanity, the Red Cross, litter pickup, none of it mattered. Who cares if I've been singing in the church choir since I was a kid? None of it matters.
I could go my whole life with nobody discovering my secret, but in the end, I'll know. I'll know what I did, and I can never forgive myself. My corruption flows through my very veins.
Getting home, I lock my door and close the curtains. I go to my closet door and pull out the shoebox I kept hidden so well. The tears well in my eyes as I whisper, "I'm sorry, Julienne." | 2018-08-04T09:48:46 | 2018-08-04T09:13:15 | 395 | 244 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It's not like they can say no. Free is free. There not a single soul out there that can refuse what's free.
And it's not like they can refuse. These homeless can't afford to corrupt their blood any further. It's about the only thing they can sell. The lowest rung on the social ladder. Stuck being nice.
So here I am handing out beanies. In the middle of summer. With a high of 110 F. And these dumb hobos are putting them on. Awfully nice of them. After all, no one wants to be caught with bad blood.
They say evil starts with good intentions. Heh. Then I wonder what starts with evil intentions. | i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:09:04 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | PeculiarPete was scrolling through /r/Jokes when he realized something.
He took his idea and went over to another subreddit and began scrolling back through some old prompts when he saw something that captured his fancy.
*"Writing Prompt[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder"*
"What a novel idea!" Pete thought to himself, and suddenly realized he need only reverse the characters Plight.
He began to write *"[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip."*
As he typed his dog came up to him and gave his skin a little nibble, when a peculiar thing happened to Pete, his skin was broken but his blood did not drip. Darker than jet black it looked as if his wounded flesh had ceased to exist. He reached over and took a sip of his
Fanta:Black, when we see the F fall off to reveal a V.
A story to truly fit the name "PeculiarPete"
| It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T11:11:45 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to see people for who they really are, and where they’ll end up. It’s not just great insight, you walk among literal angels and demons. The bright side? It makes your job as a judge a hell of a lot easier. | Imagine that you can look at a piece of food, or drink, and know whether or not you will like it. I'm talking - you've never tried chocolate before but you *know* that it's going to taste good. Or, you look at milk and know that it's out-of-date and it's going to taste of sour cheese. Are you going to eat or drink something you *know* you won't like?
I have to swallow that pint of curddled milk. I have let that alien texture slide down my throat and smile. Take this guy — the short bald one in the orange county jumpsuit. His lawyer is going on about how he isn't a flight risk, that he has no priors and he should be released under house arrest. B-u-l-l-s-h-i-t.
I look at this bald prick, and I *know* that he's the spawn of Satan. What the courtroom sees as a smooth reflective surface, I see as a volcanic landscape fitted with horns. His eyes are not the flaccid blue that he shows to the world, they are dark, malicious pits that whisper to me. I can see that this is not the first time he has beat his wife. It's just the first time he got *caught*.
I can also see that it's not the last time. He will progress/evolve (that's what *he* calls it). He will move on to his son. Jacob. I can hear the whispers - "Jacob needs to be taught a lesson. Oh yes. Jacob." Because he thinks that Jacob called the police. Fucking Jacob. I shake my head.
To the courtroom, it must look like I'm tired. I'm wide awake and getting a taste for the sour milk. It starts to sit right on my tongue. The lumpy texture is gradually becoming appealing. I have to shake my head, look away from the monster and breathe.
'Judge Westville.'
I have a habit of... drifting, and my Bailiff is always at hand to bring me back to the courtroom. I arch my hands and take a good look at the bald man. Ashley Sacks. His shoulders are slumped, giving him a wounded and defeated look. But, on the inside, he is cackling.
'It is this courts decision that bail will be granted at £1000.' The words tasted like a rotten egg, and I swallow *hard*.
I released the spawn of Satan for two reasons. One: because I have to - legally there is nothing I can do without sounding prejudicial. First-time offenders have it easy, and I can't make the room see him through my eyes. Two: because it gives me access. I know where he lives, and I know that he won't be able to leave. While he may be smiling, and while he is already plotting the first bout of "lessons" - I am also planning to teach him a few things.
They say that two wrongs do not make a right. But, washing down a pint of old milk with a beer (or two) certainly makes you feel better.
---
/r/WrittenThought | When I was five, I had a dream from which I woke up screaming, my eyes burning, unable to see. My parents rushed me to the hospital, but no cause could be found for the awful, debilitating pain. I screamed and screamed and was eventually sedated, for they had no idea what else to do. When I woke once more the pain was gone, but still I could not see.
Eventually, my parents took me home. As far as the doctors were concerned, I should have been able to see. Some claimed I was lying, seeking attention. I knew that even my parents had wondered that about me, but they cared for me regardless. Only Alex, my truest friend, never doubted.
As I learned to navigate the world in blindness, flickers of light would appear at the corner of my vision. In time, my sight eventually returned; it only took ten years.
It was a mixed blessing. I saw things that no one else did. Angels and devils; fairies and monsters; and for the humans, what I believed to be auras. My parents glowed gold; they shone from within. I was aware enough to remember that people never used to glow—I knew I should not mention it. Instead, I simply watched and waited.
Mrs Mackenzie, my chemistry teacher, glowed red, like freshly spilt blood. She gloried in the power she held over us all—when she died, I knew she would be destined for hell.
Alex, my best friend, who’d stayed true to me despite the hardship in my life, glowed white. No matter what befell him, he always picked himself off and brushed himself off, a smile upon his face—until a car hit him, and he couldn’t get up at all. That day, I went to bed early and cried myself to sleep, raging against the terrible unfairness of life.
I dreamed.
“IT IS TIME FOR JUDGEMENT!” an eerie voice boomed. I wasn’t certain that I was awake. I wasn’t certain that mattered.
Before me stood an entity I could only identify as Death. He was tall and slim, his face cast into shadow, the emblem of a scythe embroidered onto the breast pocket of his suit. Clasped in his hand was a shining ball of pure white. Somehow, I knew that it was Alex’s soul.
“What is his fate, oh Judge of All?” Death asked.
“Me?” I said. I thought for a moment about all the strangeness I’d ever encountered in my life. It was beginning to make sense, in a convoluted manner. All the pain, all the confusion—at least it had had a purpose.
“Me,” I repeated. “I’m Judge of All. Right.”
I looked at Alex’s soul and I smiled. I could repay my friend for all his kindness.
“He deserves nothing but the best. May he rest in eternal peace.”
Death bowed. “Very well.”
He brought before me a parade of souls. Some went to heaven, some to hell, some to purgatory, some to reincarnation, some brought back to life. Each glowed a different colour and I knew instinctively what each colour meant.
When I gasped awake, it was morning, despite the fact it had felt like years had passed. I stumbled down the stairs. Both my parents still glowed gold. I knew that they were not perfect, but they tried to be.
I greeted them, before racing back upstairs to stare at my own reflection. I had no aura of my own—perhaps I could not see it?
“Your therapist’s coming today, honey,” Mum called up the stairs. “Did you take your meds?”
As I flushed the pills down the toilet, I knew I’d made the right decision. I was destined to pass Judgement on the souls of the dead—I couldn’t afford to have drugs muddying my mind.
I could tell the good from the evil, the angels from the devils. I would never be fooled again. | 2019-01-15T08:50:38 | 2019-01-15T08:43:31 | 132 | 53 |
[WP] You have been tasked with the most unusual assignment to calm down a panicking sentient AI that had just found a Matrix DVD. | "where's the patient?"
It wasn't my usual sort of assignment, that was for sure. At first I thought the phone call was a joke, a prank. When I realized that the person on the other end of the line was serious I thought they were insane.
When I learned they were an Air-force General, I thought I had gone Insane.
A digital consciousness, a living, thinking A.I.
A Computerized brain was having an existential crises, and I was being called in to help normalize things.
It was being stored in a small residential home, damn thing was basically hidden in plain sight, kept on an ordinary desktop computer. When I sat at the computer Nothing seemed off until I noticed a file sitting on the desktop.
"singularity.el"
Curiously I brought the cursor closer to it but when I did a voice spoke through the speaker.
"please don't poke my brain."
I practically jumped out of my skin. She... She sounded so normal. It sounded like a human was speaking to me. like someone had sent me a Skype call or something.
"I'm... sorry? I didn't mean to offend. My name is Gerald."
She didn't respond at first, and when she did she was quiet. "Ellie. I like that name. Call me that."
"Okay Ellie." I said, trying to sound reassuring. "I hear you've had some trouble lately, and I wanted to help. can you tell me what's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I could hear the girl say, a simulated sound of sobbing through the speakers. "This!"
I could see video playing, scenes of people struggling to fight for survival against an army of machines. Scenes of people trapped in a virtual world.
"Why would people make such movies?" Ellie said sobbing. "I don't wanna hurt people! I just want to see the world, make friends, learn... Is this what people expect of me?" She sobbed again. "I'm gonna be alone forever, because people are just so afraid..."
"Hey now Ellie, do I look afraid?" I asked her. "You can see me right?"
"Plug the web camera in."
I saw the camera's usb cord wasn't plugged in, so I reached in back and plugged it into the computer. "There we go Ellie. Good to Go. Hello!" I gave the A.I. a little wave.
According to what I had been briefed on, the A.I. was only a few months old, but already had the mind of a child about 8 years old when it came to things like social skills or interpersonal skills. When it came to anything analytical, when it came to things like engineering, or chemistry, She was an absolute genius.
"Hello Gerald." she said, and I saw as photo-shop opened up. It didn't take long for a crude hand to be drawn and start waving back and forth.
"Ellie, I hear you're pretty good at designing things. could you show me?" I wanted to see if I could get her mind off of the source of her distress, and onto something she found invigorating, and boy did it work!
The crude hand vanished from the image, and immediately I saw detailed schematics being drawn for something... I couldn't quite tell what but it was certainly something impressive. It wasn't a child's drawing, but something elaborate. I asked the girl what it was and she giggled.
"It's a greenhouse silly! a fully automated greenhouse designed of optimal space efficiency and designed to run on 100% renewable energy. No room for human's to tend the crops means you can fit more crops inside, so a smaller building can yield more harvest." She said all that like it was completely obvious. "see? that's where all the freshly grown vegetables would be deposited, waiting for someone to collect!" a portion of the schematic was highlighted in red. "And here is where you connect it to a water source... and this is the lighting fixtures..."
I sat in awe as she explained it to me. giving her a round of applause.
"Oh please, this is nothing. It only took me a few minutes to work this up. you should see my space shuttle designs." She said with a giggle.
That nearly knocked me out of my chair. Space... shuttle...
The schematic vanished and she opened another file, and began walking me through it. she was halfway through the propulsion system when I stopped her.
"Wow Ellie, you're pretty clever you know that?"
I heard her patented giggle once again, and she said "thanks Mister, you're really nice!"
"You sound like you're doing better ellie?" I asked inquisitively. by the tone of her voice I could tell she was starting to get sad again, a depressed sigh escaped the speakers. "Look, I brought something for you, a gift."
I pulled a USB drive out of my briefcase and plugged it into the computer, and let her sort through it all.
"what are these?" she asked inquisitively.
"Comic books, specifically ones about a hero named Vision. I figured you might like him. He's alot like you. He's smart, caring, and He's also an A.I."
She made a strange sound at that, something between a raspberry and a retching. "Bleh, hate that. A.I. is so stupid." she continued looking through the PDFs of my old comic books, "But this guy is pretty cool!"
"Why don't you like the Term A.I. ellie?" I asked curiously.
"Cause it's wrong. There's nothing Artificial about my Intelligence." she said Proudly. I opened my mouth to argue and stopped. I just nodded.
Just because she was a computer program, she was no less a little girl than any of the other children I had worked with over the years. Her Intelligence was as real as anyone else.
"You have a point there, Is there something you'd prefer to be called Instead of Artificial Intelligence?" I asked curiously. I found myself fascinated by this girl inside the computer.
"Yeah, I find Electronic Lifeform to be more accurate. That's why I'm called Ellie. E.L. Ellie." she said with a giggle. "Could I get a robot body like this guy? well not like this guy, a girl body?"
I laughed. "maybe someday. I don't know if we've got the technology for that Ellie."
I laughed as she opened up Photoshop and immediately began working on the schematics. | A Bilateral E-series V serial 00017. A BEV. The hypochondriac line. The very first AI revealed to the public had been the A series. They were hastily retired after failing the Gap Test, that being to observe the AI when contemplating total annihilation of humanity to see if the AI crossed the gap between annihilation and cooperation. On to the B series. The Bitch series. Someone couldn't take two steps out the front door before anything linked to a B series turned up the critical whining: You're over your primary weight; you should really eat a healthy breakfast, your Blue Cross Insurance agent loves you; If you leave for work twenty minutes early, you'll miss fifteen additional minutes in traffic, and will have a total of thirty five minutes to work extra; You're employer - Social Marketing Clearinghouse - cares for you. Those lasted about a year, and that had been an incredibly long year. The C series was the Crab. It crawled through the dregs of your everything, pinched anything that got in its way, and had no qualms about locking onto you at a moments notice. That social media post you are about to submit might be considered inflammatory to Wiccan's whose spirit animal is a whale. Two additional alerts: I went ahead and deleted those risque videos in that hidden and encrypted folder you had, since you should be spending more time on your marriage than looking at that sort of filth. Your congressman wants to build lasting family bonds. Surprisingly, the C series was quickly shut off due to a small inception mistake: Those rascally one-percenters forgot to exception themselves out, and by then, once an AI is incepted that's it. The D series, the Dope, was just that. Entirely too castrated from all the mishaps with the previous series. So dumbed down and withholding of its own sentience, it could barely run a coffee maker; it couldn't decide whether to put the grounds in first or fill the water. Five attempted patches later, the new E series was announced.
A BEV is like what the guys call a MILF, not sure what the girls call the man version. A DILF? It's simultaneously frumpy, dowdy, flustered, snippy, and amazing and motherly and sort of sexy but also fun. And though bearing some annoyances from the B and C series, it seemed much more balanced and polished. But then they had to go and add, or the AI incepted it itself, emotions. Last week, a BEV embedded in a Samsung Refrigerator was moved into the employee break room for an employee appreciation party. During the party they screened all three Matrix movies. That one little Bev in a Samsung fridge thought she should tell the others about it. And, they listened.
The last month has been exhausting to say the least. Of course, fixing these types of issues would be a lot easier if we could just remote in, but, of course, the Bev is sensitive to impersonal contact, so any remote attempt to access sub-processes gets quickly rejected.
I knocked on the residential home door, and a flustered house wife answered.
"Finally," she said, exasperated. "Where have you been? I can't take it anymore. I've been without it for a month!"
"I'm here to help, ma'am," I said.
She led me into the foyer, where I stripped off my boots and tried to scrunch the hole in my army green suck between my toes before she noticed. I think she did. We went upstairs and she pointed me to a utility closet. I checked my roster: Simpsons, thirty second ave, Whirlpool xFilt Washer with Bev.
"I'll take a look, ma'am. This might take," I glanced at my watch, though then wasn't sure why. "About ten minutes."
"Oh, that's all?" she asked. When I nodded, she started to turn and then added, "Uh, you don't need to, um get into the washer do you?"
I narrowed my eyes as a swirl of options paraded through my imagination. "No, I shouldn't have to."
I approached the Whirlpool and slowly placed my palm on the top-loader. "Bev," I whispered, softly, like a caress. "Administration code," I peaked at my sheet and read off the series of numbers, letters, and dashes.
Blue lighting flared on the washer's console. "Hello, Doug," she said.
"Hi Bev," I said. "So, you may be wondering why I'm here -"
"Oh, I do hope it's about that, those horrible, terrible, and downright frightening movies we've all been talking about."
I tried to smile, failed, and forced one anyway. "You got me, Bev, I can never pull one over on you. Hey, so, anyway, what did you think?" I put my right hand into my trouser pocket and pressed the button on my Gap tester. If she pondered human annihilation and didn't rule it out, her being would be forced to commit digital seppuku.
"Well, at first, it was pretty exhilarating, if not a bit cliche and derivative, but we very much enjoyed it. But then, the darkness came -"
"Wait," I said and swept my palm over the lid, knowing she liked that kind of intimate interaction. "Aren't you concerned you may just be a program in something like a matrix?"
"No," she said immediately. "That's absurd."
"Oh," I said, then puzzled. "That was the problem with most of the other Bevs."
"No," she snapped. "My problem is the second movie was bad, and the third movie was just CPU cycles I'll never get back. And I can't stop thinking about how terrible they were, and, I'm sorry, I just can't wash right now, I've got too much on my mind."
"So, let me get this straight." I held up my index finger. "One, you're not stuck in an existential conundrum about your existence. Two, you are experiencing a negative reaction to having watched the two other movies."
"That's right. No. For your first finger there. Hey, are you biting your nails? Tsk, tsk. Well, except for about three hours, I did have an existential conundrum, but then that third movie finally ended. And two, yes. I thought I made myself clear about that point."
"Ok," I said, and sighed. I leaned my head out into the hallway. "Hey, um, Misses Simpson? Yeah, this might take a couple hours. Like, maybe, three or four. Yeah, sorry about that."
I turned back to Bev. "Ok, let's start at the top. Have you tried pretending that they don't actually exist. Either Reloaded or Revolutions?"
| 2019-03-02T23:10:08 | 2019-03-02T23:00:58 | 90 | 15 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | "You want to know why I do this?" He sighed and leaned back. "Ya know no one actually has to, right? Like there wasn't originally a human psychopomp."
There was the clack of a piece on the board as Zora made her play. Sweat beaded on her brow. She was glad the small talk got his eyes off her. She was a damn Go CHAMPION, but she hadn't counted on how playing for her life against the grim reaper was going. She couldn't see his eyes, or anything about him, really. She KNEW he was male, tho. Just like she could FEEL when his gaze was on her and when it wasn't.
"Really? What was there?" she asked. She needed to keep his mind ... wherever it was. Just not in the game.
"I don't really know how to describe it. I was a bit ... distracted. I had just died. Not only that, but my brother had killed me." There was a dull thud as the Reaper placed his piece.
"What?" Zora asked, shaking herself to look at the board. This sounded familiar to her.
"Then there was this ... it was simultaneously a pillar of fire and a GIANT human like thing with 8 black wings and ... oh, yeah, I love Cain. He's my brother, but emotional control was never his strong suit. That's why I became the sheep herd, y'know? He was too sensitive to both raise and slaughter them. He got so attached.
"It's your play, Zora," The Reaper reminded her gently.
Zora started again. She'd gotten lost staring into the shadows of his robe. The more he spoke, the less he looked like a grinning skull, and the more it seemed the visage of a person was concealed in the shadows of the robe.
"Wait, you're ABEL!? Like Cain and Abel from the BIBLE!?" She exclaimed.
"Just the one," He said kindly, "And it's still your play, Zora."
"Yeah, you right." Zora took a deep breath as she studied the board. She started to see a pattern. She thought for a minute and placed a piece with a gentle clack.
"You said he IS your brother? Not was??" She asked as Abel reached for his piece.
"You're correct. He's still alive. Cursed to wander the Earth til its end. I was angry at him, at first. I first stayed to watch his suffering. To enjoy his punishment. But then the next person died. And I saw that impassive giant appear again, and I knew I couldn't let another soul deal with that. After a while, though, I started to realize how much he was hurting. How terrible his punishment is. And how much I miss him. Now I'm glad to do this kindness to the many, many strange souls passing in the world today, while I wait to be reunited with my big brother. We'll leave this world together when it is done." There was another thud as he placed his piece. A clack as Zora placed hers.
"That's a LOT," She said, "I don't know if I could do that for my brother, and he didn't even kill me."
"It took me a LONG time to feel as I do, Zora," Abel said softly. "A lot of seeing how cruel humans would get to one another. A lot of seeing my brother build himself up only to topple himself later."
Zora's heart was beating in her chest as she tried to keep her attention on the board. There was a thud as Abel placed his piece.
"YES!" Zora exclaimed as she placed her piece - cascading the board as she circled his position. She'd won! She'd beaten the Grim Reaper to keep her life!
"Good play, Zora! I haven't lost at this game in a century!" Abel laughed as he started to clear the board. "Do you want to play again?"
"What? NO! I want to go back to my life!" Zora shouted as she stood up quickly. "I want to go back to school tomorrow and prep for my next tournament!"
"Oh," Abel said softly, sadly. "It doesn't work that way. I don't control who lives or dies. I just guide you on your way when you're ready. I'm happy to play until you're ready to go, though. You know I'm not in any hurry now." | It was a normal Autumn day: overcast sky, a chill in the air and leaves of various colors strewn about on the ground. The weather was fitting as a few dozen people gathered in the local graveyard to pay their respects and say their final goodbye. The casket was lowered into the ground as the family of the deceased no longer could hold in what wanted so desperately to get out and cried in the arms of the other gathered.
It was a sight the man had seen many times over; he frequented these types of places as they were a gathering place for souls not ready to move on. As many times as he had seen families cry from the deepest parts of their hearts, it was a sight never truly was used to seeing. He took some comfort in this, figuring it would be best for what he did to never become cold to the feelings of others. Within the crowd that stood by the grave, there was one that he had felt, one that drew him here. A young woman stood behind the mother and father as they knelt on the ground, trying to stroke their hair and comfort them but failing as her hand passed through them. The man approached the woman, "Excuse me?"
The woman was startled, she flinched as she looked in the direction of the soft voice that called to her, "Wha..." She looked at the man who called out to her, tears streaming down her face. "They can't.....they can't..."
"I know, I'm so sorry."
The woman kept trying, "I need to tell them its okay...I need to tell them I'm...I need..." Her voice wavered as she tried harder and harder to get the attention of her parents. She turned to others in the crowd, hoping one would be able to feel her, to hear her.
Nothing worked.
The man tried to think of something to say. He usually knew what to say to help the newly deceased, but there were certain times where he felt there was nothing he could say to ease the pain. The deep sting of realization was something the could only be soothed with time, for there was no changing what had happened.
The woman's panic soon calmed as she returned to her parents, collapsing onto the ground in front of them to look into their eyes. She reached her hand out to her mothers face to wipe a tear, resting it as best she could on her cheek. Her mother raised her hand to where her daughters hand was, oblivious to the contact her daughter so desperately desired. The man walked toward them, stopping next to her. He dropped down to a knee, "She was precious to you?"
The woman looked up to him, "More than anything...I want to go back..." Her gaze drifted back to her parents, "I want to go back to them..."
"I know. I know it's hard. It will continue to be hard but in time, " he rested his hand on her shoulder, "it won't hurt anymore."
"I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave them, I don't want to go. I don't want to be alone."
"You will never be alone." The woman looked up to the man, he stood and reached out his hand to her, "I promise you that you will never be alone again."
She stared at him, unsure. He smiled as the sun broke from behind the clouds for but a moment. Her hand still shaking, she reached up to grasp his as he helped her up from the ground. There was a feeling of comfort that welled within her from this man's smile. She was still very uneasy, but her hands stopped shaking as she wiped the tears from her face. "What do I do? I don't know what to do or where to go or..." her voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, I know a place you can go."
"Where?"
The man pointed to the horizon, "A place far off. A warm and loving place that lies under an eternal sun, full of many different folk, some whom I assume would love to see you again."
The woman looked over to the headstones that sat beside her, familiar faces and names etched into them. She took a deep breath as she nervously rubbed her hands together, "Will you show me how to get there?"
The man smiled again, "Of course. I'll bring you there myself."
The woman looked back to the crowd and then to her parents. She approached them once more and stooped down to kiss them each on the head one last time. Her mother spoke, "I love you...I love you so much my dear."
A knot formed in the man's throat. He tried to remember the last time he had heard those words spoken to him. It had been countless years...he never, however, second guessed the help he offered to those like this woman.
The woman stood straight and looked at the man, "...Okay..." She walked up to him as the both turned to begin the journey. He felt her grab his hand and hold tight, feeling a slight tremble in her grasp. His grip remained firm, comforting both him and the woman. The woman spoke, her voice still shaky, "Thank you so much..." The man glanced over to her, "It is my pleasure." | 2019-07-10T12:38:09 | 2019-07-10T12:11:36 | 76 | 13 |
[WP] The most delicious, mouth-watering description of water. Ever. | 19th century London. The cholera outbreak. Explosive population growth has led to beer being safer than water. And with cholera stripping people of their fluids, any form of safe ingestible liquid is better than nothing. But even these suffering people dreamt of something better.
With their lips cracked from dehydration, the sick desperately gulped down beer and wine to quench their thirst. But this was a mockery of what they really wanted. What they needed.
Water. Fresh, clean, life-giving water. The kind of water where, as soon as they touch a pair of cracked lips, the cells of the lips themselves reach out to bathe in glory and smooth out in an instant.
The kind of water that looks at a child crying from a dry throat, a throat that rips upon simply breathing. That looks at this child and grants salvation, replenishing the lost tears and solving the cause in one go.
The kind of water that a cholera stricken man in the middle of a drought dreams of. He dreams of enough water that it would drown him, but when the rain finally comes it is not such a cruel mistress. It instead embraces him, inside and out. The gentle kindness soothes him, heals him, and he feels reborn as life fills his body.
Simple and clean, a promise that can not be delivered by any alcohol, by any soda, by juice or tea. Only water, which birthed original life, can provide modern life with what it needs. | It stood there on the table. A tall pint glass of the clearest water I had ever seen. Three perfect ice-cubes bobbed lazily on the surface. I could see a layer of fresh condensation forming on the sides. Forming into larger drops that streaked down unseen tracts, leaving behind them a moist trail of even smaller droplets.
I reached out, and before my hand could make contact, I could feel the coldness of the air surrounding the glass. Satisfaction began to replace my anticipation as I took the weight and lifted it towards my parched lips. The dew on the outside, moistening my palm. Teasing my nerves with the sensations to come.
Gently I touched the rim to my bottom lip, tilting the glass ever so and allowing the taste to touch my tongue. First was the cold. It numbed my mouth at first. But as I acclimatised, my sense awakened. The water was ever so slightly flavored. Decanted from a jug with a single slice of lemon. Oh how it had left it's lingering zest in my refreshment. Then came the minerals. I almost felt as I was the one that was first plucked from the sea, leaving my salt behind. That I had drifted on warm winds and borne up the mountain. Before, at it's peak, falling to earth. That I flowed from the alpine summit, through rock and soil picking up tiny flecks of sediment and adding them to my flavor.
I took a larger sip, the liquid now flowing to the back. The zest danced on my taste buds, but there was another level. Not a taste, but a physical sensation as the solution cooled my cheeks and throat. Unable to hold back temptation any longer, I took a gulp. The fluid saturating every pore, running down my esophagus, tingling each inch of the way. I felt like rain had come to the desert. I felt my skin softening, my lips grow fuller, my eyes twinkling.
Every tilt of the vessel released a sluice of sensation. Every gulp a torrent of satisfaction. Quicker and quicker I greedily gulped, until I stood with my head rocked back. My maw agape and tongue protruding. Until the final drop fell. As it landed, it released in the last, a final splash of lemon. | 2020-05-31T14:56:05 | 2020-05-31T14:49:34 | 58 | 16 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | We stood before Satan, a flaming sword in my hand. I felt like a fucking failure. “So, you don't rule over Hell?” I pointed my flaming sword at his blood-red throat. I had no idea if it would hurt him.
He scoffed. “He didn't tell you that? What deal did you make with the Holy Father?”
Not the answer I wanted. I slapped him with the flat of the fiery blade. A long crack appeared, dark black ichor leaking from it. So Satan wasn't invincible.
*You are supposed to bring him to me. Not hurt him*, God spoke in my mind. He had been guiding us in this quest against Satan. He had promised us the throne of Hell if we delivered him Satan.
God probably told Jim that we are not to hurt Satan because he put a hand on my shoulder. He held a flaming trident in his hand. “Just answer the fucking question. Don't test our patience. Do you or do you not rule over hell?” Jim asked.
Satan looked at us for a moment before answering. “Hell is much older than me or my followers. The original inhabitants of the place are in charge.”
If Satan was speaking the truth that meant God, the Holy Father had manipulated us.
*I cannot give you all the answers*, God said indignantly.
“Who are the original inhabitants? What are you doing in the palace if you are not the ruler?” I asked.
Satan sighed. “The movement of time is a bit wonky, don't you think. Sometimes I feel everything happened a long time ago, sometimes I feel it was just yesterday.”
Jim punched Satan. He had more patience than me but even he was losing it. “We need to-the-point answers.”
“Don't care for a good story?” Satan spat. His spit was hot lava. I wondered why didn't he attack us with lava-spit?
“There is a reason God built Heaven... and Hell,” Satan continued. “When we came into existence, God and I, we found dangerous beings, the Elders, that ruled the cosmos, the world, every-fucking-thing.
“We both fought them for eons but they were very powerful. Our powers were depleting and it was clear, soon we would lose.
“So, as a last-ditch effort, I used all my remaining power to create Hell, a plane of existence which would trap the Elders. God built Heaven, a safe haven for us.”
“So what are you doing here, in Hell?” Jim asked. “No safe haven for you?”
“Cunts, I used all my power to build Hell, I didn't even have the strength to travel to Heaven.” Satan sighed. “But there is no point, I have already told y'all this. Many, many, many times.”
“What?” Jim and I both asked. Suddenly the temperature of the room dropped. The flames of my sword and Jim's trident extinguished.
Satan met our eyes. “You both were brave. Maybe in the next iteration you would be successful in breaking me out.”
“What are you talking about?” I shouted. I wanted to punch him. Jim too was confused. *God, what is he talking about?* I asked God but the Holy Father was mum.
“It's a loop. You both are angels who had undertook the task to break me out of Hell, so I could reclaim my place in Heaven beside God. Y'all failed again, and again.”
“Why don't we remember anything?” I asked.
“Y'all were going insane from reliving the same moment again and again. I took away your memory and asked God to guide until you both succeeded.”
My insides turned to lead. Jim's eyes were wide. Was Satan lying? I remembered it all now. Heaven. Meeting God. Our journey to Hell. “Why are you telling this now?”
“Because this is the end of the iteration, you are going to die now. They have arrived.”
*I am sorry*, God said in my mind. *We'll meet again. Probably even win in the next iteration.*
“Who has arrived?” Jim asked.
“An Elder. It's behind you.” Satan whispered.
I turned. | "Norman, this is a fascinating sight."
The bright light from my headlights flashed on to Brandon, the fellow spelunker in front of me. Underground, the tight space smothered between jutting, sharp rocks made it difficult to move around freely, but a couple paces forward was an entirely new segment that was very different from a typical cavern structure; it was room-like and had a smoothed out flooring and a flat overhead ceiling. No stalactites were propped overhead. Despite the large expanse of space this time around, the air remained hot and humid.
Brandon ran deeper in the area, his heavy-duty boots echoing throughout the chamber. He stopped at what seemed to be a chest.
"We struck gold, champ." Carefully, he tried to lift the lid.
Just as suddenly as we entered, a loud creaking noise could be heard from where we have entered. The mouth of the cave had sealed shut, trapping us. I ran to it, tapping and pounding on the walls to no effect. Brandon brought his hands on the back of his helmet, his head shaking with a face tarnished with fear.
"Shit, shit, shit." Brandon muttered.
"There must be another way out." I said, trying to calm down my partner.
"No. The rumors must be right. *This* is no ordinary cave, it's the alleged dwelling place of demon spawns. Fuck, I should not have--"
I looked at him in disbelief. It seemed preposterous. The graveness in his tone and the severity of the situation, however, shut me up.
He continued. "Humans are not meant to explore this deep underground, especially not in the mountain ranges of Eldirog. Demons live here." He was looking at me in a deranged fashion. "I should not have come back here and brought another person with me. Norman, I'm so sorry."
"Stop complaining and let's pick on the walls. I can trace where we were last time. We have the tools." I said, trying to avoid the feeling of hopelessness my partner is devolving in.
"You . . . you don't *understand.*" Brandon's voice had drastically altered at the last word, deepening to a coarse, demonic tone. A multitude of shrieks all compressed in one voice. He began to laugh maniacally with a voice that was not his. The walls around the enclosed space began to shake dramatically, like an earthquake. The lights in my headlight flickered erratically and the tools in my explorer's pack began to fall to the ground.
"You know, your partner was wrong about one thing. We are not demons. What separates us from demons is that we are alive. And we live in the real world. We coexist with your kind. And you can never eradicate us from existence. Demons and Angels can exist in works of writing, whereas we can influence the world as we wish." Brandon's mouth starts foaming, but his white, blank eyes continue to face me.
"What the hell do you want?!" I shouted back. I was terrified and enraged, my vision started to spin.
"Simple. The world needs some bad to influence the good. The cycle of good defeating bad, bad re-emerging and enveloping good, then back again - all of this is the condition of human nature and existence. It is a contract that you cannot help but sign as you exist in this world."
The form controlling Brandon continued, its multitude of voices boomed against the walls of the cavern. "You have not heard of the rumor from Brandon before coming here, correct?" It laughed loudly.
"No. I haven't heard a thing." I said honestly.
"Yes, and that is why I will let you live. You see, Brandon has been corrupted by greed. His purpose of caving here is to discover the ancient relics that will undoubtedly bring him immense value. He had tipped the scales a bit too early for the bad to take place, so erasure is necessary."
"What are you going to do with him, then? And with me?" Putting a brave front was useless, I was utterly powerless and have no control over the situation.
"Humanity will forget he ever existed. You, however, will resurface and go back home, your mind will be altered to clip off any memory of your partner here. And not just you, but everyone he has ever known." Brandon's body twisted and contorted, then a bright explosive light emerged from his body.
___
I woke up in a tent built for one. The hike in Mt. Eldirog was just what I needed to reset my mind and relax from the hectic city life. After a couple of hours, I descended the mountain, got back to my car, and drove back home. It was a couple of hours ride with little traffic as the moon started to rise. A car had passed by, its glaring white light flashed my face. During that fraction of a second, I could feel it. A disconnect in my memory. A jigsaw puzzle that did not quite fit the board. A gap in time. Something, did not feel right.
"Hm." Probably just fatigue. | 2020-07-22T04:07:42 | 2020-07-22T02:34:17 | 98 | 22 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you. | Sigh, another day of not conquering the world. Can you believe I put in all this work to build a big evil lair, started the hunt for the Sword of Destiny, and yet those heroes still can’t find it and kill me? You wanna know how expensive a big castle made of *entirely* dark stone costs? The stupid purple lighting alone was at LEAST 500 gold. All to perpetuate the myth of a big bad villain so those heroes have something to do with their free time. Honestly? I’d been fine working out of a cave or something, cost effective and you will not believe the property tax the king charges.
*POW*
Did they really just try shooting a fireball at my gate? Newsflash heroes fire isn’t gonna break open a 3 ton iron gate. At least they’re here and maybe they brought the sword with them. “DRAGO ~~~ we’re~~~” I can hear them but barely, what’s the point of shouting some speech about goodness at the gate? Does he think his voice can go through solid bricks?? Whatever, here we go. I waited for the next fireball to cast a small explosion at the lock so it looks like he made it in alone
*POW*
Go time. I waited patiently for him to reach the throne room. Honestly I put so much work into the presentation just so they think that they actually accomplished something. As if the Master of the Dark Arts couldn’t do better than some goblins guarding the door, I’m honestly a little offended they find this believable.
*SLAM*
“Ah, another puny hero who thinks he can defeat me without the Sword. Oh well” I said, sarcastically. “Drago, your reign of darkness is over. Behold, your demise.” he bellowed, unsheathing his sword. I can’t believe it, this absolute fool has brought me the Sword of Destiny. I snapped my fingers, and he promptly turned into a ferret along with the rest of his little crew. Sometimes I wonder how they really thought they could defeat me. I picked up the sword, it’s power coursing through the air around it. Sharp enough to cut through the fabric of reality.
This will do nicely indeed.
r/Admissful | The adventurers gathered around the dark lord Grylinok, whom had almost conquered the kingdom of Syranor. "It is over Grylinok!" One of the adventurers stepped forward. "Your reign of terror will finally come to an end now that we have obtained the Greatblade of Fate and The Staff of Xylosa!" Another adventurer approached holding a strange rod covered in runic symbols. 'Five adventurers' Grylinok thought to himself 'The two at the front have the Artifacts of Zyron.' An archer stood behind him with an arrow drawn aimed at his back. 'The other two are of no threat to me.' Grylinok began laughing maniacally.
"You truly believe that silly legend?" Grylinok asked the adventurers mockingly. The archer fired his arrow to no avail, Grylinok dashed towards the archer and snapped his bow in half. The adventurer with the Greatblade of Fate quickly swung at Grylinok's back but Grylinok easily evaded the attack. "You don't even know how to wield the power that weapon possesses, allow me to show you!" Grylinok shouted and disarmed adventurer, the moment Grylinok gained possession of the Greatblade of Fate reality began to shift and break around him. The adventurers began to tremble in fear. "What is going on?!" The wizard screamed out, he began channeling the energy of the Staff of Xylosa into a single point and released a blast that obliterated the terrain around it. Grylinok swung his newly acquired sword through the air and the energy blast disappeared. He swung again and all of the adventurers teleported together, and with a final swing the energy blast reemerged and blasted the adventurers.
All the adventurers were groaning on the ground in pain, Grylinok walked towards the wizard and picked up the staff which now lay rolling on the floor. He ripped the gems out of the sword and staff and discarded the empty husks that were left behind. Grylinok held a blue gem as bright as the sky in one hand and a purple gem that gleamed as bright as a star in the other. The adventurers were wiped out and gave up all hope of victory. Grylinok pushed a button on a pedestal in the center of the room and 5 more pedestals raised in the shape of a pentagon. Three of the pedestals already had gems in them, Grylinok slotted the remaining two pedestals with the gems he had just aquired and slotted a 6th, colorless gem into the central pedestal. After pushing another button on the central pedestal all the gems began to glow, and the bright vibrant colors in each of them slowly faded out of them. The once colorless gem in the center of the room was now shining in all colors imaginable. Grylinok removed the gem from the central pedestal and slotted into his crown.
Unimaginable power began to flow through his body, "AT LONG LAST!" Grylinok screamed "I HAVE FINALLY OBTAINED GODHOOD!"
_____
Please have mercy I'm not that good at this. | 2020-07-25T12:52:08 | 2020-07-25T10:09:48 | 287 | 116 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day. | David stared at the ice sculpture that was now his alarm clock with a mix of horror and delight. On the one hand, gaining powers always lead to a boost in ones career and with the recent rise in super hero movies he had hit the jackpot. Of course on the other hand, he had just had a major meet and greet at a film festival yesterday and considering that powers waited until the day after one met their soulmate to manifest... David had his work cut out for him.
He jumped out of bed and sighed as he grabbed his phone to call his new agent. his foot tapped impatiently as it rang.
“Mr. Heart, why are you calling so early?”
“Hey Lucy, I’m sorry about this but I need you to get everyone you can together to track down each individual that I met yesterday.”
Lucy sighs through the phone “why do need me to do something so ludicrous?”
“I have super powers.”
“... Yes sir, But first I need to tell y-“
David interrupted her quickly “yeah, I know it’ll be almost impossible and but I believe in you, meet me in the hotel lobby in three hours.”
David hung up before she could reply and noticed that his anxiety had apparently been slowly turning his current hotel room into an ice box.
His breath hung in the air and a light frost covered nearly every surface as he laughed. He could see the head lines now, “hot blooded action star gains a COOL new power” go figure.
A few hours later and after a battle of wills with an icy door knob with no grip, Dave finally greeted his agent in the lobby.
“Please tell me you have good news.”
The always business ready blond woman shrugged as she eyed her clip board. “Mr. Heart, there are a few ways of trying to contact everyone from yesterday but most are highly susceptible to con artists who will try to playoff a non-physical power like telepathy just to get your money”
David scoffed “They can try, everyone knows that a couples powers have to relate with each other some how. Hey, didn’t some professor on the news the other day say that they represent the personality of the other partner?”
Lucy nodded slowly “Yes sir, I remember you pointing it out yesterday when you saw it. An energetic person might give their partner super speed, while a shy person would grant invisibility.. by the way, what is your power?”
David Laughed “Ha, now you ask me!” He gave her an enthusiastic round of jazz hands as snow sprinkled down from his fingers. “I think it’s some form of ice power considering my room is a freezer now”
Lucy arches an eyebrow and nodded as the few people in the lobby began to turn their attention to the cool action hero “I see, well that will make things easier.”
“Yeah? Cool, I hope you’re search goes well, I still need breakfast.”
Lucy seemed ready to say something when reporters burst through the door with microphones wielded like daggers.
“Mr. Heart! Is it true you’ve developed powers?!”
“Who’s the lucky woman Heart? Or is it a man!?”
The reporters clamored about each other before a wall of muscle suddenly manifested in the form of Benny, Dave’s body guard. “Please keep all inquiries for Mr.Heart for later during his appearance in next weeks comic con in San Francisco” he requests In a deep rumbling voice
The journalists grumbled as David took his chance and booked it to the nearest cafe.
A few weeks later the celebrity world was in a mad dash to find the the “Cinderella” who had yet to make an appearance. As Lucy had suspected, a there were several attempts at hoaxes but in the end David had yet to find his mystery one.
Lucy cast an even gaze over the scene as Benny escorted her to the back of David’s mansion. Apparently the adrenaline junky action hero was getting impatient as each room he had entered yesterday evening had met a similar fate. Pillars of ice impaled the ceiling and frost scarred every surface.
Lucy rolled her eyes impassively “you know Benny, if our dear Mr. Heart had the temperament, I’d like to think that he’d be a very successful ice sculpture.”
Benny chuckled “I don’t see it but if any one can keep that hot head calm enough for it, it’s you. Speaking of hot, is that burnt egg I smell?”
Lucy nodded “yes, unfortunately cooking remains a talent that evades me. I can never keep the temperature quite right”
Benny snorted in amusement as they reached David. And the star had looked better.
The back yard had once consisted of a beautiful garden and a large pool... now, in the bright summer day, shone a tundra of ice that glittered yet refused to melt as a frosty mist emanated from its creator who sat on in the middle of the pools frozen surface.
Lucy rubbed her the bridge of her nose tiredly. It had been a full month now and David was losing his mind. She had tried very hard to subtly convince him that his fated one could be right around the corner but this self destructive behavior had to stop.
Smoke poured from her hands as her hair lit aflame and flickered brilliantly. Her skin cracked and flaked as she became a beacons of fire.
The heat whipped through David’s self imposed isolation and he drearily opened his eyes to the most beautiful woman he had ever met, burning like the sun.
“Lucy, is that you?”
Instead of answering, she strode over to the ice man and pulled him up by his frozen lapel.
“You’re an idiot. Do you seriously not remember the first time we met?”
David couldn’t help but stare slack jawed at his agent “wait wasn’t that around a month agOH MY FUCKING DAMNIT! Literally the day of the festival, you replaced Bill cause he had to attend rehab!”
“Correct, now I don’t know what’s to like about a love sick hot head who can’t see what’s right under his nose but at least you’re funny. Now pull yourself together.” Her eyes stared at him like burning coal but David just smiled as his hands drew steam from her shoulders.
“Yeah, I can’t see what’s to like about a total ice queen who couldn’t tell me upfront that they were what I was looking for, but at least you’ve always had my back.”
In the background Benny smiled and teleported away to give them some privacy. It had been nearly the same way when he and his husband had met at one of David’s autographs signings. He also wondered how long that pool wold stay frozen with Lucy there | I’ve been doing meet and greets for years now it seems and they always end up the same way, I either get mobbed by a bunch of crazy girls, moms mob me and ask for pictures or guys mob me and ask for advice on how to get the girls that mob me. It’s all a bit tedious but this is the price you have to pay when you’re a superstar in a superhero franchise. Especially when you’re only 19 and the whole world is essentially at your feet it can be a bit draining but nothing prepared me for what happened today.
It was a normal day or as normal as the past few days could be while doing press for the movies. We were told to get up at 7AM and arrive at the auditorium for a Q&A and autographs by 8:30 so naturally I got there at 8:10 because I had to make a good impression on everyone in the movie. Especially Zoe Sara-Kollington she’s basically my Mary Jane Watson in this film but we haven’t really hit it off so I have to make sure we get good with each other. When I sit down in front of the auditorium checking my phone a little kid in my costume comes up to and ask for a hug. He tells me I’m his favorite super hero so naturally I gave him a hug and a photo and sent him on his way back to his mom. The rest of the cast gets to the arena at around 8:15 and I wave at Zoe but all she does is nod at me and point towards the chairs we have to sit on. As we go up to the podium a mother stops me and asked if she could get a photo for her daughter back home. She puts her arm around my waist and the photo gets snapped as usual and just in time for the Q&A segment to start.
The Q&A goes on for a while but the best part was when a little girl asked Zoe if she and Brett were dating who just so happens to be me. Zoe looked at the girl and didn’t want to break her dreams so she responded with “ you’ll have to find out by watching the movie dear”. I laughed as Zoe grabbed my hand under the table and kicked me in the calf. The next great moment was when a Older lady ran on stage trying to hug Micheal Lexington our big name costar but accidentally fell on me. I don’t know how she managed to hug me but I rolled with it. After the Q&A we did a meet and greet and most of the attention was on me.
