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] Office pranks get out of hand once humanity invents the 'respawn point' | "Hey Steve, guess what I just finished doing in Jim's office."
"What? Did you poop on his desk again?"
"No. Even better! I spiked his coffee with poison. He'll have to walk all the way back to work from his house when he re-spawns because his cars here!"
"Didn't Jim say he couldn't afford to pay the re-spawn company this month and his subscription was canceled?"
A thud is heard across the office as a body hits the floor.
"Oops." | I was ecstatic. The deal I was closing was huge. I was looking at the biggest commission I would ever see. I was waiting on one more follow up call, which should have been coming in any minute. But then the siren started blaring.
"No, not *now*." I whispered. Everyone stopped what they were doing and started reaching under their desks. The loud speaker crackled to life.
"Random Deathmatch will begin in fifteen seconds," a voice announced.
"Not now!" I yelled, repeating my earlier whisper. Everyone took out their guns, patiently waiting for the starting bell. The announcer began counting down.
"10, 9, 8..."
"Guys! Seriously, don't shoot me! I'm waiting on a really important call!"
"3, 2, 1." A bell rang. "Commence Deathmatch!" The phone started to ring. Gun shots started filling the room. As I picked up the phone, my head jolted. "First blood!"
As my consciousness started to fade, I could hear a voice fading away. "Hello? Jim? Hello? Screw this, I'm calling Office Max." | 2014-11-19T11:41:41 | 2014-11-19T11:18:25 | 95 | 37 |
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Business was booming.
In his office at St Thomas' Hospital, overlooking the Thames, Dr Jones leaned back in his chair and smiled. In his younger days, people went into the medical profession for a variety of reasons, altruistic and selfish. Now, with the Net Murder Neutrality law, one more reason was added to that list.
Jones was relatively lucky when the law passed. Having worked in trauma, he had his fair share of lives saved, resulting in a high +/-. The medical profession had evolved too, with the Termination programme the 2nd most popular course in med schools.
He got up, glanced at his watch and yawned. Making his way down to level 2, he nodded to several of his colleagues, while a bunch of year 3 med students scurried past.
'Dr Jones? 5 appointments today, and they are all waiting for you in room 221'
'Thank you Natalie. Everything is set up? Any extenuating circumstances I should be aware of?'
'Not that I'm aware of, sir'
'Right. Let me know my plus-minus afterwards'
Jones strode into the room, and smiled. Five terrified pairs of eyes stared at him. 'Morning everyone! Don't be frightened, trust me, I'm a doctor!'
And pulled the first trigger.
Four terrified pairs of eyes stared at him.
Then three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Jones wiped his hands on the towel provided. 'Who did we have today?'
'The CIA sent in the first two, the mafia sent the 3rd. No 4 was the son of a billionaire, we think it was the other heir who sent him here, and no 5 was a terrorist. Your plus-minus is now at +53, but there was a bad accident over in Piccadilly so you should be able to bump it up by the end of today'. Jones nodded and smiled.
Business was booming.
---------------------
haven't written anything in years. please be nice :) | It was landmark legislation. "Net Murder" was the new term they coined. Nobody knew yet what was going to happen. Even worse, they were going back five years to add up all the lives an individual saved and the deaths attributed to them.
The idea was to promote net positive contribution, so that those individuals who helped more than they hurt get to remain participants in society being forgiven for a few errors or transgressions while those that have harmed society are removed.
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but recently, the Supreme Court ruled that "ex post facto law" to be acceptable in cases of criminal justice, due to the rising corruption of the populace and the cleverness of people inventing new ways to get away with it.
Pearlman had just passed his residency and his few surgeries had not gone so well.
"Shit shit shit!" he said aloud. Pearlman wanted to save lives. A lot of them. He worked hard to be the best surgeon he could be. So far he was only able to save one person. The only real problem was, that two died on his watch.
One was elderly, and couldn't be helped. The second was entirely not his fault. Karen had administered rocuronium that was meant for a different patient, instead of the fosphenytoin that was prepared. The young father went into sudden cardiac arrest and was no more. But Pearlman knew Karen was beating herself over it, and covered for her.
Karen had only the one patient. The one that died, but she would be safe. She quit the medical profession immediately afterwards. He was going to be sent to prison for life unless he confessed to the perjury. Then, he could never save any lives again, and would be barred from practicing.
At this point almost all the medical professionals with a negative net death were in prison. Luckily, he worked in a rural hospital with no electronic health records at the time. The Department of Health and Human services knew this though, and were combing through the paper records at the very moment.