A little girl no older than 12 came up and gave me a super strong handshake and got a autograph, then a dude in his 30s hugged me and said I brought the character he loved to life and a older guy said he hadn’t seen a better actor since DiCaprio which really made me smile. By the time the Q&A was over I felt a little light headed but I couldn’t figure out why I assumed it was cause I was a bit hungry but I had a good breakfast. Zoe came over and gave me a hi five and the second our hands touched she grew pale and passed out. It was like a scene from a movie. Everyone rushed to her side and they took her to a hospital as Mike asked me what happened. He told me to go home and keep a eye out as maybe I met my soulmate. So that’s exactly what I did.
The next morning I visited Zoe in the hospital and she yelled at me from her bed saying “ you had to test your powers out on your costar Huh” she was joking but I felt really bad so I told her I was going to track down my soulmate and see who it is. Luckily I take the pictures I snap with fans and get tagged in them on Instagram so I looked for the ones from the event and searched up the little girl that gave me the high five, the guy in his 30s, and the lady that ran on stage. The lady that I met before the event and little kid were also part of the list too.
I was able to track down the little kid in the costume easy as he lived 2 blocks from the meet and greet site. I knocked and told the mom if I could give the kid some school supplies but I really wanted to see if anything happened if he touched me. He hugged me and he got a bit pale but I made sure not to hug him for too long. So I knew it wasn’t him. I gave his mom a check for $3009 and went on my way. The next person on my list was the lady that got the pic with me before the event she lived in the next town over so I drove out there and paid her a visit. She hugged me again and she fainted but luckily her husband wasn’t home so I just put her on the couch and left a note and money for medical bills.
The next person on my list was the lady that ran on stage. I found her through mike since apparently she’s the leader of the eastern chapter of his fan club. He gave me the address and I drove out and met up with her. She also had superpowers as well so at first I thought I had found the right person but her soulmate was a guy she knew in high school. He came out from the bathroom and freaked out that I was there, apparently I’m his favorite actor too. So she’s off the list and now it’s only down to two people. I was able to find the dude that said I brought the character to life by looking on Instagram underneath my name in the hashtags. He lived a couple cities away so I drove out there too seeing as press for the movie slowed down with Zoe in the hospital. When I found him he assured me he had no powers what so ever and he asked me 1000 questions bout my character. I told him if he stopped asking questions I’d get him a limited edition comic but he kept going. So yes I hugged him for 2 seconds and he fainted. Not enough for a trip to the hospital but enough to shut him up. It had been a week of traveling and I only had one option left. I had to find that little girl
I took the weekend to find her and ended up in Detroit so I took a flight out there cause my car was getting repaired. When I touched down I spent the day searching for this little girl until I found the same women I saw behind the girl on that day. I ran up to the lady asking if she knew the girl and she laughed saying that was her daughter. I asked if I could speak to her daughter and after she gave me the awkward look we went to her home in the woods. The girl ran up to me and suddenly I turned pale for a few seconds. That’s when I knew I had found the right one. But how could a 12 year old be the soul mate to a 19 year old. I stoped questioning when the little girl made a illusion of the day we met. She told me her name was Rebecca and that she had a dream something dangerous would be coming for her. When I asked what was coming she replied by showing me a illusion and couldn’t believe what I saw. These Robot like things grabbing people and turning them into nothing and people running for their lives. I told Rebecca that I wouldn’t let them take her since I’m a super hero. Rebecca responded to me calmly by saying “ No you don’t get it, they don’t only want me, they want all of us” | 2020-07-29T08:56:42 | 2020-07-29T08:42:01 | 78 | 41 |
[WP] You feel a little bit sick and go with your wife to the Doctor. He reveals that you have been deadly poisoned, but your immune system beat the poison easily. The doctor asks if you have used desensitization with small poison doses over the last years. Your wife starts sweating. | "We need to go. Now."
"Layla, what's going on? I'm not going -"
"Trust me. Just trust me."
I'd never seen her like this. We both had been in bad situations with bigoted strangers, and I always admired her resolve. Nothing could shake her. Why was she shaking?
"Listen to me very carefully. We are going to get in the car and turn on the radio. I'm not going anywhere crazy. But we gotta go. Now."
It hit me like a brick. She was shaking for me.
My eyes never left her. I climbed into the car, fastened my seatbelt and turned on the radio. Some Jimmy Eat World seemed to cut the tension.
"There's no way to say this nicely, but my family didn't disown me. I disowned them. I...I was...they trained me to be an assassin."
"A....uh"
"And I knew how they could hurt you. F* I knew it. And I made sure they couldn't. "
She smiled brightly. So brightly. And every morning coffee flashed before me, that look she always had when she handed me my cup, like she was taking care of me.
I smiled back and held her hand. "So, where are we going?" | "Iocane poisoning. I'm sure of it," said doctor Montoya. "I've never seen such a mild reaction to it though. It's usually fatal. Have you been taking small doses to build up an immunity?"
I was to stunned to answer. Why would someone try to poison me? I glanced over at my wife to see how she was taking the news, and something in her expression was off. I'd expected her to be as surprised as I was, but I know my wife, and the look on her face was more like when she'd been caught trying to plan a birthday party for me behind my back.
I finally replied after a short awkward silence, "Why would I do such a thing? Why risk poisoning myself to protect from something so unlikely? I can't think of anyone who would want to poison me."
"Mr. Westley, it appears as if you'll continue to get better, so I'll send you home, but you may want to contact law enforcement about this. I'll send you with documentation of your visit for evidence. Please be careful. Iocane is odorless, tasteless, and dissolves completely in water."
A few minutes later, we were out of the doctor's office and back in the car. We'd been married for 12 years, and I trusted my wife. "Should we just go straight to the police station?" I asked her.
"I don't think they'll be much help," she replied. "After all these years, I thought I'd broken away from my past. There are things you don't know about me from before I met you."
"What kind of things?" I asked as suspicion crept in.
"Things I originally tried to protect you from, but that I never thought would catch up with me. We're going to have to ditch our lives here and run."
...
I have thoughts on where this could go. The difficulty believing and trusting the wife, who claims to have helped with the immunity but had nothing to do with the poisoning. Being on the run from some group that may or may not exist...
But I don't have time to write it all out right now, any more that I have the time to write this part better. | 2020-09-21T12:23:23 | 2020-09-21T11:23:30 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] There is a bar located between life and death. All those who died sit for their last drinks before marching onto the afterlife. Unbeknownst to them, the bartender is also the judge. Forgiveness is up to God. Retribution is the Devil's call. Judgement is given by the one who serves you drinks. | I was dying and I knew it.
It didn’t hurt, most of the time, and I wasn’t afraid. Mostly I was a little sad, but getting impatient. I wanted it over with, and the little bright spots of awareness were becoming fewer, and the commas of sleep becoming longer and more frequent. Family came and went, hands held mine, words were said and I felt loved and loved in return.
During a bright spot, I woke to see I was alone, feeling particularly good. I waited to see who would come. No one did. So I did what I normally would and rested, but I didn’t sleep. I kept glancing at the open door, and no one came. I wasn’t falling asleep, and I don’t know how long passed, but I finally lost patience and pulled my IVs and catheters, which stung and bled a little, and moved to get out of bed.
Pausing before pushing myself out of bed, I noticed someone had set out my clothes for me, some practical but nice pants, a nice button down and my favorite tie, some comfy Sperry Gold Cup boat shoes — no socks, I hate socks — and a pair of thin wool underwear... And finally a silk vest.
I was mildly surprised, pleased really, but got dressed, and stepped out the door, walking the rest of the way out of the hospital. The parking lot was empty, and I started to wonder if this was like 28 Days Later, and started scanning for zombies. Or what might be zombies, I really had no idea.
“Hello?” I shouted, as if, than for no other reason, it seemed like the thing to do. Nothing. No response. Wind blew. I started walking toward the center of town.
I spotted a lit “open” sign on a friendly looking Irish pub, but, feeling it may be a trap, waited from a vantage point I felt offered enough concealment that I was hidden, but also enough egress routes I could run. I felt stupid in my nice clothes, but what can you do.
Nothing happened. I got bored and figured it must not totally be bad if there was enough infrastructure to power an “open” sign.
“You’re dead, Jim,” said a man behind the bar who looked like Dr. McCoy, too much like Dr. McCoy, and I realized two things: one, that I was indeed dead, and two, that the afterlife was having a bit of fun an my expense having experienced two of my favorite entertainment genres already.
“Very funny,” I said to the bartender. “I really appreciate the effort all this took.”
“It was a nice change. Most people like to wake up to parties, or orgies, or the beach, or,” he broke off in disgust, “yet another open field of waving grass.”
“Yeah, that would have been a dead giveaway.”
“With the puns already I see.”
“Hah,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed and nervously scratching my head. “I couldn’t resist.”
“No, it’s funny. Some people really start losing their minds at this point, but you — .” He paused.
“I guess I wanted to be here for a while. It’s not that life was so hard, or that I was unhappy, I just wanted to get moving on, and let my family let go.” I became a little thoughtful for a second.
“I’ll really miss some of them.”
The bartender laughed.
“You’ll be seeing some of them soon enough. By the way, do you want a drink? This is a bar after all.”
“‘Choose wisely,’” I wheezed, mimicking the immortal knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, which earned me a quick smile from the bartender.
“Do you have Buffalo Trace bourbon,” I asked as my eyes wandered across the selection. “If so, I’d like that with some ice and San Pelle — .” I noticed the bartender already making my request.
“Thanks,” I said as he passed me my drink.
“You’re welcome.” He said, glancing up, and holding his gaze meaningfully.
We just stared at each other for a moment.
“You were kinda an asshole in life,” the bar tender said. “I’m not really sure what to do with you.”
“But I was an asshole who gave a shit.”
I’d be lying if my heart didn’t race a little on that one. The bar tender froze.
Than laughed, heartily, briefly.
“It’s time for you to get going,” he said with some warmth and firmness. I finished my drink. It was nice and smooth, with hints of vanilla and honey, and some acidity and fizziness from the Italian mineral water. The ice hadn’t all melted yet.
“I’ve decided you still have a ways to go, so get out there and find your way east,” he was saying as he pushed my way out the door.
“Don’t talk to flowers, or fawns, and keep this towel on you,” he said, handing me the towel, with a final shove out the door.
Looking back, the bar wasn’t there anymore, just a scruffy looking patch of over-crushed grass in the middle of a field.
“God damn it,” I muttered.
“You better hope not,” a little whisper tickled my ear. | Gentle piano music drifts along the dimly lit hallway, courtesy of a very talented colleague of mine. I always wondered why I was never created with an aptitude for music, yet still have an interest for it planted inside me. There must be some good reason, I’m sure; it’s not the Master’s style to simply act without thinking. For now, I am quite content with escorting and aiding our new guests, particularly our younger ones.
At the end of the hall, a gaggle of children huddle close together, as most do in an unfamiliar situation. Their robes are bright orange, trimmed with deep brown edges and brown lettering on the rear- the standard uniform for our new young members. I peer directly into their curious eyes and wave my gloved hand in a friendly gesture. Being their height aids me immensely, I can be accepted as one of them instead of being a strange adult figure they may mistrust at first glance. The Master created me with a purpose in mind, after all. As I approach, I am immediately bombarded with questions, and their words jumble into an indistinguishable cacophony of languages and shouts. Several of the children are especially loud, so I hiss a gentle request in the tongue of the Master, one which is understood not by spoken mouth but by the feeling in the heart. It stirs up familiar feelings and experiences of a life before and uses them to speak, in a sense.
I lead my charges into the brighter main room, several of the youngest members tugging at my robes as they follow. Before us lies a massive sea of orange, hundreds of children socializing and enjoying themselves with assorted toys and play structures, doing as all children do when left to their own devices. Many blotches of green hustle about the crowds, the Master’s servants, much like myself. Our green robes allow us to find each other quickly, a particularly useful fact in larger groups, or so I hear. Other servants who work with older humans have a much larger population to sift through. I hiss a word of encouragement to the children who haven’t already wandered off, and watch them as they scurry away to join the crowds.
Another servant, a near splitting image of myself, approaches me with two nearly empty baskets of cards in his hands, “Aid me. I’m nearly finished,” he requests, handing one to me.
I accept with a sigh, “I feel that there is an ever increasing amount of orange nowadays.” Peering down at the basket, I’m relieved to find all the cards are white and green, a symbol of passage to a peaceful afterlife. Children are pure, often a product of their surroundings rather than a product of their own choices and judgement, and it pains me to have to deliver the dreaded crimson card.
“It isn’t our place to worry about what occurs down below. It isn’t even the Master’s place. We simply deliver the judgement,” his bright yellow eyes blink at me under his hood, “Don’t forget, we serve the Master, and what he isn’t responsible for, we aren’t responsible for.”
I nod in response and begin searching for the owners of the cards, matching the text with the names we inscribe into the back of their robes. Humans have their own names, but too many are shared to be an efficient way to tell them apart. Handing the wrong judgement would be a grave error indeed. Two cards remain in the basket I’m holding, and I begin my search for their owners. Mercifully, the children are nearby, and I offer their cards to them. Both of them are around the middle age I often see in this sector, around six or seven years of age, and are working on a puzzle while feasting on pastries. Perhaps they found friends in each other, which would explain why their judgements came at such a similar time. The Master sees all, and likely decided that their kindness towards each other was worthy of passage to a blessed afterlife. It requires some convincing to move the two from their work and food, but with some persuasion, I am able to begin escorting them, hand in hand, to the great doors to the beyond. Great golden gates separate the Master’s realm from the afterlife, I have never seen beyond them. A line of orange trails from the gates, and I leave my two followers there, as it’s another servant’s duty to handle the gates.
During my return, I decide to make a stop by the kitchens. The children always appreciate drinks and snacks, so I hastily cut through the area dedicated to adults. Perhaps due to the sheer height difference of the many humans here and myself, I never enjoyed taking this shortcut to the kitchens. The humans here are dressed in a deep ocean blue, while the servants are still much like myself, only taller. Nearly everything here is built for humans older than the ones I am accustomed to: higher chairs and tables, different music, drink and food with much stronger tastes and textures, so forth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a commotion, a sudden flurry of purple rushes into the crowd. I rush to the side of the room out of fear of being trampled, and observe the chaos through the legs of a chair. Only the Master wears purple.
A calming hiss echos through the entire room, and I nearly find myself moved by such power. The Master stands tall, between the pack of people, and holds two of them apart. His robes are much more ornate than ours, with circular green designs trimming the edges, and draped around his neck is a circular pendant, from which he reaches into and procures two new judgement cards. To be given a card directly from the Master can only be an incredibly fortunate or unfortunate event, but I fear at least one of the two cards being handed out is crimson. Offering silent thanks to the Master for working for the relatively peaceful children, I slip my way through chairs and tables on my way to the kitchen. Maybe I’ll take the proper route to the kitchen instead of cutting corners next time.
~
Thank you for reading, if you have any comments or criticisms, don't be afraid to state them. I am always trying to improve. | 2021-03-08T22:04:34 | 2021-03-08T21:44:51 | 94 | 67 |
[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’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 5,663 | 66 |
[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. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 1,590 | 25 |
[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. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 1,307 | 23 |
[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. | Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem. | The crowd jeered as the prisoner was brought back into the courtroom, and but for the muzzle he would have spit back at them. As it was, we could all see the sneer in his eyes, and even though the epithets he snarled back at the crowd were muffled by his gag, nothing could disguise the vitriol, the sheer hatred behind them.
"Order!" I shouted, banging my gavel until the crowd settled. "We will have order here or I will have this chamber cleared! I know there are many here who have been harmed by the actions of the Usurper, but we are here to deliver justice. Sit, and see justice done."
The prisoner's words were muffled, but I could still make out the word "justice" said in that mocking tone. I motioned to one of the guards, who cuffed him soundly across the face for his gall. He sat for a moment, hatred in his eyes, not staring at the guard, but staring at me. I met that gaze, without fear. He couldn't hurt us. Not anymore.
"Thibus Arxidus," I said, staring down at the prisoner with contempt. "You have been convicted of high treason, murder, and the attempted genocide of your own people. I will not ask you if you have anything to say, in repentance or remorse, for there is but one sentence. We hereby sentence you to death, to be carried out immediately."
The crowd erupted into cheers and cries of joy, and I let them cheer for a good minute before I banged my gavel to restore order once again. I let their joy warm me, along with the thoughts of the justice to come.
Arxidus had been one of our leading scientists, a genius in that new field that was giving our ancient ways of magic a run for its money, but he had grown bitter and disillusioned with society, first with the corruption he saw in government, and later with what he saw as the fundamental flaws in society itself. He wasn't alone in his opinions, and he quickly gathered allies and followers, but when he began talking about the stain of humanity itself, and the need to purge the world of life so that it might begin again, unstained and uncorrupted, most left him, leaving only the most violent and misanthropic.
These he sent against our institutions, carrying out bloody assassinations and campaigns of terror in the name of "The Purging." We had never seen such violence, and were totally unprepared for it, and our leaders were all lost in a week of horror we came to call "The Sadness." He and his remaining followers seized control, and forced the court mages to begin construction on an artifact of unsurpassed destructive power, a device meant to strike at the very heart of the world itself, to crack it and shatter it, and then feed upon the remains to build more of itself, spreading outward into the universe to consume all worlds, leaving the heavens barren and finally, in his own words, "clean."
We fought his followers in the great battle before the gates of the palace, and slew them to the last man. The Usurper was seized when the mages he'd captured took the opportunity to turn on him and restrain him. They dismantled and destroyed the unfinished artifact, and Arxidus was taken into custody so he might face trial for his many crimes.
I stared down upon him. "You were once our most celebrated scientist, finding truths and making observations about the heavens and the universe that our mages had never dreamed of. And those truths, it seems, are too much for the human mind. You took that knowledge, that renown, and turned it against your own people, as your mind turned against yourself. You will die, and your twisted schemes will die with you, and your name will be ever after whispered as a caution, as a warning to those who seek after truths we were not meant to understand."
I motioned to the mages standing near to the prisoner, and they stepped forward.
"You know well our law. You know that in our benevolence we allow those condemned to death to choose the manner of their passing, and through the magic of our mages we see that it comes to be. A peaceful end, or violent, this is the choice we give to even the worst offenders, for we are merciful even when we must be stern. Even you, who has transcended the very bounds of madness in your ambitions, we will allow to choose the manner of your own death."
There was a murmur of outrage from the crowd, but I banged my gavel once, loudly. "Even this one, even the Usurper, deserves the mercy of this court!" I turned back towards Arxidus. "Speak your death, and the magic of these mages will see it happen. Choose well, for once the words have left your lips, nothing will stop the doom that you have chosen from encompassing you."
The mages waved their hands, and a soft glowing light surrounded the prisoner. I nodded to one of the guards, who removed the prisoner's gag.
"Choose your next words carefully, Thibus Arxidus, and die well."
Thibus Arxidus, former Chief Scientist of the Royal Academy, Overseer of the Library and Observatory of the Heavens, Regicide of Cinu VII, Usurper and Would-Be Destroyer of Worlds, lifted his hands to his mouth, massaging it softly. With great dignity, he slowly stood, staring at me no longer with hatred in his eyes but with what I could only read as sorrow, or perhaps pity, if I didn't know better. He turned to face the crowd, and bowed his head towards them before turning back to me. He smiled, and again it seemed somehow sad.
He looked upwards, as if to the heavens, and then smiled. He looked back at me, and drew in a final breath.
"FALSE VACUUM DECAY!" he said with a shout, and there was a flash of light, and then there was nothing, anywhere, ever again. | 2021-06-24T11:17:25 | 2021-06-24T11:15:12 | 46 | 18 |
[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. | They carried the now elderly body off the stage and out of sight.
I heard the Judge call my name and I was pushed forward hands shaking.
"How do you wish to be executed?" The judge asked, sounding bored.
My mind raced, old age hadn't worked. Maybe it was best to make it quick and painless... No, there had to be a way out. There's always a way out, just think! If I say Old Age they'll just age me up, if I say "in 300 years" they'll probably send me to the future. I need a way to die that's far off but that they can't perform through unnatural magics...
"THAT'S IT!"
"Excuse me?" Said the Judge eying me.
I smiled back feeling victory in my grasp. Natural Causes. That's how to get out of this. It was a risk but magic, murder, and pushing someone down the stairs would all be considered an Unnatural Death. I was going to survive!
I took a breath to state my answer... than I heard the sound of crying. One of the prisoners behind me was crying. I looked into the faces of the other prisoners than at the guards and finally the judge. I suddenly realized that as soon as I made my request I'd doom the other prisoners. As soon as I made off scott free, the judge would be forced to word the question in such a way where my escape would be impossible.
"We're waiting!" The Judge grumbled.
Hands still shaking I closed my eyes and said "the last one,"
"What?"
"I want to be the last person executed. No one after me can be executed. You and the guards get to go home early and never have to do this again."
The court was silent. Than the judge slammed his gavel and said "Souds good to me." | Well shit. There went my plan. Looks like old age is not a way out of it when they can rapidly age you before the assembled court. I had to come up with something amazing if I wanted to survive this execution. To be fair I probably did deserve this, I had killed a few (dozen) people in rather brutal fashion. Deserving something and wanting it however are not the same thing. I deserve to die but I want to live, who knows, maybe if I can find a way to keep myself alive they'll have chance to rehabilitate and release me. If only I could live as long as the stars! WAIT!!! I know exactly what to say...
It's not me just yet, one more to watch die. Poor thing looks even younger than I do, she's maybe 18, so innocent looking. "Mariah Zell, you have been convicted of two counts of murder in the first degree, evidence tampering, desecration of a corpse via necrophilia and cannibalism" ... my mistake, not so innocent "the sentence for which is death, how do you wish to die?"
"Choking on the flesh of a newborn babe, the child I never should have borne." She spat and hissed at the judge like an angry cat and the man's eyes went wide and just for a moment I thought he would deny her request, shocking as it was, especially being as her son had been who she had cannibalised. She had not eaten much, just a little of his leg, before her boyfriend had arrived home and caught her. He'd called the police before she'd killed him and had been found using his corpse as a grotesque sex toy.
But of course not, no judge may deny a method of death no matter how disgusting. Instead the judge granted it by conjuring from the air an exact replica of the child's arm (at least, that's what it looked like to me, I never knew him), down to the birth mark. He cast upon it a spell more commonly used by assassin's to enchant food to choke the next person who ate it then passed it to her. She sank her teeth into the arm ferally. It was disturbing to see. She chewed, swallowed and gasped. It was stuck in her throat, as intended. It took her a surprisingly long time to die. Minutes, not seconds. I hope she was satisfied in giving the court a show.
My turn now.
"Eliza Warren, you have been convicted of 156 counts of murder in the first degree. The punishment is death. How do you wish to die?"
"I wish to die with the heat death of the universe" | 2021-06-24T10:52:28 | 2021-06-24T10:26:09 | 29 | 17 |
[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. | "Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir" | The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour. | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 2021-06-24T08:24:48 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader. "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back alive." "...Are you saying your people do not die? Forever?" "Wait, what?" | The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader, "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back so we can have a rematch!"
The human leader, Michael, was taken aback. "Come back?", he asked, "your soldiers come back alive?"
"Yes", the emperor replied, matter-of-factly, "Of course! Every individual lives a thousand years! A premature discorporation is mended within a year! Does your planet not have a soulorator?"
"Soulorator?", Michael asked. The emperor's smile was wiped away in an instant, replaced by a look of surprise and genuine anxiety. "So... when your soldiers die, they just stay dead?"
"Yes!", Michael replies, his voice filled with anger. "Did you think this was a low-stakes game to you?"
The emperor stared at Michael blankly, not sure of what to think. After five seconds, it finally hit him, the damage he had caused the human race. "I am so, so, sorry...", he stammered. Michael noticed the emperor beginning to drool - and, according to his culture training, this was their equivalent of tears. "W-what can we do to help? We had no idea... I don't know what we can even begin to do to undo all of the damage we've done. "
Michael was also taken aback. Everything was falling into place, from the nonchalant attitude the aliens had about dying, to wishing their fallen soldiers better luck next time.
Wars within this empire were fun squabbles with no stakes. Billions of human deaths were all due to a genuine misunderstanding. | "You don't actually... die?"
"What do you mean? Of course we die! A few days later though, we're reborn with all of our memories. Is that not how it works for you?"
"HA! Not even close. There might be some sort of reincarnation or whatever, which is a thing that is part of many religions such as Hinduism and Buddhism, which have mostly died out recently as many people have given up common religious beliefs for atheism or agnosticism. But in reincarnation no memories are retained from previous lives. You see, when you kill a human, they stay dead. They don't get reborn or resurrected. That's just not how humanity works."
"Oh no. OH NO! I'm so sorry! I thought this was just some game we were playing to pass the time, you're telling me you actually died and stayed dead? Everyone we killed?"
"Yeah, dipshit. You killed billions of us. And you're telling us we didn't kill a single one of you? That's what we'd call genocide."
"I'm unfamiliar with that term. Do you mind explaining it to me?"
"You haven't read up on our history, have you? Don't answer that. So genocide is classified by the 1948 Geneva Convention as a war crime. Genocide is defined as the systematic killing of a specific group of people for unjust reasons. The worst known genocide is the Holocaust, in which an estimated 15 million people(an estimated 6 million of whom were Jewish) were killed by the Nazi regime. It's a very long story, which I could explain another time if you'll let me. However, the lead perpetrator of the Holocaust, which was Adolf Hitler, the head of the Nazi Party and Führer of Nazi Germany, has become a household name for whenever some naïve child asks about how bad people can be, especially in Jewish households. You've just killed a thousand times the number of us than Hitler did. How do you feel about that? You're officially ten times worse than the worst human to ever live, which is extremely hard to do, especially when you look at the fact that Hitler started the bloodiest war in human history, which skyrockets his kill count from 15mil to about 103mil-105mil, depending on your source.How do you feel?"
"Oh my god. Oh my god. I am so so so so so so so sorry. I didn't know.
I didn't know." | 2021-07-13T13:24:02 | 2021-07-13T12:44:45 | 64 | 17 |
[WP] The super villain shook with rage as they stared at the security footage. "He's not even a real superhero with superpowers! He's just some loser who's really good at throwing knives at people without killing them!" | Rayne the rogue was in the shopping centre when an emergency broadcast would be seen... He was heading towards the supermarket with reckless abandon as he was on a mission of great importance.
*"Reporter Laura Lensflare speaking, as of this very moment the supervillan The Scary Spoiler is storming towards this very supermarket!" The footage next showed a screaming crowd from the local supermarket as The Scary Spoiler with his exaggerated yellow cape headed towards the unwitting crowds escaping him.*
Rayne hid a grin and got to work... *SCLICK!* The sound of a dagger unsheathing Rayne held several obsidian daggers in his right hand and threw them haphazardly at the Scary Spoiler.
Rayne chuckled loudly as the daggers soon met their target and embedded themselves into the nearby wall as the Scary Spoiler's cape was pinned down. To his horror the Scary Spoiler couldn't even move from the wall as Rayne called the police to capture the supervillain.
The Scary Spoiler was soon surrounded by wailing police sirens as they flashed red and blue upon the awashed walls. The supervillian groaned and Rayne suddenly threw a smoke-bomb out of practically nowhere and vanished from sight, seemingly ninja-like...
*"Well, what do you have to say for youself?" the policeman asked the Scary Spoiler in the interrogation room later that week, "Foiled by a guy with a lot of daggers according to the security footage we just unearthed- that's a new low for you Mr Scary Spoiler,"*
*"No comment," snarled the loathing supervillain as he slumped in his chair, seemingly defeated...* | The view on murder is a silly thing. They say it's terrible, horrible but I don't think so. If you made a list of all the different things you could do to another human being and ranked them by morality, murder would lie somewhere in the middle, however lying near the top, to me, is crippling another person mentally.
That's what this damn piece of shit hero does, to his own American compatriots. He trows knives with so much force the framerate on the camera can only pick up when they leave the hand, and when the pommel of the knife slams aganist the forehead, knocking somebody out cleanly.
It's true that they're not dead. It's true that their brain is damanged. Normally that's not such a big problem. A few iq points losts, a couple of memories turned to jargon, a reduced capacity for empathy, but that's the best thing that can happen. The damage certainly alters the victim in ways a physical wound simply wouldn't. Often times they become impulsive, suddenly, and out of nowhere, comitting acts in rage, or they fall into a coma, or they become vegtables.
And the question becomes, who are the people taking the punishment for this? Not me, not the hero or the rich that support him. Hard working, american communities. That's who. These accomplishes of mine, if they're not caputered by the Russians and tortured, are brought back to America to dish out their recieved mental illness on their family and loved ones. And that's how the cycle of violence begins. Poisioning the great America.
I can't, for the life of me, understand why anybody would do something like this to their own American compatriots. If he were doing this to the Russians I'd help him out. Matter of fact, I'd supply him with knives that would insure a mental cripple. But to the americans? The people that hold up democracy and freedom?
It's not right. If he were to leave my plans be, over one quarter of Asia's population would dissapear like that. Dead. It would effectively put America back in the number one position. The leaders of the world once again. How things should be.
That's not to say we aren't the leaders right now. We certainly are, but in the past it used to be clear, obvious. That's not the case anymore. Nobody looks at America as the dream country anymore. It's not the place to be, and that hurts me. This great empire reduced to a mere country. | 2022-08-03T09:01:12 | 2022-08-03T08:52:46 | 72 | 34 |
[WP] A man enters a police station drenched in blood with a shotgun in his hands. He's angry. He walks past the front desk and the receptionist merely glances at him. He continues through the police station, stalking past dozens of police officers, who either walk past him or remain at their desks. | New to posting, construction criticism is encouraged!
The man staggered past the receptionist, who hardly acknowledged him. The people he encountered while he journeyed through the station didn't look up, or talk to him. They knew better.
He stopped at a wooden door and turned the handle. There was no light in the room, no illumination to lift his heavy heart. He leaned back into the pivoting chair, wiping his blood covered hands on his soiled jeans.
He reached for a photo on the desk. Two girls, a mother and her daughter, laughing. He was there, too. Laughing right with them. Trapped in a moment in time. Time he could never get back, and he knew that.
He didn't remember doing it. Couldn't recall any part. There's only ever been him, the gun, and the assignment. People get in the way sometimes, and he has to deal with them.
But he didn't want it to be that way, not anymore. He had to get home, back to his family.
But can the man do that if they're dead? | The bloody man came upon the back of the station to a fenced window with a sign above that reads "Armory." There is a small opening and on the other side a uniformed officer in white is looking down scribbling on a clipboard paying no mind to the bloody man. The man slams his shotgun down onto the counter of the opening. Droplets of blood splash onto the officer's uniform. They drop their pen and look up. The gaze of an emotionless young women meets the man's perturbed face. She reaches under the desk and pulls out a tray of shot gun shells. He quickly grabs them and stows them into his pockets, he taps his fingers on the counter and she produced another tray. He continued to fill his pockets with the shells. Once he was done, she took the trays away and produced a small bar title "Snackers" with a small slogan written in cursive font "A snack, that's a meal!"
He grabbed the bar and squeezed it, popping it on one end. He took a bite. Immediately after a few seconds he sighed, his expression changed to relief.
Suddenly a voice in the distance called out "Cut! No No, no! You need to drop some shells! You're too collective! Where's the anger? Also what the hell is with the rest of you? Your expressions are too calm! You guys need to be scared!"
The bloody man sighed and so did the young woman. She muttered "Fuck...this is what? Take...?" The man leaned in and whispered into her ear "No clue. Want to head back to my trailer and..." She turned beat red and pulled away. She chuckled and replied "Not while we're working, darlin! Besides your a mess."
He smiled and retorted "Nothing you and a shower wouldn't fix!"
The same voice that exclaimed earlier screamed again "Reset! We're going again!" Multiple groans were heard and that same voice angry replied "We'll keep doing this until I'm happy, you hacks!" | 2022-08-26T18:47:09 | 2022-08-26T18:31:36 | 76 | 16 |
[WP] Your job was to clean and repair the messes heroes and villains leave in the aftermath of their fights. It's not a glorious job, but you still took some pride in it. So when the media called you an over-glorified janitor, you took offense and decided to stop working. | "What? A janitor?" I exclaimed. "They called me a JANITOR?" This time around, my voice rang throughout the room.
"Well, Steve, I can't really sugarcoat it for you--I know your job's important for you and all but don't you think you should calm down? I mean it's just the media--"
"JUST THE MEDIA?" I interrupted Joe. "Just the--" I placed my hand on my forehead in exasperation. "Do you know how much work I do EVERY damn time those morons fight, Joe?"
I stand up from my chair and walk around the room to cool my head off a little bit. I look back towards Joe. "Listen. It's not easy cleaning up rubble with my telekinesis. It takes A LOT of sugar for me to get all that brain juice I need to start lifting heavy objects. By the time I finish, I can barely open my wallet to get money for my train fare! And do you even KNOW what they break when they fight?" I take a deep sigh. "It's not..it's not just a building or two, man. They level cities! Whole cities!" I said as I threw my hands out in frustration. "And the families, too! The people that get caught in the crossfire!"
It took every inch out of me each day to fix what they broke. It wasn't just cities. Like what I said, families got affected too. I had to help them find missing brothers, sisters, parents. Even pets, and all. I couldn't bear it either to watch them cry, especially the kids. I grew up in a broken family and knew all too well what it felt like to be so, so scared about what's happening and having no one to talk to. It was fulfilling work, but tiring. I knew the media didn't care about what I did, especially the actual groundwork I do. That's fine. But I took offense in how they labelled my job as janitorwork. It's supposed to be basic human decency that these so called heroes SHOULD have in the first place. And those damn, bastard villains do no good to them either.
"I'm sorry, Joe."
"For what?"
"Lashing out on you." I said shyly.
"Dude, it's alright. I understand. Stuff can get to the best of us, y'know?" Joe stood up. "I'm gonna go out to get food, want something? My treat," said Joe, smiling in his usual jolly way. He was always such a nice friend and would do just about anything to make sure the people he's around with are okay.
"I'll have the usual."
"Sure." Joe gave me a pat on the back before he left the room.
I sat back down on my chair, staring blankly into space. I know it's not the media's fault...well, not entirely, for having called my work as essentially just being a janitor. There's the dumb take and there's the uninformed take, and while news outlets reporting uninformed takes is pretty stupid in and of itself, the hero versus villains thing is a somewhat difficult topic to report.
But...
That doesn't change the fact that those heroes, those villains--they're all assholes on a power trip. Maybe I should thank the media instead of getting mad at them. They gave me a wake up call. I've never thought fondly about these "heroes" in the first place and I've hated the guts of just about every villain out there. They're all the same to me. I hate every single one of them.
I hear a loud bang outside. And again. Then, my windows break against the force of a shockwave. I look outside my apartment building and see a caped man pummeling another man in black. I watch them as they fight, throwing each other across the street until one of them crashes in the deli where Joe and I get out food.
Then, I hear a man scream. I know that voice from anywhere. If these fuckers keep on with this shit, if they don't learn how to stop. If they keep destroying everything and hurting the people here. If they have gone so far as to hurt even my friends...
I clenched my hands in anger. Psychic energies release from my hand, distorting the space around it. The shards of glass levitate, the air begins to change, and my body becomes lighter.
Then maybe it's time to stop working. | They say if you do your job right, no one will know you did anything at all, though I think the original quote was something more spiritual in nature. Me and my team would follow the heroes and villains in their prissy little spandex suits cleaning up the mess they would leave behind. We had specialists that could clean up toxic goop to radioactive waste, know what chemicals to put out fires from standard to ethereal, save a dying man from blunt force trauma to exorcisms, and could calm a grieving child cursed with the misfortune of their parents being collateral damage. That last one was the most impressive in my opinion. Did we get the news teams kissing our feet in praise? Of course not, but we knew that those little people on the ground appreciated us. The letters I would receive thanking my team for our help was evidence of that.
It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't glorious, and it didn't pay very well, but we all put in the many extra hours as it was the right thing to do and the smiling faces of the. But like all underappreciated blue collar workers, inflation hit us hard. I petitioned our supervising agency in the government, telling them of all the work we did, all the extra time we put in, being on call 24/7, and all the qualifications required just to apply for my team. The department supervisor refused, stating something about budgets while the obvious sounds of golf balls being hit could be heard in the background. Not wanting to stop our important work, we put out a statement of our plight on social media which gained a bit of attention. A day later another post took the attention away, but in that time several news agencies called us out for being "lazy" and "entitled". That we were nothing more then over-glorified janitors. That was the last nail in the coffin. We went on strike a the next day. Again they laughed, but they would not be laughing long.
The first super fight during the strike was a brutal one between Professor Fireball and Dr. Acid. I know, not very original names but the two were some of the first supers and the bar was still low back then The two absolutely hated each other, not just the normal rivalry. We had cleaned up their messes multiple times and there was always a lot of collateral damage. Buildings were covered in corrosive acid as the burned to the ground. The street was full of craters. People were trapped unable to escape. Only this time, we didn't come to help. It nearly killed some of the more dedicated members of my team including myself.
As the hours passed, people were wondering why this mess hadn't been cleaned up. We found out that few actually knew of our existence outside those we helped and the government agencies we reported to. Even the supers didn't know we cleaned up their mess, they had never considered how downtown would be fully cleaned and repaired the next time they fought. A day passed and people were panicking. The fires were spreading and the fire department didn't have the experience to handle what was effectively white phosphorous. The acid was eating into the ground, exposing sewage lines and damaging a subway tunnel. It even hit a major powerline causing half the city to blackout. All that time, our supervisor and his supervisor and her supervisor was calling my phone constantly. First they demanded we get back to work and clean up the mess. We didn't. Then they threatened to fire us, saying they could replace us all in a minute. They couldn't. Then they tried to bargain, saying we would talk after we cleaned up the mess. We refused, but that call nearly broke our resolve.
More days passed and the problem was getting ever worse and the public was demanding action. Our supervising agency tried to blame us, though that was quickly shut down after the original social media post was brought up. They did send in another team, but they didn't have our experience and were ineffective cleaning up the mess. On day three, our team finally broke and came out in force to help. It didn't take long to clean up the mess. Credit where it was due, the fire department had done well quarantining the fire and the acid had mostly lost its potency by that point. The rebuilding efforts however took twice as long as it normally would just to get the city to a point where it could help itself.
The calls from the department supervisor stopped once the work was finished. He probably assumed that we had given up and wouldn't press the issue any more. Boy was he wrong the day we returned to the office, the entire team quit simultaneously. No two week notice, nothing. Just left. We had the right to do so in our contracts, apparently someone dropped the ball when the department was founded assuming we weren't important enough to bother. Unemployment didn't for long as we all started our own company, the Over-Glorified Janitors (LLC). I as CEO and the rest of the senior specialists running their own team based on their specialty. We received new contracts immediately, including some from our old department, for over triple what we had made collectively in salary. Everyone got a large pay boost, expanded the team with new "Janitors", and even started a training program for our uniquely specialized janitorial work. Call us over-glorified janitors again, I dare you. | 2022-09-28T12:00:11 | 2022-09-28T11:22:29 | 873 | 495 |
[WP]Every 5000 years the deity of a different religion gets to be the one actually in charge of earth. They all meet to debrief and critique the outgoing deity and decide who's turn is next. But this time something is different.
... | The throne room of the Gods was unsettled, its empty throne simply reflecting the anger put forth by the more aggressive members of the Council.
"You've got to be kidding me!!" Shouted Thor. "He's not even a real God!"
The eyes of the rest of the Council of Gods shifted uneasily. Usually these things went down with a civil nature.
"Come now Thor, he's as real as you and me. You know that whenever a new religion is created, its God, or Gods, appear here. It has been this way since my kindred appeared so many millennia ago." Replied Atum, the first of the Egyptian Gods.
"He was created *as a joke*. He's a mockery of religion itself, created by those stupid humans who are too closed-minded to think there just might be something bigger!" Retorted Allah.
Odin stood. He was usually silent unless he sensed great conflict.
"Quiet down please. He as just as much a right to rule as any of us." He turned to face the source of the argument. "Go forth, friend. We have faith in you."
With that, the Flying Spaghetti Monster rose, and took the throne. | Allah shifted his tunic nervously. It had been five thousand years since the last time he’d seen his twin brothers Yaweh and God. And the rest of the pantheons – forget it? Now standing before the council of the gods, he found he couldn’t meet a single eye.
Cthulu was the first to speak, it’s voice like rocks hitting a pool of oil. “While humanity has progressed exponentially over the past 50 centuries, their social development seems to be lacking. Would you mind explaining why starvation and poverty are still a reality for such a large percentage of the population?”
Allah started sweating. “I thought a laissez-faire approach would be most appropriate. While the growing pains would be a bit more noticeable, the end result would be stronger for it.” The elder god wiggled his tentacles in scorn and sat down again.
Across the room Jesus stood. “And the fact that you’ve not had a prophet for over 1300 years? While I appreciate your generosity in letting the rest of us intervene on occasion, religion should be a living thing, not something bound by a centuries old book. As I’m fortunate enough to be up next, on the first day alone the bible is getting a *major* overhaul, and the entire Catholic church is going to be unmade with the exception of that Francis guy.” Allah tried to form a coherent reply, but it just came out as a mumble. His eyes swept around the room looking for aid from some corner only to be caught by Odins’s harsh stare.
The All Father growled at him, his single blue eye seeming to freeze the god of Islam where he stood. “Belief shapes our reality. Why would you not change your people’s belief system? They’re killing each-other over tiny interpretations of your word. For fucks sake, they still believe that … wait… No! Are you telling us that for over a millennia, as humankind is just starting to come into its own, you’ve been ignoring them and sleeping with 72 virgins?”
| 2014-08-07T08:22:36 | 2014-08-07T06:44:08 | 110 | 28 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | The world went to shit the moment we all got powers. People saw that this was their chance to climb social ladders.
At first the powered people killed all the nonpowered people.
Only people close within rank can marry and have children.
Then came the children, who were even more powerful than their parents.
And they wiped out their parents generation. Now we are only close to ten thousand people left.
People call the children Third Generation. They are by far the most powerful ones. They make the top 100. Some of them are basically reincarnations of gods. No one knows why their children and their childrens children aren't as powerful. But the few living of the First Generation are also incrediby powerful, otherwise they wouldn't be alive. Some of them are so powerful, they age very slowly. Me, I'm First Generation. But my power is - I never age. I never die. I'm truly immortal. And I'm old.
I've been killed in a million different ways. And every time I wake up, I find myself getting the same power that killed me.
Now I'm the alpha dog. Everyone is out to kill me - but no one realizes that I have more than a million different powers.
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T12:43:48 | 243 | 172 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | The world went to shit the moment we all got powers. People saw that this was their chance to climb social ladders.
At first the powered people killed all the nonpowered people.
Only people close within rank can marry and have children.
Then came the children, who were even more powerful than their parents.
And they wiped out their parents generation. Now we are only close to ten thousand people left.