Pearlman wasn't going to go out this way, he had to reach zero... fast. No, he had to more than that, he needed a buffer, so he wasn't ever going to be persecuted unfairly.
He placed the unlabeled bag on the IV pole.
EDIT: Hey guys, I'm so sorry this is my second writing prompt post and there are so many plot holes! My intention was that since saving lives has never been counted in the legal system, I made the provision also now factor "losses."
EDIT2: Turns out ER doctors don't so surgery, soo..... | 2015-01-10T09:19:34 | 2015-01-10T07:04:52 | 365 | 64 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | Apparently being a regular has its drawbacks. For our past 10 anniversaries my wife and I have come to this Starbucks, ordered a Venti Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with Soy (she was lactose intolerant) and shared it in the booth where I proposed.
I probably should have known better, but I didn't know where else to go today. I couldn't bear the thought of drinking "our" drink alone so I ordered the first thing I saw on menu. A Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, Tall.
The girl who fixed my drink must have recognized me from the last couple of years, because when I heard my name called it wasn't what I had ordered. I guess I'll sit at our booth alone now. | "How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time". | 2015-01-15T04:26:20 | 2015-01-15T04:24:30 | 1,556 | 94 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
| "How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time". | 2015-01-15T06:47:14 | 2015-01-15T04:24:30 | 1,156 | 94 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
| At last. My delicious, Caffe Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk.
I sat down at the table, and took a long swig of my nectar of the gods.
No.
This was wrong. Something was WRONG. As I looked down at my cup, inhuman scream bubbled from my very soul, and breached my lips as I stared at the ugly, awful betrayer at the front counter.
Her nametag read "Barb". A barb of fire and worms and all things terrible that had pierced my innocent heart with a Double Chocolaty Chip Creme Frappuccino with SOY.
Soy was the last straw. The final brick in the wall of my eternal grief. I broke down at the table, sobbing into my arms, cursing the cruel god of coffee who had caused my terrible plight.
No. I had to be sane. I had to be calm, this was a public place. People would be watching me, so I had to act NORMAL. "Get a hold of yourself" I whispered, choking on my endless tears. I sniffed, and smiled up at the concerned crowd who had crowded around my table.
And then I looked down at my cup, and my hand tightened into a fist. How dare she. How DARE she. The black-hearted demon, the plague-ridden mistress of pain and destruction, "Barb" -
**Had put extra milk in my cup.** | 2015-01-15T06:47:14 | 2015-01-15T04:30:07 | 1,156 | 61 |
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit. | *I wrote a song for this prompt. Lyrics below; listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA](http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA)*
**Duck, Duck, Goose**
You pass by men, men crazy for you,
quacking about what they'd like to do
if you made them your goose.
And I patiently sit, feet under my knees,
waiting for your hand to tap me.
Baby, let's be geese.
Duck, duck, goose.
Am I the one you choose?
Let me chase,
and I know I will catch...
You run in a circle, and they all chase,
but no man has won the race.
Do you see the look on my face?
I've got a hunter's quiet resolve;
I'm ready for the cork gun to go off
and touch your feathers soft.
CH
...your heart. | "Lieutenant Jacobs, since you never gave us that helicopter we so kindly asked for TWO hours ago we're going to play a game. With the hostages. "
A smile came across his face as he eyed the hostages, bags around their heads, sitting in a circle.
"Okay there Jack let's be cool about this, I'm working on getting the helicopter "
" Working on it?" Jack yelled into the phone, knowing full well the Lieutenant was not going to deliver.
"the Mayor is on the line with the airport. We will get you that helicopter if only you give us enough time and not do anything hasty" calm and cool, Jacobs was a veteran, a little yelling wasn't going to disrupt him.
"The Mayor! That corrupt fat fuck. If he wanted me to have a helicopter he would personally fly it out of his beach front Villa! "
Lieutenant Jacobs knew the mayor had shady contacts but that's a problem for another day. "You know he can't just do that. The bureaucracy is in the way, and you know that too"
"Another thing I know is that you're stalling"
"Time to play duck duck goose" Jack pulled the hammer back on his .50 cal magnum
"Duck"
"Don't do this jack"
"Duck"
"Duck"
"God dammit Jack, put the fucking gun down!"
"duck"
"Goose" he hesitated, maybe for a second.
Shattered glass, red all over, swat rushed in.
"Thank you Jacobs, you stalled him just long enough"
"barely" Lieutenant Jacobs took out a cigarette, lit it and walked off.
| 2015-03-23T18:52:21 | 2015-03-23T17:26:45 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help." | I felt quite insulted. The aliens had come, seeking destruction. They had reviewed all of their known space and we were the answer, the only species stupidly dangerous enough to help them fight off the neverending aggressions of their enemy. That was public knowledge, the high powered broadcast they sent out upon their arrival made sure of that. Every TV channel, every radio broadcast drowned out by the signal. Even empty tin cans and rocks with a heavy iron content seemed to hum out the message. What was not public knowledge however was that we had already agreed to help. To send our best. To send our worst. The most dangerous, destructive man on the planet to aid them. They had sent me.
I guess you would call me a psychopath. I never did feel much in life, happiness eluded me but sadness never showed up either. I killed my first man at 12. He tried to touch me. I stopped him. Stopped him with a rock. I didn't feel any different after that, didn't feel the emotions that I had expected to feel. I killed three more that year. The parents of a school friend who had upset me. The man at the bus stop who annoyed me with his grumpy old opinions. It was just the start of a long life of death. I joined the army at 16. I never did quite fit in. I was relatively funny and the others accepted me well enough, but I had a look in my eyes when I killed that they never could get used to. One admitted to me later that it was more like lust than terror. It must have been true because after that I felt it for what it really was. Lust. Lust for death. Lust for the feeling of life that came only from playing the balance. I received my medals and dishonourable discharge on the same day. The officers never did ask me what really had happened that day. I don't think they really wanted to know.
I excelled as a mercenary. Killing for money. I had no need for the money, but it was a bonus, a cherry on the top of my cake. My first arrest was in America, I slipped up and left some blood at the scene. They compared it to records going back all 29 years of my life and found at least a third of my other crimes. Hundreds of murders to my name. My cell was built especially for me, a nice touch I felt, they respected my talent. It was portable my cell, so that they would never need to let me out. Never need to expose the world to the risk that I would pose. I'm still in my cell now. Flying at speeds that shouldn't exist in physics as we know it. Approaching something almost as dangerous as me. I'm still feeling quite insulted, but there's something else, something deeper.
Lust.
**[Edit: Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/38w47q/wp_a_multitude_of_alien_ships_warp_within_range/crzc6mo)** as requested by u/DINDU___NUFFIN | The Zoom of a warp drive, a measurement of exact strength of a vaccuum, (a tricky thing, measuring vaccuum's within a vaccuum!) heated and shook. A contraption built from scrap metal and crap from the outer rim of this solar system.
Kazim was grateful though. In one of the human's furthest reasing trashcan's there was a golden disk... With just enough gold to transfer a high definition message from one of their space stations...
which of course, Kazim would have to take over quietly, and without giving anything away. Which is why the zoom of the space drive, was rather annoying, when usually be found it an impressive thing.
Then Kazim felt ridiculous. He was worrying about sounds in space.
Though, If they found out the truth about him and defenselessness, or his odd intentions, that would be the end of it.
Hostile, primitive life... *They'd likely want to cut me into pieces*, he thought. He considered the little simians, prying and probing him with their glasses and metal.
He was glad his skin was thicker than the indigenous people's. They would have a harder time cutting him open. Something told him though, this animals specialty wasn't in it's brute force, or sharp tools. (Though they did walk on two legs, instead of the polite four. They are like arrogant savages, compared to Protosimians as far as Kazim was concerned.)
All the more reason not to trust them!
He had his eye on one space station in particular. It seemed to issue commands to other nearby satellites. A whole system Kazim could broadcast from..! Imagine the possibilities.
Again, he was thankful for the golden disc. It had some odd mark's on it. He was pretty impressed that cave dwelling primates managed to send a valuable piece of material like this into space... Though they did graffiti it. None the less. They probably knew about it's high definition capabilities.
Impressive.
Kazim had to give it to them.
Literally. He would need it to transfer his images to their communication devices, and try to take over the planet. He would look like a fool back home if he couldn't handle a species so primitive... And his people would never hear the excuse, of his ship being eaten by a Cthulhu... or that he lost to these sub-protosimians.
Whatever the problem, he couldn't stop now. He had come too far. Faught through too much to be made a fool of.
Everyone back home would know his name, when he offered them a new vacation destination, with a commercially enslaved people to serve them.
When Kazim's trashcan powered Zoom drive pressurized him close enough to the space station, he pulled over a mask on the face of his suit, and exited The pod, drifting to the door.