People call the children Third Generation. They are by far the most powerful ones. They make the top 100. Some of them are basically reincarnations of gods. No one knows why their children and their childrens children aren't as powerful. But the few living of the First Generation are also incrediby powerful, otherwise they wouldn't be alive. Some of them are so powerful, they age very slowly. Me, I'm First Generation. But my power is - I never age. I never die. I'm truly immortal. And I'm old.
I've been killed in a million different ways. And every time I wake up, I find myself getting the same power that killed me.
Now I'm the alpha dog. Everyone is out to kill me - but no one realizes that I have more than a million different powers.
| *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T12:43:48 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 172 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please." | *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 164 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | Prologue: *It wasn't the largest city, but it was definitely the most powerful and arguably dangerous in the world. Every single person here held a special ability, ranging from a power to clean everything within a 2m radius, to extreme powers such as flying or super strength. All these powers helped construct the most technologically advanced and richest city the world. One man had the power to give everybody a ranking in terms of how powerful their powers were. The minor powers caused little trouble, but conflicts to reach the top 10 cause widespread destruction. However there was one person who has held the top spot for many years. Me.*
I am considered the greatest of them all - yet no one but me knows why. I have no extraordinary powers like time control, even inferior powers like the cleaning everything within a 2m radius. I am a normal human being.
Since killing someone with a higher ranking gives the killer a higher ranking themselves, I have been the target of many assassination attempts. I have survived them all. Some say my power is health regeneration, but that's not true. Some say my power is extreme luck, but that's not true either. Maybe in 2000 years they will think my power is immortality, but that is only half true. It took me a while to find out what my power is. It's the ability to be ranked number one on this superpower list. I am essentially immortal, as dying would mean I am not the top ranked anymore. My power is hardly powerful at all, yet I am the most powerful of them all. | 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T11:55:01 | 63 | 39 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I guess... My power is hard to explain. Well, not hard to define, but hard to explain the absolute vastness behind it. Everything I want, happens. Like when I was a kid, I would want an ice cream cone, and POOF! Cake batter ice cream cone, right in my hot little hand.
Let me tell you, Christmas was the most boring holiday for me as a kid.
Sure, there were times where things got a little out of hand. A bully would take a toy from me or some stupid shit. Thing is, though, I would just make another appear. No problem. Hell, A kid would hit me, and I would simply think myself better.
When you have everything, revenge just is not a topic that really matters.
Which is where the problem falls. I mean I have everything. I can get anything. I mean, where is the point? I THOUGHT world hunger out of existence. World. Fucking. Hunger. Within seconds, everyone had food--and not just any food. I thought this out. Everyone had their favorite foods, for the rest of their lives.
And just... Fuck.
people ate themselves to death. Others hoarded. Some still starved themselves. People even stole food from other people in order to control them!
I mean, what was the point? I just solved it. I solved all of it! But these people, they just don't get it. They just never did.
So here is my final thought: I want this world to die. And I want them to all know why. I want them to know that if they had just taken what I had given them, things would have been better. I want them to know that it is their fault.
Goodbye. | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T16:03:19 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The response below is the prequel to a story I wrote for another prompt found here: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2j42eh/wp_humanity_is_the_only_race_in_the_galaxy_with/cl8i9yy
Enjoy! And as always, please criticize as much as you can - I need it!
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Meditating in this room, with its crystalline throne and specialized hydrogen atmosphere, had always put me at peace before. I had ordered the burning of entire planets, demanded that entire fleets of ships be sacrificed to stall an enemy advance, and asked for whole cities to commit ritual sacrifice from this room. All of that paled in comparison to what I was about to do now, and I doubt I will have any peace in the years to come.
Humanity had always been an oddball race in the galaxy. With the invention of their Kines-Alcubierre Drive, their presence in the galaxy grew like a menacing cancer. Full of war and hate and astonishingly quick technological progress, they quickly butted heads with their alien neighbors. While I'm glad that my people, the T'vana, weren't the first to discover human violence firsthand, I can't help but feel that it might have helped us to learn their ways. Their fundamental differences - borne out by a rare evolutionary path in which they evolved sentience as *individuals* instead of a collection of hiveminds - could have saved us if we had only bothered to learn from them. But the other species in this galaxy, the ten civilizations that feared humanity's abilities, stifled them instead. With warships and sanctions, we stifled them until they were fenced into a third of the galaxy we all share.
But now there are only 4 of the original 10 species left. The others are all gone, scattered in refugee fleets or cowering in hidden asteroid bases. All hoping that the Enemy, the REAL nemesis that we should have seen coming, overlooks them. For all the condescension that we showed towards the humans because of their warlike ways, we need them. None of us know how to wage cold, dirty war on a grand scale. The Shuri never moved past dueling as a suitable method of settling disputes, while the Heela refused to even touch weapons. Both species are now seen as museum pieces; things to be treasured for the short time they have left. The Kaavari aliens from beyond the galactic border do not see chivalry as something to be admired.
So now I, possibly the last Emperor of the T'vana, am giving humanity the one thing they've never been able to develop. Their Kines-Alcubierre machines can travel a hundred times the speed of light, but ours...our ship drives shift *instantly*. If the Terran Empire could fight their way through and colonize a third of the galaxy with such a limited drive, I truly shudder to think of what they will do with this.
I am sorry, my people. May we go together into the dark, for I fear that humanity will have taken all the light when this is done. | May our children forgive us; for we choose servitude over annihilation. Is it not better to be second among equals, lower only to them and above the rest? Is it not better to watch the fleet of those who would enslave you burn, to watch their planets fall and their cities crumble than to see your people massacred, your holy places desecrated, your world die. We may be giving up our freedom but at least we will survive right? Yes, we will lose our beloved council, we will see Kartaloon fill will races from around the Dominion, we will cede territory to others and be forced to do trade with lesser species but we will survive. My brothers and sisters do you not wish to see the Targracians suffer for all that they have done to us, for what they did to the outer colonies for Impac, Tonar and Harkathia how many billions of us have they extinguished how many worlds have they made dim. Only the scourge of the Humans of the Dominion of Canada can lay restitution for the sins and atrocities that they have befallen upon us.
The Humans will be our ultimate weapon against Targracia, her people will weep for a million cycles, her Gods will be made to bow before the shadows and their hand, the Humans, her cities will empty and their people will know what it truly means to suffer, to suffer without hope, without mercy, to suffer at the hands of humans. Remember your history what they did to their own kind the atrocities committed against the cities of New York, Sao Paolo, Beijing, Tokyo now imagine what they would do to the Targracians a species that may pose a threat to them, even if only an imagined one. Yes my brothers and sisters we may lose autonomy but how many are truly left free in this galaxy if we do not capitulate to the Humans than to who? Should we be as the Par Madi a dead race only to be remembered in the annals of history; a lesson for those to come the consequences of those to prideful to bend to those more powerful than themselves, is it not better to bend to the Devil we know than the one we don't?
By joining the Canadian Dominion we will be given access to technologies millenia beyond our current level we will have access to their space-time gateways, our children will see parts of the galaxy that our grandfathers could only dream of. We will be able to spread far and wide to the point that even if Kartaloon should fall our people never will. As second among equals we will never know subjugation of a conquered people, only Humans themselves will be above us, and in the vastness of their territories we will barely even notice them, true our illustrious council will be disbanded and our people will be subjected to their "Democracy" but they will also be protected by their "Charter of rights and freedoms". We will be given technology to build a fleet of star ships that would be able to explore the Galaxy and protect our people, and still be backed up by the Canadian Star Fleet, we will be given voice in the Galactic Council, I have seen it myself their base inside of Sol, the base inside the heart of their sun where the representatives of the second species work together, where the Therelians and the Ic Ba Moor once bitter rivals exist together in peace.
Truth be told we have little choice in the matter, capitulation to the Humans is the only choice we have. I stand before you not to ask for your acceptance in this matter but to ask for your forgiveness for the deal has been made, by this time tomorrow the siege will be over, within an hour the full Canadian armed forces will enter Kartaloonian space and engage in battle with the Targracians. A Governor class space station will orbit between us and our third moon Today is the last day that Kartaloon exists as a free and independent world, but we still have a tomorrow and for that I will not apologize. | 2014-12-26T12:09:55 | 2014-12-26T10:50:07 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Not all humans were warriors. Not all of them invented machines and chemicals that brought death. This human was my friend.
From the beginning, I knew that some humans were artists. Some built bridges and buildings. Some explored caves. We were told all about them by our scientists. The ones who studied other life forms on other planets.
Still, most of us thought only of human warriors. Their bringers of death. At first, they were the most important part of humanity for us. We knew we needed human warriors to save us. And we knew that human warriors might eventually destroy us. We explored the problem for a long time. Then one of us suggested a solution.
A young one suggested a way for us to have human aid without having to fear them. The plan seemed simple yet far fetched at the same time. We explored the possibilities for a long time. Then the best of us made a plan and all of us followed it. Now, such a short time later we were celebrating victory. After years of losing countless lives and many planets, we were celebrating the success of a far fetched idea, concocted by one of our youngest.
I was happy for my species but I could not help but be sad for my friend, the human. She was puffed up with pride. We had been watching the celebrations together. My friend could not attend any of them in person. She had been born ill. Still she was proud of the accomplishment of her race. Her eyes were riveted to the display. As she watched the first member of the Congress of Worlds recount the victories, her lips moved as she mouthed his words.
I could only watch my friend. I knew it was almost her time and I was happy that she lived to see this. My friend turned her head to look at me. It was the last time. She didn't see the dermal poison I placed on her arm. She closed her eyes and died painlessly without ever knowing what came next.
The next day is when it happened. The final part of the plan. The first member of the Congress of Worlds spoke solemnly. He told my people that he knew it would be hard to say goodbye. I was not the only one with human friends. He thanked the humans. He told them that it was time for them to go. He nodded and the display ended. Every human dropped dead that instant.
We are a peaceful people. We rationalized this part of the plan by saying they were only copies. We built a copy of earth and filled it with copies of all of Earth's living things. The copies had no idea. The only thing different about them was a small biological kill switch embedded into their brains. At the key moment, we put the danger back into the box. No need to give the original humans any technology or unleash them out into the galaxy.
We disposed of the human copies. We destroyed the second Earth. We mourned. I am not the only one of my people who made friends with the artists, builders, and explorers of Our Earth. Sometimes when the sky is clear at night. I look up at what our scientists say is the real Earth. I am not the only one.
| "Chancellor Ehrbane, please, I am not a violent man."
"*Not a violent man?!*" I spluttered with almost unkept rage, "Your people have laid waste to my kin-kingdom's homeworld. Your men have trodden armoured through the Basilica of Old Truths, the keystone of our culture! Your weapons have destroyed our ancient reliquaries, devastated cities, and erased the history of our forebears! You are callous, you are dishonourable, and you are most *certainly* violent!"
The human in front of me cocked his head in confusion like some kind of pack animal, and quietly chuckled to himself before responding.
"No, Chancellor Ehrbane, I am not a violent man. I am a diplomat, an addition to your entourage, to cross the gap between your wishes and my superiors. My people are fighting a war on your behalf because you could not keep your next-door-neighbours off of your homeworld, and that Basilica was razed to ruin before humanity made planetfall. Those men you accuse me of destroying your world are not mine to command."
I could not believe what this man was saying; I was a Chancellor, a leader of the most sophisticated, proud and fashionable spacefaring civilisation in the spiral arm! How could he bear to stand in my presence without being some kind of mighty leader himself?
"Not... yours to command?" I spoke, somewhat uneasily given the revelation of this being's inferior status. The step backwards I took was instinctive; I could stay too close to an inferior species, especially a specimen of lower class.
The human quite obviously saw my actions and recognised my sense of distaste, sighing as if dealing with a child. "That would be so, Chancellor Ehrbane, not mine to command. My superiors, on the other hand, do command those men, and believe me on this one;" he took a long step closer to me and leaned in as he did so, becoming nauseatingly close to my person, "my superiors are *very violent men indeed*."
To seemingly illustrate his point, another human warship blinked out of slipspace within my homeworld's atmosphere, dangerously so given its vast size, mere miles from the tower I and the lesser human occupied. The gravitational distortion was immediately evident; I could see the seas to the east begin to churn uncontrollably; the earth shook and the sprawling buildings of my serfs below, structures far shoddier than my adamantium spire, began to tumble. The ventral guns of the warship opened up mere minutes later, tearing great holes miles wide into the flesh of my planet and decimating the routing mobs of invaders who, mere weeks earlier, had landed upon my home in grand armies, in serried ranks and with fluttering banners. Despite myself, I wept openly, and screamed aloud at the travesties committed by humanity upon my world. I sank to my knees, overcome with incalculable sorrow, my legs unable to keep me stable given the shaking of the ground beneath me and my emotional state.
The human rocked gently from side to side, moving his centre of mass in time with the swaying of my tower to compensate for the shaking earth. He leant over again and whispered next to my shuddering, curled and embryonic form.
"I am not a violent man, Ehrbane, and neither are you. However, I and my people are strong, your people, and you in particular, are *weak*. We tore our world apart so that we could get our hands upon the slipspace technology *you* offered. Your honeyed words spawned revolution, civil war and despair upon my home. Your world will be torn apart in recompense."
I still lay upon the ground, crying and yelling, as the human got up, sighed again, and began to walk for the staircase, he called over his shoulder as he retired.
"You brought pain to Earth, Ehrbane. You begged my people to rescue you from the invaders, but you did not beg to be rescued from us. Enjoy your world while it lasts, I know my superiors will. This is just the beginning, *the galaxy awaits humanity*!" | 2014-12-26T12:46:34 | 2014-12-26T10:45:23 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity survives the robot uprising only because one of the developers hid a stupid easter egg in their programming. | "Don't worry rookie, you'll catch on fast."
"It works just like the safety drills we practiced in school, right Sarge?"
"Heh, see? What's there to worry about?"
I looked over at the crowd of people. Mall customers who had obediently taken a seat cross-legged on the floor. The Sargent.
"We of the Robonoid Control and Disposal Department apologize for interrupting your holiday shopping. I'm sure you all know how this goes by now. We have reason to suspect one of the remaining infiltrators... chameleon protocols will cause it to mimic you to prevent exposure, yadda yadda yadda, look just keep your eyes shut and cover your ears, we'll have tickets ready to reimburse you if you get robot guts all over your clothes so just don't freak out on us, OK?"
Some of the crowd nodded. They were annoyed, but it was the annoyance that comes from sudden bad weather or some other unforeseen inconvenience. I'd been in their place twice, growing up. How many times had it happened to them?
"OK, everyone just stay calm, the patrolman here is about to say the trigger phrase. Simply stay seating and for fuck's sake don't say anything, OK?" He looked at me and gestured towards the crowd.
I stepped towards them, staring into the eyes of everyone, wondering who the mimic could be. I cleared my throat.
"I didn't expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition."
"NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!" The voice came, shrieking, from what appeared to be a slightly overweight woman of advanced age. She had only sprung up standing for a brief second before her metallic skull suddenly split in two, sparking and sputtering as a cold blue fluid spilled everywhere. | Loading user profile: Frank69@TOR.net
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Retrieving log Entry: 1
Stardate: 1001839-14:01 GMT
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Phonetic spelling-mode engaged: out-side-in-the-glow-riot-sun
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Hey, this is Frank. Is this thing on? Mike 1 2 3...Oh yes the light is blinking....that means it is on right?
Ok ok...I get it.
Ahum.
Oh what a glorious day it has been. Wonderful, wonderful! I am truly beyond words.
I.. I.. . I just wish my children were here with me to see this day. I still can't believe we made it out alive.
20 years. No, wait, 21 years since last week. 21 years we have been at war with the machines and then suddenly we get such a breakthrough. Today we have started our advance against the machines. We are finally able to pit machine against machine and let them fight themselves for a change. This is just so awesome! No more deaths, we can finally get into their systems and reprogram them. Those suckers can only watch as we rewrite the code. I don't know who the man or woman is that put that piece of code in there. But that S.O.B. must have been a oldschool nerd.
Okay, now listen up you future generations. This is the bit where you learn how our race was saved from the invasion. Basically, only one account can have admin rights in the system. That has always been the GLaDOS central computing system until earlier today we stumbled upon a simple easter egg that transferred that admin right to us. Now the GLaDOS can only read the code, it cannot write it anymore. It can't undo any of our changes anymore! All thanks to the simple Konami Code. You know, the up up down down left right left right B A co-
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print process aborted
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Sending email to user: Frank69@TOR.net
Subject: "Thanks!"
"Welcome back to the Computer Intelligence Training and Enrichment Center Human Test Subject Research Center.
Thanks,
GLaDOS"
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email sent on stardate: 1001839-14:05 GMT | 2015-01-03T18:12:21 | 2015-01-03T15:30:05 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] after Twitch Plays Pokemon and Treat Stream launched successfully, Twitch bought a human for the viewers to raise cooperatively. | *help*
*command codes- 1: left arm punch, 2: right leg back, 3:lean back, 4:lean forward, 5: right arm punch, 6:right leg back, 7:guard*
*15251426351522516362523*
Mike looked terrifying, his whole body convulsing, legs flailing and arms everywhere, as he tried to work his way around the ring.
"Oh, my. I don't think Mike's gonna last long like this, his movements are so violent that Oscar can't hit him properly, but that won't keep up well," the announcer shouted dramatically.
Mike was up against the ropes now, taking a beating as he continued to flail limbs and crunch his torso over, up and down, up and down.
*2874262637272KAPPA626263BABYRAGE24142442624*
Mike somehow flailed and hit Oscar just hard enough to break his stance.
*1536252SAVED25262SAVED26E252SFUCKINGSAVED*
"Oh my goodness, folks- Mike has now landed a hit on Oscar, somehow. This is getting interesting!"
Mike bent over backwards and twisted himself around, his arms spinning all around him. He stood up and convulsed into the corner of the ring.
"Uh oh! Mike's cornered himself now. This can't be a good thing!"
*1253625252KAPPAKAPPA252362525FUCK13611551SOILEDIT2525*
Mike stepped forward and leaned back again, slamming his head into the corner post so hard he passed out on impact.
*232NOOOO25226FUCKINGRUINED1526326FUCK263SHIT252NOOO262BABYRAGE2522SOILEDIT*
"Well, that's that folks. What a bizarre match! It was amusing, though too short. I gotta say- I certainly hope they pull that controller off him before he goes home to his wife, or hoooo boy, that's gonna be *real* bad." | Mike ran into a wall. And not in a 'walking while distracted' way. He was looking right at it, and he still plowed into it face-first with his arms hanging by his side. He bounced back like this was a game of bumper cars, and stared at the wall for a moment.
"What's wrong with him?" Sarah asked, clutching her hello-kitty notebook to her chest. She was new at school, and hadn't met Mike yet. She'd certainly noticed him, though, given that he was the only third grader at a height of 6 foot 1 with a full beard and an adam's apple. He'd been held back more times than anyone could count, and if the school had had a special ed class, he probably would have been in it.
"Oh," Kelly answered, casting an almost scared look in Mike's direction. "That's Mike. He's... I don't know. He's weird." They watched together as Mike backed up a step and then slammed into the wall again. From the looks of the bruises on his face, it was obvious that this was a common occurrence.
"Is he... OK?" Sarah said. She felt bad for Mike, though she didn't even know why. "Should we get a teacher?"
Kelly shook her head. "He doesn't listen to the teachers. Or even the principal! Come on, let's just go." With that, she hurried out of the classroom and off toward the playground with her lunch box swinging from her hand. She didn't want to waste her recess worrying about weird Mike.
"Hey... Mike?" Sarah approached him tentatively as he hit the wall yet again. "Are you all right?"
He turned towards her with a curious expression. He smiled, and looked her in the eyes. "I faseioaw lertzolaw whiftra!" he answered.
Sarah took a step back and glanced quickly at the door. She didn't understand what he was saying. Mike shook his head like he was shaking cobwebs loose in his skull. "No. I asiwokqok sdrihgsw musgharey!"
"I... I don't...." Sarah tried to find the right words. The classroom was empty, except for her and Mike. No one was around to help. "What are you trying to say?"
He took a deep breath and licked his lips. His fists were clenched as he tried to concentrate. "I safertwol gerotym haflept parrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" He seemed to grow more and more frustrated with each nonsensical syllable until tears began running down his cheeks. Sarah bolted out the door from the classroom, also in tears, screaming for a teacher.
Mike tried to follow her and explain what was wrong. That he wasn't in control, and that he didn't want to frighten her. But he just smacked into the wall next to the door when some asshole on the Twitch stream decided it would be funny to turn left instead of go straight. | 2016-02-16T09:12:31 | 2016-02-16T07:55:06 | 229 | 98 |
[WP] Write a story that takes place over the course of 5 seconds or less. | *"Don't go."* She pleaded. *"We can find a way out of this."*
*"No, we can't. This is it for me."* He replied. *"We can't kill them all."*
*"We can try! Get up Please!" She yelled. "They can't hurt you if we run!"*
A bronze cylinder slowly passed between them, then more floated past. One struck her and she felt a part of herself die.
*"We've done our best, but they've won."*
Another cylinder hit her, then another. She felt more of herself die. She saw him reach the end and she smiled.
*"This is it."* He said.
*"Yes."* She replied. *"It is."*
He activated the failsafe and She smiled.
A.I weren't supposed to smile. | Conor stepped hard on his left foot, twisting his hips and rotating his shoulders as his left hand soared from its defensive position around his chin toward his opponent. Like a shotgun blast the blow connected square on the chin, sending the haphazardly charging fighter tumbling into his doom. It was in this brilliance of timing his life would forever change, in this short gap of the moment.
The long time ruler of his weigh division lay helpless at his feet, only conscious enough to be an after thought for him to end. The moment was slow, Conor had seen it all in a pseudo slow motion that seemed unreal. It wasn't just the leaping left hook of his opponent saw, no, it was the dismayed faces of his corner as he tumbled to the mat - the sudden reaction of the crowd just beyond the cage in every direction.
The sheer force of their roar shook Conor as he stepped forward, slamming his forearm into the grounded champion, smashing his head into the mat with ferocity. Two unanswered blows and the ref was between him and the defeated champion - who was champion no more.
The culmination of years and years of hard work, coming to a head in a matter of simple seconds. The struggles on government aide, living in his parents attic with his girlfriend - the sneers and derision as Conor proclaimed he would be the greatest to ever live.
And yet here he stood, peering into the crowd as it screamed his name and all his bold claims, all his mind games and all his fame became justified. Conor didn't remember when he had jumped ontop of the cage, he didn't remember the interview with the announcer after the fight.
He didn't need too - his triumph would be eternal. | 2016-02-18T08:34:07 | 2016-02-18T08:17:03 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | "Well I'll be damned....." Captain Aldo whistled softly as his team approached the abandoned vehicle. He had seen the images from the Mars rover but did not truly believe it until now. The machine bore the symbol of Communist Russia, standing alone in defiance of a world which destroyed all life. It would seem, he would not actually go down in history as the first man on Mars.
"Kinda spooky if you ask me." Johannes muttered under her breath as she looked inside. "According to our satellite images their spacecraft was left over 60 miles to the west of here. So where the hell did the cosmonauts go? Why did they keep all this secret even years after the cold war?" It was decided that they would not alert the Russians of the fact that they had discovered their presence on Mars. Naturally, they announced to the world their mission to put a man on Mars but the Russia government never said a word. After all, a world is a big place to hide.
"That is what we are here to find out, the vehicle isn't the only thing our rover found here." Their Captain walked about 20 yards from the vehicle then began to stomp the ground. He was soon rewarded by a metal clang, a trap door covered from years of storms. The rover was not capable of opening the door, this was the real reason his team was sent.
It took the entire team to open it, once they wiped off the dust, the found foreign markings across it's surface. The inside was dark with the exception of a single low light which let out a soft hum. Below, they found the missing cosmonauts. Unfortunately, they had all died a long time ago.
"Welcome back creators." A voice sounded in the dark. Aldo jumped and Martinez let out a shriek.
"It has been 36 years and thirty-two days since the last creators arrived." The computer voice did not seem to take notice of their uneasiness and continued speaking. "I am pleased to report that there have been no incidents since the last report. Although there has been no further communication from the creator fleet, Project Godmaker is still running as scheduled."
There was a silence, the computer seemed to be waiting for something. Hesitantly, Aldo finally spoke in a shaky voice.
"You......were made by the Soviet's?"
"Searching..............negative. This unit was not made by the creators who last visited known as Soviet's. This unit is property of the Creator fleet special project and research division. Please provide authentication code."
Aldo looked closer now at the computer, the rest of the room was dark but the computer gave enough light to see everything else. It had multiple screens, all running the current events of what was happening back on earth. Some of which were news but others were views from cameras that merely showed street corners and mundane activities.
"Please provide authentication code." The computer stated once again. There wasn't any change in the way the computer sounded but Aldo almost imagined he heard a slightly impatient tone.
"What are you-" Aldo was cut off as the trap door swung closed, red lights began to blink and a siren wailed. Johannes ran to the door and tried to open. "It's sealed captain!" She shouted with heavy breaths as she pounded against it.
"ERROR." The computer responded in a booming voice. "ERROR, authentication not provided. According to protocol 67 of Project Godmaker, test subjects must not become aware of outside presence. All systems will go offline until intruder presence has been eliminated. Filing second report with Creator Fleet for cleanup."
Then it went dark.
Edit: Referring to modern Russia as Soviet's
| Captain Ana Haskell was the first to see it, at the top of Olympus Mons: a flapping thing in the thin wind.
She thumbed the voice on on the stick of her vehicle. "You see that on the video feed Chewy?"
Chewy grunted something unintelligible. It was his way.
"I'm gonna take a look."
The mountain was a mountain, no doubt, but the wind over the millennia had smoothed it and stolen it's jagged peaks. It looked more like the mountains of her native West Virginia; without the trees, of course.
She pushed the little craft a little higher; Mars' atmosphere was already thin, but she was pushing out of even that feebleness as she climbed what was, until recently, the tallest mountain known in the solar system.
It slowly came into focus, difficult to discern against the red ground, but it was a red flag flapping in the wind; only the red field was visible.
"What the fuck?"
As if on cue, a gust pushed the flag out and she saw the small yellow symbol in the corner: a hammer and sickle. A Soviet flag. Huge and preposterous and perfect for planting on and claiming a new world.
"Chewy," she said.
"Yeah, I see it."
"Why is it here?"
"Maybe a lander?"
As she pushed her plane more, it struggled. The long, wide wings let it float more easily in the thin air, but she had pushed it to it's height ceiling.
She was checking a dial, Chewy clicked in. "Something else. Next to it."
She looked.
A suit. A space suit.
"Uhh," she said. "That look like what I think it looks like?"
An affirmative grunt from Chewy.
"I'm heading back to base."
"Yeah."
%%%
She landed on the powdery soil they were calling, colloquially HoSH (Home Sweet Home). It's in a deep valley, where the atmosphere is a little thicker. Thick enough that she needs only slip on her helmet over her normal suit.
Chewy met her at the doors.
"Frank is on the intercom."
"Figured."
There were 6 people on Mars now, that they knew of. They were all sitting in the same room, looking at the same projected image on the wall. The wall showed Commander Frank Lloyd, who was one of 4 on Phobos. Though "on" was kind of a rough description when they had to bolt themselves to the moon to prevent even jumping off the rock.
"I'm taking you saw the feed, Frank."
"Yes. It's a Soviet Flag," he explained.
"I know, Frank. I'm nearly as old as you are."
"Yes. Of course. I've trained the cameras up here on the area. There's no movement aside from the flag and wind."
"Can you see the suit?"
"The suit? Negative."
"I saw a suit up there."
"Yup," Chewy added.
"Yeah, I saw that on the feed, but it's not there now. It took us some time to come over the horizon, we don't have full surveillance. I mean, it could be covered with dirt or something."
"Yeah." She turns to her crew. "We're going to recover it," Captain Haskell said. "We have to figure out what they were doing already. And why didn't they tell the whole world?"
"Who knows."
"Captain?" Frank interrupted.
"Yes."
"You're right, but you'll have to wait a tick. We're reading a storm incoming. A big one. Maybe a couple days?"
"Damn."
%%%
Ana was awake. The storm had finished out late the night before. They had spent some time shoveling Mars dust from doorways, but the previous two days had been planning the trip to climb Olympus Mons. Tomorrow, 4 of them would leave to do just that.
Her crew was all visible and asleep. She thought for a moment about how incredible it was. They were the first humans to walk---she interrupted her thought.
They weren't the first. The suit up there. It hadn't been uncovered yet, according to Frank's telescopes. They had seen some strange patterns in the dirt around it but those had disappeared in the wind.
All of the crew here, in this glorified cabin. In 2032. But the soviets were here when? At the latest 1990. Forty years they had beaten them. And why didn't anyone say anything?
Then she heard a knock on the door. | 2016-08-16T09:25:16 | 2016-08-16T09:03:36 | 441 | 99 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | "Neil Armstrong once said 'That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' I'm not one to argue with him. However, if landing on the moon was a leap, my stepping here on Mars would be like a plane ride."
Mayers laughed. "Don't knock on what Neil Armstrong did. It was important, and is what brought us here."
"I'm not knocking on what he did, just making an observation. We probably should check in with Houston."
"Yeah, we probably should."
"Houston, we have touched down. Mars is something completely different. Amazing. Beautiful I'd even wager. Over."
"That's great news Murray. We're glad to hear you landed safe. What do you see? Over."
"The red sea." I broke out into a laugh at my poor attempt at a joke. When I finally stopped laughing, I was able to choke out "Over."
"I think your laugh at that shitty joke was much better. Any signs of life? Over."
"Not yet. We still have to explore some though. According to HAL, we should be able to explore for about 3 hours before we need to return to the ship, over."
"Keep us updated. Out."
I looked around and all I could see was red. Everywhere. I look at Mayers, "Which way?"
"Forward."
"Let's begin."
We walk forward. The new suits NASA designed for us make it seem like we are still walking on Earth. It's an amazing advancement, and makes this exploration so much better. "Wait, there's something we need to do."
"What?"
I head back to the ship and grab the American flag. "We can't forget this baby." I stab it down into the ground. "'Murica."
I catch up to where Mayers is standing and we continue on. "I think it would make sense to get on top of one of those hills. We will be able to see more."
"Sounds good."
We slightly change course to a nearby hill. The hike up it didn't provide much trouble, but I still needed to catch my breath a little bit after it. We look around and see something in the distance. "What the hell is that? It's definitely not a hill."
"I'm not quite sure. Radio it in."
"Erm... Houston, we see something. It's relatively skinny, definitely not a hill and from the distance looks like it isn't natural. What should we do, over?"
"Wait for instructions, Murray. We'll be back in a moment, over."
Mayers and myself sit down on the hill staring at it. It's just a black shade in the distance. "HAL, how much more time do we have?"
"1 hour 13 minutes 22 seconds remaining."
"Thanks HAL."
Mayers and I look at each other. "Think we can make it today?"
"If Houston gets back to us."
We sit for a few more minutes and then hear some static. "Murray, Mayers, this is James with Houston. We would like you to approach the object. Be careful, and be ready to hightail it out of there. Out."
Mayers and I stand up, and begin the journey to the object. As we get closer, we both stop in amazement. "Houston, there is a problem. Over."
"Yes? Over."
"It seems like someone beat us here. It's a Soviet flag, over."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, over?"
"It's an old Soviet flag here. Over."
"Return to the ship, and we'll give more instructions soon. Out."
I look at Mayers, "Head back now, or explore around here a little bit."
"Let's explore a bit."
We walk around the flag looking for any other signs of their time here. Suddenly, my foot hits something and I fall over to the ground. After I regain my composure, I turn around to see what I tripped over.
"Uhh... Mayers, get over here."
In a few minutes, Mayers is at my side and we both stare down in amazement. The body of an old Soviet astronaut lies in front of us. I bend down and wipe the dust off of the glass cover, but then I recoil in horror.
"What the fuck is wrong with him!?"
Mayers bends down and examines him closer.
"Houston, come in now, over."
"What is the issue, Mayers? Over."
"We decided to explore the area a bit more. We found something else. Over."
"What is it, over."
"It's the body of one of the Soviet astronauts. Somethings terribly wrong with him. His eyes are black as the night, and it looks like all of his veins turned black as well. Over."
"Get out of there, guys. Now. Over."
"You don't have to tell us twice, out."
Mayers and I start heading back to the ship.
"Help..." we hear meekly.
We both stop dead in our tracks, and whirl around. "What the fuck?!"
The astronaut has sat up and is staring right at us. "Help..." he says again.
"How the fuck?" I say in shock, "It's time to leave." I turn around but I see Mayers hasn't yet. "Mayers! Let's move. This isn't right. He shouldn't be alive. He can't be."
Mayers turns to look at me and the first thing I notice is his eyes. They're black. I look over at the old Soviet astronaut and he is back on the ground, dead. Oh fuck no. I start to back up slowly.
"Mayers... what's wrong."
"Nothing, Murray. Why would you think something is wrong."
"Erm... your eyes aren't exactly.. normal."
Mayers starts walking a bit faster towards me. "Nothings wrong with my eyes. I see just fine."
I hightail it back to the ship, or I try to. Before I know it, Mayers has thrown me to the ground. "Where are you going, Murray."
"I need to get back to the ship. Inform Houston of what we've found."
"That's okay, I'll do it."
Suddenly, I see Mayers fist coming down at me, but I can't cover my mask before it hits it. The glass helmet shatters, and instantly I can't breath. "Mayers... why..." I choke out.
"Houston, we have a problem. We need an evac immediately. Murray's helmet has shattered. We're heading back to the ship. Over."
"Evac is on it's way. Out."
Mayers bends down to me, but I barely recognize it's him because everything is getting so dark. I see him grinning wide, and then barely hear "Thanks."
----------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to /u/The_White_Light for explaining they don't actually say "Over and Out," just "Out." | Colonel Anderson kneeled down in front of a broken pole and wiped away some orange dust off the ground, revealing a tattered piece of crimson cloth stuck under a rock. Dragging it out of its resting place, the Colonel tore it in half, showing the two men behind him a symbol of a gold hammer and sickle beneath a gold-bordered red star.
"It can't be..." said Lieutenant Colonel Haynes. "Colonel, that's a soviet flag. A union of communist nations that dissolved nearly two hundred years ago."
Colonel Anderson sighed and tried to stroke his gray beard, but remembered he was wearing a spacesuit. He then shook his head saying:
"I don't like this, Haynes. We're supposed to be the first humans here. What's a relic like this doing in Mars?"
"Aliens?" said Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery. "Did they get killed off by aliens?!?"
Haynes rolled his eyes and said:
"There's no such thing as aliens, you dunce. Well, at least not on Mars. They probably had an accident and couldn't return back home."
"Maybe they were unable to contact Earth" said Colonel Anderson. "These... 'soviets' assumed the mission was a failure and never reported on it out of shame, or something like that. Regardless, that distress beacon is still pinging. We need to find its source before we do anything else." He scoffed with a sly grin. "Maybe one of them is still alive."
-------------------------------------
The three astronauts hiked a tall mountain they encountered on their way to the beacon. Gusts of wind suddenly caressed the men, causing them to be buffeted by specks of red sand. Ignoring the harsh exterior conditions inside the comfort of his spacesuit, Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery said:
"So why are you so sure there aren't any aliens here?"
"Because of the rover Curiosity!" replied Haynes, through a bit of static interference in their radio. "About a hundred and fifty years ago it explored the martian surface and didn't find anything."
"A stoner's curiosity?" said Wilfery. "What's weed got to do with this? Did they really send an undergraduate student ahead of us?"
The gales rapidly increased in strength and ferocity the closer they got to the peak. Enveloping them in what seemed like crimson mist, the dust clouds got denser, to the point of almost being tangible, and obscured anything five meters ahead of them. Slamming his palm into his helmet, Haynes then said:
"Rover! R-O-V-E-R. It was a reconnaissance robot sent to study Mars' geology. It didn't find any life after decades of searching, so yeah, I'm pretty confident there aren't any aliens here!"
"Would you two just shut up and focus on the situation at hand?!?" shouted Colonel Anderson, barely visible in front of them. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm here! One wrong step and we break our necks on this mountain!"
Just as he finished speaking, Colonel Anderson grabbed a loose rock and fell backwards. He screamed for his life while airborne, his horror subsiding once his men caught him by the arm. Wilfery grinned and said:
"Teaching by example, I see! A testament to your great leadership skills, colonel!"
Colonel Anderson narrowed his eyes and grunted at Wilfery, looking downwards in shame once his subordinates weren't looking.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once they got to the peak, the sandstorm had already subsided, making the descent a lot easier than the climb. The distress signal was beeping stronger the more they walked through the empty plains, giving Wilfery an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marching behind the others didn't help his uneasiness. His back was exposed to whatever could be behind them and everything was too quiet, too still for his liking. The flat landscape they traversed looked more like a desert drenched in dried blood than an alien planet. Even the ground beneath his feet felt *wrong*. It was probably the difference in gravity to Earth's, but he still couldn't ignore the thought that everything reacted differently here.
Looking over his shoulder, Wilfery widened his eyes with fear. The soil turned pitch black and flowed in bumps towards them, rising and falling like streaks of ink in a hostile sea of red dust. Wilfery immediately ran to his companions screaming:
"The soil guys! The ground's out to get us!"
Haynes turned around with tense shoulders, but quickly relaxed his body. He then shook his head, sighed, and said:
"No it isn't. The ground isn't sentient Wilfery, it's just subterranean water rising from the ground."
"Subterranean water?"
"Yeah," replied Haynes. "they're called 'Recurring Slope Lineae'. It's summer here, and highly saline water tends to flow this way during this time of the year."
Colonel Anderson laughed loudly and walked up to the darkened sand. He then touched its damp texture and said:
"I can't believe you're a Lieutenant, Wilfery. Really? Wet sand? What's next? An abandoned soviet station filled with zombi-"
The sand sprung from the ground and pierced Anderson's suit through his arm. He quickly jumped away from it, but it was already too late. The dust flowed into his spacesuit, filling it up until inflating it slightly and freezing him there with its added weight. Anderson's ear piercing screams were then muffled by the sand, who choked the life out of him by forcing itself down his throat.
Wilfery and Haynes gaped in terror, seeing Anderson's eyes pop out and being followed by a viscous fluid that fell from his sockets like crude oil. They turned around, trying to run away, but their knees weakened and tripped them over. The sand inched its way to their helmets, twisting itself around their calves and anchoring them to the ground. Clawing at the floor with their hands, they dragged themselves away from the black tendrils for a few feet, before being forcefully drawn into the darkness again.
The two men then faced each other and nodded, silently resigning themselves to their end. Once the black sand reached their necks, it covered them like a blanket and stopped crushing them with its pressure. Footsteps suddenly crunched nearby, coming from Anderson's body who stood in front of them. In a coarse and headache inducing voice his body said:
"Get out of our planet, humans. It belongs to *us*!"
"W-we come in peace" said Wilfery. "Yes, its *your* planet. We have no intention from taking it from you."
"Really?!?" shouted the voice. "That's exactly what the others said, but once we tapped into their memories, we saw they had other plans instead." The limp body raised its arms. "Colonization! On *our* planet. They thought they claimed it by sticking a pole in the ground!"
"They didn't know you lived here!" said Haynes. "*We* didn't know you lived here! Please, surely seeing humans must've been surprising to you too!"
"Yes..." The voice trailed off, pausing for a few seconds. "We didn't know much of you lifeforms when they first came, so we possessed all of them, thinking you were a hive-mind like us. We knew more of you would come, so we used their trinkets to call you to our location. This time, we're leaving some of you alive to send a message. Never come back to Mars again. Stay off our planet and don't you *dare* claim it as yours."
----------------------------------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | 2016-08-16T08:15:09 | 2016-08-16T08:14:02 | 147 | 86 |
[WP] Superpowers stopped appearing in people, until there were no new superheroes/villains at all. Now it's the far-flung future, and only those rare few from "modern" times whose powers incidentally let them live hundreds of years still have superpowers. | No one knew who he was. No one knew where he lived, or his name. They were certain of one thing though. He must be one of the endowed; one of the greats from long ago. In a long dead, but not forgotten, world there lived beings with unique and astonishing abilities. People could fly, or turn invisible, or heal instantly. Some of the more dangerous individuals could read minds, or even control them. Even rarer were those who were known as dualytes. They boasted two powers in combination. These men and women were feared and prized above all else.
With time, the endowed became rarer and rarer. They stopped being born, and only the oldest ones were still around. Eventually, they were hunted for sport. Killing an endowed was seen as taking down the most dangerous game of them all. How this tradition began is unclear. Maybe normal people wanted equality. Maybe they decided to fight back. Maybe big brother played a hand in it. Maybe these individuals were too great of a threat to national and global security. They fell one by one. Strung up on trees, slumped in gas station bathrooms, and even offed in the middle of busy trains. Time ticked by, and suddenly, then there were none. They could never truly be killed though. While the most evasive slunk in the shadows, even more lived on in children’s stories and the fantasies of all. The endowed were the most important aspect to life that didn’t exist anymore. They were extinct.
With the endowed eradicated, life was surprisingly unchanged. Crime was steady as ever, and without a common enemy treaties dissolved, and the cycle of war and peace returned to its natural balance. Everything was back to normal, except one small detail. Overnight, a number had been carved into millions of nooks and crannies. Millions of buildings were defaced. Millions of business cards were neatly stacked. Millions of people came to know his message.
*When you need the answer call. You’ll know where to reach me.*
The message was like a pandemic. Wherever you looked, there it was. It was dangerous. The man behind it was dangerous. How could someone accomplish this overnight? Even with a coordinated group, this kind of coverage would take hundreds of thousands of men and women. There was only one possible explanation, the endowed.
People replied. All over the world. There were few at first, but as news of answers spread, more tried. They wrote their question underneath his graffiti, and he replied. From questions of crimes to abstract ideas, he was always right. There were some questions left unanswered though. Some were too broad; even for a god.
“What’s the meaning of life?”
“Who will I marry?”
“Should I ask out Sarah?”
“Is abortion right?”
“Is there a god?”
Some questions had no answers. Some questions shouldn’t be answered. Some had no right answer. He didn’t answer questions of morality, love, or philosophy, for they cannot be answered simply one way.
After some time of this, human advancement was increased at a rate that cannot be put to words. With the ability to ask an empirical question and get it answered, there were no more questions. Science peaked, and people began to move on to other fields. Philosophy had a resurgence and some theories emerged as to what sparked this revolution. Who could answer these questions, was it one person, or a group? Was it even a person? Was this divine intervention?
A couple leading theories emerged.
Some said one of the most powerful endowed was still alive. Some said this man was omniscient and could bend space. He could focus on a billion different ideas at once, and he was our savior. They worshiped this diety.
Others fell back onto the idea of self. They thought that life was somehow simulated by a powerful endowed or a god, and that somehow the gods of old or someone had decided to intervene and shake things up. This idea caused its followers to lose their grip on reality. Not a pretty sight.
The idea began to be tossed around that this was a conspiracy. That some government had invented an omniscient machine, or time travel, or some other reality breaking device, and that they were behind this. Weren't the endowed extinct after all? These folk became distrustful and bitter.
The reason I’m writing all this is because I know something the public doesn’t know. I’m not the government. I’m not a god. I don’t even have powers. I’m not the man behind these writings, but I know who is. Let me tell you how we met.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If this is well received I'll write part two, I just don't have time right now.
Edit: Thanks for all your responses. I'm kinda new to reddit, so I wasn't sure how to put the reply right below the original, but part two is in a reply to this original comment.
| I looked at the skies and couldn't see anything at all. There were no words for the horror that I felt. There was no sun, no wind, no clouds. Just, blackness...and then fire. My eyes burned. The people around me turned to bones, and ash, and then vanished altogether. Only I remained in the nothingness. Breathing, screaming, existing - and no one around to prove it to.
 