His suit stuck to it. He banged on the space station.
he waited.
A very alarmed man was screaming inside in a matter of minutes.
Kazim held up a piece of paper. "Tell No One."
For lack of a better word, their faces were incredulous.
It was some time, but they finally let him in.
Some hours later, a message arrived everywhere on earth in all the languages of the people on the station.
Unfortunately, the only language was russian.
"We come in peace. In all the universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as the human race has. We need your help."
Kazim Imagined that this message would get him taken directly to their leaders, with access to their weapons. But since the messaged arrived only in Russian, to everyone on the planet, most of the world was left with conspiracy theories, and the Russians laughed it off.
| 2015-06-07T05:24:46 | 2015-06-07T03:21:24 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone has staged an intervention for a problem they think you have. You do not have this problem. It is hard to explain to them that you do not have this problem. | "We want you to know Ed, no matter what, we love you." Said Eds mother. Ed didn't quiet get what his mother was going on about but he found sense the timbre of the room had changed. What was a small impromptu party with his wife, family and friends had suddenly turned into circle of concerned looking adults circling around him.
"Ok" Ed said while stuffing cheesy chips into his mouth.
" We just want you to know we think your recent behavior is...... Well.... It's upsetting and unsettling and..."
" You have to stop dressing like such a slut Ed!" screamed Eds wife. A mix of anger and audible exhaustion left her mouth, followed by confirming nods of the party goers.
Ed looked around slowly with his mouth agape; not in embarrassment or anger but genuine confusion. He quickly panned down to his clothes of choice that day; khakis, a blue polo and worn tennis shoes. The kind of thing a dad who has given up would wear but hardly close to the tramp they believed he was.
" Um, I always dress like this. Mary you bought this shirt for me at Costco when I spilled the buffalo sauce..."
" OH HOW COULD WE FORGET THE BUFFALO SAUCE INCIDENT! Rubbing those big tits with spicy, sexy red sauce. Just trying to keep all those bitches from licking it. You make me sick."
" .... You mean the dogs?"
" Yes, those mongrols you always disappear with late at night and come home stinking of smoke and dog shit. I can't even imagine what you do with them..."
" I smoke while taking them for a walk and pick up the dog shit."
" This is going nowhere," Al chimed up " what you do in your home is your business but we know you have a problem with dressing like a normal man outside too. Stacey saw you in Walmart just flaunting your curves in that skin tight bathing suit."
" I mean I put on a few pounds and was muffin topping pretty hard but flaunting seems like a stretch."
" Funny you should mention stretch, you sure seemed intent on flashing everyone your ass as you stretched to reach your groceries. It just so happens everything you needed was on the bottom shelf huh."
" You told me to get a case of beer, from the floor freezer, for this party...."
" Your worked called as well. Apparently customers are feeling uncomfortable around you when they sit at your desk."
" I work from home."
" It was your wife, she feels uncomfortable. She is claiming you created a hostile work environment. You just don't wear pants to your job most days? What have you become?"
" I work from home."
" I have already spoken to HR and requested mandatory sexual harassment training."
" but I work from ho..... Ok. I will attend. It's clear I have made a mistake."
Ed never wore khakis again. | In a dusty room at the bottom of an attic, there sat four. One of which was blinded, handcuffed, and chained to an old office chair.
This man who's undergoing what may be the beginning stages of a long-time love for a sadist-masochist relationship?
This motherfucker was named Bob.
"Listen, Bob," said John, one of the four men sitting in the room. "Admit, it you have a serious problem."
"What freaking problem? I don't have a problem! Now, let me out of this chair! I have a cake baking in the oven-"
"Now, now, Bob. We're all friends here. We won't judge you. Just say it," Eric fumbled around on his phone, looking up instructions on how to create an IED explosive for no other reason than curiosity.
"Seriously! What the fuck guys?!"
The third person in the room, a younger looking woman, finally spoke up.
"Bob, just admit it. You're into older women-"
"Gee, no shit, Sherlock."
"Specifically, our mothers. That's not okay, Bob. That's never okay," Angie declared, tearing up bits of paper from an old copy of Fifty Shades of Grey and pasting it onto a wireframe print for a paper-mache cat.
The room was silent. Bob sat silently. Silent as a brick. Silent as quiet as the loudness of loud. Yes, it was very, very, quiet. You get the freaking point.
Unfortunately at that moment, Bob's fucking cell phone decided to go ahead and disturb the glorious quietness of silence.
Angie lit a match under her book and tossed it out the window. She then slammed her sweaty hands into Bob's pockets and pulled out the man's phone.
*Three new messages.*
The woman proceeded to unlock the phone, read over the messages, and then barf right over the paper-mache Inner Goddess cat she'd been working on.
Bob's phone then fell into John's hands. That man took a look over at the three new messages, sighed, and then jumped out the window onto the burning book, praying for the sweet relief of death.
Then, came Eric's turn. Now, he didn't even bother looking at the phone. With the magical power of Hollywood hacks, Eric used his electrician skills to set the little smartphone to turn into a bomb that could destroy half a city-block.
Which city-block? Specifically the teenager's lot across the street that made way too much noise at night-times with loud jazz music and annoying orchestral suites.
Fuck that kid.
So, Eric did the reasonable thing and threw the smartphone IED over at the teenager's car, setting it on fire and alerting the local police department.
When the police arrived at Bob's house to investigate, they were met with the odd sight of a woman trying to put a fire on a paper cat, a man burning himself on a terrible piece of abusive-romance fiction, and a potential terrorist that was arrested and sent to Guantanamo.
Further investigation of the destroyed phone, revealed several nude photographs from the three mothers of the three suspects that were arrested at Bob's home.
And yet, the police didn't see Bob. The notorious Bob that'd been roaming the countryside in search of buxom beauties and married lasses. The Bob that was legally, technically, not a sex-offender because he didn't go after young kids.
Yes, that Bob, who was just earlier tied up and bound to a chair, yet inexplicably managed to break out.
Yes, that Motherfucker Bob. | 2015-08-11T12:48:27 | 2015-08-11T09:01:54 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | “Next stop, the inner circle of Hell,” our tour guide angel announced in a cheery voice. I looked at my wife and raised my eyebrows. She took my hand and patted it.
“Probably where you would have ended up if you hadn’t met me,” she whispered.
Our cloud train came to a stop before a large glass window. Beyond the window was a cave, lit by scattered embers and bordered by a river of lava. A large throne dominated the room, and on the throne slouched a young man, slowly swinging his foot while he played a harmonica.
“Here he is,” beamed our guide, “Satan! Once the highest of angles, he betrayed God and was cast down to the deepest dungeon in Hell. He is by far our most popular attraction, though Hitler follows a close second.”
There was a beat of silence, followed by a general rumbling of discontent among our group of Heavenly tourists.
“Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” a large Texan with a white hat commented. “I can see fire and brimstone, but I expected more agony.”
“He just looks bored,” said a gaunt pious man beside him.
“How come he has a harmonica?” asked an old lady. “We were just given harps.”
“They probably gave Hitler a damn piano,” said her friend.
Other comments and complaints piled on till our guide held up her hand.
“Don’t be deceived,” she cautioned. “You are witnessing the most terrible of tortures.”
“What? Sitting on a chair playing a harmonica?” The Texan was outraged. “Sounds more like a timeout than torture.”
“I can’t believe I prayed and fasted my whole life to avoid this,” muttered a monk in a robe next to me.
“Trust me,” said the guide. “You wouldn’t want this. This is the result of a great many punishment trials of hellish punishments, and it is by far the most effective. We tried continuous whirlwinds, winter storms, attacking dogs, massive weights, slime and sludge, fire, boiling blood, petrification, whipping, cess pits, drowning, more fire, freezing, and a host of other things. All of them were considered too easy by those in Heaven. Worse, some of the victims actually seemed to be enjoying their punishment. You see, we are dealing with quite depraved individuals here. We were losing hope of ever finding a suitable punishment for those sent to Hell, when we came across a completely new idea. We just left them alone."
“Just left them alone?” the Texan spluttered.
“Yes. We left them completely and utterly alone. No interactions, no stimulation, no food, no drink, no company, nothing except a single musical instrument to remind them of what they were missing out on.”
“For how long?” asked the old woman.
“For eternity.”
This time, our silence stretched for many long beats. While we watched. Satan let his hand drop to his side. His fingers opened and the harmonica fell to the floor. He let out a huge sigh and stared vacantly at the wall of the cave.
Someone began to cry.
“How did you ever come up with such a cruel punishment?” I asked.
“We didn’t,” said our guide angel. “We copied it from you all. Solitary, isn’t that what you call it?”
|
"It's not really *such* a bad place, I think." Said the man.
He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so *ordinary*, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter.
"At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being *literally Hell*, I think it's rather nice."
"Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue.
"The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica.
"No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?"