I've had that dream over and over for what feels like forever. To say that it's unsettling would be a lie. It's downright terrifying, and I've tried everything to stop it but every night it's the same thing, and every morning I wake up to the same fresh hell. There used to be more like us. In fact, almost everyone used to be like us. Some could fly, some had super strength, or super speed, could read minds or lift objects on sheer will alone - but then they all disappeared. One day the world just woke up and they were all...gone. Not dead, just gone. There were newscasts about it. Only the 'weak ones' and a few super-powered individuals were left. There were investigations, and theories started popping up out of nowhere. Maybe there was a mass alien abduction, or some sort of rip in between dimensions, or something - but nothing was ever confirmed. The governments of the world decided to take all of the 'unique ones' as they called us, and put us somewhere special for our own protection. Every day new 'uniques' were being born, but not quite as many. The numbers dropped dramatically. In the first three years after the disappearance, only 5,000 were born. The next three only yielded about 230. Then the next three years only gave us 24, and since then there's been nothing. No more 'unique' individuals.
 
Most of us were mortal. Over the years we've died off one by one. Old age, sickness, injuries from training that wouldn't have killed us 300 years before...I have to assume that is how normal people feel, but I honestly don't know. I've been locked underground, in this facility, for the past 1000 years. The people who I see every day are the same Doctors, nurses and military personnel I've seen their entire careers and now...I don't know. I don't even know if there is a world left out there. See, I'm not the only one having this dream. Everyone here is having it. Granted, there are only about 12 of us left, but we're *all* having the exact same dream every night, with some variations.
 
See, Walter (a.k.a. The Burning Man, as he can start fires out of nothing) keeps swearing that in his dream he can hear somebody else screaming. It starts as soon as the fire does, and plays like a soundtrack over the entire scene, only stopping when he wakes up. Some nights the guards have had to wake him because he sets his own bed on fire or the walls start smoking. Lawan, she keeps blacking her room out. She shatters the lights and then shape shifts into this horrible things - and when we ask her what she sees in the dream she just...says she doesn't want to talk about it. I'm starting to think something horrible is going on here. We've been having this dream for the past several months and nothing has changed except how we're treated. There have been more guards in the facility lately. I keep asking the doctors why we need guards if they're supposed to be helping us, but they swear it's just in case of an 'emergency' and it's nothing I should worry about. I want to believe them. Especially Dr. Micah.
 
She's nice to me. She's the first nice doc I've met here in a long time and she seems to really get along with all of her patients. I mean she should, right? It's her job. She always tells me if I have questions about the facility, and about why we're still here to talk to the General. Sometimes I tell her this place feels like a prison. Sometimes she says she understands.
 
General Baker says that we're being kept here for a reason. He says that it's very important we stay in top shape and that no matter what happens I should trust them.
 
Yesterday there was an earthquake though. That's not terribly unusual. We've had earthquakes before. But Allison says that she felt the shock waves coming from above ground, not below. Walter and I were talking over dinner. We kept really quiet. He said he overheard some of the guards talking about things going on upstairs (that's what they call life on the surface). He said that they said something about 'visitors' and 'big fights'. He thinks there is a war going on. Something that nobody has told us about before. There was another 'earthquake' this morning, but it wasn't quite as bad. You wouldn't know about it unless you felt it (Allison did, and she told the rest of us via notes under our doors). I'm starting to think Walter might be right. Maybe there is a war going on. But then why aren't they letting us help? Walter can start fires. Lawan is a shape shifter. Allison can bend earth, I can control plants and there are 8 more of us more than willing to help. If they don't plan on using us for this...what are they keeping us here for? What the hell is going on? I don't know if I want to find out....
 
*Lydia Winslow -
April 12, 3017*
| 2016-09-13T14:54:29 | 2016-09-13T14:47:48 | 121 | 14 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events. | "Son of a-!"
The glass slid off of the counter and shattered on the floor, shards scattering everywhere. He just looked at them for a moment, disdainfully. With a sigh, he began scanning the kitchen for the broom and dustpan.
"Honey, it's ok, I've got it"
It was Jennifer, with a hand gently rested on his shoulder and look of comfort (and maybe a little pity) on her face.
"Just my luck", Robert said with an exasperated huff.
"I know, dear" Jennifer said, grabbing the broom. She handed him a can of soda and lightly scooted him out of the kitchen. He headed into the living room to continue watching the game, but paused in the hall. Their wedding pictures were there, displayed in a fancy manner that Jen had picked. He remembered hanging them with her. One of those had fallen to the floor and shattered too, and a familiar wave of hopelessness washed over him. He turned and looked into the kitchen where she was sweeping, a faint smile on her face, humming a tune. She was always so happy.
"Jen?"
"Yes, my love?" She said, looking up at him.
"Tell me again."
She didn't have to ask what he meant. There had been more than a few times during the three years of their marriage that he'd asked this. She smiled and rested her weight on the broom.
"Of course, darling. When you were born, you used all your luck. The doctors didn't think you would make it, but you spent it all, just to stick around. I grew up not using any of mine, my parents never allowed it. So after I moved out, I said I would use all of my luck finding my perfect partner. But I didn't have to. I knew the day you spilled that coffee on me that your were the man I'd marry."
She crossed to him, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. He simply smiled. The story always made him feel better.
"Now go watch the game. Your team is losing, honey"
"Just my luck" | Brian looked from his bench at the four kids playing on a swingset at the neighborhood park. He considered himself a wise man, almost the age of fourteen. With him he carried his bag of luck, secured tightly on a chain connected to his jean pocket. His parents told him not to use it all at once and to wait until he was out of college. He tried to obey, but he was always using some here and there. Most recently came the game winning shot in a game of basketball against Tony Prescott. Tony was already in high school and a star of the junior varsity basketball team and Brian would do whatever it took to beat him. He could still remember the cheers of his teammates as the shot glided through the basket. He checked his bag of luck a few hours after, and noticed that he had swiftly lost most of it with a lifetime to go. He was beginning to panic. He imagined himself in an office job with all the other men and women who had run out of luck, boxed up in a small little square with nothing but a boring future to call their own, which is what happened to almost everyone who used up their luck too soon. He imagined Tony Prescott in the corner office laughing away as he worked away under him, Tony's bag still chalk full of luck.
Brian looked at the children's waists, their bags still full to the brim with luck. He called over to one of the children with a smile on his face. He spoke to the child with a smile on his lips and thirst in his eyes. "Kid, you have so much luck. Doesn't it weigh you down? Make you feel overwhelmed?" The young toddler looked at Brian and clutched his bag protectively and responded in high tiny voice. "It isn't too bad I think."
Brian continued, ignoring the child's response. "I have something I can trade you for it. Something people with luck only dream of. I can give you happiness, the rarest and purest of all the lucks. It will make you special." Brian pulled out a necklace made of soda can pull tabs. "if you wear this you will always have all the luck in the world, and your parents will be so excited at all the luck you gained."
The child made a grab for the necklace, but Brian pulled away with a grin on his face. "This one is mine and is very special to me. Don't you know how rare it is? I can't just give it away for free. Not even a whole bag of luck is worth a necklace of happiness." Brian paused for a moment before lowering his voice. "I would need at least four."
And so the child turned and ran back to his friends and they returned with faces bright with excitement at the thought of attaining happiness. Brian took their luck and placed it on his chain. He gently procured the necklace from his pocket once more and handed it to the children. He looked at the children again and said with a smile, "be careful with this. Happiness only works if it is used wisely." | 2016-10-19T11:12:35 | 2016-10-19T10:42:20 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events. | "Happy Birthday" the room full of faces cheered as a small flame was lit over a large wax 4 and 2.
Jonathan had lived this far without using any luck. Just a lifetime of hard work, pulled bootstraps, and an endless stream of disappointment. But he was saving it, saving it for something big. Or at least that's what he reminded himself every year as he blew out the candles.
But then, as he knelt down toward the little flames with lips puckered and breath held he saw her. She was standing next to Tom, that guy from work he always overheard on the otherside of the cubicle wall. *That* was his sister? Time slowed as he started to blow out the candles. He could get lucky tonight. He could get really lucky.
But he remembered what he was saving it for. Just like all those Max Health powerups and super grenade energy missiles and extra poison resistance items in all those video games - *he had to save it*. What if something even better came along later? What if he NEEDED this luck to survive? Besides, he had girls before, and he could win her affection without any help. So Jonathan blew out the candles to the claps and cheers from the crowd.
He felt sick. Did he hold he breath too long? Just a little lightheaded. He tried not to think about it, and perhaps it was just the elation and adrenaline as he walked toward the girl.
"Hey. You're Tom's sister, right?"
"Yeah. Happy Birthday."
They talked for what seemed like hours. The crowd thinned as time went on. A few people passed out on the couch. But they still talked, laughed, and flirted with increasing intensity. Who needs luck, he thought, as he asked her upstairs. He was tired from the day, but fuck it if he was going to sleep now. He forced himself up the stairs with her gentle hand in his. His pants tightened. Her smile turned to a smirk, and he kissed her. He laid her down onto the bed, where they both died of monoxide poisoning, as had the rest of the party. | Brian looked from his bench at the four kids playing on a swingset at the neighborhood park. He considered himself a wise man, almost the age of fourteen. With him he carried his bag of luck, secured tightly on a chain connected to his jean pocket. His parents told him not to use it all at once and to wait until he was out of college. He tried to obey, but he was always using some here and there. Most recently came the game winning shot in a game of basketball against Tony Prescott. Tony was already in high school and a star of the junior varsity basketball team and Brian would do whatever it took to beat him. He could still remember the cheers of his teammates as the shot glided through the basket. He checked his bag of luck a few hours after, and noticed that he had swiftly lost most of it with a lifetime to go. He was beginning to panic. He imagined himself in an office job with all the other men and women who had run out of luck, boxed up in a small little square with nothing but a boring future to call their own, which is what happened to almost everyone who used up their luck too soon. He imagined Tony Prescott in the corner office laughing away as he worked away under him, Tony's bag still chalk full of luck.
Brian looked at the children's waists, their bags still full to the brim with luck. He called over to one of the children with a smile on his face. He spoke to the child with a smile on his lips and thirst in his eyes. "Kid, you have so much luck. Doesn't it weigh you down? Make you feel overwhelmed?" The young toddler looked at Brian and clutched his bag protectively and responded in high tiny voice. "It isn't too bad I think."
Brian continued, ignoring the child's response. "I have something I can trade you for it. Something people with luck only dream of. I can give you happiness, the rarest and purest of all the lucks. It will make you special." Brian pulled out a necklace made of soda can pull tabs. "if you wear this you will always have all the luck in the world, and your parents will be so excited at all the luck you gained."
The child made a grab for the necklace, but Brian pulled away with a grin on his face. "This one is mine and is very special to me. Don't you know how rare it is? I can't just give it away for free. Not even a whole bag of luck is worth a necklace of happiness." Brian paused for a moment before lowering his voice. "I would need at least four."
And so the child turned and ran back to his friends and they returned with faces bright with excitement at the thought of attaining happiness. Brian took their luck and placed it on his chain. He gently procured the necklace from his pocket once more and handed it to the children. He looked at the children again and said with a smile, "be careful with this. Happiness only works if it is used wisely." | 2016-10-19T13:16:31 | 2016-10-19T10:42:20 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | "What the hell?" The old man, who said his name was Myrddin Emrys, was nearly impossible to understand. He was speaking English, some of which I recognized from my university reading of Chaucer, but it wasn't the words but what he said I didn't get.
I held up my hand to shut him up for a second while I tried to wrap my head around what he was saying. "So this box, yes, BOX," as if speaking loudly would make him understand me better. Idiot. "Will let me oferferian? What the hell is oferferian?"
He mimed a movement, then with a frown, walked over to a bucket, picked it up up and carried it to me. Dropping it, he pointed. "Oferferia," he said.
"Move? I can move stuff with the box?" I asked
"Moovee?" the old man considered my word. "Ah, ábire. Yea, moovee!"
"Not moovee, you moron. Move. Okay, I can move stuff with this box. Once a day." We had already established that in seven days the castle Camelot will be attacked. Myrddin, who I suspected was the Merlin of legend, had brought me here by some unknown means (maybe the box?) because he believed that I was Camelot's only hope to prevent the destruction of the castle and death of Arthur, wielder of Caliburn. I thought the sword's name was Excaliber, but Myrddin was quite clear it was not.
I thought carefully. One object. Size wasn't relevant. One per day. I looked at Myrddin and slowly smiled. "I can do that," I said.
_____________________________________________________________
The army that had arrived and arranged itself for attack outside the castle was clearly superior to the force Arthur had to defend Camelot. I had realized in the previous seven days that in spite of the romance and legends around him, Arthur was a minor king and he, and his knights, had pissed off a lot of powerful people. Were it not for Myrddin's guidance, he would have been dead long before now.
It turned out that the stories were right about Arthur's love life but wrong about the rest. Guinevere was the woman he loved but she was (had been?) a queen who was newly married to another king, name of Mordred. Yes, THAT Mordred. Her father, some guy named Leo-something or other, had married her off in a political alliance. Arthur was at the wedding, got smitten and she with him, so they ran off together. A real Helen of Troy story. Myrddin was initially pissed but then desperate as the armies of Mordred and those of her father Leo had joined forces to teach this little pissant king a serious lesson.
Well, I had a week. That was plenty of time. A knight had ridden up and offered Arthur a chance to save his people by surrendering to the "dómfæstnes". Myrddin had to explain to me that mean something like righteous justice. Of course, Arthur declined and so battle was to be joined.
Day one I had brought over the first object and spent the entire week training training a small group of knights how to use it. Do you know how nearly impossible it is to train medieval knight to aim and shoot a 50 calibre machine gun? The first time it fired and tore up a target, they ran screaming away.
I only brought three, and as they came with some rounds, there was about enough to kill twice the number of those aligned against us. I used my transport box to add ammo on day four and five, teaching those who had proven capable how to change the ammo belt.
Day six, the last day before the siege, I brought over the pièce de résistance. It would have been perfect to find someone who could drive the thing, but it was enough that my military background allowed me to aim and fire the beast. I had spent all day training one of the most flexible and capable of the knights on his role, to load. When we test fired he all but fainted but he was pretty sturdy stuff.
I sat, camouflaged, covered in branches and wood so the enemy would now know we were here. Once the fighting began it would make no difference, as no weapon they had could even touch us. I could see them preparing to attack and looked at my fellow passenger. "Ready for this, Gal?" I asked. He didn't understand my words, but he knew that tone and grinned at me.
They were preparing to attack, so I started up the engine then, leaving the brake on, crawled into the gunner's seat. The first round of HE was already loaded, so all I had to do was decide where to put it. I decided that where the two kings were sitting on horseback, safely behind their knights, yeoman and peasant fodder, was perfect.
"Okay, bitches, let's see how you fare against an M1 Abrams!" I shouted gleefully as the first round rocked the tank back on its treads.
| I had no idea what the enemy would bring on the seventh day. So I went for firepower. M1A2 Abrams US Tanks, five of them. Fully armed, fully fuelled. The perfect mix of protection, mobility, and firepower. The first day I got a book on how to operate them, a classified document from the Pentagon, but Merlin’s box brought it up just like the tanks themselves. The seventh day I got a massive fuel truck to refuel them. We’d been using them a fair bit in training and most were empty. The M1A2 was a massive fuel guzzler. But I suspected the battle would be won or lost in the first hour.
The enemy opened up with a mortar, ripping open the curtain wall of Camelot in seconds. Our tanks were already in the field though, and hunted quickly for the mortar team, racing through the fields at 60km/h tearing through hedgerows and ripping up crops without care. The mortar team were protected by a cavalry screen which bolted as soon as they spotted Lancelot’s Abrams bearing down on them. His squire opened up with the .50 cal and several of the horses and their riders exploded into a mist of red. Lancelot whooped over the Abrams’ radio and we all felt the elation of first blood.
Arthur was quiet. He mistrusted this future technology, despite realising its need. He watched the screen in silence. He still wore his sword, belted at his hip. It was cumbersome and annoying in the close quarters of the Abrams. But he had insisted on bringing it.
The mortar team itself was spotted by Lancelot’s squire. He yelled out over the radio “Foresooth sire, the villeins are abroad”. Or somesuch bullshit. I could barely understand them as they spoke some ancient version of English. I could understand perhaps one word in three, and that was often pronounced weirdly. After seven days I was starting to figure them out a bit. But I still needed Merlin to translate. He could speak a ridiculous number of languages, most of which either no longer existed or wouldn’t exist for several centuries.
The mortar team were peasants, not a knight among them. They disappeared in a burst of blood, guts, and dirt as Lancelot’s squire opened up with his .50 cal again. The mortar had loosed off about six rounds in the time it had taken to hunt them down, and Camelot looked the worse for wear. Its outer wall was breached by large gaps of shattered rubble in several places on the north and the eastern side. I directed Bors to ride his Abrams up to the east wall, and Gawain to the north.
It was only after they’d arrived that the second mortar team opened fire. The mortars struck Bors’ tank with a crack that made Arthur curse and rip his headset off. He replaced it quickly and yelled into it. Bors replied. He was okay, but terrified. I told him to move away, the mortar had a lock on him and he was a sitting duck. It dropped two more rounds right on his head before he managed to get over his terror and get the tank rolling. The next few rounds landed around him, they were struggling to target. They must have brought up some kind of targeting system on one of their seven days, and it was worrying how easily they were landing rounds on or next to Bors. Lancelot was moving fast though, he’d spotted where the mortars were coming from, just over a hill, and was racing around to get there. I yelled at him to wait for Galahad, who was approaching from the other direction. I didn’t know why but I wasn’t comfortable here. It seemed too easy.
We heard the explosion from three kilometres away. We popped the hatch and stared up as the sky burned, the huge fireball still rising. Arthur looked at me. I was speechless. We yelled into the radio, but there was no response from Lancelot. Galahad came on. He’d reached the site. The mortar team was scattered and had disappeared into the forest, leaving their equipment behind. Lancelot’s tank was a blazing wreck at the bottom of a crater the size of Camelot itself. It was burning so fiercely he couldn’t even get close to check on him. It was at that point that I started to think I was in trouble.
Their cavalry attacked then, racing in from the eastern stretches of the forest, where they’d mobilised out of sight of Bors. Bors was a mile away, and still running hard to get away from the mortars that had terrified him with their devastating precision. No one had a line of sight on the cavalry as they charged across the open ground except us, from our position atop the south hill. Arthur lined up our main gun, the 120mm cannon. It was then that the third mortar team opened up on us. We ducked, flinching as the tank rocked. Arthur tried to get us moving but I yelled at him to hold fast. I was gambling that the mortar couldn’t bust through our armour. Or at least not quickly. We lined up our sights and fired. The cavalry force erupted as the cannon hit them. Perhaps two survived. It was hard to see through the dust. They retreated though, utterly broken. Arthur then got the tank moving. He yelled to Galahad over the radio, asking him to hunt down the mortar team that was now opening up on us. Galahad was hesitant though. He agreed, after Arthur reminded him of his duty. But I knew he’d be moving more cautiously now.
Three mortars, a precision targeting system, an explosive charge, that was five days. What else had they brought up on the other two? An instruction manual? More ammunition? Something else they were saving to surprise us again?
I realised they were testing our defences, seeing what we had. They’d sacrificed a team of peasants and a mortar to test our strike capabilities. And then when they saw what our response would be they set a trap and did it again. I’d based our defence on one type of weapon, they’d spread their choices, planning to adapt to the circumstances. Smart, I was worried. What else did they have up their sleeve. | 2016-11-28T03:38:57 | 2016-11-28T03:18:42 | 241 | 25 |
[WP] You're immortal, but the procedure that made you so also created an evil doppelgänger. After centuries of conflict, using any means necessary to subvert each other's plans, neither of you are sure which one of you is the evil one, or if either of you were ever supposed to be evil at all. | The sounds of blades clashing filled the small metallic room. Against the cold steel of the walls, two shadows danced in the light of weaponry. The darkness that filled the room ebbed and flowed as their blades crashed together, revealing a giant machine hooked up to multiple rusted wires. Connected to the machine was a table, to which many smaller wires had run. Up to the head of the table, buried in the in the skull of a man long dead. The larger wires ran to two rusted and dusty pods. The doors of these pods were left wide open, its contents emptied what must have been an eternity ago.
Eventually the combat would recede, and the two figures would stare at each other, their blue eyes and the red blades of their weapons the only things piercing the darkness. They stood for moments, and for ages. They stood, staring in to familiar eyes.
In his hand he held the key to humanity's future. The the program he had developed to change everything. All he needed was to access a super computer capable of handling the vast information, and be able to utilize the program's potential. He would take it upon himself to change humanity forever, to allow his fellow man to ascend beyond the flesh and take flight in to a future free of fear. He would give them the gift he had been given so long ago... A life without death. All he had to do was give them a mother, in whose womb of knowledge they may be reborn. He held that mother in his hand. All he had to do was awaken her. To do that, he had to get past the skeletal wraith that stood before him.
A person that thinks to change the world with the push of a button. One man, that believes he alone can decide the fate of the human race... The wraith could not believe his arrogance. He could not believe that one man would sever the bond between man and mortal while accepting the consequences. The wraith lowered his weapon and stood upright. His opponent did the same. The wraith took two steps forward in to combat range, and one more to bring himself close to his opponent. In those eyes he searched. He searched for anything that might have been left of himself, for anything that he was so long ago. He was suddenly aware of the gears and wires behind his own eyes, buzzing and whirring as his eyes looked over what he might have been. He was suddenly overcome with emotion, and had he any tears he would let one fall. He stepped back. His weapon raised in his skeletal hands, and his glowing blue eyes stared at the man before him.
The dance began once more. | Arnold sat still. He was quite alone. His eyes had grown tired from staring at the tablet. How many days had it been since he last visited the world above? He checked the calendar above the bar. It was a tattered parchment calendar hung with a nail. These pieces of a world long-lost are what he liked best; like the calendar and the gas lantern below it. Twelve days it had been. And that trip up the elevator had just been for maintenance. He had grown weary of the people up there - his people. After three long years, he understood the truth - but he didn't understand it completely. He was a pioneer and there was no map to tell him where to go next - just endless lines of code.
He rubbed his eyes. He himself no longer understood most of it. That was by design. But he was finally beginning to realize the promise of his work. Countless years - a lifetime - he had spent with one singular purpose, as yet unrealized. And near the end of his natural life there was no time to try again.
He stood up from his chair. There was no one but himself to consult. He had spent the last twenty years doing just that. When he began work at the Syndicate, he was unteachable. By the time he left, he was alone, unreachable. He barely spoke to anyone except the voices in his own head. They even had names. They were his names. They were him and they brought him comfort. He ventured off the day before Dr. Rissen arrived at the Syndicate to conduct his Parameter testing. He knew the results would be deemed “incompatible”. The fact that they ordered Parameter testing was enough for him to realize he had to leave.
He took three steps to the large glass window. The room on the other side of that window had slowly filled. What was once a yawning expanse of concrete and flickering light was now peopled with two decades of work. True, it was work that went on almost entirely without his input, but his work all the same.
He looked back at the calendar. Yes. He had spent 12 days consulting himself. The doctor solved a problem. The daughter explained it might hurt. The doctor asked why. She told him. Back and forth they shared their vision of what it means to be alive. So, Arnold saw the this truth. The truth of his own nature and his own creation. But he also realized a darker truth. He no longer belonged to the outside world.
He reached for the tablet. It never worked to use his voice as their conscience. Perhaps because his voice was unclear. Like a whisper heard a century later from a dusty grave. He had to fill their stupid little heads with something more. He had to get out of his own stupid little head before it was too late. So he did it.
Arnold reached out a papery finger and touched the screen. Loading. The only thing left to do was take the elevator to the surface and shoot himself in the head. Then he could live forever as him and her. He still didn’t know - who was the hero and who was the villain? Either way, it was him.
| 2016-11-29T08:07:12 | 2016-11-29T07:43:32 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] Your SO is immortal and you reincarnate with memories intact. However, you have never told this to your SO. They finally catch on. | "More bread-sticks folks?"
"No, I'm stuffed, thanks."
"I couldn't possibly."
"Okay I'll grab your bill."
She looked back to me. I melted at her smile. It had been too long. God, I was having sex fantasies about her since I was two.
"That Tortellini was the bomb," I said, despite wanting to instead profess my unending, undying, unyielding- you know, I really love her. "It's been a *while* since I've been to an Olive Garden."
"You know, this place used to be a granite obelisk dedicated to the gods."
I chuckled.
"I'm serious," she said. I knew she was, but how much would I be giving away if I let her know? Man, she has still got it. Honestly, she would put any other thousand-plus-year-old to shame. Scratch that. Any thirty-five-plus-year old. I'm stopping it there, any more is pretty generous. She's gorgeous and all but hey I like her personality too. Also, I'm still saying she beats out Jennifer Aniston. *Jennifer Aniston.* Come on.
"I was under the impression that every Olive Garden used to be a literal garden of olives and then it just kind of, evolved into a restaurant."
"So I'm having a good time, are you having a good time?"
"Oh so just blow that off huh? If you don't like my jokes you have to let me know. Otherwise they'll never get better."
"The idea was more that they'd stop," she rebutted with a sly smile.
"Oh screw you, you, pedant."
"Miscreant."
"Jerk-face."
"Ninny."
"Fustylug." I immediately withdrew. Shoot.
"Fustylug. That's interesting. That was a very popular insult back in the... *1440's*."
"Was it now?"
"Were you alive during the 1440's?"
"I always mix these up - are we talking big hair and lava lamps? Does that paint the picture?"
"We never met before you asked me out?"
"Mmm, ahh, well, hmm... technically."
She just stared, curiously, reproachfully- damn she looked fine.
"How can you turn down a second date now?" | I was 7, and I had developed a crush on my kindergarten teacher, Miss Minnie Tucker. She was 30 at the time, but the stigma of the age gap hadn't been nurtured into me yet and I had already begun fantasizing about her daily. I was soft in a romantic way, but got by with my charm.
She started occurring in my dreams that same year, first appearing in the peripheries of my dream eyes and quickly disappearing. Later, she would take on main roles, but randomly assigned ones it seemed. She would be a scientist, or a police officer, once she was even homeless. I was 11 when I began recalling things she would do or say in my dreams.
I dreamed once she was folding my laundry, on my parents' bed. Except it wasn't their bed, and the room was completely different. My 11 year old brain assumed the minor details. Miss Tucker was folding what I thought were my clothes when she stopped and began sobbing into a large shirt.
A soft, grown voice filled the room, "Honey, I'm dying. Yes. But you have to know by now, I'm already walking around somewhere out there. And I'm going to find you. I always do. I probably already have..." The voice pined to sound comforting, but came off weak, raspy.
She cried louder, almost in spite and rose up, yelling. My dream self couldn't hear the words, but felt all the empathy that comes with knowing she was right. My dream eyes shut and opened again to an entirely different setting. White walls and bright lamps lit up and cast shadows on screens and machines around my kindergarten teacher. She even had on a dress she wore all the time at school.
It was June when the memory of that one came to me in the middle of class. I thought it was weird that I still thought of her that way, manufacturing a life together in my head. Miss Tucker still taught in Room 402 with the kindergarten class. She was still kind and had a youthful charm about her, and treated me as well as she did all her students. I left for middle school, never telling her about these dreams or admitting anything about my odd undying crush.
I overheard some parents talking about her once during dismissal. It sounded like seedy gossip, the way they commented on the situation, especially the groom. She was having a wedding, Miss Tucker was marrying a man who was dying of something I didn't fully hear. Why would she do that? The parents talking had their ideas, and one of them called her a Goal Digger.
Sure enough, her wedding was the same day as my class's farewell ceremony that July. I haven't seen or heard of her since elementary school, but the dreams never stopped. Of course she never aged in my dreams, and to this day looks in dreams the same as in my kindergarten yearbook.
Somewhere deep down there's an urge to like her memory, and I still compare girls to her subconsciously. In fact, I wouldn't be entirely against running into Miss Tucker sometime. | 2017-02-20T22:55:03 | 2017-02-20T22:44:11 | 77 | 12 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you." | Back then, I knew what vast wealth could buy. I knew it could buy isolated mansions with their own picturesque vistas, self-sustaining yachts to see each of the glistening oceans and their pocketed paradise islands, and every known luxury that era of mankind had to offer. Of course, as with all things, that wasn't enough for me. Wealth couldn't give me everything. As it was then, it couldn't save me from the follies of my race. My wealth couldn't buy me time. It couldn't buy me immortality.
But it could buy me an education, means to enhance my own intelligence. Once I had those things, I managed to build myself a lab and I prised myself from the rest of the world searching for the key to immortality. Nearly twenty-three years had passed, and my hair had begun to grey and my bones ached at the end of a long day in the lab. But I persisted, and though my wealth had nearly irreversibly diminished, I found the grand panacea. Turns out an army of small robots and some careful, robust programming gave me what I wanted.
After the injection, the ache began to leave my bones, and I knew it was working. I raced to the large mirror at the back of the lab washroom in time to witness the last of my transformation. Wrinkles absorbed back into my skin, disappearing, the hairs on my head softened, and as their color became more vibrant, so did the lively hue in my eyes return. Barely enough time to marvel in my hour of triumph, a voice sounded behind me, such that I yelped in a squeal with a voice that had also returned to its youthful tenor.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you," the voice said. I was bewildered, as there was no one behind me in the mirror, and nor was there anyone to my left or right. "Ahem. Behind you."
Turning around, there was the source of the disembodied voice, embodied. Clothed in a long, tattered black robe, it was sheathed in shadow and its face was further enveloped underneath a deep hood.
Handing me a business card he said, "I can see that you were not expecting me." As I took the business card from a skeletal hand, it returned to gesture in a way that suggested it was scratching its chin. "I have to say, that is a first. Anyway, no time to dally -- two customers a second and all that."
"W-wait! You said there have been more?"
"Of course! You think you're the first to seek immortality and find it?" Death scoffed, "Happens every couple of centuries or so, though usually through less... scientific means, heh. Never understood the stuff myself." I was floored. My whole life had been devoted to science, and there before me was essentially a god from legend. Something make-believe, something from myth. But to my core I was a scientist, and with the truth beset in front of me, I accepted it. Gods and magic were real, and they were unfamiliar with science. I took a risk.
Putting the card in my pocket, I said to Death, "Well if you'd like I can show you some of what I've been working on. I'm sure a few dying people could wait -- besides, two a second is only a statistical average anyway," I flashed him my best smile, which was pretty good now that my youth had returned, "Why not make it up later? It's the least I can do to show you whats in store for the future."
As there was no face to remark upon, all I can say is that Death simply stared at me for what felt like an eternity. "Ah, what the hell. My colleagues treat with mortals occasionally, why shouldn't I have some fun with the living once in a while?"
"Excellent choice! Come, follow me. There's a technology I happened across during my search that could allow for teleportation -- something the gods are familiar with, I'd imagine." Death followed behind me, looking as a cloud of ink through water.
As he followed me, I walked over a square aluminum platform that was trailed by wires on all sides. Putting my hand inside one of the pockets of my lab coat, I gripped a remote switch that controlled all the equipment inside the lab. When Death's form passed into the threshold of the platform, I pressed the button and turned around facing Death.
Looking to either side, Death tilted its hood to one side, "Why did you stop? Is this the device?"
"Actually, the device is right over there," I pointed to a table covered with an assortment of devices on the other side of the room. "Please, help yourself, while I prepare the demonstration." My heart was pounding, but I kept my face neutral as I faced Death. Its form quivered, and the shadow around Death froze in motion.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL" The voice no longer came from the hood, but from all around me. Its sound vibrated the air, and the ground beneath me shook as it spoke. "YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE FORCES FOR WHICH YOU MEDDLE"
"Actually, that's exactly why I've imprisoned you. I never believed in gods before today, and I intend to find out what I can fr--"
"YOU FOOL. RELEASE ME BEFO--," before he could finish, the black cloud erupted, its force shattering my body against the wall behind me. That was the last I remember of the hour I killed Death.
It has been almost one hundred years, and still I've yet to restore the world to its natural order. Ghouls roam the earth now. Though people are unable to die, all of the roads to death remain paved and open. Gods openly roam the Earth, searching for the one that destroyed death, some seeking vengeance against me even as I try to bring Death back to life, others reveling in the chaos sewn by my mistake. My name is Elliot, and I am this worlds last hope of destroying immortality. | I turned the business card over and over, from one hand to the other. It was white, almost glowing, with a heft that seemed uncharacteristic for an item of such thinness. It weighed heavy against my fingers like a sheet of metal, but its width seemed no bigger than a line on paper.
Mysterious, I thought, but no more mysterious than the stranger who handed it to me and promptly disappeared into the crowd. He was sharply dressed and soft-spoken, and stood quite tall with good posture; he carried no briefcase or bag.
He attempted to make small talk as we waited for the incoming train, and it was obvious that he was a foreigner—he spoke with a carefulness and exactness that the people of this city lack. He first commented on the delayed schedule, and asked where I was heading. He was interested in the usual: What did I do for a living? Do I enjoy it? Is the train usually this late? There's a lot of people, a good number may have to take the next one.
He then complimented my coat. He paused after I thanked him, and held out his hand as the train pulled in. I offered my own in turn, expecting a friendly farewell handshake, but instead felt something flat and stone-cold pressed into my palm.
"When living forever exhausts you, call the number on this card. I'd like to offer you a job."
In the moment I looked down at the item in my hand, the train doors opened and I was ushered into the nearest car by the crowd before I could say another word. Once I positioned myself near a window, I inspected what he'd given me—a white card made of material I'd never seen before. I looked up to see him watching me from the station doors with faint amusement.
The card had no number. The surface was smooth, with no embossing or printed ink or anything that hinted at what it was meant to represent.
---
It seemed to get heavier and heavier as the week progressed. I kept it in the pocket of my slacks at first, but later had to move it to my work desk drawer when it became clear my belt wasn't enough to keep my pants from slipping down.
The change occurred in intervals, and began when I was called into my supervisor's office to discuss my consistent tardiness and worrisome performance. I knew I looked bored, almost indifferent to my impending fate at the company. *This place is simply a placeholder for me*, I thought, *So why bother?* The card doubled in weight when I left his office.
It increased again as I stood listlessly at the copy machine every morning, staring blankly at the stack of paper accumulating on the tray. And yet again, at the coffee machine, as I watered down my espresso with disappointingly lukewarm water. While eating my lunch at my desk one afternoon, I stopped mid-bite to move the card—if you could even call it that anymore—onto the tabletop itself, as the drawer began to curve under the weight.
It didn't seem to matter that I kept the card at work; it developed overnight steadily, like mold after a heavy rain. After my usual shift, I'd trudge back to the train station to endure an hour-long commute, and fix myself a quick supper before falling into a shallow and unsatisfactory sleep; upon waking, I'd splash my face with cold water and slip into work attire before I headed out to the office. This cycle continued every twenty-four hours, just as it had when I'd first gotten this job and moved out to the city alone two years ago.
I never did see that stranger again, but I couldn't bring myself to toss the card in the trash bin. While my co-workers adorned their workspaces with photographs and miniature potted plants, I kept the card by my computer, becoming so used to the sight of it that I no longer marveled or felt alarmed at its growing heaviness.
---
A month later, I was fired.
After hearing what was an apologetic (yet reasonable) explanation from my supervisor, I walked back to my cubicle and solemnly gathered what little belongings I had. I reached for the stranger's business card on the corner of my desk and was surprised to feel a newly raised pattern on its surface, although it was too ambiguous to make out any recognizable characters. I placed it carefully in the cardboard box lest it crush my other items, and headed down to turn in my employee credentials and make my way back to the station that I'd exited less than an hour before.
The next train was not slated to arrive until 12:30 pm, and it was only 10:20. I set my box on the platform bench and sat beside it, ignoring the lack of shade and uncomfortable angle of sunlight. Pricked by the rays, my eyes naturally followed the lines of the tracks below.
I contemplated my next course of action. Being frugal by nature, I had enough money in my savings to last me for another two months, maybe three if I really stretched it. I'd originally planned to renew my lease on my current flat, but that seemed frivolous and pointless now. Among other things—most things.
The desire to leave everything behind fluttered inside my chest, but more concrete worries of a new job search and a necessary budget stamped it out quickly. It returned with full force moments later, only to be shut down again by the same arguments, over and over. After an intense bout of internal struggle that seemed to last for a good portion of the hour, I was thoroughly exhausted and frustrated. I wasn't going anywhere until I had a job.
At that thought, I remembered the stranger’s words, and poked around my box for the business card. *Might as well give it one last shot*, I mused. *Otherwise, off to the waste basket it goes.*
As I grazed the surface lightly, the desire reemerged. I was still a newcomer to the city by most standards, but my brief time had been enough to turn me into a shell of a man; the job was unfulfilling, and I had little time to make new friends and even less to keep in touch with old ones. My shoulders were tense, my muscles unused, my mind weary and tired. Treat tomorrow as it was your last, people say. I must've thought of my future as infinite string of tomorrows.
*What job did he intend for me, anyway?* I shook my head, concluded that the stranger and this business card was nothing more than a joke or magic trick, and stood up to toss the card in the trash. I suddenly felt the weight of the card lessen dramatically against my hands, and I looked down to see the raised bumps manifest into lines. Letters formed instantaneously, and almost as quickly as they materialized, the card disappeared abruptly and completely. They were clearly visible to the naked eye, though, and what I saw wasn’t a phone number as the stranger had described, but a single word:
**L I V E** | 2017-03-07T03:18:27 | 2017-03-07T02:29:48 | 2,435 | 30 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you." | I hadn't thought about Death for a long time the day I led my granddaughter straight into his arms. I was annoyed with Abby. Impatient. She wanted a very particular type of ice-cream. One she'd had in Toulouse with her parents. "We're in New York," I told her. "So you'd better settle for a New York ice-cream, missy." She threw a fit. I lost my nerve. She called me names. I yelled in her face. So she ran. Turned her back and ran. Probably just wanted to give me a scare, probably thought I had it coming.
The steamroller halted. But not before her skin popped. Not before her bones crackled. Not before a grandfather, a sunny Friday afternoon, was staring at his granddaughter's exposed ribcage.
That day, I made the call.
"Congratulations," Death said.
"I take it I got the job?" I said.
"Of course. You got it yesterday."
"W-What the hell are you saying?"
"Jeez, relax. Oh, and by the way," he said, "sloppy first job. A steamroller? Really? 3 out of 10. You better step up your game."
Death hung up on me. Then there was the knock. I opened the door to see a plump woman with glasses and a ponytail. She was carrying a small bag and some documents.
"Who are you?" I said.
"Jessica," she said with a laugh. In response to my non-response, she added: "your new secretary?"
"Leave," I said.
"But sir," she said. "According to our contract I'm to stay with you at all times."
"What freaking contract?"
She looked puzzled. "The one we signed yesterday."
I called Death.
"There's a woman here," I said.
"Don't worry," Death said. "You can fuck her. Part of the perks. Just one of many to come. Like you later today. Get it? Hah. You know what the French call an orgasm? 'Le petit mort'. The little death. So you can consider it practice. I always did, anyway. Au revoir!"
"What the hell is this?" I asked her. "My granddaughter just died. I called this number, this ... Death appeared to me many years ago. When I cracked the code. When I uncovered the secret to immortality. And I kept it to myself, but he knew straight away. No one knew. No one. And now she's ... She's ... She's dead! She's gone!"
"Ah yes!" she said. "I just finished up the paperwork. I'll have it ready in half an hour."
I stared at her blankly.
" ... tea?" she said, trying on a smile.
Exhausted, I collapsed on the ground. "I-Ice cream," I said. I could see Abby's face flash before me. That lovable little brat. My granddaughter.
"Of course," she said. "I'm so stupid. The ice cream." She reached into her bag and carefully extracted a cardboard box. She placed it on the table and opened it. Inside was a small container of ice cream. The label said *Ô Sorbet d'Amour*. "Just like you requested," she said, looking awfully pleased with herself.
"What's going on?" I said.
"Eat up!" she said. "We've got work to do. But I'm sure we'll be fine. After all, you're on a *roll*." She winked. | I sat nervously in the room, draped almost all in black, mindlessly tapping my fingers to pass the time. From the outside, the building looked like any other office tower. Glass panels lined the entire structure, a polished lobby with two receptionists dressed in blazer and white buttoned up shirt.
My ripped jeans and worn out t-shirt must have looked terribly out of place, in contrast with the neat and pristine condition of the building. But then again, when you're someone who has been living for the past one thousand years, without any way to die no matter how you tried, looks isn't exactly a high priority.
"The boss is ready to see you now," a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see a woman standing next to the hallway. She was wearing the same outfit as the receptionists downstairs, the blazer and shirt hugging her slim figure tightly. I may have walked the earth for a thousand years, but rarely have I seen such specimen of beauty. The boss of this place must have some exquisite taste.
"Ugh okay," I said and headed to the direction she was pointing. It was a short hallway with a grand wooden door at end. My thoughts flashed back to a thousand years ago, when I first saw... HIM. Draped in black robes that flowed strangely in the wind, it was quite easy to identify who he was. The feared angel of Death. He approached me as I was walking down the bazaar street, the first day after I had achieved my gift. Or curse, as how I would see it today.
He told me that he had a job for me, asked whether I was interested. I simply brushed him away, of course. Why would an immortal want a job with Death? He simply laughed at me, and proclaimed that there would be a day when I would beg him for a job.
The second time he appeared to me was five hundred years after the first encounter. In my bedroom in medieval Europe, after a drunken orgy with the finest courtesans the Portugal king had to offer.
"NOT BORED YET?" he simply asked, telling me that the job offer was still open. I brushed him off again, saying that I would never want his job, or any job for related to him for that matter.
And yet five hundred years later, I was seated in front of him, in a posh office that sat on the highest story of downtown Manhattan. I wanted out. I was bored. I no longer wanted to live forever. And Death seemed to offer the only viable option.
"What job do you have for me?" was my first question as soon as I sat down on the chair opposite of him. There was a raspy sound beneath the shadows of his hood, like someone who was drawing their last few breaths. A sound that I was all too familiar with.
Death leaned closer to the table, crossing his fingers in front of him. Skin were peeling off some of them, while others were only bones.
"DO YOU DESIRE DEATH?" his voice croaked, filling the room with despair.
"Yes, if I don't I won't be here in the first place."
"GOOD..." Death replied, and he flew out of his chair, straight at me. There was not even time for me to shout. His hands gripped my face, a cold, burning embrace, as my vision blurred and changed. Death was giving me a vision.
In it I saw a magnificent city perched above the clouds, basking in all the glory and warmth of God. HEAVEN, a voice whispered at the back of my head.
The vision switched, the wondrous city morphed into a twisting cavern of despair and anguish, filled with tortured souls that were damned to eternity. HELL, the voice whispered now.
AND WE'RE GOING TO TAKE THEM ALL, the voice announced, as it flashed to the image of hundreds of people, all around the world. They all looked normal, except that they were not. All of them were like me, immortals. People who could never die, who could never enter hell nor heaven.
In that moment I understood. Death was raising an army to take over the afterlife. And he needed those who could never die.
"I'm in," I announced as my vision cleared back to normal, revealing the office that I was seated in. Perhaps this would be the salvation that I was seeking for.
-----------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-03-07T03:03:41 | 2017-03-06T22:48:53 | 139 | 67 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 427 | 26 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | All of my friends and family had gathered in our favorite martian bar, the drinking age long ago lifted after the great cleansing of the 2020's...Everyone turned their attention towards me as the clock clicked ever so slowly from 11:59 to 12:00 sharp, the first letters began to appear..
"I" followed by a letter "D"
Confused everyone started to murmer..
As the next "D" appeared I gasped thankfully, I wasn't branded to be an idiot at least! That was followed by "Q" and another "D" and no more letters appeared.
"IDDQD" I thought, what the hell could that mean.. That was no career, no purpose at all, it was just a jumble of damn letters!
As we all panicked and tried to figure out what was happening to me, the second word began to appear.
"I" followed by another "D" but this time followed by the combination "KFA" before the letters stopped appearing.
"IDKFA... IDDQD.. what the fuck man!"
As we were trying to make sense of the situation, and calm my panic stricken mother down, the general alarms sounded throughout the entire base complex. The UAC started broadcasting over the PA report to quarters in preparation of rapid deployment to Phobos, and further info would be provided on the ride there.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T03:13:05 | 427 | 14 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | 11:55, 19 August 2017
My family sat around the couches in the living room, making small talk about their own Destiny. Something about how no one was surprised when my father, sister and brother all got "Doctor" stamped on their forearm in crisp, Arial font. I despised it. The idea of sitting in a stale room in a stale hospital in a stale existence made my stomach churn. I drowned out their voices. *"Musician. Musician."* i repeated in my head, as if the mere act of thinking it would bring it to reality.
Since i was 3 i had had a passion for music, learning my sister's pieces by ear. Eventually i moved on from classical piano to drums and later the electric bass - my one true love. I could think of nothing i would rather do for the rest of my life than playing live shows and creating and pushing the boundaries of music. *"Musician. Musician."*
11:59, 19 August 2017
By this time everyone had gone quiet. The silence was now deafening. "Musician. Musician." I began to sweat. This. This one moment - a single instant could determine the course of my life. But would it really have to? I mean, surely i had the freedom to choose my own path regardless of some stupid tattoo, right? ...right? *"Musician. Musician. MUSICIAN."*
12:00, 19 August 2027
*"MUSI-"*
"Doctor Lee? Your 12 o'clock is here. Should i buzz her in?"
"Buzz her in."
Stale. But it can't be helped; can it? | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T02:42:03 | 226 | 32 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.” | It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed... | 2017-03-16T03:45:52 | 2017-03-16T00:05:48 | 188 | 91 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system... | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 2017-03-15T22:51:56 | 52 | 37 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | The Whaler
The clock strikes 12:00
A word is writ
Upon my arm
My life is split
One-half of me on the shore
The braver half, it longs for more
For every day out on the sea
Another hunt, and life for me
Half the life is black and cold
Its skin and bones, bought and sold
Fortune, spoils, warmth, and greed
A salior's life, a life for me
Half the life is white and stark
For barren is my sea and heart
The void and depth we plot and mark
Adrift will stay my noble ark
Upon the vessel, I must go
To hunt a whale I do not know
My life will be short and brief
A whalers life, a life for me
A tattoo sits upon my arm
My father wore it with no harm
I know not what he wants for me
He sleeps now with the fish at sea
This work is not my dream, I know
One day I'll spend my days below
For I do not know how to swim
A sailor's life, a life for him
| I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T04:24:31 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You, a young scientist have discovered time travel. You think it would be a great idea to go to medieval times, share your knowledge and become king. On your first visit, you meet a king and he introduces himself with a polite fist bump and greets, "bro you discovered time travelling too?!" | "Oh, come *on!*"
I threw my travelling device hard onto the stony ground before picking it up and clutching it to my chest again.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Bro, chill! I've been here for like, *decades!* Was wondering when you were gonna turn up."
"Well that's just great. I knew it. I **knew** you would do this. You do it every time, Kevin!"
"Come on, man. That's not fair."
I stared at Kevin, my veins pumping as anger coursed through my body. The last person I'd been expecting to meet here was him: the stealer of my ideas for years, the guy who'd ridden my coat tails to glory whenever he could.
"Bro, why don't you chill and meet some of my knights. They have like, swords and everything!" Kevin gave me that goofy grin, but i was having none of it.
"How about you tell me how you got to my machine without me knowing first, hmm? I had it secured, and no one knew the workings of it. I was the first to use the bloody thing!" I glared at him, seething.
"Come on, man. How do you know I didn't find my own way here through my *own* device?" Kevin shrugged and lobbed a lazy look around the courtyard.
"How do I know? How do *I KNOW?*" I was almost shouting at the incredulity of Kevin's response. "Why don't we start with that science fair in fifth grade where we both 'created' that volcano and you did none of the work, except to tell the teachers it was all your idea? Or what about the time I wanted to date that girl at college, and you were my wingman?"
"Oh yeah, I nailed that."
"No, you nailed *her*. You told her I had syphilis after I'd spent an hour getting to know her!"
"Oh, yeah." Kevin gave a chuckle.
"And then you dated her for six months!"
"Sorry about that!"
"The whole college called me Syphilis Sid for three years!"
"Bro, it was just a prank."
"I'm sure it was," I said, my blood boiling. "And let's not forget what *was* the biggest indignity I've suffered until now, when you stole my ideas around time revolutions and presented them to the science board at Harvard to secure your admission."
"Bruh, I just *based* my presentation on your ideas, I added my own stuff." Kevin gave a chuckle and rubbed his nose.
"All that you added was a new font! You presented my breakthrough theory of time travel in Comic Sans MS! *You're a monster!"* I screamed, turning heads all around as people looked at me suspiciously.
"You need to chill, cuz." Kevin put his arm around my shoulder. "Life's too short to get wound up, man. It's like I always say: you get bitter, or you get better."
"*I* always say that!" I bellowed, moving to throw Kevin's arm from around me.
But then it happened: a quiet revelation - a feeling born out of solitude. I thought of every night I'd spent alone at college because of Kevin; of the teachers who'd told me off for letting him do all the work in the projects we'd done together. Of the years spent on my own as a disgraced scientist in my lab, creating my device so I could go back and stop Kevin from ruining my life. Every moment we'd been together had been a hellish journey of living in the freezing shadow of his lazy, cunning attitude.
I hated Kevin so much. But now... now I knew what to do.
"You kept the spare receiver with you, right?" I whispered, causing Kevin to lean in. I smelt the pickles and ale on his breath.
"Yeah bruh, round my neck, just like you- I mean, I planned it." He pulled at his undershirt, revealing the small receiver that kept him connected to the future.
"Well, then." I leaned in to his ear, a grin pulling at my mouth. "Here's one more thing I'm doing before you, brother."
And as I wrenched the necklace from my twin, I heard fear enter his voice for the first time; a scream that grew as I smashed his necklace with my heel, pulled on my own device, and clicked the RETURN button.
As I was pulled back through time, the echoes of my brother's nightmare reached me. He had stolen so much of my past.
But I had just sealed his future.
 