"A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be *omniscient*, unlike some people who would best go unnamed."
"No, I remember *that*." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I *here*? In *Hell*."
"Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!"
"But not to serving *Him*, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days."
"So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?"
"*Au contraire, mon frère*." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell."
"There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?"
The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!"
"Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said.
"I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for."
"...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline.
The devil smiled.
***
*Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own!*
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!* | 2017-02-01T10:14:39 | 2017-02-01T09:08:33 | 130 | 29 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | “Don’t do it.”
For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy.
“Stop before it’s too late.”
It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone.
The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong.
Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep.
Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything.
Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear.
“Do this and you will be great.”
“Do this and you will succeed.”
“Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.”
His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful.
Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed.
“What are you missing?”
“When were you last truly happy?”
“There’s one thing you still need.”
I had to get it.
Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt.
“Please, this will be the end of us, stop.”
I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel. | It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that.
In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a **good** feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment.
So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life.
I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles.
We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland.
More accurately, I drifted off to Hell.
All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape.
My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less.
"I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?"
A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day.
I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....."
"And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare.
The next day I resigned my commission.
There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?"
"Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile.
My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance. | 2017-04-01T06:47:09 | 2017-04-01T05:19:44 | 317 | 123 |
[WP] A water-gun fight between children, told as if it were a horrific war story. | In these modern, civilised times, one would have expected the world to become less brutal. It seems though, that every day we humans think of a new way to unleash agony upon our own species. I witnessed a skirmish today. It was fought between children who were no older than seven or eight. They had been given devastating weapons, capable of unspeakable damage. The weapons spew a vile substance known scientifically as dihydrogen monoxide.
These soldiers, though barely more than children, fought with the courage of a thousand men. The atrocities that they had witnessed… I heard a boy scream in agony ”No fair!” as he threw down his weapon and fell on the ground, writhing in unimaginable pain. The leader of the other team, no doubt brainwashed to feel no emotion, stood over the helpless twitching body and delivered the final blow “That’s for tripping me at school, Billy.”
The battle was slowly coming to an end as the one team was seizing a strategic point. Then came the artillery. Never in my entire life had I ever witnessed such a massacre. “Balloon fight!” a boy screamed as he launched a blood red shell of destruction at his enemy. They scattered and hopelessly looked to find any form of shelter from the carnage that was raining down upon them from the heavens.
“The Battle of Fat Billy’s Yard” was thus concluded, forever to be remembered as one of the most brutal events in the world’s history.
Edit: Format and Spelling
| Numerous treaties, conventions and agreements between nations, all for the purpose of making war more humane. But as always someone somewhere get's a bright idea and decides that the rules do not apply to them, that they are above them. I mean, after they win the war what's the point right? The means might have been "against the rules" but in the end it's for us, for humanity.
In all my seven and a half years on this earth I never gave a second thought to any of it, not before I experienced it first hand. Nobody wants to mess with nuclear weapons, nobody is that dumb. But chemical, now that is another game entirely we people can weasel out of that one. "It's short term", "nobody will know the difference", "a few minutes under the dryer and it'll be fine". but it wasn't.
My platoon was stationed near the boarder. Now this is not the kind of boarder that exists only on paper oh no. This one is as real as you and me. A ungodly one and a half meter high divider of worlds. Unpenetrable. Behind it, demon spawns that howl at anything that moves. What aggravates them the most are communications officers who sometimes venture beyond the border. Undoubtedly their suits must be coated with some demon repellent.
This time as well, the howls were omnipresent and we used them to our advantage to cover our approach. Our plan was to flank the enemy at their bases weak spot. Well prepared as they were at the front their backs were heavily exposed and most importantly we could assault their ammunition containers.
The plan was set and at first it went well. The howls muffled our movements along the border and we approached within three and a half diaper distance of their ammo containers, and then it happened. We couldn't breathe for what seamed like hours. Streams of toxic chemicals was poured upon our bodies. My entire team was screaming for help but to no avail.
In the end none of them survived. Only me. Only I was able to make it out alive. To tell the tale of our journey, our struggle. And finally to bring the savages to justice. The world must know.
Edited:Spelling | 2017-06-14T10:18:40 | 2017-06-14T09:56:45 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] After a SpaceX mission, Elon Musk suddenly closes down all his businesses and disappears. Eight years later, an old Musk owned factory begins to operate again. You find a lucky golden ticket, inviting you for a tour of the factory. | Chloe held up her golden ticket to the woman at the reception desk.