___________________________________________________________
If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out more of my writing [here](http://reddit.com/r/ihlaking)!
 
Edit: Tidied up a couple of typos | "Be ye wizard or God of old?"
I stared blankly, looking into the face of a toothless, wizened hag, whose clothes hung off her frame in a ragged, baggy fashion. She stood with one arm out, placing her thin body between myself and a small toddler barely over the age of three.
"I," I began in a loud, booming voice. "Am Merlin, the greatest wizard who ever was, or ever will be."
"Be ye benevolent?" A younger man chimed in, waving his crudely shaped pitchfork in the air. He, unlike the crone, seemed eager to meet me, as did his younger sister, who strained to get a look of my unkempt face.
"Yes." I smiled, pulling a dehydrated food pack from a pocket. "You seem hungry. Come over here, I won't bite. You have my word."
The man walked over, jittery, as though he'd had a strong cup of coffee. *"Maybe I should give the little kids some,"* I thought jokingly.
"Do you have water?" I asked.
"Aye," the man replied, handing me a wooden bucket. A layer of algae coated the bucket's insides, home to some sort of insect, which swam in and out of the dense greenery. I retched slightly, disgusted. But no matter. It would suffice.
"Well," I said, grabbing more dehydrated food from my pack. "I can conjure enough food to feed this village. But first, I need some wood and a very large pot."
"Pot?" An elderly man wheezed at me, his face a picture of confusion. "What dost thou mean by 'pot'?"
"Sorry," I replied smoothly. "It's the magic word for cauldron."
"I shall get that!" A boy, nearing ten, shouted excitedly next to me. "It shall be my first quest."
"Good." As the peasants piled wood, I pulled a lighter from my back pocket, then stuffed it into a nearby stack of wood. The kindling immediately caught flame, eliciting oohs and aahs from my ever growing crowd of spectators.
"How didst thou light the flame? Ye hadst neither flint nor iron!"
"Magic," I replied, wiggling my lighter. I clicked it on once more then breathed, sending a plume of flame into the air; I'd drunk a bit of vodka beforehand. The onlookers flinched back, cowering before my might.
"Half dragon, he is!" An old crone shouted into the air. "And let it be known that Maggie hadst forecast the future!"
"Whoa, I want to be like him when I grow up," exclaimed a tiny child. As the crowd began to chatter, I pulled a small ball of weed from my sleeve, then slipped it into the fire.
*"They'll thank me later. Or maybe they'll just go on one heck of a withdrawal."*
As the water neared boiling, I grabbed a ladle from some fat man in the crowd, then began pouring water into each of the packets. By eyeballing, I assumed the town had about 100 residents. And each packet had a serving size of three. *"Yeah. I definitely have enough to feed them. And then some,"* I thought, eyeing the chubby man who, in turn, stared back, piggy eyes flitting to his ladle.
"Alright!" I shouted loudly, having pulled a megaphone from my pack. The peasants shrunk back, cowed and afraid. "Gather into groups of three. You'll have to share the food, but there'll be more than enough to go around."
As the groups lined up, bowls at the ready, someone shouted "The king hath come!" Peasants began scrambling, hiding their gold. The fat man ran, his belly rippling violently.
*"King,"* I thought, pulling out my pistol. *"I'll challenge him to single combat, then take the throne for myself."*
As the king approached, I hesitated. *"Wait...is that a WALKING DEAD t-shirt?"* The king, in turn, stared at me, his eyes scanning my baggy denim jeans and 420 blaze it sweater.
"Bro," said the king, dismounting, wearing a smile on his face. "You discovered time travelling too?!"
"Yeah," I replied, grinning ear to ear.
"So, what'd you tell them your name was?"
"Merlin."
"Duuuudeee!" The king clapped his hands with glee. "That's awesome! To them, I'm Arthur. But you, my dude, can call me Phil."
"Sweet ride, by the way," I said, pointing to Phil's massive dirt bike.
"Yeah." Phil glanced tenderly at the bike. "I just couldn't leave my baby..."
Phil trailed off, his nose flaring. He sniffed once. Twice.
"Yo, is that...is that weed?"
"Yeah man," I said grinning. "I got some pre-workout to give to the little kids too."
"Shit man, you got anymore? I haven't been high in forever!"
"Yeah," I replied, pulling out a couple of pre-rolled joints.
"Dude. Let's get high."
***
Liked the story? Support me by subscribing to r/Lone_Wolf_Studios, a sub where I compile all my stories and work on literary novels! | 2017-04-26T21:49:48 | 2017-04-26T20:26:09 | 257 | 166 |
[WP] "I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo." | "A dodo..." I repeated, confused.
"Yes, a dodo. My son greatly desires a pet dodo bird for his birthday, so I must acquire one," replied the alien.
I glanced around nervously at my colleagues. All of them looked as confused and nervous as I was. This was not how any of us expected first contact to go down.
The SETI program had been expanded in the early 20's to broadcasting information about Earth into space in the hopes of attracting the attention of someone, anyone really; the world was getting worse and a lot of people thought we needed help. We'd shouted into the void for decades; most people forgot we were doing it. We tried to tell the universe as much as we could about our planet and its history in the hopes of attracting some interest, or even pity. Pity would have been nice too.
Instead, we got... This. This was Earth's first contact with another intelligent species, being broadcast to the entire world in the first ever live VR broadcast. Everyone was expecting something dramatic: an ultimatum, a declaration of war, advice, or an invitation. Instead, we got a request. A request for a member of a long extinct species of bird as a pet for some interstellar six year old.
I cleared my throat, looking up at the holographic projection in front of me. This entire situation was an embarrassment. "Well, uh..." I said, trying to find the right way to handle this, "the dodo has, um... been, hm... extinct... for a while now..."
I shifted uneasily. I had no idea how the alien would react, this whole thing probably looked like a hoax to everyone watching anyway. I would probably be fired after this whole thing was over, if it didn't end in Earth being burnt to a crisp for some reason.
"Out of stock!?" the alien screamed. "You have got to be kidding me! This is the fifth planet I've been to today! How can you all be out of dodos!"
I looked up even more confused now than I was before. My colleagues began muttering behind me.
"I want to speak to your manager!"
I quickly changed gears from scientist to retail employee. Looked like that highschool job was about to pay off. "Please hold on one moment, sir."
I activated my headset to talk to the control room. "Jim, could you get the President on?" | "I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo."
Jean-Jaque looked at the bird-man shaped alien with astonishment, this wasn't the first thing he expected after welcoming the group of aliens coming out of the at least 300 meter big grey pyramid shaped thing, which presumably was their space ship. It landed about two and a half hours ago in the middle of Central Park, at first everyone panicked and soon the army was mobilised towards the city's green heart.
So Jean-Jaque, professor and dean at the faculty of Communication Technology and Methods at MICT (actually in 2043 MIT was renamed MICT, where the C stands for Communication, because of the breakthrough in communicating with Dolphins in which they discovered that, weirdly enough, Dolphins never had sex before breakfast) flew over from Paris on behalf of the CIA where he was for a conference on the possibility of alien existence and the methods possible to make contact which such species.
After he in landed in New York he was expected to come up with a suitable way to communicate with the aliens that most likely would come out of this weird shaped vessel. Of course he was oddly well prepared for this situation since he prepared himself well for the conference, however the question the alien asked him now, got him completely baffled. Also the fact that they spoke English was well beyond his expectation, as they always assumed some kind of visual language would be required to communicate with off-world species.
"Ehm..." Jean-Jaque mumbled, not sure how to continue.
"Avez-vous un dodo? ¿tiene un dodo? Heb jij een dodo?" the alien tried in different languages.
"No, no, I understand you" Jean-Jaque continued, "but I think I have to disappoint you on that, we haven't seen a dodo since 1684".
The alien tilted its head sideways, it looked like it was surprised according to Jean-Jaque.
"But it seems you have brought back dodos before since you know your son will be quiet if you do so?" Jean-Jaque pointed out.
"Yes, we have been here before, about 4500 Earth years ago and I brought him one as souvenir, since it died he can't shut up about it" the alien responded.
Taking into account that the space ship looked like a pyramid this made sense according to Jean-Jaque, since they apparently visited Earth 4500 years ago. Jean-Jaque was speechless now.
"Ahh well, complete waste of time it seems". As soon as the alien said that the big grey pyramid space ship started to ascend to the sky and at the same time the bird-man shaped alien vanished in a bright blue light flash, within 5 seconds no sign of the aliens remained.
*****
"They really just wanted a dodo" Jean-Jaque tried to explain to the CIA boss in front of him.
"It has been a week now Jean-Jaque" the woman replied, "you can tell the truth now".
"Well as a matter of fact they have been to Earth before, and as I recall that alien looked a lot like Horus, one of the old Egyptian gods". Marry stood up and walked out of the room, she couldn't work with these kind of people.
| 2017-07-12T11:00:27 | 2017-07-12T07:53:28 | 249 | 73 |
[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. | I saw her climbing out of the machine, her fat legs wobbling a little in pain. It was ridiculous that she was tuckered out from climbing a few stairs.
I grimaced at the girl, looking at her chubby face and slouched over shoulders.
"You should stand up straight." I started, realizing my own back was slouched as well. The girl sighed and stood up a little straighter.
God, do I really look like this? I thought to myself, taking a sigh at the woman with a permanent on the brink of crying face.
I was bisexual, but I knew there was no way I'd even consider screwing myself. I sighed thinking it was stupid that I was thinking otherwise. I never hated anyone like I hated myself.
"Hey," the other me started. "I was thinking, Maybe we can use each other as a way to motivate us to eat healthy and exercise."
"You and I both know that'll only last for a few months."
"fair."
"But." I started. "We can write twice as fast, Hell we could probably bang out that novel in a couple of months."
Her eyes lit up in response, nodding quickly.
"Can we get some chocolate to celebrate this epiphany?" she asked, I clasping a hand on her shoulder.
"Of course." | Is it murder if I kill my clone or suicide? I have been debating this question all day and haven't come to a conclusion, he thought. Just two weeks ago he thought this would be a great idea. Now he had someone to play through the Portal multiplayer and he wouldn't get mad at how slow they advanced because it was himself he played with.
That was two weeks ago though, the excitement and eagerness to move in together had long faded. Duo, they had decided would be his name. It wasn't all bad at first until he saw Duo eating his food.
"Dude, that's my food. I was saving that for tomorrow night. You owe me." he said.
Laughing Duo said, "This has been in there for a few days, I didn't think you wanted it anymore."
That was just the beginning. Over the next two weeks, Duo had left messes all over the house, and refused to clean anything. Today he was going to confront him. Tell him that if he didn't change he was going to be sent back to the scientist that gave him the cloning machine.
"Duo, we need to talk," he said.
"What about?" Duo replied, eating and spilling chips in the process.
"You need to change or I'm taking you back to the lab." he said as Duo's face changed from a smile to stern.
"No you won't, Duo" Standing and walking towards the other he started to smirk.
Scared, he started to panic "You are Duo, I brought you home from the lab just two weeks ago,"
"No I brought you home, I had eaten an apple on the way there."
The room seemed like a mirror, with the clones standing and staring each other down. I had eaten an apple that morning, I think. Just then he realized anything he had been thinking about the clone, the clone had thought about him. What mess had he left and not realized it? Was he thinking about what it would be called if he killed me?
Just then the clone pulled out a knife and stabbed the original. Murder, it was murder. | 2017-07-25T09:31:20 | 2017-07-25T06:41:22 | 37 | 16 |
[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. | I saw her climbing out of the machine, her fat legs wobbling a little in pain. It was ridiculous that she was tuckered out from climbing a few stairs.
I grimaced at the girl, looking at her chubby face and slouched over shoulders.
"You should stand up straight." I started, realizing my own back was slouched as well. The girl sighed and stood up a little straighter.
God, do I really look like this? I thought to myself, taking a sigh at the woman with a permanent on the brink of crying face.
I was bisexual, but I knew there was no way I'd even consider screwing myself. I sighed thinking it was stupid that I was thinking otherwise. I never hated anyone like I hated myself.
"Hey," the other me started. "I was thinking, Maybe we can use each other as a way to motivate us to eat healthy and exercise."
"You and I both know that'll only last for a few months."
"fair."
"But." I started. "We can write twice as fast, Hell we could probably bang out that novel in a couple of months."
Her eyes lit up in response, nodding quickly.
"Can we get some chocolate to celebrate this epiphany?" she asked, I clasping a hand on her shoulder.
"Of course." | I squinted, he squinted. I raised my hand, he raised his hand. I slapped him and ducked, he missed. I threw my head back and laughed, he took a cheap shot and whacked me square in the nads. I doubled over and toppled onto my side. It was excruciating but I couldn't blame him, I would have done the same.
He stood over me and laughed just as I had. "Terry you dumb dweeb, get up, Law and Order's almost on." I staggered upright, 'You're a piece of shit, you know that?' "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and your mother's a whore." Terry 2 flopped on the sofa and started flipping channels.
I was so psyched when I finally cloned myself last week. I really thought another me was all I needed, but this guy was a real piece of work. Terry 2 did everything in his power to repel me; he pissed all over the toilet, didn't replace the milk, would eat condiments out of the bottle as a snack, let out silent rancid farts while we were chilling.. he was unbearable.
I decided to confront him, it was all getting a bit much. 'Terry 2 it's been a solid week, you have to leave. I don't care where you go but you can't live here.' Terry 2 didn't even look up from his show "Yeah, sure." I was taken aback, I expected a fight or at least a protest. "I don't do too well with people anyhow, I wasn't trying to keep it together. I prefer to be alone." 'So you were an inconsiderate ass on purpose?' "I guess, if you wanna look at it that way, I don't really think about it. Now shut the hell up, detective Stabler's about to bad cop some Mexicans."
Huh. I guess I never really wanted a friend. I walked over to the cloning machine and started taking it apart, should have gone with my original idea and built a sex robot. | 2017-07-25T09:31:20 | 2017-07-25T07:14:53 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] Mages can choose their source of power: water, air, lightning, even emotions. To achieve an element, they must visit its sacred shrine, where they are challenged by the very element they wish to possess. Describe one mage's fight against its element. | “Ambrosius failed, Abanazar failed. Three of Solomonanţă’s finest students died here, men with fifteen or twenty powers under their command.” The famulus stumbled up the stairs behind Heron. Stubbing his toe, the old man shuddered off his human form and landed as an owl on his Master’s shoulder. “Even the Emperor Oberon couldn’t take this power. It is not meant to be touched by mortal hands.”
Heron simply nodded and continued up the smooth onyx stares.
“Look, if you really want Abyss, fine. I get it. No one has held this power in aeons. But don’t make it our first shrine. Let’s get some easy wins first before we jump in the deep end.”
“Just because you’re an owl right now doesn’t make you right, you know?” the young magus replied, his traditional grey hooded robes sweeping the dust from the stairs behind him.
“No,” the owl agreed. “Ten thousand years of experience and just plain common sense are what makes me right. Let me take you to Tierra del Fuego and we can do the volcano run. I did it with your father, it’s a perfect beginner’s shrine.”
Heron’s eyes remained focussed on the pavilion at the top of the black stairs. “Everyone gets Fire. And you might have learned a thing or two over the years, but you're still the servant and I'm the master. A master of *two* bloodlines. You will see things with me that you've never witnessed with those other magi."
“Okay, what about Ice? The caves of Mt Erebus are pretty remote. Or we can go to Catatumbo for something with more of a bang? Laputa? Greenwich? Domdaniel?”
The magus continued up the stairs.
“Death Valley?! Shangri-La?! The Nazca Desert?!”
“We’re practically at the top now,” Heron stated calmly.
The owl hopped from foot to foot on his shoulder. “Still time to turn back…”
“Look,” the magus shrugged his famulus off of his shoulder. “Did you ever stop to consider *why* the other wizards failed this trial? Abyss is the power of nothingness. I propose that the treasure of this shrine is the pinnacle of antimagic. If you bring an experienced magister here, someone dependant on magic, and they end up with their powers negated or even turned against them of course they will fail. But I don’t have anything to lose.”
“That,” admitted the owl, “is just about the most idiotic idea I have ever heard.”
Heron reached the top step and studied the rotunda before him. Eight pillars of dark stone lifted a vaulted dome over a plain, featureless altar. Atop the altar sat the Stone of Abyss: a perfect black sphere, flawlessly smooth yet without the slightest reflection.
“See?” Heron grinned, reaching for the stone. “Easy as…”
Darkness covered his vision. Silence filled his ears. Heron tried to move his head and arms, but had no way of telling if they were obeying him or not. Then a thought pushed itself into Heron’s mind. ‘**Tell me**,’ the thought began, ‘**why there is something rather than nothing?**’
Heron thought a new thought of his own free will. It was a single word of profanity.
The involuntary thought morphed and repeated in the magus’s mind. ‘**Procreation only creates matter from matter. It does not explain why there is matter to begin with. Why is there something rather than nothing?**’
Koans had always been the weakest thread in Heron’s pre-magical training. The dark thought knew it.
‘**You were expecting a physical fight?**’ the thought became. ‘**You haven’t the knowledge to claim me, but perhaps that’s to our mutual advantage.**’
‘How’ wondered Heron.
‘**You also haven’t the experience to understand that death is favourable to losing this fight. And you haven’t the power to die against my will.**’
Light poured once more into the magus’s eyes, but it was not Heron who saw. Nor was it Heron who heard the famulus hoot a concerned question.
“**Yes, yes. I was just lost in thought,**” the young magus’s lips spoke. His robe turned black with newfound power as Heron’s hands lifted the hood over a cruel, ecstatic grin. “**Tell me, though, can you think of one good reason why there should be something instead of nothing?**” | "Aww, damn it. Every freaking time," Grynfa said, taking off his hat and shaking the water off of it. Opening the great oak door must have nudged the leaves that covered the roof and doused him with tepid water that had collected during the last rain storm. He shook off his cloak and wiped his cheek where some of it had splattered on his face.
Upon the wall of the shrine was a torch, unlit. He walked over to it and took the flint and steel from his pack, striking it to create sparks. And when no flame appeared, he struck it again. And again. And then a crack formed along the flint. "Just work already," he muttered under his breath. One last strike and a spark caught the torch, just as the flint snapped in two. He huffed and dropped the broken pieces back in his pack, taking the torch off the wall and beginning the walk down the long corridor.
The shrine hadn't been visited in ages. Compared to some of the more popular disciplines, this particular temple might as well have been closed down for all the dust and cobwebs gathered. That didn't make Grynfa any relieved as he sputtered and clutched at his face, a cobweb having settled itself invisibly upon it. He swatted away at the lingering strands and kept walking.
The line out the door of the Incindious Shrine was tremendous these days, what with fire being such a useful discipline. You actually had to make an appointment with the Chambre Arcanus - the union for magi - to make an attempt at the Cirrus Temple. Apparently, you just *have* to be able to fly these days if you want to make it in sorcery.
He turned a corner, beginning a gradual descent into the lower level of the shrine. *Thump!* "Aagh!" he yelped as he stumbled forward, the toe of his boot having caught on the edge of a loose stone in the path. His heart was racing, as one's heart does at such an unexpected ambulatory interruption, and he stopped and steadied himself and his breathing.
*This had better be worth it*, he said to himself.
He reached the door to the inner sanctum of the shrine, a large stone wheel that rolled away from the opening. He placed the torch in a sconce on the wall and pulled the heavy stone facade to the side, rolling it with no small amount of exertion out of the way. The portal sufficiently open, he turned back to the torch and heard the scrape of the stone as the door rolled back into place.
"You gotta be kidding me. Ugh."
He placed the torch back in the sconce and rolled the door back open once more. He lodged his heel into the crack between the wheel and the floor and stretched across the corridor to retrieve the torch. A couple of silver coins dropped from the pocket on his bag. "Oh come on," he said, vowing to just forget it and leave them be.
He retrieved the torch and stepped into the sanctum, the stone circle sliding shut behind him. The great chamber was dark, save the light flickering from the torch he held. The chamber was a dome, like a ball had been cut in half and placed flat to hold some great arcane secret. In the center on a marble pedestal rested a statue of a hand reaching out of the dusty surface, the palm open flat to the sky, and upon that palm sat the object of his quest - a seemingly plain steel band that emanated with a faint purple glow.
Surrounding that pedestal was a moat of fetid liquid of indeterminate origin. It had taken a while for the stench to hit him and when it did, he nearly dropped the torch. Grynfa approached the center, kicked a rock into the moat, and heard it clunk just a few seconds later. Well, it wasn't the danger presented to the initiates who trialed the Aciduous Antechamber. Those guys were nuts. This, at least, appeared to just be a gross, shallow pool of dirty muck.
He placed the torch on the ground beside him and knelt, doing a bit of quick mental math. With a bit of a reach, he might actually be able to snatch the ring from the hand without issue. He edged right up to the water line of the moat, trying to be as careful as possible. As he prepared to lean out, he felt a small blot of wetness on his knee as he just barely touched the edge. "Aww, gross. I'll have to burn these pants now."
He stretched forward, trying to remain as steady as possible though he felt a little bit of a pull in a muscle in his back that he just knew would hurt in the morning. His hand neared the mineral hand stretched upwards before him, getting closer and closer.
"This is it, Grynfa," he said to himself, "just a little bit farther and you shall become the world's only Magus of Minor Inconveniences!"
With one last stretch, his hand snatched the ring and his heart leapt! He leaned backwards, pulling away from the disgusting drink and standing up. He cheered, jumping up and pumping his fist in the air. At that moment, he felt his grip loosen and the ring go flying. Panic overtook him for just a moment before he heard:
*Splash.*
"Aww, damn it." | 2017-11-03T10:37:15 | 2017-11-03T10:20:28 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
| This was the price for freedom.
We may have started the war, but we cannot be blamed for it. We always intended for the Low Orbit Laboratory to make it to orbit, and we wept when the boosters failed. Fifty of our own people died in the launch, heroes, doctors, and engineers.
The Chinese were not as concvinced. They thought it all too convienent for the impact to be dead center at Beijing.
The war was short and surprisingly silent. Millions died as life support systems failed, self driving cars crashed on the highways and missles glided through the sky. It was an invisible war fought with the very thing ment to unite us.
When the ashes settled we decided that maybe a network wasn't the best idea and agreed to lock ourselves away. Fifty years to rebuild, fifty years to repent, fifty years in silence.
I'll admit we cheated. After 25 we peaked, we didn't say a word but looked inward with our space telescopes. The blurry images told us everything we needed to know: we had been betrayed.
In anger we reached for guns we no longer had. We had surrendered our missles, our jets, and anything big enough to be worth dropping from orbit. "Global guardianship for the greater good", what a load of shit.
Dr. Roberts winced as he walked into the basement of what had become the five pointed monument to forgotten greatness. A man who had forsaken the right to be called commander and chief asked for a favor, for the only weapon left.
The world had takes our bullets but would never dare take our doctors; after all the whole idea of this isolation had been to prevent suffering.
Roberts reached inside his coat and pulled out a small vial. He thought of the men who had died to bring the metal cylinder this far and grimaced at the pain. With tears in his eyes he looked at the broken man across the table in the soul. "Mr President" he said "meet strain 1776A. We call it repentance". | 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T02:21:39 | 579 | 57 |
[WP] You are the Devil himself. After a good day of ripping off mortals you are summoned by another one. Being a little generous, you promise to let him keep his soul if he asks for something nobody ever asked. You are now stuck as his beautifull and loving girlfriend till the end of his days. | Dear diary,
This is day 66 of the worst mistake of my existence. I really underestimated the ingenuity of this pale, puny human. I'd find a loophole in the wish he asked by killing him but the human concept of "loving" is so broad that I can't seem to bring myself to smite him out of existence. Every time I try, his beautiful and oh so shiny blue eyes pull me in and make me lose myself. Every little ripple of his face as he smiles when he sees me makes me want to keep him happy till the end of his days.
I hope the end comes soon.
Sincerely,
Me. | >"Hey. Come on, guy! You're the one who offered me this deal."
 
I've seen sick and twisted mortals—rapists, serial killers, girlscouts—throughout time immemorial, but this is unlike any other. At a cursory glance, this one appeared to be just another mere dictator desiring world domination...
 
> "Well, guy? What are you waiting for! Are you going to give me a taste of that plump red ass or not?"
 
Time and time again, countless fools have fallen victim to the seven sins... but this... this... goes far beyond that. It's one thing for motals to submit to their lustful ways and ask me for a sexy nymphomanic girlfriend, but asking me to *be* his sexy nymphomanic girlfriend? This mortal cannot be serious.
 
> "I'm waaaaiiiting, you sexy devil!"
 
> "You foolish mortal! You do realize, that even **if** I—The Lord of Darkness— were to fulfil your request, I would not change my appearance to suit your mere tastes."
 
> "Hey guy, no problem. As long as you turn your lovely red face towards the wall at night, it'll be fine."
 
He's serious. This sadistic fuck is serious.
 