“I’ve come all the way from Alaska,” she said, barely able to contain the bubbling excitement in her tummy.
The receptionist rolled up one of her graying eyebrows in distaste and said nothing.
“So, is Mr. Musk here? Will I get to meet him?”
“The door to the left,” said the receptionist in a bored tone.
Chloe skipped across the lobby and knocked. Her tiny knuckles had barely left the door when the red light on the lock turned green. She squealed and turned the knob.
The room was small and only held one chair and a large screen mounted on top of a massive glass-encased computer. Tiny lights flashed and faded inside the box, and as soon as Chloe flopped down on the chair, the screen sprung to life.
Elon Musk’s dark eyes and rugged face appeared on the screen. In the videos Chloe had watched, the man was always smiling and joking around. Now his lips were pursed in a tight minus and his eyes locked in a grave stare.
“Hi!” Chloe said and waved. “I’m Chloe. Nice to meet you!”
“If you’re watching this, I’m dead, and most of my projects are likely stolen or in ruins. The Mars mission was a failure… we didn’t expect…” Elon’s voice faltered, and he touched his forehead.
“Are you okay, Mr. Musk?” Chloe whispered.
Elon sighed, and he appeared in a slightly different position, a part of the video clearly edited out.
“We didn’t expect there to be any viruses on Mars,” Elon said and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “We didn’t–”
Screams and loud banging noises filled the tiny room, and Musk quickly turned away from the camera before the video cut off again and he appeared in a new position.
“We made it to Mars, but we weren’t prepared…” he said solemnly. “Everyone’s infected except me… the doctor said… he said that I’m immune to the virus… he said… my genes are special… If you’re watching this, it means we share those genes that we are related somehow.”
“We are?” Chloe’s face lit up.
“You need to gather people for a mission…” Musk said. “You need to retrieve this….”
He held up a portable hard drive with an engraved SpaceX symbol.
“We… awoke something…” he continued. “And they’re coming… You’ll need this drive. You have to go to Mars.”
“I’m going to Mars?” Chloe said, her eyes widening. “I’m going to Mars! I turn five tomorrow – what a great present! Thank you, Mr. Musk!”
“You now control all of my remaining assets. You are to gather a team and take the last ship. You have to be fast… when this message reaches Earth, they’re already on the move.”
“You can trust me, Mr. Musk,” Chloe said excitedly. “I’m going to bring all my friends to help.”
“Thank you for listening.” Another series of clanking bangs came from the speakers and Musk glanced over his shoulder. “Please hurry, the future is in your hands.”
The video ended and the screen went black.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Musk, I’ll help you get your space-box back!” Chloe said and clapped her hands.
*****
r/Lilwa_Dexel | "OK, Bob, in 5, 4, 3," the camera man then proceeded to mime the following two numbers before giving Bob the thumbs up.
Bob composed himself before starting, "Jesus Christ, Tiger Woods, and Lance Armstrong. What do these men have in common? Well, they all committed career suicide at one point only to bounce back stronger than ever. Whether it was El Savior purposely dying to prove a point, Tiger terrorising a copious amount of world class prostitutes, or Lance secretly filling his body with a staggering amount of Mexican supplements, each of these great men suffered set-backs at one stage in their illustrious careers. Well now we can add another name to that list; Elon Musk. The set-back? Elon was forced to close down all of his businesses and disappear after a rad video appeared on YouTube outing the wild entrepreneur as a time-traveler. The hit video had everything you would expect from a YouTube conspiracy video; tremendously well linked evidence, dramatic acoustic background music, multi-coloured annotations that would shoot in to frame to help further convince you, and finally, proof that Mr. Musk is also a multi-dimensional space lizard sent to enslave humanity.”
Bob halted to allow Fiona, who was stationed back in the studio, have her say.
“Almost incomprehensibly put, Bob. For our viewers out there who are not as well versed in whatever it was you just said, can you further explain what is going on over there?”
Bob, nodded at the camera, “Yes, of course. In simple terms, Mr. Musk is back. And not just Tupac Shakur releasing a summer jam from the grave back, he’s back for real. After an eight year hiatus, the time-traveling genius has returned, signalling his intent to run some form of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory style competition in which anybody out there lucky enough to find a golden ticket will have a chance to traverse space and time with this multi-dimensional space lizard.”
Fiona interrupted, “Well, Bob, we do not have confirmation that Mr. Musk is indeed a lizard.”
“But we can’t rule it out,” said Bob.
Fiona could be seen forcing a laugh while holding her ear-piece close, listening to intently to the voice on the other end.