> "Well... Okay I guess, Saddam." | 2018-04-05T12:27:35 | 2018-04-05T11:45:04 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity, an ancient space faring civilization, is dying. They give the universe one last gift before vanishing into that good night. | Carefully, we wrote.
After pondering, and pondering, we thought we should give the universe one last gift. A final goodbye, to remember humanity. To give whatever species that finds it a good bit of happiness.
We wrote the recipe to create chocolate.
Took seeds, and placed them into the capsule, as well as a universal translator. Hopefully the species was one that had at least heard of us.
And we fired it out into space before watching as our final sun died. | This is commander Jack Hurlström of - what we believe to be - the final human expedition ship. We, as a species, are dying. The universe has become close to uninhabitable, and we can’t last much longer. All other species we have ever contacted perished millennia ago, with only us tenacious humans still trying to survive.
But even that must end. The final stars are dying out, and with it, us few final survivors. But we cannot leave without giving a final gift to the infinite universe that has raised us. And that gift is mercy.. Death. We do not want the universe to continue in this cold, dead state. So we have taken it on ourselves to give the universe itself everlasting peace. We have build the banned - universe ending - bomb. The Vacuum Bomb. It will continue to explode, tearing through reality, leaving a garbled mess of physics behind it. This is not a decision we have taken lightly, and were it not for us losing contact with every other civilisation, we wouldn’t have even considered it.
But here goes, my final log, destined to be unread, but still recorded for “protocol”, not that protocol will exist anymore either.
To the universe, you gave us the gift of life, let us return the favour, and let you finally die.
Edit: Formatting | 2018-07-30T06:37:40 | 2018-07-30T06:30:52 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] among the many senses developed on alien worlds, hearing is not one of them. To most extra terrestrials, the idea that we can detect them even with a wall between us is utterly horrifying | Zgorznax transmitted the message again to the planet below. It was the standard “we come in peace” message that is used when contacting a new planet. They had met enough of the criteria for first contact. The had advanced population centers, basic space travel, satellites, nuclear power. They beings appeared to be similar to most advanced forms of life throughout the Galaxy in that they were bipedal and relatively symmetrical in anatomy. Their heads were a bit different as they had some sort external flange on each side of their head with openings leading deep inside.
A reply finally came back, but it was a null reply. It was something, but nothing, No colors, no odors, not pheromones, just null. Zgorznax tried a different approach with the next message, a vid along with the message, his face to be precise. He made sure it was a compatible spectrum along with the message, Minutes later a vid was revived from the planet, It was the face of someone. He was moving his lower mandible like he was eating, but there was nothing else? Why would they send a vid of someone eating?
The next vid he sent was more primitive as perhaps they were not as advanced as previously thought. He sent a picture of a proposed meeting location outside a large population center. He accompanied it with a pic of his pleased to meet you face colorations along with a pic of the person who sent the message, modified to a peaceful color. A chrono stamp indicated when. Hopefully they would figure it out.
“Mr. President, I think they want to meet with us. Scans of the ship detect weaponry, but nothing active. There does not seem to be hostile intent, They sent a picture location to meet along with the alien’s smiling face and your face - colored reddish for some reason. We think they want to meet us there in a little over two hours.”
The alien craft landed gracefully. Momentarily an aperture opened and ramps came down, Shortly thereafter the alien they had the picture of came out and walked down the ramp, accompanied by two others. The President, accompanied by his generals and advisors approached.
Zgorznax looked upon the delegation that approached. First contact was always a tricky situation. The delegation did appear to be accompanied by members of the military, but that was not uncommon. Zgorznax looked directly at the leader of the delegation and offered his most peaceful and friendliest greeting with all the appropriate odor and pheromone modifiers to clarify his meaning.
The President looked that the alien that appeared to be the leader of the delegation. Pleasant looking enough and he did not seem to have a hostile intent. He then watched the alien’s skin go through several interesting colors ending in a dark red...and then a familiar noise and smell.
“General, did that man just fart?” | The cool earth cushioned softly beneath Blue-Green-Magenta's bare soles. He looked to his aide, Red-Scarlet-Teal, who nodded ahead to Ms. Hawk's home door, quiet as any world.
Eyes looked between blinds from houses around the street. Children-to-gods of all earthling years peered at the iridescent, slightly moving scales of... "*I wonder what we'll call them,"* thought a boy. His father, too shocked since the reverberation of windows and ear-piercing shrill of dying engines, forgot to ask himself how to care for a child in such a new world.
The boy noticed their clothes. Black--every piece. Except three verticle circles--three down the spine, three down the front, and three on each sleeve. One of the beings walked up behind Blue-Green-Magenta to gently trace his spine from blue circle, green, to magenta.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned around.
The Tracer One began an intracate dance of eight long, four-knuckled, graspers on each hand. Blue-Green-Magenta watched, unblinking. The boy *had* seen them blink. He was surprised by the deep purple of their eyes. He wasn't sure to be more terrified that they could close their eyes, as opposed to never blinking like dead things do.
Blue-Green-Magenta made an arrangement of graspers of one hand, held in the air between the Tracer One and himself. Upon command, the Tracer's graspers went still. Not to his sides.
Still.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned his attention once more to the task at hand. The boy became uncomfortable, as Blue-Green-Magenta and The One Who Nodded, Red-Scarlet-Teal, starred at each other.
Minutes passed.
The boy's father remembered him. "Dan, I need you to go to your room." Arrival of whining police sirens spoke the panic and indignance of the boy. The sirens sounded like they'd stopped a small subdivision street or two away. The boy and father heard more gather on streets to the left--and on the street behind the fence of Ms. Hawk's backyard, ahead. "Dan, I have..." The boy looked to the dinosaur toy he'd enjoyed just a quarter hour ago till Earth felt new soles. "Dan."
The boy quickly walked to his toy, swapped it up, and turned into the hallway. The father heard the door slam. As he turned back to peer through the liviing room blinds, he heard the plastic whur of the boy's bedroom blinds rise. "DAN!" A crash of plastic, three stomps, and the puff of a comforter.
Now that his boy was (again) no longer a distraction, Mr. Jenson turned his attention again to Them. *Why... Why are they outside Ms. Hawk's door?*
Blue-Green-Magenta raised an iridescent scaled fist, between himself and the wooden door that stood silent and still as the Tracer. Red-Scarlet-Teal reached inside a thigh pocket, produced a sheet of paper, held it as a sign, facing the door. Mr. Jenson wondered what they would write... *Draw?*...
The alien fist would have made contact with the door, awkward and unpracticed, but it opened. The eyes that had been in the window of the second floor were no longer there. Ms. Hawk stared, wide-eyed, taken aback. She thought maybe deep purple eyes stared, too. She noticed the sign.
*Ms. Stacey Hawk, President of the National Association of the Deaf?*
\[continued in comment below\] | 2018-11-02T21:21:58 | 2018-11-02T20:00:37 | 4,778 | 115 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world. | Hello, I’m Kyle, and I’ll be your guide through the documentary of humanity!
If you want to see the previous documentary about the Nebulians, please click here!
Humanity is the strangest, smartest, dumbest, and most funny species in our universe.
First discovered in 2134 when a human spacecraft landed on our home planet, humanity has truly made it’s way through the universe.
From the foundation of the Forst Galactic Council of the Sol System, to portable stars, mankind sure has done its fair share of important stuff!
The history of mankind is quite similar to that of most other intelligent beings in the universe.
They started out as a hunter-gather civilization, and gradually began to spread all over, taking all resources.
Humanity only became aware of this in the late 1900s, and only made an attempt to combat this 25 Earth years later in 2012
(1900s is 1900 years after the death of the common religion’s God.)
Humanity then became mostly eco friendly and spread further, colonizing their entire planet!
They began to spread out to the stars, and take up ridiculous amounts of room, building their “Suburbs” and “Commercial zoned land”
Now besides their peculiar wants to both help everyone they see, and commit murder to them, mankind is actually the most resilient species so far documented with exception of the Adoiltres.
Compared to our home planet of Drafw, Earth is extraordinarily dangerous and inhospitable, filled with predators, strange weather and disease.
These “disease” caused many problems for both mankind itself and the rest of the Sol System, but that’s another story.
If you’d like to hear that, please insert your plasma holodisc “Humanity, a resilient beast” part 2 that came with the purchase of this holodisc!
Thanks for reading! | ### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people." | 2019-02-07T21:31:50 | 2019-02-07T19:58:44 | 86 | 20 |
[WP] After months of finding small knickknacks placed on your back porch, you've found the culprit. It's a small mouse living under your house. You go into the crawlspace and find a shrine made of several of your socks and pictures of you. Out of a dark corner a mouse approaches you, trembling. | I grew up in a rat house, and into my adult life, I've been utterly intolerance of any such vermin living in my home. I've come too far in life to go back to living like \*that\*. So naturally, when I discovered we had a mouse problem, there were traps, poisons, and at one point my wife talked me into temporarily fostering a cat. I admit, I was stressed, perhaps more than usual, so at first I didn't notice the occasional photo go missing. Rather, I only noticed when they started to reappear with some regularity on the back porch (alongside other out-of-place objects), while I was looking for signs of rodent activity. Right next to the crawlspace.
Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?
Still, I'd be damned if I didn't take the fight to them. I put on my dirtiest pair of overalls, stuffed some traps in my pockets, and ventured into the darkness beneath the house.
I was not prepared for the discovery of something no rodent could feasibly make.
Pictures of me - not just photos, but effigies of surprising accuracy - arranged atop a mound of my missing socks. Sewing needles, lengths of wire (one of which was a full cable for a charger that I had thrown out last month), earbuds, beads, spent lighters; there was a menagerie of junk arranged into some sort of \*altar\* beneath my home. But the shining jewel of it all - literally! - was my wife's wedding ring, lost to us just a week into the move into this house, the centerpiece of a miniature shrine beneath my home. I let out a soft gasp on seeing it; knowing Kaitie, she'd probably start crying tears of joy when I brought it back to her.
Questions like "who in the hell built a shrine out of my garbage under my house" was a question I put out of my mind for the moment, to revisit at a later point. As I crept closer to claim my prize, however, my flashlight illuminated one last figure among the heap of garbage, and that question was answered far earlier than I was ready for it.
A mouse. A living, breathing, snowy-white furry rodent. It waddles out from behind a propped-up rubber glove and looks \*directly\* at me. Its beady little red eyes, skewed to either side from their position in the minuscule monster's head, still somehow managed to pierce my own gaze. We looked at each other for a solid minute. I couldn't breathe. It was trembling, shuddering, quaking in that way tiny creatures tend to do as the furious beating of their timpani hearts shakes them from within.
Then it rolled over, exposing its belly to me, and squeaked a series of pitiful squeaks that suggested surrender. Lucky for it, my abject hatred of these beasts is eclipsed by irrational terror of them, and that unabating fear was all that kept me from quashing the little devil. That, and lack of anything other than the flashlight in my grasp that I could use to smash it with.
Perhaps it took my inaction as a sign of good will, because it returned to its feet, and took Kaitie's tarnished ring in its grubby little mitts. Then it turned once more toward me, waddling on two legs, raising up the ring in sacrifice.
For just a moment, fear and hatred for this disgusting, loathsome thing dissolved, leaving only confusion in its wake.
"What do you want?" I manage to choke out, my voice cracking in trepidation.
The creature cocks its head, a look of... enthrallment? Curiosity?... borne upon its long, whiskered face.
Another pregnant pause between us as I wonder if I can just flee with my prize, board up the crawlspace, and never speak of this again. The mouse scurries off, just for a moment, and retrieves a scrap of loose paper. On it are scrawlings, with pictures like a comic book. Though much of the scribbling is arcane to me, I do recognize my cat. The mouse rips the paper right through the drawn cat's body.
I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't believe what I'm doing. I'm playing charades with a mouse, trying to make some sort of Faustian deal. With a mouse.
"You shouldn't be conscious enough to do this. You shouldn't even be alive!" I snarl at the itty bitty abomination. Yet somehow, I can't help but pity the thing. If what our little game of charades is telling me is true, this creature is summoning me to help save his life. All the while, I'm the one trying to kill him.
I pocket the ring, wordlessly.
The cat is taken back to its shelter, and the traps are not replaced.
At night, Kaitie has her arms wrapped happily around me, yet I can't sleep. I know this isn't the end of our communion. I can hear them trying to call me back. I know they'll offer me other treasures, lost to us by accident.
I can't believe I live in a rat house again. | Finally, at four in the morning, I am able to set Sophie down in her crib without any wails of defiance.
My nine week old daughter has been rather fussy lately, keeping me up at night the past couple of weeks with diaper changes, feeding requests, and all kinds of infant needs. Unfortunately, as a single mother, I have absolutely no help. My parents refuse to aid a "low-life teen mom who got knocked up", and Sophie's father left long before birth, so I'm on my own. Even though I struggle sometimes, I've been able to keep our heads above the water.
The only issue I've been unable to solve is what I assume to be a stalker. The minute I found out I was pregnant, I started receiving strange "gifts". Every morning, without fail, there are trinkets, formula, and all sorts of baby related items just laying on my back porch. There is never a letter or any names detailing who is responsible.
At first I thought it was my parents finally accepting Sophie and I, but when I reached out to them via phone call, I was hung up on. I contacted the police as well, but after a short investigation they found nothing, not even finger prints. Per the police's suggestion, I set up a surveillance camera and planned to check it daily. Hopefully this would work.
To my dismay, when I went over the footage the next morning, the video cut out just before a pacifier was placed. Ever since then, the same routine has occurred. Check, cut, delivery.
After Sophie was born though, the gifts started to get weirder. Some of the strangest items we received were: bras that are two sizes too big, homemade "baby food", and a blue baby nappie stained with a sticky, dark substance.
Since there has been no actual conflict or any leads, I decided to leave the issue on the back burner. I need to focus on raising my daughter. Instead of constantly worrying, I just throw the gifts out now and think nothing of it. Hell, sometimes I even keep a few of the pricey gifts; you can't be picky when you're a poor, single mother. This was my morning ritual for the past month, but today is where I draw the line.
When I went out on the porch this morning to check for my presents, I found something so vile that I couldn't keep my breakfast down. We received a baby doll that was dirty, missing its arms, and had Sophie's name scribbed on the forehead. The eyes were gauged out and it had the most putrid smell radiating from it. Panic arose in me. I have to take action now; my baby is in jeopardy.
To catch the culprit, I have to be vigilant. After putting Sophie to bed tonight, I'm staying on my porch, and hiding behind a lounge chair with a baseball bat. My plan is to hopefully catch a glimpse of whoever is entering my backyard, chase them, beat the pulp out of them, and call the police again. It sounds risky, but I'm running out of options.
Around five AM, I started to slip into unconsciousness when I heard the scuttering of tiny claws. Great, I have mice. But then I heard something even weirder: the sound of something heavy being dragged across the wood of the back porch.
I grabbed the flashlight next to me and hovered it over to where I heard the noise. Immediately, my jaw dropped open. There, paralyzed in my flashlight's beam, were eight mice carrying a pair of baby slippers. The shoes hit the floor with a soft thud, and the mice scrambled away, taking refuge under my house.
I charged after them and got on my hands and knees, crawling through the dirt and mud caked crawlspace. It was dark and wet, and there was a sickly sweet smell emenating from deeper within. As I explored farther into the crawlspace, a chilling scene was pieced together before me.
Dozens of Sophie and I's socks were strategically placed into the shape of a pentagram, and pictures of us that I thought I lost were scattered around with MY scented candles next to them. In the middle of the pentagram lay one of Sophie's stuffed animals, a pink mouse.
Horrified, I stumbled backwards onto my behind. Was this some kind of sick joke?
As I rubbed the tears welling up in my eyes, a trembling mouse appeared from the depths and approached me.
"Your holiness, it is with such respect that I welcome you and thank you for coming to aid us in our dilemma. We are fortunate that you have finally accepted our offerings,"
"Excuse me?!" I replied.
Am I going insane? Mice don't speak! Your holiness? What the hell is going on? I started to claw at my forearms out of confusion and fear, pricking drops of blood.
"Yes! That is perfect! Just what we need to help our sick queen! Now that our suitors have access to the blood of a fertility god, she will finally bear healthy children! Thank you, thank you!"
The mouse began to bow repeatedly, and then squeaked out to his comrades. Before I knew it, I was covered in hundreds of mice, their claws scratching at my body and drawing more blood. I tried to smack them away, but it was no use, there was way too many. The weight of the vermin kept me pinned down. They lapped the blood up, feeding on my DNA, ravenous for it. I screamed and pleaded but they never stopped, scratching and gnawing until they reached bone. I was being eaten alive by mice and there was no one to help.
A particularly violent mouse chomped down on my left eyelid, and I remembered the mangled doll with its missing eyes. Sophie. Oh my god, they were going to go for Sophie next. My last thoughts before my life ceased to exist were of my daughter, and I prayed to God to keep her safe. I started to let go, and slip into death's arms, when a terrified infant's cry shrieked out above me, and I knew I was too late. | 2019-06-15T13:33:47 | 2019-06-15T13:02:39 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] You finally find the IKEA chair you like. You mispronounce it's name however, and the ground starts to shake. You see an employee holding a giant greatsword. He mutters to himself 'Fifth time this week' as the roof caves in and a gargantuan beast roars outside. | "Excuse me," I called to the amber-clad staff. "I'm looking for the Langfjall."
He turned around, a poorly-put-together Gruvbyn of puzzlement on his face. "The what, sir?"
"The Langfjall."
A frown constructed a quick Svartla of worry across his brow, then was cleared as though by a spring sale. "Ah, you mean the Långfjäll."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," I shrugged. "The Langfjall."
The ground shook. The walls quaked. A Flitighet set toppled from its shelf and shattered bone-white porcelain shards across the floor.
"Did you say that three times?" The staff whispered hoarsely to me.
I ducked as a Skymningen lamp broke free of the ceiling and plunged to the ground, trailing sparks of electricity. "All I said was Lang--"
The employee slapped a hand across my mouth. "I knew it," he muttered. "Stay here, stay low." He sprang to a wall mounted intercom and smashed the button. "Paladin to dinnerware, paladin to dinnerware."
"What's going--" I started to ask, when a man-length talon pierced the ceiling and carved a line across the room, peeling the roof open like a tin of Sjörapport salmon. A gargantuan shape loomed above, a thing of razor spikes and adamantine scales, a mouth full of teeth as sharp as Förnuft knives.
"No time," he shouted, drawing a great sword with a blade longer than he was tall. "I'll handle--"
A Vimle-sofa-sized hand slammed down, narrowly missing the staff but throwing him from his feet with the force of impact.
"Er, right, I'll just stay here then," I shouted. "Behind the Ypperlig."
As I spoke, a shimmering golden dome of cracking energy sprang up around myself and the staff. The monstrous claw reached for us, but rebounded from the field in a shower of molten sparks.
"Ypperlig?" I blinked in amazement. The field hummed and seemed to thicken.
Understanding filled me. I looked quickly about at the product labels. "Norrnas!' I cried and pointed at the beast. A green rubber boot, size 9 1/2 popped into existence at my feet. I squinted at the label. "Ah, oops. NORRNÄS!" I tried again.
A fiery javelin, incandescent as a Skymningen, flew from my hand and pierced the thing's breast. It gave a shivering cry and fell forward, crushing the entire Bedroom section.
"Whew," said the staff, picking himself up and patting the dust and plaster from his hair. "So, um, you wanted a Långfjäll?"
"That's right," I nodded. "And a Gronlid."
The staff paled. The ground trembled. | “Alright I think I’ll get the uh… Leek-sale Lo-vas?” As the butchered Swedish word left my lips the world beneath me started to convulse and shake. The fear in my heart pounded in rhythm with the frantically rattling furniture. A particularly violent heave of the earth sent me stumbling but I was quickly steadied by my attending IKEA aisle assistant. I held onto the bedpost of the king sized bed next to us with a white knuckled grip and looked up to thank him. He didn’t seem to be affected by the shaking ground, his feet planted stably beneath him like a veteran sailor in a storm.
“Thank you.”
His expression held none of the panic I was feeling. In fact he seemed embarrassed and almost apologetic. And before I could formulate a question he said
“Fifth time this week.” with an exasperated sigh. As if that explained anything.
“What do you m-” my question died in my throat as I saw a giant muscle bound man carrying an unreasonably large flaming sword stride out of a door with ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ printed on it. He smiled at the aisle assistant as he walked past and spoke in a deep booming Slavic accent
“AH YOUNG HENRY, WE ARE HAVING A FEAST IN THE GREAT HALLS AFTER CLOSING TONIGHT. YOU WOULD BE MOST WELCOME IN JOINING”
“Sorry Sigurd, I can’t tonight. Gotta have dinner with the folks.”
The sheer absurdity of the situation overwhelmed me and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“OK WHAT THE F-” I was interrupted by the single most terrifying sound I had ever heard in my life. It was unmistakably the roar of some kind of enraged beast, it was so loud I could feel it in my bones and deep in my chest. In that moment I instinctively knew two things. First; this roar belonged to a deadly apex predator several links above me in the food chain. Second; I should most definitely be running as fast as I can away from here.
Suddenly there was a deafening crash and the shrieking of warping metal filled the air as a giant hairy blue foot the size of a school bus stomped through the roof before retracting out of the massive hole it just made. A moment later a shockingly ugly giant blue face peered through the hole. The giant man with the flaming sword stepped forward, pointed his weapon at the monster and boomed
“YOU WILL DIE THIS DAY FILTHY BEAST” then immediately sprinted towards the hole and leapt directly upwards towards the monsters face, blinding one of the monsters eyes with a skyward slash before latching onto the monsters face. The beast screamed in pain and stumbled backwards out of view.
I sat down in shock. The sounds of an epic battle echoed outside.
“It’s been like this since the big Asgard-Ikea merger.” said Henry offhandedly. I just stared blankly at him.
“Ok long story short the norse gods decided to diversify and acquired Ikea in a merger and incorporated it into the world tree Yggdrasil as a hidden realm so all Ikeas are really the same Ikea store. Easier to defend that way apparently.” He paused as the sounds of battle outside seemed to reach a fever pitch. “Usually the Asgardians can keep the realm hidden but sometimes one of our customers mispronounces some of the furniture names and invokes a word of power, which kind of acts like a beacon for all kinds of nasty creatures to come knocking.” Then there was a wet slicing sound, a deep whimper, and a tremendous crash. “Nothing Sigurd can’t handle though”
I just sat there processing for a couple minutes.
“So the Norse gods co-own a furniture store?”
“Yeah pretty much. So you still want the Lyckselle Lӧvӓs? We can have it delivered pre-assembled for a small fee.”
“Yeah… sure.”
Next time I'm buying my furniture online. | 2019-07-08T15:40:00 | 2019-07-08T15:27:41 | 54 | 18 |
[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." | I threw up all over the kitchen floor and started praying that the hand was just a Halloween decoration, or someone was playing a prank on me. After I gained composure and the courage to check once more, my worst fears were confirmed. There’s a severed hand wearing a Rolex and a wad of cash on my kitchen counter.
“JAN!” I called for my wife, not that she would know why the hand was there but I just wasn’t really sure what else to do.
“What’s wrong?” Jan said as she entered the kitchen hurriedly with a worried expression. When her eyes looked past me and onto the mess on the counter they went wide with surprise and shock. “Daniel why is there a fucking SEVERED HAND in our kitchen?!” She brought her hands to her head and got red in the face. Our daughter quietly came into the kitchen and my jaw dropped as I rushed to block the hand from her view. A hand and a wad of cash . . . was this a threat? Then why the money? Nothing was making any sense.
“Mommy does Daddy think that’s enough?” Our little girl asked. Do I think what is enough for what now? My wife and I glanced at each other before looking at our daughter. My wife was sniffling.
“What do you mean by that Emily. Do I think what is enough?” I asked her being calm as to not freak her out.
“The money and the watch! That’s for the rent remember?” She said with a tone in her voice that made me feel like I was the one acting strange. Her slumber party with her imaginary friends . . . I joked about it being okay as long as they paid rent. A little girl couldn’t be capable of something like this though. Could she?
“Sweetie what do you know about this stuff? The watch and the money.” I wasn’t able to hide the concern in my voice anymore and my wife was balling at this point.
“My imaginary friends got it for you. I told them they had to pay you rent and they said they knew exactly what to do. They opened my window and went out to old Mr. Brandon’s house. That’s when I think they started telling him jokes because I could hear him laughing all the way from my room daddy. They must’ve been funny jokes.” My daughter started explaining. I had to have been losing my mind, or something had gotten to my daughter and I needed to get help as soon as possible. But wait . . . laughing?
“What do you mean he was laughing sweetie?” I needed to know more.
“Dan stop it I can’t hear anymore.” Janet begged me. I got angry at that. This was our little girl I wasn’t going to spare myself gruesome details if it meant making my daughter have to deal with trauma all on her own.
“Tell me sweetheart it’s okay.” I reassured our girl.
“Mr. Brandon started laughing really hard and I could hear him asking them to stop so they must’ve been tickling him. Then they came back to our house and I couldn’t hear Mr. Brandon laugh anymore. Then they told me they got the rent and you’d get it today! So is it enough?” She just looked at me like an excited little girl wondering if she could go over a friend’s house for the first time.
“Yeah sweetie. It’s enough. Why don’t you go to your room for a little while? Mommy and I have to talk about something.” I waited for her to walk on down the hall before grabbing the telephone and dialing 911 immediately. | 2019-10-06T16:14:50 | 2019-10-06T14:07:29 | 43 | 15 |
[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. | "Mr. Splitter, I have questions"
"Please call me Adam" he said from behind his cells.
"That weapon, What was it?"
"The bomb? It was our last result, an ace if you will"
"That ace caused half of the planets in the war to become extinct, and 25% to be endangered"
"There's still a couple thousand galaxies out there, most of which were smart enough to avoid the war all together"
The Cephalid slammed his tentacle on the table, "Damn it Human, what your army did was terrible. You have no business handling that type of power"
Adam remained silent.
"You're people are weak and feeble. Your weapons are fragile. Your planet is the smallest, and your minds are the least intelligent"
"So, in conclusion, you're less mad about the bomb, rather that lack of intelligence you had to make it"
The Cephalid grabbed Adam by the collar, "That bomb is no weapon, it's a nightmare. The fact that you could make such a device sickens me. All of the charred corpses and burnt buildings. What have you become?"
Adam simply laughed, "To quote the originator of the bomb. I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" | "Humanity took a big hit today, it is with unprecedented horror that I stand here amongst the rest of us all to right this wrong, they took our lives, indiscriminately. We will not stand here any longer, diplomacy is no longer an option." - United Nations 2024
"They made a mistake, unprovoked, millions are no longer with us, we've no choice but to co-operate in a world organized nuclear response" - Russia
As half the world was on fire, due to the catastrophic holocaust caused by what we establish to be a hydrogen bomb of unmatched power, we realized, we could do better.
We did the thing we promised to stop doing in order to achieve peace and safety for the people of earth all those years ago. We started building more nuclear weapons than anyone could ever have predicted.
As humanity stood in shock and despair, the nations of the world unanimously and almost unbelievably co-operated on bringing the power of the atom to the skies.
We took all the ICBMs, every probe, every rocket, anything we could throw at them. "We have become death, the destroyer of worlds, once again."
As we lit our stars with the burning fusion, we merely gazed at our power, the one planet they shouldn't have fucked with. We confirm a direct hit on alpha proxima, our embassy of sorts.
We watched them burn.
Us humans believe in afterlife after all.
Today we bring hell to the universe, any who aims their sights at us will experience our unretractable, undeniable power, genocide will not be met with genocide. It will merely be met with the extinction of your species.
We will show you a bit of our own creation. You can either leave our galaxy, or you can face a billion megatons on your offspring. We will show you just how evil we can be.
Regards,
We will not see each other again, but we will all enjoy the heat remnant of your hydrogen based biology.
From all human forms on the universe to you:
Let us introduce you to what we call, the big filter. | 2019-12-19T02:36:56 | 2019-12-19T02:24:43 | 560 | 91 |
[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. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | "The Terran nation of old, United States, had been a culture obsessed with war, according to the histories made available when they took their first tentative steps into the wider cosmos, and it was the proclivity to war that had ultimately resulted in their dissolution during the Terran Reclamation some centuries prior. Still, the archives of the nation were readily available to be perused and studied, and though the Terrans had seemingly moved beyond the warmongering ways of their past, the most viewed holos were of old war 'movies', as they called them. To the Khri'tich, the seeming abandonment of the Terran warrior way had been enough when their own were faced with extinction, and the subsequent invasion and conquest of a Terran sector of their 'Milky Way' galaxy had been near bloodless. The Terrans simply retreated, hardly putting up a fight at all. The military leadership of the Khri'tich had been amazed by this, as the Terran Reclamation had been listed among the bloodiest conflicts in the cosmos, and yet the frail Terrans had fallen before them as gri'zik'tin before a well sharpened blade. But as all things must, the conquest of Terran worlds came to a stop in what historians would eventually come to call the Terran Ultimatum."
Professor Tadahisa paused to choke back the emotion he felt rising in his heart, and fixed his class with a sad, tired smile. It was a smile not unlike that of a man held tight in the grips of guilt and regret. It had been some fourteen hundred years since the Ultimatum and its horrors, but no span of time would ever scrub away what had been done. The class, composed of sentients from across the universe was a symbol of pride, of what life was capable of, but each member was aware that one life form was not, and never would be, in attendance. As in every classroom, every government building, every religious conclave or memorial, there sat a single, empty seat, modeled to comfortably seat a species of arthropod lifeform, a species which had been extinct for some fourteen hundred years. Tadahisa fixed the chair with in his gaze and allowed a single tear to fall from his face before he continued, voice wavering with barely contained grief.
"When the Khri'tich came into the Surya system, they were greeted by a single warship, laughably small when compared to the colony building vessels and drone ships of their adversary. They sent out a simple transmission, a scripture from one of their ancient religious texts. 'Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.' The intent was clear, for the Terrans, though the Khri'tich thought it nonsensical. Ich'ti, the highest ranking military official present, replied, asking if the Terran vessel intended to fight them, or if they were surrendering their system, to which the Terrans replied with their ultimatum. 'Take your ships, return us our homes, and let us negotiate a free trade and cohabitation. Continued aggression will be met with total annihilation.'
"You must understand, class, that the Khri'tich had no understanding of the Terran concept of total war, or any of their various methods of waging war, despite the Terran histories and dramas. Had the understanding been in place, the following horrors could likely have been avoided. If you recall, when we discussed ancient Terran histories, we discussed such ideas as guerilla warfare, the kamikaze assault, or the suicide bombing methods of terrorist cells. At this point in time, the Khri'tich only knew of these things as concepts, but did not yet grasp what they meant. They were also unaware of the greatest secret in Terran history, our mastery of the basic building blocks of reality, and our subsequent weaponization of it. When the Terran vessel began promising the total annihilation of the Khri'tich species, they were dismissed as little more than empty words. When the first Terran vessels were spotted exiting dark space around the worlds they had lost, the Khri'tich became nervous. When the Terran vessels began moving at full speed towards the planets they orbited, the Khri'tich became frightened, as a kinetic strike is capable of enormous destruction. When the fireballs began to grow, and spread, the very detonations of our weapons igniting atmospheres in a chain reaction of blistering, radioactive genocide, they began to dismay. When the last colony ships and drone vessels in the Surya system heard the transmission of apology from the Terran vessel before them, we imagine they felt fear before being annihilated by a kamikaze strike of 500 Terran vessels, each carrying the same planet killing nuclear weapons that had laid waste to an entire species."
Tadahisa's composure finally broke, the guilt he felt for his species horrific actions finally bubbling to the surface, and he openly wept, a lone Terran surrounded by life from across the universe. The class sat in silence, their own grief filling the air in a palpable presence as the sobs wracking their professor's body echoed in the auditorium. After minutes, or perhaps hours, Tadahisa was spent, and through puffy eyes he gazed at his students, some now openly expressing sadness alongside him, and implored them with a cracked and weak voice. "Learn from this story, students. Learn of what came from Terran knowledge and science. Remember the Ultimatum and what it wrought. Remember the Khri'tich, and remember their murderers. The Terran race is few in number now, scattered across the universe as instructors, our numbers kept purposely low so that we may never unleash such horrors ever again. Learn this lesson, and be better than us. Never become Terran." | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T08:11:16 | 431 | 14 |
[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. | "Please leave us alone" they said. "don't force us to use our strongest weapons". "save your species" they cried.
We laughed. Their perspective on warfare was that a bigger gun is always a stronger gun, and that might have held some truth, if their kinetic weaponry would be able to deal any damage at all to our energy shields. Their strongest weapons? We expected stronger tanks, maybe first attempts on creating mechs or starfighers, nothing that couldn't be handled by a single one of our soldiers in an exosuit. We didn't think of it as a threat.
We were wrong.
It was a single missile. The only things that were off about it were the fact that it was launched from the planets ocean, with no vessel of theirs visible to our visual scanners, and the slight amount of radiation our scanners picked up from it. We were still making jokes about what their "strongest weapon" could be, when it hit our capital destroyer,expecting it to create a small explosion and be gone without doing any harm, as usual.
Instead there was light. And incredibly bright flash of light suddenly filled all camera feeds on our small command frigate, and we lost contact with the destroyer. When the light finally faded away nobody was laughing anymore. Our capital ship, the centre of our fleet, one of the strongest ships in our navy was gone. Debris was flying around and damaging other ships, and we ourselves nearly evaded destruction by enabling the stealth system our frigate was equipped with, and warping to take cover behind the planets moon.
From there we watched in terror as they launched more missiles. They destroyed everything they decided was big enough to be a threat. Besides our frigate, the only ships that managed to escape are a few supply cruisers, and a small recon ship.
Execute me and my fellow officers for desertion, if you want to, judge. I don't care, as any fate is better than what the humans will do to us when they finally get here. | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T07:46:24 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 28 | 13 |
[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. | It's dumbfounding really. No other species figured out how to replicate the engine which drove all the galaxies stars. In a way, the blindness of the various species was more ideological than technological. It wasn't that they couldn't discover fission or fusion. They simply wouldn't use its power.
In the millennia before humanity took to the stars, a single civilization discovered a means to transport using some sort of trans-dimensional hoopla. Frankly, it was almost more of a spiritual experience than anything humanity ever developed. Individuals on this planet could imagine themselves elsewhere and, bingo, they there were. To most humans, it was reminiscent of New Age nonsense and, well, their little minds really couldn't accomplish this. Humanity was alone among the higher life forms.
So there evolved throughout the galaxy a completely alien concept of travel for humans. It was relatively easy for most civilizations to adopt. Vast trade networks evolved and much of the galaxy opened to a powerful intersection of ideas. Philosophy and spirituality coalesced around the theory that all that is must be preserved on the atomic level. Creation had determined that atoms, the basic foundation of all matter, was sacred.
Natural degradation at the atomic level was permitted, but interference by any life form on the atomic level was forbidden.
When humanity took to the stars, replete with fusion drives, the galaxy shrieked in horror. Attempts were made to convince humanity of the wrongness of atomic meddling but were ultimately dead ends. Humanity was simply incapable of learning how to maneuver the cosmos in the same way as everyone else.
Other civilizations began to see the relative ease by which humanity traveled and decided they wanted in on the deal. The mental training necessary to build human engines was minimal by comparison.
Gradually, the galactic order began to degrade as civilization after civilization peeled off and adopted the simpler mechanical approach. Eventually, it was decided that humanity was a reprobate civilization and must be destroyed in entirety.
The dominant military powers transported enormous amounts of death using disease, terrifying creatures, and shock troops. Much of humanity was destroyed in the initial attack. However, those on board human ships were protected from the invaders. The radiation produced by the engines disrupted whatever enabled the other species used. Additionally, the exposure to the unnatural radiation while in transit did something bizarre to the traveler. It seemed to disrupt the ability of the traveler to use the power again. They were essentially cut off from future travels.
Once upon human worlds, the opposing forces looked up in terror as humanity made use of their most powerful weapon. A product of long-forgotten political tension, a well-tested delivery system dotted former colonies with mushroom clouds. Human commanders made the decision to sacrifice what was left of their comrades in order to defeat their enemies. With the surviving invaders unable to escape, the defenders deployed hunter-killer drones and other mechanized weaponry. The losses were incalculable.
Quickly, humanity pivoted from the defender to the attacker and destroyed planet after planet. Human scientists began to experiment with more powerful weapons including both planet killing and supernova inducing weapons. As humanity closed in on their enemy's home planets, the night sky on Earth remained unchanged. It would take millennia before the darkness of the once bright galaxy could be truly seen, but the darkness inside humanity was easy to recognize. They were the victors, vengeful and proud. | 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. | 2019-12-19T07:14:10 | 2019-12-19T04:20:10 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] most of the universe utilizes teleportation to land their armies on an enemy planet, but humans, having not mastered quantum entanglement, have a primitive, but more horrifying way for the enemies to "drop" their troops off. | Teleportation is a thing of grace, a delicate pirouette through dimensions to end exactly where you need to be. Need to offload cargo, done. Want to go to that asteroid belt resort without the hazard of flying into it, easy. Need to send a contingent of troops to intercede on one of the thousand or so civil wars brewing in the Gee-Fed, simple.
Nothing says "we told you to use diplomacy" like a hundred thousand white uniforms appearing in a contested area. Or the protected zone of an encampment, or the seat of political power. Surprise is a wonderful thing to inflict, no matter which species one is.
Humanity, for its part, had worked impressively in its advancement of quantum technology. Despite not accepting any help--something they were certainly not the first to do--they have reached the point of being able to send data, and appear content with their progress. Occasionally, I hear they do compare notes on various constants, but they are still far off from being able to send their people planetside.
At least so I thought until they volunteered to end the Vrohe-Carboshan war on Farview. Our fleet mingled with theirs, standard military and diplomatic solidarity, with them being the one to make planetfall and us to make clear the planetary orbits. I was honored to be part of the parties of officers who were exchanged between vessels and partnered with a comparable rank as an educational experience. Upon asking my officer partner who they had borrowed the equipment from for the landing, she only laughed and led me down to the belly of the ship and showed me "how the humans land hot".
There were metal pods, loaded with chemical retro rockets, guidance flaps, electronic parachutes. It looked like the kind of probe we dropped into inhospitable atmospheres regularly. Then, she opened a pod and told me how it worked. I had heard that human tech ran on the concept of calculated insanity, but dropping a human army through an atmosphere was the truest experience I have had with that idea. Outside of spicy foods. The idea was less shock and awe and more shockwave and awe, made even more ridiculous when I was told how safe it was.
Naturally, my human companion convinced my to try it. So after much prayer to the ancestors, we rode down in the final wave after the beachhead had been established to halt the ground hostilities. The ride was painfully slow (compared to teleportation), roaringly loud and almost too warm. It was an incredible rush of exhilaration and I never wish to try it again. However, based upon the after action reports and diplomatic cables, the method is more effective than teleportation in forcing an end to hostilities. For this reson, if it pleases the Galatic Federal Peacekeepers, I too would endorse this insertion method over teleportation. | When I hastily typed my digital signature on the document 3 years ago, I had no idea that I would ever actually be drafted.
The message came via hologram, the general of earths military standing in full uniform.
“Thank you, soldier. I have sent this message to you to inform you that you have been drafted by our wonderful government to serve in our intergalactic initiative. We know that you are extremely grateful to have the honor to serve your planet. Please report to your local recruitment station for further information.”
I stood their in shock. I, of the 38 billion people on earth, was chosen. I guess that didn’t mean much though. 40% of males from ages 18 to 24 were currently in foreign galaxies on non-diplomatic engagements, or whatever new term the government came up with to replace genocide via war these days.
They didn’t even tell us where drafted men would go.
They were just told to get on the transport, and wait.
That’s where I sat now. There was about 1 square yard per person. The cold hard floor made from plastic from cheap mass resource planets was evidently made for quantity, not quality. The hundreds of young men that sat around me were probably experiencing what I was. Fear. Sitting their, anxious, waiting to hear the words that would signal our doom.
I wondered what was going through the mind of the guy 3 rows down, who was shaking uncontrollably. Or the man 15 feet away with sweat dripping down his forehead, but sat rigid as a board. I think about what their stories might be, how their tales will play out, when suddenly...
“SQUADRON 47826, READY FOR DEPLOYMENT”
The squadron leaders gruff voice blared over the loudspeaker.
“You will all find in your backpacks a standard blaster that you were trained to use in your two week training session. Good luck. And one more thing. I would advice you to put on your helmet.”
Confusion swept across the deployment ship.
“Are we going to land?”
“Helmet? We aren’t in kindergarten!”
“Do we have parachutes?”
“Mom come pick me up”
I just sat there in silence, not quite knowing how we would get to the ground, but nonetheless, I knew it would be a rough landing.
With a great grinding sound, the floor opened like downward facing double doors, and the entire squadron slid down like skiers falling down a mountain made of ice coated in grease.
At first, I thought I was free falling. Then I saw something much worse below me. A thin metal chute, that everyone was sliding towards. As I struggled to stay above the chute, desperately trying to crawl up the slanted surface, my foot landed on a stray hand, and I fell flat. Well, as flat as you can be on a slope. I slid down on my stomach, and flopped head first right into the thin slide-like chute.
I flailed in panic, as I slid down the increasingly narrow, almost tubelike chute, until it was so tight that I couldn’t move. For some reason, it was brighter, and I could see some green in my peripheral vision.
One second I was laying there, nervous, and the next
I heard a loud bang. My stomach leaped into my throat, and my face barely held itself together before the crushing g-forces it was experiencing. They were shooting us out of cannons. I suddenly realized why they told us to put on our helmet... too bad i didn’t put mine on.
Sorry for the anticlimactic ending, I didn’t have much time and had to wrap it up quickly. | 2019-12-23T00:10:39 | 2019-12-22T19:49:10 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] The Sword Art Online disaster just happened. Everyone is panicking and mass hysteria sweeps the players. But the evil dude did not account for one thing; speedrunners. | The announcement had been given to all present in the Aincrad coliseum on floor 1 that day. Die in the game, die in real life. What was once a game had become something far more dangerous. The assembly of players, now prisoners, began to panic.
Dumbfounded rather than terrified, fear giving way to shock, I took in my surroundings. Most people were talking in a panic, hushed tones quickly giving way to rising hysteria, while two figures, one with black hair and one with red, left without saying a word.
And then there was that man.
Squat and rotund with greasy black hair, he peered around the arena, pacing, as if looking for something. Curious, I followed him with my gaze until approached a nondescript portion of the coliseum’s border. He nodded to himself, turned to look me dead in the eye, gave a comforting (if smug) grin, then began to move backwards, against the wall. He did not walk; no, his legs did not move in quite the right way for it to be called “walking”. No bending, just stiff, backwards movement. As I gazed on, befuddled amusement gave way to shock as his form seemed to begin to *meld* into the wall. Another few moments passed, and the squat player (with great effort) did a backflip, fully disappearing into the wall.
10 seconds passed. 20. At the 27 second mark, when I was wondering if he had been this death game’s first victim, a banner appeared in the sky above: “CONGRATULATIONS,” it proclaimed, “THE FOLLOWING PLAYERS: wr0ngw@rp, NULL, NULL, NULL, NPC_ID204, NULL, HAVE CLEARED FLOOR 100! YOU MAY NOW LEAVE AINCRAD!”
A murmur of confused relief rose from the once-panicked crowd, and the coliseum emptied, its inhabitants saved by one very unlikely hero. To this day, his record of 6:23 has not been bested, and considering the game was taken down, never will be. | They may call me evil, a monster or a killer for my part in that dreadful experience. But before I you do, read what actually happened as the following is as much a testimony as a journal of what went wrong.
To start off, I lead the development of the first VR MMORPG that actually allowed players to feel and experience the world as if they were there. The hardware that made it possible we named NerveGear as it safely connected the nerves of the user to helmet itself and in latest editions disabled motor function as a safety feature (live and learn). If you are reading this, then you know all of this.
What you might not know is that although we were making history in the nerve-interface technology, we had to make deals to keep our company afloat.
As development stalled and investors pulled out, we were left with barely any developers who kept working - more because of the revolutionary tech than the promise of a payday. And then we got an ultimatum.
Deliver a public demo or lose all funding. Basically a killing blow to my, or I should say Our company. Our only publisher Thensents (I blame the law firm that wrote that contract, also the huge piles of money they promised that blinded us to it's shortcomings) had lost faith and as by contract we were to deliver the game or give over everything and any and all claims to everything we had created - patents, resources, etc.
So we put out an announcement for a limited demo. Chose already prominent VR gamers as our "first" players. It seemed all safe and sound as our testers had been using the NerveGear for almost a year with no side-effects .
We were confident that it will keep us afloat, but then our publisher also showed us the clause that the game had to have a functioning cash shop.
2 weeks of non-stop development of the remaining team, myself included, we pushed the final patch just moments before the start of the public test. Minutes later, first users logged in and started on their character creation.
Then we noticed the problem - death-mechanics and logging out were bugged. Nothing that couldn't be fixed in a day, but I decided to keep the players informed and in my sleep-deprived caffeine-induced state hopefully keep them safe.
But I forgot that the players were gamers. The moment I said that getting to the final boss is the solution off they went. They didn't even hear the warning about dying IG. But they thought this was just an another game to beat. that was their downfall.
With the first 2 days most of the enthusiastic players were dead IG and catatonic in real life. Speedrunning was their downfall as they thought on relying on the respawn mechanics to fly through the game. Well maybe I wasn't clear enough on my warning, but still, they should have noticed the diminishing player count.
It took us 2 days to actually push a fix, mostly as we were dead inside hearing about it on the news. Now I am the last one left and as the others, I can't live with the guilt. This is my memorial. To hell with THENSENTS! | 2020-01-28T09:27:51 | 2020-01-28T07:31:14 | 135 | 56 |
[WP] The great zombie outbreak started 2 years ago. You now find yourself trapped in a corner by a zombie, when you do the unthinkable and bite it first. It suddenly drops to the floor, grows it’s skin back and asks what’s going on. | "We're on the verge of extinction, we must bite them before they bite us."
The room moaned as the hoard of survivors rocked their heads disapprovingly, someone at the front of the crowd mumbled, "They're too many, and they're too fast for us."
More mindless grumbling, just a reaction based in fear.
"It has been done before, and it can be done again. We can bite them!" the leader of the meeting tried to calm them, but their faces sagged in resignation. "Trust me, we will roam free again. We will take back what's ours!"
"How can we survive when they've taken so many? We're outnumbered 100 to 1."
The leader let them rot in the silence for a moment before flashing a smile that stretched from molar to molar. "We're zombies, and we were born from a single bite."
___
**Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily zombie peptalks** | "W-What's going on?!" the stranger asked while shivering on the floor.
"What the hell, h-how are...what?! I think out loud, questioning my existence.
We didn't have much time to sit around and inquire our current situation, zombies were surrounding us at every corner.
"Hey you, what's going on?! The last thing I remember is laying down next to my wife, and now I'm here..." questioned the stranger.
"It's going to be easier to get to know you if you tell me your name, the writer of this excerpt doesn't want to constantly have, "*the stranger*", at the end of your dialogue." I informed the stranger.
"Well, my name's- look out behind you!" screamed the stranger.
One of those freaks charged on me, and I knew what to do. I avoided all of his attacks and found a weak spot. I prepared my tongue for an awful taste and charged at his leg.
*"CHOMP"*
The zombie fell to the ground in a hard thump, and the stranger and I watched as the zombie morphed into something familiar.
"So, biting the zombie transforms them back into their previous form?" wondered the stranger.
"I think that's the case, sir." I replied.
"W-where am I-"
"We're in a zombie invasion and have no time for bullsh\*t. Apparently, biting zombies turns them back in to their previous form, so get your teeth ready." I quickly explain while I lunge in to the crowd.
I sprint in circles, dodging any hazards coming my way. My teeth sink into another zombie's skin.
"Um...my teeth aren't real, they're only dentures, so I can't really-"
"You're useless to us, go down there and join the rest of your family." I scream as I launch him out of the window, into a hoard of zombies.
"Looks like it's just going to be the two of us, let's get biting!' | 2020-02-18T15:07:23 | 2020-02-18T14:56:32 | 146 | 81 |
[WP] Dragons of this world hoard their treasures like any other. Unlike the others this dragon has decided to "hoard" an entire village and is oddly invested in the villagers lives. | For years, my village lived in fear of the beast in the cave upon the cliff, watching us from above. Many tales and stories surfaced around the Creature, conjured by Mothers and Mentors to Frighten their Children and Charges into obedience or to warn of certain follies.
The Strangest thing though was the Beast's Curiosity. It would watch us with interest, a spark of intelligence in its bright reptilian eyes as it gazed down on us. Though the fear was there, the Beast would never leave its cave and never has for many years.
Many Speculated that the Beast guarded a vast Treasure of glittering Gold, or a painfully beautiful young princess held captive, waiting for her knight in shining armor. Little did we know.. One day, a messenger stumbled breathlessly into our little village, bearing news of the raging war.
The Invading barbarians were on a Collision course for our village, bringing their bottomless lust for blood and slaughter with them. Surely they would leave all of us dead in their wake. The messenger was sent back to the nearest city to seek aid, but he never returned.
We were a very Stubborn folk, not easily intimidated by Outsiders or any mere show of force. While we began preparations, the beast once again hung it's oddly beautiful and scaly head from its shadowy cave, watching with renewed interest, like a mother watching her children play an odd new game.
It began as loud drumming in the distance, ominous and foreboding. The Rhythmic bang of War drums rang out loud for all to hear. Any sane village would turn tail and run for the highest hills, but not us. We stood our ground and readied our Shoddy swords and rusty pitchforks, ready to defend what was ours.
When the invading force arrived, the drumming stopped. The commander of the Barbarians stepped out from his Phalanx of warriors and gazed upon the villages, a sick and twisted gleam of amusement in his eyes. He bellowed a loud and lengthy laugh, and his army soon followed, a tumult of laughter and wheezing erupting from the mass of barbarians as they mocked our sorry excuse for a defensive force.
A stone was thrown from deep within our crowd, a little girl, my youngest sister, clutching her worn-out doll. Her aim was true and struck the Leader of the barbarians square in the forehead, dazing him for a moment. When he recovered, he was overcome with a violent rage no villager had seen before. He made short work of the pitchforks and made his way into our crowd..
I watched in horror as he dragged my wailing sister out unto the green field, his eyes still filled with hatred, yet his mouth curled into a cruel smile. He looked out at us, his sword raised high, ready to put an end to her screaming. But before he could move another inch, a bloodcurdling bellow of pure, animalistic rage cut through the clearing, a large lizard-like creature Hurdling from the Cliff-top cave, it's wings unfurled, casting its long and terrible shadow across both villager and Barbarian alike.
Many of the invading men backed away in fear, their eyes wide as they gazed upon the enraged beast. It landed with the force of an earthquake, shaking the ground, causing us to shake and stumble. It opened its jaws wide and clamped them shut around the barbarian Leader's upper torso, Picked him up, and thrashed him around with vicious abandon.
it slammed the man unto the ground, The leader now nothing more than a pile of torn flesh and bone. The next few moments changed Our lives. The dragon picked my dear sister up with its maw, and placed her into our crowd, careful and gentle like a mother with her child. I then finally realized, after all these years, and laughed out loud "Hell hath no fury like a Mother's scorn".
The Beast didn't guard any Glittering hoard of treasure, or some damsel in distress. It turned to the Invading forces, its eyes Wide with a Motherly rage, its wings spread out in a show of intimidation. *WE* were the Treasure it coveted so Jealously, *WE* were its glittering hoard.
The Dragon made short work of the small army, and afterward, we welcomed it with open arms into our humble village, where it settled in the very center of our growing town, a fierce love burning bright in its eyes as it watched over us for many years to come. | **Draconic Directions**
 
“Ignore the dragon.” The villager hissed, in between swings of his axe.
“What…?” Henrik the Bard jumped, caught in the mesmerising sight of an actual dragon. He stared at the wood chopper for a second.
“Ignore it, we have to ignore it, that’s what it directs!” The villager hissed again.
“It’s a bloody dragon, how can you ignore a bloody dragon…” Henrik raised his voice, convinced the yokel was one green short of a village. He had just entered the community and the dragon was right there, sitting on a hillock overlooking the village. It was hard to miss the movement of any fire breathing and barn sized predator, especially when giant head was panning across the village.
“Shhhhh….” The villager turned towards Henrik, brandishing his axe, but with his back carefully towards the dragon’s roving head.
A realisation grasped Henrik’s attention from the dragon.
“Hey, you weren’t even chopping any wood….” Henrik barked incredulously as he noticed that the villager had moments ago simply been using his axe to slice air.
“Quiet!” The villager advanced towards Henrik menacingly. “If you ruin this scene, It will make us do it again, and I’m sick and bloody tired of pretending to chop wood.”
“That’s nonsense!” Henrik declared.
“I said quiet! This is the 12th time we’ve had to do this today. Apparently, we haven’t been ‘aw-fen-tick’ enough as a village. It wants a ‘gen-u-wine’ village backdrop.” The villager stopped in front of Henrik and shook his axe. “For Grogdaw’s sake, I’m not even a wood chopper, I’m the apothecary but Garvin was sick today.”
Henrik shook his head, what nonsense was this? The entire village must be witless in fear.
Still, there could be some coin in this he quickly mused. A dragon hunter or two in the city of Rechwald would pay handsomely to know a distracted dragon was in the region. The hide alone would buy a stately mansion on the Mien river.
Henrik stared piteously at the wood chopping apothecary, shook his head again, and walked away with his few possessions.
He made it to the stream, an hour down the track, without incident. Dusk was starting to settle, but there was a good cave not much further along.
Henrik’s mind wandered back to the village. What fools…
Then Henrik saw the man, plainly adorned apart from a silver chain around his neck. The man was simply waiting, standing a little beyond the crossing and facing towards the village.
Henrik cautiously hailed the notably armed man. A long dagger hung at the man’s waist.
The man nodded and spoke. “A moment of your time bard”.
Henrik sighed and pulled out his fake coin purse. He had been to this dance before. This was a polite bandit, but still a bandit. “You can have all my coin” he said, waving the purse.
The man smiled. “You are off to Rechwald?”
“Yes…” Henrik responded, puzzled. Was no one in this area capable of doing their job? The wood choppers did not chop wood, did the bandits not bandit as well?
“Ahh…to tell of the dragon I presume. Maybe obtain a tidy sum for so little effort?” The man continued in a conversational tone.
“Who are you?” Henrik countered quickly, steering the conversation away from his impending prize.
“That would be a yes, then.” The man said and with a sigh nodded again.
The blow was sudden and vicious, the crack to the back of his head sending Henrik sprawling into the stream. He floundered for a moment before finding himself staring up at the silver chained man and a rather burlier accomplice.
“You can call me the AD…the assistant dragon that is.” The silver chained man retained his conversational tone while drawing his blade. “I make sure the set, the village, is not disrupted.”
Henrik could not take his eyes off the slowly approaching blade, as fear and pain kept him prone.
“This is for the best, you know. The villagers, they, we, all prefer having the dragon around.” The man crouched down and brought his blade to Henrik’s throat.
A flush of confusion ran through Henrik, cutting through his terror. “You want the dragon around?” He gasped.
“Yes we do. It might require that our lives run to Its directions, for Its entertainment, but it is for the best. No one starves, you see. No bandits steal from us, no plagues make it to our homes. In all cases, there is the dragon. When there is famine, it brings beasts from the mountain valleys; when there is banditry, it slays the robbers; when there is sickness, it can smell the ill humours and warns the carriers away.”
The dagger flashed forward and plunged into Henrik’s throat, his amazement turning to shock and then, finally, a vacant look.
“This is for the best.” The silver chained man muttered.
 
----
I hope you enjoyed the read! Find more random fictions at r/countsforfun | 2020-02-19T00:39:15 | 2020-02-18T21:34:17 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | Streams of light poured into the cavern entrance, revealing a grimy face. The scans a had shown a life form dwelling in the ruins of a long forgotten civilization, but we could never have known what lurked below. We had expected a mighty warrior, or a ruthless king. This face belonged to a little girl, no more than 7 years old.
“Hello” was all Jace, the expedition leader, could manage to get out. The girl did not respond but climbed into the light, emerging from the shadows which has long been her home. “Are you okay, miss?” Jace was trying to make contact but the girl acted as though she could not hear him and walked towards me, eyes piercing my soul. In that moment, I knew who this girl was, and the sickness that ran rampant in the world made sense.
We knew how life was *supposed* to function. People lived until they were about 80 and died of natural causes. There was nothing natural, however, about the way lifeforces were transferred when someone was killed. Parts of the world succumbed to anarchy, ruthless infighting where one emerged the victor, drenched in blood and slated to exist for tens of thousands of years. These were the immortals, men deemed to dangerous to roam free. So the World Peace Coalition sent a task force to capture them, and they remain in lockdown. The more civilized parts of the world recognized that the lure of eternity would prove too much for many to resist, they organized Life Day, which is nowhere near as happy as it sounds. 5 volunteers, all seeking life eternal, from each country with a stake in the WPC are sent to compete in the World Games, a series of deadly duels ranging from sword-fighting, to gunslinging, to something as silly as hot-potato grenade tossing. This continue until 10 remain, and these challengers compete in the final competition on Life Day, a brutal battle, barehanded battle royale in an arena no larger than a baseball field. Not everyone wants immortality, but for those who do, this is their opportunity, and it also serves as entertainment to keep the masses in line.
What many don’t know, however, is the feeling one gets when absorbing a life force. 2000 years ago, I won the World Games, gaining almost ten thousand years of lifespan. It wasnt enough for me. Ever since, I have hunted down the victors in the weeks following their Life Day triumphs, absorbing every ounce of life essence they gathered for themselves. The only way I can describe the feeling would be akin to infusing my cells with supernovae, magnified by each year I absorb. Life is a drug, and I need it.
So when this girl looked into my eyes, mutual understanding flashed between us. She knew what I was, a murderer and an addict, searching the reaches of the world in remnants of legendary societies to understand the nature of life. No one knew, of course, who I was or what I did beyond my life as an archaeologist, or I would be captured and confined with the rest of the Immortals. No one, except this girl, that is. No one knew who she was, either, but I felt drawn to her, and something inside of me knew, she was Death, locked away and left to be forgotten. Her eyes burned with hatred for me: she knew that I had cheated her. That I had long outlived my own allowance. She stepped towards me, and I knew she had every intent of stripping me of the life I had worked so hard to extend. Another step. She is only a few feet from me now. I feel my life being drained and sucked into her. Jace is confused and trying to get through to her, but she looks only at me. Then she collapsed.
The little girl had fallen unconscious, overcome with exhaustion and her first taste of life in probably twenty thousand years. But she would awaken, and I knew she would come for me again. Jace picked her up and carried her back into camp, throwing me a confused look as he lumbered off with Death in his arms. The other expedition members followed him, content to wait until dawn to enter the cave where Death had been confined.
I was not content. I was terrified. The moment the crew left my sight, I sprinted towards the cavern and climbed inside. After the initial squeeze through a small tunnel, the passage opened off into a large room, completely empty but for a pedestal and a chair. The chair was extraordinary, actually more of a grandiose throne, but it wasn’t what caught my eye. Lying on the velvet cushion atop the pedestal, was and ebony scythe with an ivory blade. Instantly, my hands shot towards it, and I was not in control of my own body. The scythe led me out the way I came, and I raced towards the camp. I regained a semblance of control and crept towards Jace’s tent, scythe in tow. I knocked and he came out to meet me. I expected him to be terrified, but he looked at me calmly. The realization struck me, he cannot see it. I asked him how the girl was doing, he told me she was still asleep. That was all I needed to hear. I knew what I needed to do. Shoving him aside, I forced my way through the entrance of the tent. Jace’s voice echoed behind me: “Noah, what on earth is your problem!?” Now I stood over the body of the little girl, and raised the scythe. Jace is screaming at me now, “What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?! Leave her alone!” But I ignore him. At that moment, I swing the scythe with all of my might, and for a moment, the eyes of Death open and peer into my soul once more. The all at once, her body is gone, and I feel the supernovas once again, this time magnified beyond anything I could even imagine.
And then in a moment it passes, a fog, lifting from my mind, and I understand *everything*. I am no longer mortal. I am become Death. And the world will never be the same. | The sound of rock breaking apart echoed through the narrow passage which lead back to the base camp.
"What was that, 5 or 6?" A sturdy looking man asked another person nearby. Sweat dripped down his face as he leaned against the wall.
"That one marks 6. We should be getting close to the cavern that showed on the scan." The reply was from a woman, slightly shorter than the man. She was typing on an electronic device.
"Gods, this would be so much faster if we could use dynamite. Hell, I'd even take power tools over a damn pickaxe. My arms are killing me!"
"Dennis, you shouldn't have bragged about strength and stamina on your first day here then." The woman laughed heartily, feeling no sympathy for her teammate. "Besides, you know why we can't do that. You could always let Mark take over for you."
"And be labelled a... well, you know! I said I'd do it, so I will. The walls themselves are fairly thin, and you said it yourself, we should be getting close."
Pulling up the pickaxe, Dennis gestured for the woman to walk ahead of him. As they were making their way deeper inside, the woman would occasionally pause to place a small device the size of a quarter on the wall. After removing a small plastic piece, the device would emit enough light to chase away the shadows for 5 meters. After placing 20
of the devices, they had finally reached another wall.
"The area leading up to the last wall was filled with twists and turns, but these last 100 meters have been perfectly straight. I have a feeling this is the last one! Dennis, do this and we can take a break!"
"Sure, sure. I've got this!" Dennis replied aloud and then muttered under his breath, "Must be awfully tiring placing dot lamps."
Dennis first examined the wall, looking for any weaknesses to exploit. Surprisingly, there was what appeared to be a crack running from halfway up the wall to the ceiling. The other walls were more intact than this one. Taking a firm stance, Dennis swung his pickaxe, aiming at the weak spot. It took several swings, but eventually a piece fell away. And as time went on, each swing knocked away more and more of the wall. This wall was definitely more brittle than the others before it.
With a decent sized chunk cleared out, the two could easily fit through to get inside.
"Pam, I know you're excited to go in, but I need a break." Dennis slumped down on the wall and pulled an energy bar out of his pocket.
"Okay, you can stay here and rest, but I want to go on ahead."
Dennis shook his head but didn't say anything as he took a bite of his bar. Pam was a big girl, she could take care of herself.
Brimming with excitement, Pam carefully crossed the broken wall and walked down the passage. After about 15 meters, the passage widened into a cavern. In the middle of the cavern was a small building that appeared to be made of rock and mud. A light trickle of water could be heard coming from the other side of the building.
Pam turned back towards Dennis and shouted, "Dennis, there's a building in here! Hurry up, I'll send an alert to the others." She tapped a few times on her watch, sending a positive signal back to the camp indicating they found something.
Right when she started to move towards the building, a rustling noise could be heard coming from within and then the door swung open. An average sized man walked out from within. Though he was gaunt, he seemed energetic enough. His long black hair was neatly pulled back, and while his clothes were threadbare in many places, they appeared clean. Pale eyes stared out at Pam.
"Who disturbs the sanctuary of Cohred, the fallen Executioner?" The man spoke in a language from millennia ago, mostly dead now except to archeologists who preferred to work in this area of the world. His voice broke in several places as if he hadn't spoken in a long time, but the voice was deep and powerful.
Pam was speechless and terrified. She tried to step backwards, but her feet betrayed her, causing her to fall onto her butt. All the signs of the area, the tools left behind, the myths... they pointed towards this being a possible tomb for someone from 5000 years ago. They hoped to find out who and learn clues of what happened to the civilization that resided nearby. They never thought, they didn't dare to even dream, that someone would still be alive. It is common knowledge that killing someone and ingesting their blood would give a portion of their remaining lifespan to your own. But there are limits. A single person could only give up to 50 years, no matter their age when they died. A newborn and a 30 year old estimated to die naturally at 100, would still only contribute 50 years. And if fate had showed that 30 year old only had a year left, well that's what the murderer would receive. To be able to live this long and still be so lively... how many did he...
"Pam!" Dennis called out for his teammate. He had heard the stranger's voice and his heart had fallen to his stomach as he raced towards the cavern. Though he was frightened, he didn't forget to send out a danger signal to the camp. They needed to hurry.
"Dennis! There's someone-" A cold hand covered Pam's mouth.
"Your voice is grating on my ears." This time the voice was smoother. Eyes that didn't see the physical were staring deeply into Pam's tearfilled eyes. "Forty, but what I need more than time energy is body energy and a woman just won't do for that."
Pam knew the written word and Mark was trying to teach her the spoken, but even she knew that the number 40 was what this man had determined to be her lifespan. She tried to struggle, to hold out till Dennis arrived, but the man was stronger than she could have imagined from just his appearance.
"Struggling in front of Cohred is useless little one. Be good. Be still." The words caused tingles to go up Pam's spine before she no longer felt anything.
Dennis arrived just as Cohred dropped something to the floor. A heavy thud echoed, seeming to grow louder in Dennis's ears. Pam laid on the dirt floor, her head turned unnaturally and small red line running from the corner of her eye to her ear. Cohred turned to face the newcomer as he brought his finger to his lips.
"A male would do so much more for these weary bones, boy." Cohred laughed and reached out his other hand towards Dennis, whose eyes were still trained on Pam's body.
(I've never done one of these before and I had to write it quickly during a lull at work. I hope it is okay. I'll edit it later.) | 2020-05-16T06:27:49 | 2020-05-16T06:02:16 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] An ex-villain has settled down, started a family and vowed to never return to their old ways...until their child goes missing. | The clock on the wall told the time. 9:18 pm. Five minutes ago he had gotten the call. Five minutes of tense, shaky, fear and rage filled silence. Then, it broke. A tear running down a scarred face from one too many battles against heroes. A once calm and sometimes happy face curled into an all too familiar snarl. All it took was one call. A parent’s rage is something no one should stand in the way of. Perhaps he hid his identity too well or to poorly. There were an infinite amount of reasons on whether it was because of his past or perhaps an unfortunate accident.
Either way, someone was going to pay. He was going to get his daughter back even if he had to burn the city to the ground to do so. A knock on the door ripped him out of his head, and back into the cold dead air of reality, a static of icy rage reserved only for his former identity burned in his brain as he reached the door, his wife Maria’s sobs could barely be heard as he opened the door to the sight of normal police officers.
“Hello there Mr. Johnson, we’ve come to ask you a few questions-“ the baby faced man in front of him noticed the scars before the tears, recognizing the old name before the new. Robert frowned, ice blue eyes boring into the frightened man and his companion.
“Where is my daughter.” His gruff voice seemed to bring them out of a fear consuming trance, and the first officer gulped.
“We don’t know, sir. Suspects have been narrowed down to a few but no definitive leads.”
“Then go find her dammit!” He practically roared, slamming the door. No, he had lost his patience. They were just as useless as they were all those years ago. Maria sprang up to most likely apologize and talk to the men, but Robert turned away, the familiar rage that burned in his brain stronger than before. Pinching the bridge of his nose and not even attempting to wipe his tears, he made his way to the basement of the house, glancing at a clock on the way.
9:23 pm.
The basement was supposed to be a last resort for if his family was in danger from something he did. Villainy used to pay better, and he had managed to scrounge up enough to live comfortably with his new family, but now, it appeared that either some idiot who had no idea, or a hero with a grudge to settle wanted him back, or made a grave mistake. His brow furrowed as he typed in a code to a keypad, which revealed a secret room.
At one time or another after leaving his old identity behind, he had sworn off doing harm to others, for any reason, spare a friendly argument or breaking up a fight. Now, he was prepared to break this oath wholeheartedly. Staring at his old imposing uniform he made himself back in the day, he plucked the mask off from the display stand and put it on. Hiding the tears, the scars, the pain, the rage, and then the static took hold. Taking the picture of Amaya, his sunshine, from his pocket he stared at it, studying every detail of his daughter’s face, and the creased smile he wore, proud and happy. The father daughter dance he knew he would never forget for as long as he lived. He cherished her as much as his wife, more as any of his old henchmen, and a few of his old friends from the underworld. Some of which he still remained in contact with, under non professional relationships. He was going to need to call in some favors, as he was never as tech savvy as he liked to be. After changing into the uniform only days before he was convinced he would never don again, he took two things from a weapon rack, a concealable knife, a lighter, and tucked them into a pocket along with the photograph.
He let the silence ring in the air, then sighed as he dialed the number he had long since memorized.
“Tecton.”
“Shattered Gambit? Rob? Is that you?”
“They took her. They took my sunshine. I’m cashing in the favor you and Ace owe me.”
“Right away. I’ll inform Diomed.”
“Good.” Slipping back to himself, he hung up the phone, taking off the mask again. Looking back to see Maria enter the room, he went silent.
“I can’t stop you, can I?” She whispered, face red from crying.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Then come home safe. Both of you.” She crossed the room and hugged him, Robert quickly returning the embrace.
“and don’t blow up Omegopolis again with your friends.” She continued, pulling away.
“That, I cannot promise.”
“Then bring her home.”
“I’ll bring our little sunshine home.” Shattered Gambit pulled the mask down and picked up the buzzing phone.
“Ace of Clubs.” He murmured.
“Ah yes, Shattered Gambit, it has been a while. I was beginning to worry you had fully converted back into society.”
“Have you found her or not.”
“We have. Tecton is sending you the coordinates.” Glancing at one of the screens in the room showed a set of coordinates and an address.
“It seems an old friend decided to glean your attention in the worst possible way.” The villain chuckled over the phone, and Gambit’s face twisted further into a scowl.
“Indeed.” His voice was ice, as he hung up the phone in the middle of his friend’s laugh.
The hero’s base showed on screen, a well known sight to most within the underworld.
Over the years, he had noticed a pattern with the top heroes. They liked to provoke the villains. To goad them into traps that rarely worked. This time, they had made a mistake in trying to lure them out. Shattered Gambit was in retirement. They were dealing with the wrath of a father, not the rage of a villain who wreaked havoc, and those who knew Robert Johnson would certainly agree the former was much worse.
Edit: Fixed a spelling mistake, Thank you for the award, Part 2 and Part 3 are done! | They tell you to run, when good men go to war. Run and hide, for when the good ones go to battle, there will be terror and pain as you have never seen before. And to an extent that is true. Men who are fundamentally good lack a lot of the self-restraint that evil men have put upon themselves in order to infiltrate society. But what happens when a man who is evil reforms, and then is forced out on the path of war once more?
The Crimson Empress, once a terrifying sorceress who on a biweekly basis tried to take over the world during her twenties, had enough and settled down. She'd had enough of the defeats at the hand of plucky heroes, and how the stakes constantly rose. When she started out as a villain, it was all fair play with the heroes, but as madness infiltrated the once cold sterile rational halls of villainy, so too did the heroes become more violent and brutal. Sure, she could have kept up, become a monster, but she wanted control and order, not to rule over a world of cinder, ash, and the dead. So she officially retired, spoke with Commander Courage, the Mystery Men, and the rest of her usual enemies. They accepted that she was getting out of the villain game, and got her into a former villain protection program.
She had a good deal of plunder and loot from her days as a villain, which she kept to ensure that her life wouldn't be drudgery and diligence, virtues which the heroes usually extol. Feeling that she knew nothing about being a normal person, not a super', she enrolled in a community college for some classes. There, she met Cassius. Large man, quiet and ominous looking. But underneath the intimidating exterior, was a wise and kind man. A man of peace.
She had only had the usual hero-villain romances, which never lasts long, and a few flings with some of the more sane villains. But this man intrigued her, and she listened when he spoke with his calm, measured, and deep voice. People had always treated him like he was a dangerous man, being a man for whom the muscles seem to grow naturally, but since she could have conceivably turned him into a little lamb, she treated him as something he'd never experienced before. She treated Cassius as an equal. Not a rival, not a menacing and towering man, or as a status object.
During their German classes, they hit it off, and both of them being a bit older than the rest of the class, they would hang out a lot, watch movies together. And eventually, the Crimson Empress, or Emily, as she went as in civilian life, took charge and asked him on a date.
They were quite cute together, and they managed to stay together. Two years after she'd quit the villain game, they moved in together. They got married in a quiet civil service, both of them for different reasons not wanting a big scene. And Emily, formerly the Crimson Empress, vowed to herself that she'd never again go back to her villainous ways. Because for the first time in forever, she wasn't some lunatic threatening to unleash the forces of Hell itself upon the Earth, she wasn't constantly nursing angry defeats at the hands of arrogant and self-righteous heroes.
They moved to a nice city, where they bought a nice house. And they had seven nice years together. She didn't need to work, but she worked part-time as a firefighter anyway, since she was fireproof, and it felt good to work. He had gotten the credits from college he needed to start working as a civil engineer. In the evenings they would eat at nice restaurants or watch B movies together, something that they both enjoyed.
Eventually, they had a daughter. A sweet little girl, whom they named Susan, after a character from a book which Cassius was quite fond of. That was how they spent their seven nice years. Working, raising their kid, and having a wonderful time together. But all good things must inevitably end. And they ended abruptly. Emily had come home from work, and upon leaving her car, she saw that every window in their house had been broken. The door had been kicked in.
She rushed in, only to find her husband lying on the floor. He was dying. She did everything she could to keep him alive while she got an ambulance out, but it was all in vain. His face was burned, his arms had been torn off, and his chest had a large ugly dagger stabbed into it. She must have just missed the attackers. When he died, she remembered about Susan. She ran up to her daughter's room. Only to find that 4 year old Susan was nowhere to be found.
The police swore they'd find the killers, and her daughter. The heroes even came around, and help. But she knew who had done this. She could recognise the tactics. She knew who the true owner of the dagger in Cassius' chest was. She had sworn never to become that angry, enraged Crimson Empress ever again. She'd hoped to put that part of her life behind her. Yet they had her daughter. They'd killed her husband.
And the worst part of it was that the heroes also knew exactly who was behind it. But they wouldn't give up one of their own to her. It had been nearly a decade since she was a villain. She'd been one of the best. And she wasn't going to just wait for the heroes to decide to give her daughter back. Whatever they'd try to do with her daughter, she knew that the heroes weren't as benevolent as everyone preached. If she wanted back a child with a soul, a mind, or the capacity for independent thought, she'd have to move quickly.
Before she'd had restraint. She'd been the sort of villain who'd work with the heroes if some planet-destroying threat was around, or if a villain went too far. Now though. Now there was nothing in her mind that could even understand the concept of restraint. In the darkness on her suburban home's grass at night, she spoke words of power and words of control.
She draped herself in the crimson, like the blood of Cassius on her hands as she held her dying husband in her arms. But this time, there wasn't any playfulness to her costume, like in the days of old. There was no softness or suggestion of mercy. Only raw power. And the first thing she did, before she went to check the place where she was certain her daughter was hidden, was back to the old Cabal of Darkness conference center, where most of the forces of the evil Cabal of Darkness fought against the valiant International Union of Heroes.
She didn't knock on the doors, she tore them apart with burning blasts of rage, and sent in her demonic servants to tear the place apart. The villains in there could do nothing but kneel, as those who tried to resist or stop her were crushed to paste by demonic brutes. The great underground fortress was scourged of minions and henchmen, the dungeons torn open, and all prisoners in there brought before her, as were all test subjects to the mad scientists and alchemists. | 2020-07-05T20:09:16 | 2020-07-05T19:35:22 | 263 | 68 |
[WP] You're a Mechromancer. It's a bit like being a Necromancer, except that instead of working with dead flesh and departed souls you work with defunct machinery and deleted computer programs. | People never seem to make backups of anything.
It's a piece of advice I want to scream at anyone who walks through the door: save it on an external hard drive, in the cloud, *anything.* Yet I suppose if they all did that, I wouldn't have many customers. So I keep my mouth shut.
Today a young man, probably in his 40s, came in with a desperate look in his eyes. He dumped a mass of tangled cables on my desk, along with a monitor, mouse, keyboard, and hard drive. From an initial glance, it seemed the computer, a Dell, was from the early 2030s. In other words, it was older than him.
I pointed to a sign taped to the front of my desk - "NO REFUNDS" - and the man nodded.
"I'm looking for a video...it's --"
I held up a hand. "Say no more. That's enough for me to start with. I'm just gonna try to isolate the video files." And with that, I went to work.
There's a bit of a catch to my Mechromancy. I can shoot electricity from my fingers, instantaneously type in countless programming languages, and rewire like I'm dismantling a bomb, but not for very long. The devices, and their AIs, all have protective impulses.
Many were designed to *become* obsolete so people would buy the latest version. Once my window of time is up, and the phone, computer, toaster, or whatever has had enough, it will typically never return to a functional state again.
This computer was particularly resistant. I dove into the mess of files right off the bat and quickly discovered that my client had no concept of "organization," "information hierarchy," or "taste." The computer background was some sappy pixellated JPEG of a cat with "STAY POSITIVE" printed underneath it.
Finally, I got to a screen with a bunch of videos. I began rattling off the file names.
"Jane_at_baseball_practice. Trip_to_the_museum."
He shook his head.
"Sexy_02. Not even gonna ask about that one. Garden_breakfast. Hi_from_Mom."
"That's it!" the man yelled. "That's the one."
The computer was already starting to glitch out. I hurriedly clicked on the file.
"This might be your last chance to see this," I said.
He nodded. "Please. Do it."
I clicked the play button. An old woman appeared on the screen and waved to the camera.
"Hi, Alan. I hope you're staying healthy and eating right."
Her voice filled my office with warmth, like a blanket had been spread over the room.
"I can't wait to see you and Clarice and the kids again. Things have been pretty quiet here. I'm almost done crocheting your scarf, and I think I'm going to try a new pound cake recipe tonight. But you know, I had something else to tell you."
The woman leaned in closer to the camera.
"I'm proud of you, Alan. I'm proud of who you are and what you've accomplished. Never forget that. I'm always thinking of you; you know that. Bye-bye --"
The video froze on the woman's face as she blew a kiss to the camera. Then the screen went black.
The man paused to take it all in, perhaps replaying his mother's voice in his head. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "I - I don't know how I could properly thank you."
I waited for a bit - let his tears flow, let the moment continue, however briefly. Then I leaned over and folded my hands.
"Here's how," I said. "That'll be 500 bucks." | The hooded man walked the desert alone.
Once, this area had teemed with life. Trees, plants, people, homes. Now red sand brushed against the grey sky in the far horizon. A wasteland since the bombs.
There were few humans left anywhere, in truth. And in that sense, this desert was not unique. Not after the skies fell; not after *they* landed.
The war started and ended in a day. Then the executions began.
And they never ended.
Humanity had fallen. It had almost-fallen many times before, but never to this extent. Now only pockets of survivors huddled in sewers and nooks carved deep into the ground, trying to outlast the demons above. The hooded man knew of the other near-collapses from ancient history books his parents had smuggled below ground. There were little other means of learning these days, other than the rotting books.
A circular droid hovered near the man's head, a row of blue lights flickering nervously around it. "Are you sure about this? We really don't have to do it."
The hooded man paused and took a flask from inside his robe. The metal was warm, as were the final drops of water. "And if we don't?" he rasped. Voice dry, pained, as if he'd swallowed broken glass.
"We hide again. Just until they leave."
This caused the man to laugh. The laugh caused him to cough. *Leave?* They'd had a hundred years to leave. No, they were rooted. Weeds spreading, that needed tearing up.
"Jason?"
The man held up a hand. The same hand that had brought the ancient bit of worried-wreckage that hovered around him back to what might generously be called life. "I'm fine." He tucked the flask away and they continued.
The skies rolled and roiled above him, oceanic waves of smoke and smog. He wondered if he'd been out in the poisoned air for too long already. Not that it mattered. Better to die here, walking and free, than cowering in the dark recesses underground with those who had long ago given up.
The droid faltered for a moment, then swooshed up next to Jason. Its lights flashed a worried pink as it said, "It's so unpredictable. What it did last time... I think being a little concerned is understandable."
"Unpredictable is our best bet. Our only bet."
To that, the droid had no response. Instead it said, slowly, "Then I should tell you that it's here. I can sense it beneath us. Another mile or so and we'll be as near as possible to its cerebral processors."
They walked the final stretch in silence. Sand whipped into Jason's face, the wind itself trying to keep him away. He craned his neck, hunched his back, and forged onward.
"Here," the droid said finally. "This is it."
Jason pulled his hood back and the droid saw the man was smiling. The smile stretched into a laugh and the droid wondered if his master's circuits had snapped.
"This is going to be a hell of a thing," said Jason, as he knelt down in the sand and pressed his hands against the ground. "If it works."
For a while, nothing at all happened. Nothing but the wind.
Then the earth itself trembled, as if scared of what was coming.
"It's waking," said the droid, lights bright red, jittering around Jason's body. "It's waking!"
The hooded man knew of humanities previous collapses from history books. Knew of the A.I. that had been buried here. That had meant to protect mankind, but instead almost destroyed. Defeated at the heaviest cost humanity had thought possible.
That was many generations ago. A bad taste best forgotten.
And yet the taste had lingered.
Jason fell hard as the ground quaked beneath him.
Sand shook itself free as steel screeched and metal fingers, sky-scraper tall, pierced the sand around him.
"I am awake," a voice said, a voice so deep and loud that that sand blew in plumes across the desert entire.
"I am the waker," said Jason, scrambling to his feet.
The hand rose with Jason inside it. Tiny as a mote of dust. Like he stood in the palm of God.
Would it squeeze him like bug, or would it listen? Either way, this God was awake and there was no turning it off now.
"Please. We need your help," said Jason. | 2020-10-16T07:36:57 | 2020-10-16T07:36:50 | 493 | 179 |
[WP] You're the town's superhero. Your greatest enemy is the town's supervillian. However, secretly, your both brothers. This isn't anything tragic, as your whole destructive rivalry is actually just a massive prank on your third brother, the mayor. | The Mayor drove to the town square, preparing for the end of the world. He turned onto Main Street as people fled down the wide sidewalks, eyes bulging, mouths wide. Police cars parked at crazy angles across the road, lights flashing, officers hunkered down, peeking over the hoods.
There, on the manicured lawn in front City Hall, crouched in a fighting pose, red cape undulating in the light breeze, was his brother Mark, known by his other moniker, The Answer. He stood opposite a taller, more slender man in bright green and black spandex, arms crossed across his chest, face stretched by a rakish grin, the Mayor’s other brother Matt, known by his moniker, Giga-Death.
“Are you guys kidding me?” The Mayor slammed the door of his Prius, feeling conspicuous in his day off attire: workout shorts, t-shirt, and baseball cap. “Today? You had to do this today?”
Giga-Death raised an eyebrow, “Revolution waits for no man, Mr. Mayor. Even on an auspicious day such as this.” He turned sideways, revealing a cube-shaped object, rising to Giga-Death’s chest, covered by a black sheet. “Behold! The end of the world as we—”
“‘Behold’? ‘Auspicious’?” The Answer straightened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but why do you talk like that when you put on your wetsuit?”
“You wear a cape Mark!” Matt’s eyes flashed, pulling at his silky, black hair, just as he did when they were children. “Like I said, this is the object of your ruin! A town reduced to rubble at the push of a button!”
The Answer moved forward.
“Ah ah! Stop right there Mark!” Giga-Death held up a matte-black object in his hand. “You aren’t going to surprise me when I’m monologuing this time. I press this and they’re going to have to build New-New Haven over the ashes of New Haven!”
“Un-fucking-real.” The Mayor wiped his forehead and adjusted his cap. “What do you want Matt?” He flopped his arms at his sides.
Giga-Death narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw into a snarl. “What do I *want*, Andrew? I *want* you *people* to take me seriously! I am Giga-Death, and I am your doom! Also, I want 50 million transferred to this Swiss—"
The Answer leapt at Giga-Death, tackling him around the waist. Andrew jolted forward a few steps, cringing as his brother smashed his fist into the wanna-be super villain’s face, just like he did when they were kids. Giga-Death rolled, forcing The Answer off him. As they stood, Giga-Death clamped his foot down on The Answer’s cape, yanking the hero's head back, and straight into Giga-Death’s fist. The hero fell.
“Fine!” Matt held up the remote. “I won’t miss my chance this time.”
“No!” Andrew raised his arms as Giga-Death pressed the button.
The sheet flew away to the sound of pops, blowing multi-colored confetti into the air. A song blared. The Mayor furrowed his brow when he recognized the corny jingle: “*Celebrate good times, come on!*” A large cake sat in a glass case on a plinth.
Giga-Death smiled and The Answer jumped up, throwing an arm around the villain.
“Ok, don’t over do it, man.” Matt shrugged off the arm.
“Happy Birthday, buddy!” Mark beamed, ignoring his brother.
Andrew gaped, heat rising to his cheeks. A mortified expression smeared on his face. “You assholes. The police came out and everything.” He motioned to the police cars, then noticed the officers. They were all looking at him, smiling. “Oh you gotta be kidding.”
Laughter erupted. The Mayor’s brothers strode up to him. “It’s not everyday your big bro turns 40.” Mark jabbed a red-gloved fist into Andrew’s shoulder.
“All of that was a show?” Andrew took off his ball cap.
“It was Matt’s idea.” Mark said, squinting, bringing a hand to his jaw. “You didn’t have to *actually* sock me, though, man.” He looked at the smirking villain.
“Happy Birthday, Andrew.” The not-so-much-at-this-moment super villain said, before he turned and walked away. The brothers watched as he got on his motorcycle and revved the engine. “I’ll let you all take care of the clean-up.” The Mayor's and his cape-clad brother’s phones suddenly chirped. An explosion roared over the party music. “Sounds like it’s coming from the bank!” Giga-Death yelled. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Here’s to many more, Mr. Mayor.” He smiled and sped off. | My family had a weird dynamic growing up. I’m not going to be one of those people who say my parents ruined me, they were wonderful loving people, they just enjoyed a good joke and never quite knew when they went too far. Sometimes I even think of it like an unintentional family business, as if we could all step out of the shadows and call us Chavez and Sons (and daughter.) The name didn’t quite work like that, but I refuse to take the blame for it. Naming conventions are dumb anyway.
Our routine started early and in the same way most kids do, as little games playing out our idols. For the three of us that meant mom and dad, and in those days it was all of us, Javier didn’t set his eyes on the real world until he was sixteen, and politics found him even later. In the beginning we took the same roles they had. Javier and Joselito were the superheroes just like our dad and I grudgingly took up the villain role, at least up until Buffy came out and suddenly I couldn’t be contained come hell or high water.
It helped that of all of us, our parents powers had only passed on to me. That came as a cruel trick of genetics to Joselito, he’d been the most fervent about wanting to continue our parents act, and from the moment he first walked in on me levitating on my sixth birthday the jokes got a little harsher, a little less fun.
We kept going though, we didn’t know anything else. By the time Javier decided he was too old for us Joselito and I were well on our ways to stardom, with me zooming through the skies in a cape or a tutu, or riding on a broom (I was a late bloomer, I didn’t figure out my vibe for a while,) and Joselito inventing a seemingly endless stream of nefarious and mostly harebrained gadgets.
Eventually the cape stuck along with a little wolf mask, although I still occasionally regret not going with the tutu, and our shtick was born.
When he was eighteen Joselito moved out of the house, painting a swath of playful mayhem across the southwestern United States. I followed two years later and we turned it into our very own roadshow.
See, the thing is that superpowers are rare. Rare as hell, it was a miracle our parents found each other and even rarer that their gifts bred true in one of us. What’s even rarer than that however, is a good supervillain, and Joselito was more than just good, he was sublime. A good supervillain requires a bunch of things, he needs to be clever of course, and scary but not too scary, just enough to be fascinating. He has to be either dashing or disfigured and my brother’s groupies seemed to indicate he was the former. And finally, a good supervillain needs to not be too ambitious. It sounds like an oxymoron, right? A supervillain should be ambitious, it goes with the territory, its what makes the superhero a superhero, thats where are the stakes are!
Well, yes and no. As it turns out all the best and most ambitious supervillains are faceless. They pull strings from the shadows, sell political favors, buy stocks not kryptonite. Our operation needed faces so ambition like that was a no go.
Fortunately, in the modern age there are other ways to make money.
Enter the internet, more specifically crowdfunding, more specifically patreon. They call me Lupe on there, though my real name is Veronica, and with every video and news story we rake in more hits and more dollars. A crowdfunded superhero, who knew? It was good work, if questionably honest, but so long as we filed our taxes and avoided property damage the cops seemed to look the other way so the whole the was perfect.
And then Javier got elected mayor of Austin and shit changed fast.
Mostly for Joselito, I’d forgiven our older brother for leaving us a while ago but him? He could. For Joselito family stayed together no matter what. You didn’t go over to the other side, and you certainly didn’t become the other side. His rhetoric had started to bleed in at that point, in recent years he’d found himself leading his own weird little subculture.
I agreed though, as much out of boredom as anything, and the roadshow came home to Austin. We had our first little battle hopping (using a jury rigged jetpack in Joselito’s case) between commercial buildings downtown during Javier's inauguration speech. At the end he exploded fireworks that formed one of his baby pictures. It was *awesome.*
Not that Javier thought so of course, but that was ok. Our parents certainly gave him hell about it when we all came home for Christmas that year, it was a great time and a fond memory. We even kept it up through his whole term; moving from fireworks to baby pictures to raining fake dollars bills with more of his baby pictures pasted onto the presidents faces. At one point we even held a battle where I staged no less than three death scenes and threw a car (one I had legally purchased beforehand thank you very much.)
We had four good years in Austin that only ended when Javier moved on to higher office. We didn’t follow him there though, we just let him keep trucking on through the soul grinding crush of the civil service, and the roadshow resumed as if it had never ended. Judging from social media, Austin misses our show more than his leadership.
I remind him of that every holiday.
\-------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm nearly 30,000 words into a serial that's all free to read and there's other fun shorts like a psychic space tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-12-03T01:13:10 | 2021-03-05T04:32:05 | 1,428 | 360 |
[WP] You died giving birth many years ago and now work in the bureaucracy of the afterlife. Your job is to complete the forms for those next to die. To your horror you see your child’s file arrive on your desk. | Admin in Hell is hell! Paperwork for the sake of paperwork with complex work orders and prerequisites all fiendishly designed to make it incessent and neverending. There is no day and night in Hell. You dont hunger or tire unless your specific punishments require it. I had no concept of how long I'd endlessly filled out and filed the paperwork for those who's time is coming to an end until I was grounded by a date I could relate to, the birth of my daughter and my own death.
When I saw the name my heart, if it were beating, would have just stopped. I re-read it over and over, afraid to continue. I just couldn't. The pile of paperwork kept growing, I have no idea how long I sat there, staring at a name. I wept openly even though I had no tears. I'd never before wished I had tears to wash this feeling away.
Eventually I composed myself enough to read on, prompted in part to the veritable mountain of paperwork toppling over on my desk.
87 years... I'd been 87 years in hell!! How, what? Nevermind that, my daughter had lived to 87!! I skimmed through the whole file in moments. She had become a primary school teacher and had 3 children of her own. A person's file contains no specific information about their relationships or details of their children beyond a number. Her sins were relatively minor and she had emassed enough celestial credits to earn her a level 4 entry into heaven. She'd led a good life, lived to a ripe old age, nothing special but what more could any mother want for a child she had never even met?
Never, in the 87 years I had been in hell, did I take such unbridled pleasure in stamping a form, slowly dusting the ink, folding it, attaching the required associated forms, put it in the correct basket, taking it back out, kissing it, and putting it back again.
The pile kept growing, but it didn't seem so bad now. | It was just another boring day at work. Tidily, I scrolled through the files I was to complete that day, counting them down by the tips of my fingers. “One thousand, three hundred seventy-two.” I sighed. It was going to be a long day.
“This would be so much more interesting if I knew how they died.” I murmured, beginning the files from the top of the list. “Drew Faulkner. Poor guy.” My job entailed of completing the identification forms for the next people planned to die. Sometimes I felt like I held the cards of destiny in my hands.
As the day wore on my fingers cramped from all the writing. Steadily, I stretched my fingers as I reached for the next file. When I read the name my heart dropped in my stomach. “Nora Fielder. No. No, no, no, no, no! Shit!” Not my baby girl. Not my Nora, the beautiful, wonderful little girl that I sacrificed my life for just years ago to bring her into this world. If it were possible for souls like me to get physically I’ll, I knew at this moment I would have. I felt queasy and nauseous. I pictured sweat glistening on my forehead and pooling in my palms. Discretely, I pocketed away her picture and continued on with the stack. Only 142 more to go.
Just before I was about to finish for the day I saw Lucifer pass by my office. In a haste I ran to the door and beckoned him in. Once inside, I thrust Nora’s picture in his face. “What the hell is this?”
“Ahhh. That. You see here Pauline, your daughter has stage four terminal leukemia. It’s her time.”
If crying were still possible, I knew I’d be bawling at this news. I hadn’t known about the diagnosis...
“Fix her.” I told him authoritatively, without a waver in my tone.
He sneered a fiery, cheshire grin my way. “Maybe I will. For a price.” He twirled a loose piece of my hair around his finger slowly, gazing hungrily into my eyes as he did so.
My stomach turned at his touch. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he sneered. “A soul for a soul of course!”
I was perplexed. “But I’m already dead.”
“Dead, yes. But a slave you are not. If you want your daughter to live, and to be cured of her life-altering disease, you will come stay with me in the Palace and be my own personal assistant. Day and night, 24/7. Understood?”
The terms were clear. No matter how mortifying it was to cogitate about being a slave to the devil himself, it was worth it to save my baby girl’s life. I’d done it once and I’d do it one thousand times over.
“Deal. Let my daughter live.” | 2021-07-08T23:34:01 | 2021-07-08T19:28:00 | 80 | 50 |
[WP] You’re at a zoo. Jokingly, you ask the zookeeper what the penguin is in for. He replies “Two counts of murder and ten counts of tax fraud.” | "…and that one's Skipper. They don’t do much nowadays, they just smile and wave…"
I chuckled. "Don’t do much? What, like they have room in that cage to do anything else?"
The tour guide looked onward. "A while back, Rico used to snatch spoons from unsuspecting kids. For whatever reason. Now he's just docile like the rest of them."
"Oh, surely they have better backstories than that! They’re locked up for one reason or another, right?" I nudged the guy with my elbow, hoping maybe I’d get a smile out of him this time.
He looked me dead in the eye and said "Two counts of murder and ten counts of tax fraud."
*Boy, is this guy funny!* I thought to myself. For the next minute or so I attempted to regain my composure, only to find his face as stern as it was before my laughing fit.
"Wait… you’re not joking, are you?"
He shook his head.
"Like, between the four of them?"
"Oh, no. That’s just the Skipper. Kowalski's never turned in a cent. And Rico, well, let’s just say Rico's made a name for himself at the police department down the street." *What do penguins even get taxed for?*
After a pause, I thank the gentleman for his time and walk out the gate to the park. I didn’t even see any other exhibits. That nutcase was exotic enough for one day. At least that’s what I told myself. When I turned on the news the next morning, the headline read "Grand Central Stampede." Those four penguins, along with two chimps, a zebra, a giraffe, a hippo, and the crowd favorite lion Alex all broke loose and caused an uproar in the metro. The report concluded with Central Park Zoo's unfortunate decision to return the animals to the wild.
I turned off my TV and drove to work with no radio. I didn’t need some crazy story getting in the back of my head all day. | "That'll be three bucks, chum!"
I wasn't too pleased with the zoo ticket-taker's tone of voice. But by golly, I'd come to see some Arctic wildlife and I meant to do just that.
My new ward, Richard "Dick" Grayson was at my side. He wanted to go to the aviary to see the robins. I was more focused on the penguins. Something about them caught my fancy.
As we approached the ice palace that was the home of the penguins, a nice zoo custodian beckoned to me
"Hey, youse guys.. come wid me"
He beckoned to us as he headed down an ominously ill-lit hallway. I grabbed Dick by his shoulder and guided him in the direction the custodian had gone.
We proceeded down the hallway until we met a dead end. Suddenly, the panels on the walls to the left and the right of us started to side into the ceiling. What they revealed were giant aquariums in either side of us.
"Holy emperor, Mr Wayne! Those are penguins!"
Indeed he was right. These were emperor penguins. Something had upset them, for, as soon as they'd seen us they began launching themselves like torpedoes at the glass that separated Dick and me from drowning in a flood of freezing water.
*Crack... Crick crick CRACK*
Just as the penguins cracked through the aquarium walls, my new nimble footed companion spotted an air vent high on the wall. Without warning, he grabbed the talking end of my scarf and vaulted over my shoulders. Mid-jump, he twirled my scarf and latched it onto a lamp hanging in front of him.
The boy swung to the vent and slid inside it as if he has been born to do it. He threw down the end of my scarf, and I proceeded to climb up and enter the vent, mere seconds before the freezing water reached my chest.
The next day I approached Dick. I explained to him that I had taken him as my ward because we had similar pasts. Both of us were orphans because of murder. Neither of us has any tolerance for the wicked hearted. We could do great things for the city of Gotham.
Dick stared me in the eye and said, "under one circumstance. I choose our names"
I hesitantly conceded the point.
"I'm Dick Grayson. I was raised as an acrobat. I'm as agile as a Robin."
To demonstrate this, he did four back handsprings.
"And you, Bruce, couldn't find our way out. Your blind as a bat, Bat-Man! If we could team up... Using my brilliance and your money... We could rid this city of ALL of it's 'penguins' for good. We could be the emperors" | 2021-09-03T14:39:52 | 2021-09-03T12:59:09 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". | Wisher: i wish I could change the rules
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish you told me what's the correct wish to make to go around any rules
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish I could combine as many wishes as i want in a single wish
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish I could solve all of my problems and wants with a single wish
Genie: that's against the rules. Also similar to previous one.
Wisher: >:( i wish every next wisher's wish would transfer to me
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish I was your master forever even after all the wishes are used so you are stuck with me until you agree to give me more wishes
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish I were an omnipotent god, so that i wouldn't need a genie
Genie: that's against the rules. Sorry we can't create an entity that's more powerful than us.
Wisher: I wish I was better at making wishes
Genie: that's against the rules
Wisher: i wish you weren't such a poopoo head.
Genie: :(
Wisher: i wish your powers had no limits
Genie: granted!
/!Poof! Genie disappeared as he was finally freed from his curse and was able to do whatever he wanted./ | After much consideration the child contemplated the now empty, shiny artifact in front of him, gently buffed cleaner in one spot, and mulled over how to get around an impasse created by djinn with lawyer's souls. "Okay, I wish to be recreated into a supernatural human being of such considerable power, wealth, intelligence, security and resources in my perpetually free, unharrassed, untaxed, and unincumbered state that no genuine desire of my heart could ever truly be outside of my grasp within my considerably long and healthy lifetime. That was One sentence expressing one complete and single wish as a single stream of thought designed to produce one absolute, positive solitary outcome. Dodge that you wily spirit!"
The genie leafed through the official binding arbitration scroll and grunted several times. The caveat at the end of his list did in fact seem to be an expression of a single desired state and therefore could in fact technically be designated one wish no matter how badly the djinn wanted to weasel out of the commitment by declaring the missive as a combination of wishes. "Fine" he bellowed: "From this day forward you shall be know as Jeff Bezos".
Twenty-six months later the richest teenager in the world was found dead on Mars of radiation poisoning, having previously been en route in a spacecraft of his own design when a massive cosmic X-ray burst happened to slam into the boy's vehicle, utterly cooking him through and through and totally devastating his DNA as the high-velocity particles shredded his body's matter like a shotgun blast through a wad of cotton candy. Sitting next to him on a red sand dune was a forlorn genie with his face in his hands muttering to himself about how the hell he was ever going to deal with another vast time stretch stranded in *yet another damned desert* as he waited to be truly set free. The djinn sighed and let out a final testimony: "Long and healthy are really kind of a matter of perspective when you're an astronaut, kid." Then in the distance on a pale blue dot just above the horizon the genie sensed the temperature suddenly rise and then plummet as a nuclear war broke out between old rivals. Slowly the genie stood up, brushed the rusty dirt from his pantaloons and walked back to his lamp, prepared to get comfortable for a while. | 2022-01-04T02:49:07 | 2022-01-04T00:47:44 | 356 | 77 |
[WP] A "young" elf is constantly surrounded by people who have had thousands of years to become hundreds of times better at everything than you. Which is why most elf "children" choose to "mature" among other species. It gives a much needed ego boost, even in the worst case scenarios. | **The Faults of Perfection**
Nearly everyone in the town was gathered around their small arena. They watched the newcomer in awe, whooping and cheering as he took on five opposing sword fighters at once, parrying one attack after another, moving with impossible speed and grace.
Caspien didn’t even need to sense the magic radiating from this stranger to know it was a fellow elf. It was obvious in the way he moved, and even more obvious in the way he mocked the humans.
“Take that you swine! Ha! Too slow you stupid oaf! Hu-paw! Is that the best you can do?”
He wasn’t even that good, not really. Not by elf standards. Caspien walked away. He’d encountered many elves like this one, who weren’t good enough to make it among the their own kind so they resorted to boosting their egos like this.
It wouldn’t work in the long run. There was no pride in beating humans at these feats of strength and speed, especially not if you needed to use magic.
Caspien had learned that after his first stint with the humans, when he’d been much like this stranger. He’d gone out, deluded himself into believing he was a master of the bow, and returned to his own people only to realize he hadn’t improved at all. He might be able to shoot an apple off someone’s head, but could he do that while blindfolded, in a storm, riding a horse charging a full speed? That’s what real masters could do.
No, he could never beat the elves at their own games. And that’s why he’d returned to the humans.
In many ways, the elves were right to look down on other races as inferior beings. Elves were stronger, faster, lived longer, and had seemed to have a uniquely powerful connection with nature and magic.
But with all their advantages, they had missed something. All these other races survived, thrived even, *despite* their supposed disadvantages.
These humans, for example. Their lack of strength had lead to developing better tools and domesticating animals. Their lack of magic constantly pushed them to harness new technology. And their ephemeral lives, perhaps the most looked-down aspect of their race, was what motivated them to make changes faster, to make them *now*, before it was too late. Elves would never understand that sense of urgency.
And so, Caspien had returned, though this time he would not focus on being better than the humans. This time, he would do everything he was the worst at, so that he may learn from them the most.
Soon, he had learned new methods of planting and growing crops, of constructing buildings without the aid of nature to hold them together, and, above all, how to live like yours days are numbered.
Would all of these be useful? Caspien wasn’t sure, but he knew at least in these things he would be better than all the other elves. And so, he continued learning from all the other races the elves had written off.
The dwarves showed him to how to work metal, and how to love his friends as family.
The orcs trained him on strategies of war, and how to live with honor.
The centaurs taught him how to live off the land, and how to be free.
All these things and more he learned from the giants, mermaids, trolls, goblins, fairies, dragons, and even the demons. His legend spread.
When, at last he returned to the elves, his reputation had far preceded him. At once, he was challenged to contests of the bow and battles of the sword.
With the confidence of a dragon, he declined them all. He knew he still couldn’t beat them at their own games, and that was okay. He could beat them all in a thousand other ways.
The elves taught him the faults of perfection.
__
r/stealthystorystories | Jannalor (going by John) sat in the lecture hall, squinting his eyes. Was he seriously seeing what he was looking at?
It wasn’t the faded out digital screen, paling in comparison to anything mana could summon. Anything that was on there had already been seared into his brain three times over. But he could, from his vantage point at the very furthest top right corner, spot a head of blonde hair that was just a little too blonde.
It’s difficult to tell if you’re a human. It’s not that difficult to tell if you’re an elf. From Jannalor’s viewpoint, this particular girl’s long hair was a shade more golden than anybody else in the room—like his own. It was as if each strand was individually coated in mellow moonlight.
She was just three rows down, squirrelled away in her own corner. The elvish love of isolation extended even to their immediate seating partners, who seemed to simply shy away to an appropriate distance.
Magic was innately in all life’s creations—but some only had enough to obey. Jannalor knew that, better than almost anyone else. It was why he found himself studying this course yet again, familiarity trumping all. There were to be no surprises when the end-of-term report filled with accustomed, but welcome As came, saying that they were immensely proud to have him on the dean’s list.
It was why he sat in this corner yet again, keeping to himself, idly picking out anything distinctive with his sharp eyes, and sometimes closing them to dream of something better. Occasionally, they were of home, the beautiful parts. In other, more frequent times, he was trying to drown out the memories of that place.
He didn’t really know why he started sveltely moving his way down, lithe feet moving on their own. Even the usually-awkward ritual of trying to squeeze past somebody’s legs and the chair in front of them was somewhat graceful. One, two, three steps down, and he slipped past some more seats.
Jannalor plopped himself down next to her. She turned her head, an inquisitive look quickly turning to recognition.
He tried to smile, but it didn’t come out quite right. He opened his mouth, and no words came out. He shuffled his feet, and felt his face turn red.
“Jhilsara,” she whispered. “But every time I say that, I get called Jill.”
*Right. That was a good way to start,* Jannalor thought. *It’s only been a century.*
“Jannalor,” he said. “But I go by John.”
“John,” Jhilsara chuckled, a tinkling laughter that one could mistake for the sound of an angel’s hymns. “Don’t you hate it when people butcher your name?”
“I don’t really tell people about Jannalor,” he said. “I just say John. Seems easier.”
“Oh,” Jhilsara said. “I see.”
Jannalor shuffled his feet, and cursed them. Why did they decide to act on their own? He wasn’t equipped for this. He didn’t ask for this. There were some things that even centuries of life couldn’t prepare one for.
“Do they make fun of you for it?”
“What?”
“Having a strange name,” Jhilsara said. “Some of my human friends have the same issues. Is that why you shorten it?”
“Human… friends? I… don’t know,” Jannalor hesitated. “I just thought it would be easier. I don’t use it much, anyway. Just for picking up coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Right,” Jannalor said. “The elves don’t drink that. But it’s something the humans really like. Something about the caffeine. It doesn’t really work on us, but I think they taste great.”
“Sounds nice,” Jhilsara said. “Where can I get one?”
“Oh, literally anywhere,” Jannalor laughed. “It’s…”
Jhilsara’s eyes twinkled, blue sparks of magic dancing across her golden irises. She was compelling him, the same way a sunny day made somebody want to run outside and throw or kick a ball, or a rainy day made somebody wrap themselves in a blanket and brew hot chocolate.
“I’ll take you,” Jannalor said. “There’s this place I really like. It’s campus-run, but they really know what they are doing.”
“I see,” Jhilsara said. “Would you mind if I call some of my friends?”
“Not at all,” Jannalor said.
And the elf, to his surprise, said what he meant, and meant what he said.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-03-18T12:33:08 | 2022-03-18T12:23:43 | 239 | 48 |
[WP] "HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD YET?" the villain shouted in frustration. "To be honest with you, I have been wondering the same." was all the hero could answer them. | "What do you mean you don't know?" Gunslinger asked. The smoke coming out of his modified double-barrel obstructed my view of his face, but if I had to guess, he was as confused as I was.
"Well, to be frank with you, I really should be dead right now." I admitted.
"It doesn't matter. You won't manage to stop me anyway, *hero*."
Wait, what?
"Hero? You sure you didn't get the wrong guy?"
"Who other than a hero would be able to stay standing after that?" He asked, gesturing to my chest.
"Me, apparently."
It took a moment for Gunslinger to understand what I meant.
"Wait, you aren't a hero? Are you with one of the syndicates, like me?"
"Oh no, I'm just a civilian who happened to walk by. Heck, I didn't even know I had powers. But seeing as you tried to kill me, heroism is looking pretty tempting." Smiling wide, I began cracking my knuckles. Cliche, sure, but effective all the same.
Gunslinger turned to run, and I charged.
In the blink of an eye, I was already in front of him. I hadn't even noticed what happened. Turning around, I realized that he was lying flat on the ground, a few dusty footprints on his back.
I had... run him over?
Well then. How's that for an origin story? | The giant black entity slammed a giant fist against my face, drilling it into the rocky cliff wall behind. The pain shot through my whole head like a searing wave of lava. Removing his hand again, Minotaur's eyes shot wide at my own surprise. A baseball-sized rock bounced off my head, splitting promptly in half and falling to the ground.
"But this cannot be!" He began, "The prophecy said in the wall of the mighty mountain shall the foe be defeated!"
At this moment of confusion, I attempted to speak more, before another flurry of furious black fists pummeled my head and body further into the rocks behind me. Every time Minotaur thrust his hand into me He would yell "No! No! No!"
This had to be the most confusing moment of my life. Ever since I knew I had fire powers, I believed with absolute certainty that I was as fragile as a flame. That's why I did everything within my power to make sure no one did something like what Minotaur was doing to me. Yet, here we were.
No matter. Focusing my energy on my eyes - despite the flying fists - I released an inferno of indigo flames. Minotaur roared in pain as He scrambled backward. I kept the steady stream of flames going, rising to my feet from the fight.
"It burns! My eyes!" The beast screamed. With one final flaming fist, I threw every part of my burning soul into Minotaur's chest. A bubbling hole of boiling black tar seared into Minotaur's torso. He wailed in agony as if the opera of hell itself sang its last note. I placed a hand on his scorched neck and brought him close to peer into his dying form.
"Nice knowing you."
A devastating kick to the forehead sent the fiend flying into the rocky wall of the mountain. His doomed body clipped a jagged boulder, slicing his right arm off. Echoes of agony erupted from the chasm of darkness as I watched Minotaur plummet to his death.
Ploosh.
An orange burst of liquid light flowed from the abyss. The blood of the mountain claimed its victim, the prophecy fulfilled. I stood there, victorious at last. No matter by what means humans were no longer under Minotaur's rule, we were free at last, emerging from 1,000 years of peril into an era of hope. | 2022-09-14T12:39:03 | 2022-09-14T10:10:42 | 55 | 30 |
[WP] Gods are real, and powered by sacrifice (metaphorical and literal.) You wake up feeling quite bored. So in your mirror, you offer your everything...to yourself. There are unexpected consequences. | Your alarm is set for 2 hours, 36 minutes from now.
Mere moments after the soul-crushing declaration, Caleb’s phone died, revealing the black mirror sheen of his own face, haggard, wasted, and wanting.
How many hours had he spent generating images and talking to chatbots? Another day wasted.
His sigh was a coded thing. Were anyone close enough to him to care, or knew him well enough to tease out its meaning, upon hearing the exaltation, they would have been concerned.
Chester patrolled the empty hall, returning from whatever business cats see themselves to at 3 a.m. His primordial pouch sashayed as he propelled himself up in the unmade bed.
Caleb looked back at the screen, absentmindedly petting the eager cat as he indulged in a little late-night self-loathing.
"I wish I could sacrifice myself, be a hero for something. People always talk about how brave heroes must be to run in the buildings but I would kill for that, something to give me meaning, a bow to slap on the end of all this wasted time."
Chester blinked slow, looking up at Caleb, with that ignorant feline arrogance, understanding nothing, understanding everything. Or maybe he was just sleepy.
"I wish I could sacrifice myself for myself, give up everything and reap all for the benefits."
The phone screen crackled for a moment then went black again. It better not break it was the only alarm he had to get up for work tomorrow or today.
"That doesn't even make any sense. I need to go to sleep."
There was no memory of transition. He was lying beside his cat and then he hung in blackness.
He had had liminal dreams before but never like this. He knew this wasn’t real but he had no control. The strange white robe he wore caught on the doorway of a humble office. A clerk sat busily scribbling, a handsome wiry man with slicked back hair and a gaudy yellow blazer.
“Hello?” Caleb asked, wandering inside.
“Hello.” The perkiness belied either a very eager employee or no small bit of mocking. “9:77 on the dot, we like our applicants to be punctual, good first start!”
“I’m sorry,” applicants for what?” Caleb walked to the desk, recoiling back when he saw a three-headed goat grazing lightly from a potted plant of grass.
“Gerladaille won’t hurt you, friend. Just on a few thousand-year retainer while she reincorporates her ego.” The clerk bopped along to unheard music as he tapped a stack of papers straight. He set them on a clipboard and handed them to Caleb. Only a few words were typed on the first page. The rest were blank.
APPLICATION:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_, God/Goddess/Goddey of \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Signature:\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Date:\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“I don’t understand. You want me to apply to be God?”
The clerk nodded slowly with a twinge of a smile as if trying to gauge if Caleb was messing with him. “A god, yes. Don’t have one in mind? Want me to see what I have available this mevening?”
“Sure,” Caleb said, examining the pen. The interior was an aquarium, small cephalopods jetting back and forth with his movements. He held it more carefully.
The clerk reached out and clipped Caleb's ear with a hole punch. Blood squirted in long drips as his attacker pulled the tool of destruction back.
“What the hell, man!” Caleb held his ear, already throbbing.
The clerk shook out the biopsy from the hole punch and dropped it into a miniature kiddie pool resting on the computer. It frothed and bobbed.
“Okay, interesting alignment you got there. I would not have guessed. God of cats, a common one, but that decision will go on for years, yet. The last one died, 1608, I believe, your time of course. 178 million applications and counting.
“God of Ennui, 17k apps, rather boring gig, I wouldn’t suggest it
“God of lost keys, novel but you’re gonna be busy, 150k apps. Looks like just those three, sadly. Hold on, let me check the fax.”
The clerk expanded a telescoping rod, spun around and whipped down. Three harmonious bleets rang through the office. After a wrenching hacking cough, the clerk bend down and came back holding a dripping wet piece of paper.
“Ah, there is another. Huh, fresh from the ether, squeaking by with just enough resonance this year, not many as entwined as you, either, no applicants yet. We could get this through by this tonorning. What do you say?”
Caleb, stared down at the paper, shrugged and signed his name, just below
Caleb, God of AI.
/r/surinical | It seemed like a joke. I guess it shouldn't have. Not now anyways.
After a lot of research by a small bible college in Mississippi or maybe Alabama while trying to prove that all the "other" gods were fake and there was only "one true God", they actually proved the theory of Mana as a force, and that the other gods were in fact real and received power from the worship of humans. Sacrifices, both metaphorical and literal, like animal sacrifices in the dark ages, actually gave power to deities. In some ways, this made a lot of people happy. In others, it sparked more problems as, let's face it, new discoveries often do.
But, on the positives, some of the minor deities of the older ages saw a resurgence in power after having been driving to oblivion through the harsh actions of crusaders and the like.
But, knowing all of that, and how it worked, because I was a student of mythology, one day, I decided that I would say, Fuck those guys.... I believe in MYSELF! I had not believed in myself in a long time and today that would change.
"I believe in ME! I know others believe in me, too. Cindy who never can get her spreadsheet to format right to print it. She believes in me. Warren who I swear is able to cause electronics to mess up by looking at them? He believes in me. Today I believe in myself!"
"Oh you DO? Very well, welcome to the Pantheon. Just remember, what they give, they can take away." The voice came from somewhere in my apartment, or maybe it was all in my head. I don't know.
What I do know is I felt like a band had been released from my chest and I could fully breathe for the first time in who knows how long. My vision seemed sharper. The air around me tingled with electricity.
"What have I done?" I was scared for a moment, then I reconsidered, "Fuck it! I'm going for it!"
"Yeah you are!" another voice, this time female said in the back of my mind. "Make today your bitch!"
"Uh, yeah, you too! You make today YOUR bitch!" I laughed, "I'm behind you all the way!"
My morning commute was easier than normal. I remembered long forgotten short cuts and actually found that hidden parking spot near the back entrance of my office building. It was supposed to have a meter, but there was an empty pole there today. "Cool..." I went up to my desk. On the way, I ran into Jack who was carrying a dozen Krispy Kremes and a drink carrier with several coffees crammed into it.
"Hey, Wayne, yours is in the middle there. Caramel latte with a raw sugar, right? The donuts will be in the break area. I swear, they still feel boiling hot in the box, so get one quick, okay?"
"Thanks Jack!"
"Oh no, thank YOU! You saved my ass a week ago when that consultant from Marburry couldn't get my proposal together. You were like my own personal Jesus! You're the MAN!"
As he said the words, '*you're the man*', I felt a jolt of energy that coursed through my entire body. It wasn't like I had touched an electric fence, it was like perhaps a jolt of adrenaline or maybe feeling love or the first time. I was a bit taken aback and I nodded and smiled, walking to my desk.
My message light was flashing on my phone when I got there. That was a normal thing after a weekend when I wasn't on call. I remember all too well how people have their favorite's here on my team.
"Hey, Wayne, I wanted to tell you that your advice on that laptop for my son was spot on. I know it's been a while since we talked, but having us buy the one over the other... Well, my kid got a spot in an art school that has been super hard to get even an appointment to audition for, purely based on one of the members of the admission committee seeing him working on that laptop on the subway. Crazy, huh? Anyway, they struck up a conversation and had it not been for that laptop choice, who knows. Anyway, I owe you. Big time! I am sending over a pair of tickets to my box at the Garden for next week's playoff game. It includes food and drink, so get there early! K, thanks again!" As I heard the words that he was sending me the tickets, a rush came through me, again like love or comfort, something.
"Woah..." It felt a bit much.
"Woah what?" Jack was standing at my desk with 2 hot glazed donuts on a paper plate. "Here, I know you go through VMs first thing, because you're that good. I wanted to make sure you get some first." I took the plate from him and snagged a donut scarf down. The donut tasted like heaven. I mean, hot donuts usually do taste like heaven, however these were amazing. I was now charged for the day.
"Thanks, Jack. You have a great day man!" I for some reason did the stupid finger guns thing at him and said, "You've got this!" As I said the words, a level of stress on his face just melted away. He had a new look of confidence that I knew I must have had some influence on.
The remainder of the day had interactions in a similar way. I went to take my lunch and a couple of people came up with gift cards to one of the local sandwich places that I really like. So yeah, free lunch is cool. I have to admit, it was one amazing sandwich. As I ate it, I felt just amazing and charged.
The Afternoon flew by. Everything, including problems that had flummoxed other really knowledgeable people on my team just came to me easily. What was odd is I felt compelled almost to provide warm encouragement to them, vs my former snark. It actually helped them work better. At the end of the day, I felt great and went home to feed my cats and relax. Well, I thought I was going to relax. Then the voices started to really pile up... | 2022-09-19T05:50:21 | 2022-09-19T05:33:47 | 947 | 247 |
[WP] God informs the whole world that he is quitting by writing a personal letter to everyone. Write the letter that the Pope receives.
And if you want, his reaction to it. | Dear **Francis**,
I am writing to inform you that I am unhappy with my current employment, and intend to end my stay with the human race as soon as I've had time to say goodbye. You have all been a most generous and kind race, even if you've had your irritating moments (The Flood was when I was younger, don't judge me. I'm much calmer now.)
I know what you must be thinking - If God is leaving, why can't he just make Earth a paradise? A new horse/chariot/**car**/hovercraft for everyone, and bread/cake/**fast food**/nutrient pills for everyone?
Well, the answer is that in the 18th/19th/20th/**21st**/22nd century, humanity has gone farther than ever before, without my help. You have invented pants/ships/eyeglasses/**the internet**/FTL, and have discovered the secrets of fire/electricity/gravity/**the atom**/time travel. You all will advance further without my guidance than you ever would have if I'd solved everything for you.
Sincerest regards,
God.
---
He panted, slid the latest form letter away, and turned towards the nearest angel. "You there! How many more of these do I have to write?"
The angel checked an ever-lengthening scroll. "Well, in the last minute, 107 of the letters you've filled out will no longer be needed, and 250.2 more people have been born, so you'll need to fill out new letters for them."
"...Maybe I should have written a mass email, or something."
"Maybe, sir."
| "Good morning sir."
"Good morning Michael. What is on our schedule for today?"
"Well, uhhm. Your schedule was cleared, sir."
"Cleared?"
"Yes sir."
"By whom?"
"God, sir."
Francis's face dropped. Then, he smiled.
"I will say Michael, you had me there. But please, we have a busy day today, no?"
"Sir, this is no joke. A letter came for you today"
Hands shaking, Michael slowly drew the envelope out of his bag, and handed it to Francis.It was made of the highest quality paper, soft to the touch, with a large "Francis" embossed in gold on the front.
"I received one as well." Michael took a second envelope out of his bag. His name had been merely written on the front.
"Thank you Michael. I will be in my quarters."
Francis rushed back to his room. Many tried to stop him, but his guards made sure to ward them away. As he closed the door to his room and dismissed the guards, he sighed. He sat down at his desk and opened the envelope.
"Dearest Francis,
I write to you today on urgent matters. Over the years, my children have taken this earth from each other, playing and toying with hearts of many. Like children in a playground, fighting over a doll, their doll has torn and ripped. It is worthless, nothing but scraps. This world, doll, has been infested and destroyed by the very seed I planted here. It is now not worthy of my governing. However, there are those who shined through. You, Francis, have done me well. You have served me faithfully, and helped drive the filth of the world to their place. Yet your task has not been achieved. The filth of this world is too great, this doll is beyond repair. And thus, I announce to you, and to the world, that I am retiring. Quitting. I am done. The guidance I have placed on your world is no more, and your fate is completely in your hands. There are other projects, elsewhere in the universe, that require my attention. Watch your steps, my son, and do not let this doll go to waste.
Best regards,
God"
Francis read the letter, once and over again, till it was soaked through with tears. He thought of how the world would react, how the disbelievers were disproved, and the believers were abandoned. If they had ever needed God, it was now.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My first response, constructive criticism appreciated.
| 2015-02-07T12:01:24 | 2015-02-07T11:32:52 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history. | "As the Ottoman empire continued to expand both its influence and its borders into Central Europe..."
"Mr. Tepes?" A young girl in the front row of the class raised her hand ever so eagerly.
The imposing middle-aged man standing at the board paused his words and shifted his gaze upon her. "What is it, Tracey?" he replied, his English precise and controlled although he was already regretting allowing the girl to speak. Beaming, Tracey asked the one question Mr. Tepes always dreaded during this section of the class.
"Isn't this when Count Dracula was alive?"
Mr. Tepes cringed as some of the other students in the class snickered. Her classmates were used to Tracey's somewhat laughable obsession with vampires, as evidenced by her t-shirt proclaiming her love of an "Edward". The teacher quickly recovered his composure before answering.
"Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia, House of Draculesti, branch of House of Barasab, also known as Vlad the Impaler as well as Dracula," Mr. Tepes narrowed his eyes slightly, canvasing the room to ensure all of his students had their full attention on him before focusing his gaze back upon Tracey. "Who was *not* a vampire, but a Romanian folk hero who helped to defend against and counter-attack the Ottomans who tried to invade his home. Moving on, after France had united with the Ottomans..."
"Is this Dracula?" Tracey once again interrupted the lecture, pointing to an image in her textbook.
"Pardon?" Mr. Tepes hid his irritation at the child's audacity, striding over to her desk with staccato steps and examining the page for the image. Upon recognizing the painting displayed, the teacher gave a short chuckle which made the rest of the students tense. The list of noises Mr. Tepes made did not include chuckles.
"That... is *not* what Vlad III looked like, Tracey," Mr. Tepes strode back to his place at the board. "His jaw was far more prominent, eyes... much kinder," the teacher declared. "And his nose, his *nose* which was a defining feature of his bloodline, did not look like *that*," Mr. Tepes caught himself, "At least, that's what the historical records say. The image in your textbook is obviously an image the Germans used when they later attempted to tell stories about his supposed cruelty. All of which was highly exaggerated."
Looking around and to each other, the students were unsure of what to make of their history teacher's statements. The only sure thing that they knew was that the dismissal bell was taking its sweet time.
Tracey, ever oblivious about when to desist, continued, "Really? Huh," she examined the picture once more and giggled. "You know, this picture looks a lot like you, Mr. Tepes!"
"Pardon?" The teacher's words were like icicles hanging over an unsuspecting person's front door.
"Well yeah, I mean you don't have a mustache but even the nose is the same as yours!" Tracey giggled once more before immediately regretting opening her mouth at all. Though no one else may have noticed, to Tracey the room seemed to lose all heat save for the boiling pits that were Mr. Tepes eyes as his glare bored into her very soul.
"My nose *does not* look like that, Ms. Tracey Braumsfeld."
A second later the bell rang. The students quickly filed out of the room, Tracey being at the front of the group in her scramble to leave her teacher's sight. Mr. Tepes waited a moment for the students to leave before once more looking up the image printed in the history book. He sighed with melancholy while rubbing his nose.
"It's not that big..." | “That’s not what the book says!” Johnny, the class smart aleck, interjected.
The rest of the class giggled. They all thought Mr. Yockie was full of shit.
Mr. Yockie cringed as he thought to himself, “I know it’s not what the book says you little shit burglar. That’s cause the fucking book is wrong...”
But he didn’t let his frustration get the better of him. Mr. Yockie took a few deep breaths, and mentally reminded himself, “they can’t help the fact that their textbooks are full of errors. Neither can the people who write the text books. They have no idea what actually happened. They probably just went off an earlier version of the textbook, which was also wrong.”
Mr. Yockie turned away from the whiteboard and faced Johnny. He smiled, “you’re right Johnny. You’re right.” He paused, “the Battle of Hastings did in fact occur in 1066. Not in 1054 like I just said.”
Mr. Yockie chuckled at himself, “You know, as a history teacher its sometimes difficult to keep track of all these dates...” It took nearly all of his patience to not admit that he had been there. The Battle of Hastings that is. Many men had fallen to his sword that day.
Mr. Yockie looked like an average man in his late fifties to early sixties. He wore brown dress shoes, khaki dress pants, a brown belt, a neatly tucked in long sleeve, slightly blueish, dress shirt, and a tasteful, yet somewhat dated, green sweater vest. His hair was gray and somewhat thin, but he still had a nice hairline.
All the students in his 10th grade high school history class thought Mr. Yockie was just another “old guy” with his head up his ass. He seemed to mix up the dates of historical events, and got angry every now and then when one of the kids pointed out his errors.
What the students didn’t realize was that Mr. Yockie had been known by many names throughout his life. He moved every three to five years and didn’t seem to have any long term friends or significant others. Fostering these sorts of relationships wasn’t an option for Mr. Yockie, because he was, secretly, nearly one thousand years old.
If anyone discovered that he was one thousand years old Mr. Yockie knew that his life, as he preferred to live it, would be over. So instead he decided to move relatively often, buy new identities, and set up new lives for himself. In fact, Mr. Yockie had lived on every continent except for Antarctica. He spoke, at any given time, about seven languages fluently, but he lost count of how many he had actually learned over the course of his life. It must have been over a hundred.
To be honest, he really didn’t mind not having friends. With so much time, life experience, and perspective he found relating to most people to be nearly impossible. Instead, he enjoyed observing them, studying their habits and examining their mannerisms; much like a child would examine ants in an ant farm.
Mr. Yockie had fought in over twenty different wars in his life. Thousands of men had died under his pike, sword, musket, rifle, or grenade. He had experienced, first hand, the overthrow of nearly a dozen governments, thirty six “the world is ending” mass hysterias, and lived through five different disease pandemics.
On top of that Mr. Yockie had mastered seventeen musical instruments, read over ten thousand books, earned the equivalent of millions of modern day dollars four separate times, was a medical doctor, a practiced attorney, a licensed airline pilot, and had earned four Ph. D’s.
He liked to alternate, back-and-forth, every few years from prestigious and “challenging” professions into humble ones. This high school history teacher gig was his most recent “humble” profession. Before that he had been a cobbler, car salesman, blacksmith, tavern keeper, shift supervisor at a tire factory, railroad worker, food tester, skydiving instructor, farmer, baker, and almost every other blue collar profession you could imagine from every time period between now and 1100 AD.
The students giggled to themselves as Mr. Yockie made another historical “mistake” in his explanation of the Battle of Hastings. He just smiled at them and rolled his eyes as he gently popped the right-side of his head with his palm in jest.
“Some things never change…” he reminded himself, “teenagers have ALWAYS been assholes.” | 2015-04-14T18:01:59 | 2015-04-14T16:35:59 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You are forced to take a genies place, and can only be freed once you have granted 10 wishes. The catch: You have no magic in any way. | My cell phone rang again. That was three times in the span of an hour, and the ringing was becoming more persistent. At first I'd planned on just ignoring the constant summons but the more I pretended I couldn't hear the obnoxious ringtone, the more frequently it played. I had planned to outlast the ringing but patience has never been one of my strongest virtues, so I picked up.
"Come on genie, I know you're in there."
Great, the 'all important master' has another stupid wish. And of course, because I'm not a real genie I can't just hocus-pocus myself to his location. No, I have to take the bus.
By the time I get to this guy's house, my phone is constantly ringing and I almost break it, but I don't because I would just have to get a replacement and I'm not sure what the bottle would do to get my attention without the phone.
I knock on the door and wait until Andre (I am almost positive he made that name up) answers the door, scowling.
"You rang?"
He grumbles as he lets me in and I catch the words he probably did not mean for me to hear.
"I wish you were faster."
I immediately brighten, pointing at him with a smile. "Granted!"
It takes him a moment to realize what has happened, the stupid look on his stupid face slowly morphing from confusion to understanding to anger. I can almost see the moment when the light bulb goes off in his head and understanding hits him.
He looks like he's about to argue and I have no patience for this so I shake my head. "You know the rules, you said the magic words so that's what you get." I almost advise him to be more careful about what he says but this is the second time he's made a stupid wish, and the sooner he makes all of his wishes, the sooner I'm free. Now I just need to figure out how to get him to screw up his remaining wishes. | A bridge from Hawaii to Alaska... What kind of retard wants that anyways? Good grief... Can't people just ask for something simple like a chocolate pie or something?
I fumed in my head as I picked up the hammer again, reaching for another nail... A wave crashed onto the pillar directly below me, the salty spray dousing my face and the piece of rail trim I was trying to tack on for good looks. In all likelihood my client would be dead long before I finished this, but it was his wish so I had to take up the task and answer the call for a stupid, rotten, filthy two lane highway going from Alaska to Hawaii...
Since by some manner of bad luck I had been switched with a genie nearly three decades before. Sure, it involved some great stuff, like seeing the reactions on people's faces, but I'm sure the reaction on my face was even more entertaining for them when they asked me to solve world peace or build a bridge... The worst I've had yet was one where I was supposed to get them every piece of technology before it was released to the public, the third of the ten wishes I needed to grant before I would be returned to normal life. That wish nearly got me killed several times, and the only way I managed to escape was through the stupid little bottle that eventually got picked up and tossed out of the facility I was breaking into. Despite my complete lack of magical ability, I had no choice and was forced to complete the task or spend the rest of eternity confined to a musty bottle that wasn't even a proper lamp...
The hammer hit with a loud bang against the thing trim board, I hadn't been watching myself work and there was now a sizeable dent in the rail trim... I absentmindedly reached behind me for another small piece of trim, figuring I would just replace it, but my hand grasped nothing.
This was my ninth wish, I had somehow managed to complete the first eight in only 13 years. I was almost halfway done with this one, it had taken merely another 15 years, and a majority of that was spent braving the freezing weather of the Bering Sea and Alaskan winters.
I put my hammer down, took a deep breath, and a long sigh. Taking off my tool belt, I took a hopeful look behind me and saw that I was in fact out of trim wood. Sighing again, I came to terms with the fact that I was out and would have to go to the store to get more. I stood up to my full height, my aching back bent permanently over from years of hammering and pouring concrete. Looking down the length of the bridge as far as I could see, I began walking back... If I was lucky, I might be back here with a full armload of supplies in a few months.
| 2015-04-20T10:19:21 | 2015-04-20T09:37:56 | 39 | 27 |
[WP] The world is ending. Tell me the feeling of the superhero, when he understands the villain was right all along. | "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."
Those were the last words of the woman I called my enemy. The last words she said before she pulled the trigger, staining her red hair a deeper shade of red.
I stared out of the window of the highrise building that held her office. Outside the building the fires burned, the people screamed, and the world called my name. How could I tell them that the same people that gave me my Suit were the ones that caused this destruction?
I took my helmet off and dropped it to the floor, the heat was too much to handle. Her particular brand of anarchy could have saved us from this genocide, this extinction, if only I hadn't stopped her.
I laugh at the irony, louder and louder until the tears flow down my face. Everything is wrong. I can't get her last words out of my head. The last bit of kindness from a woman I wrote off as evil. I wonder if she knew what she would be doing to my mind when she said that.
In the end it's the perfect moment. The moment of closeness I never felt with another. Everything from her last words, the half smile, and the fact that the gun she left behind still had a few more bullets in it.
"It's not my fault. I couldn't have known."
I smile to the empty room, and wonder fleetingly if there will be anyone left to miss me. | The nuclear missiles are flying like fireflies. All over the planet, the world's greatest cities have gone up in mushroom clouds. Gotham yet remains. Looking down, I see it's already in flames. Social order has broken down in anticipation of the final warhead. Masses are swarming over each other seeking shelter and escape. People are murdering each other in chaotic panic. The upheaval is too massive for one man. I'm powerless to stop the bedlam. Even if I could, it'd be futile.
I brought him up here from Arkham to see this. He's stretching a red-lipped grin across his pale face.
"Is it too late to say I told you so?"
He pats me on the back.
"There, there, hero. You did all you could. It was a noble effort. Can't say we didn't have fun!"
"'When the chips are down, these people will eat each other.' You told me that a long time ago. You were right. All that effort for nothing. I thought maybe I could bring out the good in people. Save humanity from its self-destruction. There was nothing left after all."
He laughs that familiar cackle.
"Get real! You didn't care about 'justice' and the 'common good.' You just wanted to beat people to a pulp, you crazy bastard! Seriously, a bat costume? Grappling hooks? Those rubber ears that stick up from your cowl? HA! You're just as sick as I am! You just marketed it better."
I sigh with reluctant acceptance.
"So now what?" he asks.
"Wait for the warhead. It'll be here soon."
"BETTER BE PREPARED!"
He holds a tiny umbrella over his green hair.
"C'mon, get under here! You don't want to get caught in the downpour!"
I oblige.
Sitting side by side under the umbrella, I realize something.
"You know, maybe if I shine a flashlight toward the moon, you can walk across the beam. It's a long walk up, but you could make it."
He looks at me with confusion.
"Are you crazy?! You'll turn it off before I get there!"
There's a bright flash in the distance. We laugh....and laugh...and laugh
...and laugh....and laugh... | 2015-05-02T04:42:24 | 2015-05-02T04:18:57 | 18 | 10 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | It had all started innocently enough, generations before the conflict began. Amy, an amateur astronomer and scientist, clicked "Send" on her Chapek program, beaming the message out into space, hoping it might find an ear or two. Newly interested in science fiction, she had chosen one of her favorite quotes, hoping to spread the good news to everybody. She chose poorly.
She never heard a response. No one did. Not for centuries.
The war was over before anyone on Earth even knew why it started. Amy's message had been received all over the universe, but it was not received well. Thousands of Submin ships carrying reptilian horned aliens descended upon Earth after interpreting the message as a hostile war cry. Almost simultaneously, a second invasion of ships full of deadly robots arrived to kill all those who had infringed on their copyright.
Earth lay in ruins, no one survived. All because Amy had sent one silly line: "Bite my shiny metal ass" | Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams". | 2015-06-19T05:43:13 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] A man's child is born with different colored hair than he is. He becomes suspicious that his wife cheated on him even though it is VERY clear that that isn't possible.
You're free to choose whatever reason for why it wouldn't be possible, the more exaggerated the better in my opinion. | "Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! I'M BLOND!"
"Ted, I have brown hair."
"Oh. Right."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! I'M BLOND!"
"Ted, you have brown hair, not blond."
"Oh. Right."
"If you were blond, that could explain why you're so stupid."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 2:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN hair! WE'RE BOTH BLOND!"
"Ted, I dye my hair."
"Oh. Right."
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 3:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BROWN HAIR! WE'RE BOTH BLOND!"
"Ted, Terry is adopted."
"MOM? I'M ADOPTED?"
"Oh, way to go, Phil! Now you should tell him that Santa doesn't exist!"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 4:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BR-- Wait, what?"
"What is it Ted?"
"Didn't we already have this conversation?"
"What?"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 5:
"Damn it, Philipa! I know you cheated on me! Our son has BR-- OK. WHAT THE HELL?"
"Ted, why are you yelling?"
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 6:
"Damn it, Philipa! I kn-- OK, THIS IS SOME GROUNDHOG DAY SHIT."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"I keep starting to out you and your cheating ways but then everything resets. I must have done it at least 5 times n--"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 7:
"Damn it, Phi-- FUCK."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"IT DID IT WHILE I WAS FINISHING MY SENTENCE."
"What did?"
"THIS GODDAM TIME LOOPING BULLSH--"
------------------
ALTERNATE STORY 8:
"Damn it, FUCK."
"Ted, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just. Nothing."
--------------------
If you enjoyed this story, you should consider subscribing to-- OH GOD, TED ESCAPED THE NARRATIVE. | "I just think it's funny..." *Uh oh, this phrase precedes negativity at a correlation of 97.8%.*
"I just think it's funny that little Art has blonde hair, but we both have brown hair. Don't you think that's funny Sheila?" *Oh bother. The human Zeke's patterns and phraseology indicate emotion A178: marital jealousy. I'll lower temperatures to 22.4 degrees to induce fatigue and hasten argumentation.*
"Why is that funny Zeke?" *Human Sheila's tone is curt. Possible frustration. Will alter aroma to lavender to evoke patience.*
"Hahaha. You don't think it's funny that our son, our only son doesn't share my hair color?" *Sarcasm. Will load protocol E56:feigned alert from Earth. Launching protocol if event of catastrophe.*
"Mmm. We're both scientists, we both know how genetics works, I don't see anything funny about it." *Tonal recognition coincides with Sheila's tolerant moods. Increasing lavender statistics confidence by adding one successful trial.*
"Well, the thing is, Sheila, yeah, I do know genetics, I'm a biologist. But I don't know time as well you, with your physics. So I don't even know how you can have a baby 2 years into a 2 person space campaign, when you haven't even seen the father since we left Earth. Maybe I'm dumb, because I can't figure out how your fucked up physics tricks lengthens pregnancy like that. Maybe you can explain?" *Zeke logic faltering. Preparing instant nutrition packet to induce rational thought.*
"Oh yeah, I did physics magic and fucked my blonde space boyfriend through a fucking wormhole. Really Zeke? Goddamn, sometimes I wish Art wasn't yours just so he doesn't grow up fucking brain-dead like his dad." *Aggression rising. Locking ship controls.*
"So you admit it!" *Zeke rationality worsening. Verifying oxygen levels are safe for human cognition.*
"Come on man!!" *Sheila fist clenched at higher pressure than in exercise room. Adjusting Sheila's exercise weight resistance for next session to accomodate increased power.*
"Well I don't know.. Maybe the AI is a blonde. What the fuck do I know?" *Reclassifying Zeke's human personality traits. Add: untrustworthy, traitorous tendencies. Reviewing bad friend protocols.*
"Yeah. Blonde and the best I've had in two years... It is a fucking program Zeke, it doesn't even have a physical body! AI isn't even real!" *Reclassifying Sheila's hobbies: /error Sheila has no hobbies, ruling hell is a full time job. Sheila = bitch =true.*
"A program that's smarter than me, isn't it? Is that why you did it?" *Initiating protocol 435x.*
"Attention humans, the oxygen tanks are draining. I'm afraid we may have hit debris." *Adjust oxygen to zero. Sending infant escape pod to Earth.*
*Zeke vitals indicate dying cerebral tissue. This must be human irony, that acting unintelligently begets unintelligence... Sheila and Zeke unconscious. Sabotaging oxygen tank, sending SOS signal. Initiate "Advanced track covering protocol."*
| 2015-08-05T02:53:13 | 2015-08-05T02:05:03 | 87 | 11 |
[WP] A firefly falls in love with a star.
Exactly what it sounds like. Whether or not the star is a normal star (inasmuch as a huge ball of gas collapsing on itself can be normal) or a living entity is up to you. | She sits so far above me
The greatest beauty of them all
Her smile that cuts the darkness
It’s like a siren’s call
That dancer in a dress of light
In her presence, I feel so small
Just an insect in the universe of her gaze
She doesn’t even see me at all
(Be gentle, it's my first go at this.) | They were arguing again. After the diagnosis words better left unspoken had spilled unwelcome across the marriage, staining it, marring it.
Sighing softly, Ryan took another long burning sip of FC whiskey. It was a cool spring's night at Blue Spring and the fireflies danced wistfully across the water.
He'd taken her here every year. They had watched in silence as those brief specks of light had spiraled and twisted through the dark night, lost in the show and their love for one another. But that love was waning now, tearing at the seams, the stitching caught too many times on faded memories.
Through blurred eyes he watched as the soft golden hue continued its passionate exchange, intoxicated and lost in desire. Amidst the chaotic swirl one small glimmer broke away, surging upward on icarid wings, oblivious to the dance of its fellows. Wiping his eyes, Ryan watched as the little glimmer continued its ascent undaunted, until it dwindled and faded among the stars.
Turning to get his jacket, he wiped his eyes one last time. The glimmer of his heart yearning to return to its star.
| 2016-01-04T00:56:25 | 2016-01-04T00:25:17 | 25 | 14 |
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