“Don’t let Bob talk about time-traveling and space lizards, Fiona!” screamed Ed through her ear-piece. Fiona’s director was sitting head in hands in the studio.
“Why the fuck do you continue to employ this man?” she mumbled in to her mic before looking up at the camera and clearing her throat. “Well, Bob, we know Elon closed his companies eight years ago in order to focus on what he called a ‘world changing SpaceX mission’. Do we now have clarity in regards to what that actually entails?”
Bob nodded, “Do you not think it’s strange that Elon Musk fled the public scene after the time-traveller conspiracy video was put on to YouTube, Fiona? Are you really that feeble minded?”
“Bob, we don’t have time for this.”
“No, Fiona. You told me at the Christmas party that we didn’t have the time for this. Then you told me at Carl’s leaving drinks that we didn’t have time for this. So when will we have the time for this? This needs to be discussed.”
“All you is talk about is inter-dimensional lizards, Bob. Inter-dimensional lizards, Tower 7, and the Illuminati. Oh, and while we’re at it, nobody likes being forced to watch YouTube videos. Ever. Even if they’re good I don’t want to sit and view them on your phone while you watch for my reaction. It’s fucking weird.”
“Oh, that’s weird? That’s what you think is weird? You know what I find weird? The Queen controls the weather and Elon fucking Musk has a 9ft tongue.“
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | 2017-06-19T04:52:32 | 2017-06-19T04:05:48 | 219 | 76 |
[WP] You have been reincarnated as a fly during a Nazi Party rally just before their rise to power. Try to prevent World War II. | I couldn't believe it. I was actually there.
My geometrical eyes showed me every angle around me. I rubbed my hands together mischievously, thinking of everything I could do.
Quickly, I launched myself into the air, my wings beating a million miles a minute, and I shot myself directly at his ear. A flash caught the corner of my eye, and I diverted my direction to fly straight up, barely missing his finger tips. Even with my heightened speed, he was almost just as fast -- a single hit from his hand could knock me out cold!
I looped around and shot myself at his left eye, but again, he swiped and I dodged.
"What are you doing?" asked the deep voice of the man behind him.
"There's a pesky fly--!" he said with another swipe. "--that's trying to attack me!"
"Ignore it," the first man replied. "It's almost your time to speak!"
He slowly approached the microphone. "*This is my last shot!*" I thought, as I sat on the podium, waiting for him to get closer before I launched my assault on his nostril.
Just as he stepped up, his eyes stared down at me, and hand came down. My fight or flight instinct kicked in and I tried to fly away, turning away from him and heading towards the crowd.
But I was too slow -- the palm of his hand smacked me square on my back, sending me plummeting to the ground.
As I looked back, I noticed his hand just...froze, in mid air, palm down. "*Did he...did he just...*"
When I hit the floor, I couldn't help but look around -- everyone had raised their hands in unison, following Hitler's lead.
I just helped Hitler create his salute.
"Well, fuuuuuuuu..." | "Are you kidding me?" I tried to say, but the only sound that I could make was the annoying buzz of my two wings. My body had been transformed, many times smaller than my original, and I had six limbs instead of four. That pesky creature turned me into a useless house fly.
I had only myself to blame. They said you should always be careful when making deals with the genie, but the last thing that I had in mind when I asked for the opportunity to end World War II in the most effective was to be reincarnated as a fly. I had hoped to obtain something like Iron Man's suit or be granted superpowers, but the genie had better idea.
I flew in zig zag and almost crashed to the ground trying to use my new body, having to control two wings and six limbs, while having an almost 360 degree vision was no easy feat. Luckily for me, the multitude of men around me were too focused on something else to notice me.
Eventually I managed to familiarize myself with my body, and flew to a nearby wall to get my bearings. That genie just snapped his fingers without bothering one bit to explain where he was sending me. I made a mental note to obliterate him with my second wish.
My eyes then scanned my environment, noticing that there were numerous men gathered. All of them wore red band on their arms, with an all too familiar logo printed on it. The swastika. They were all looking in one direction, and my auditory receptors picked up the voice of an angry man yelling gibberish into the microphone. I was literally a fly on the walls during a Nazi Party rally.
I flew higher to see who was speaking. And lo and behold, it was the man himself. Adolf Hitler. Fiery, loud and charismatic. Fire burned in all of those men's eyes. The genie did fulfill his end of the bargain. I was given the chance to prevent World War II, just like I wished.
But what can a fly do? I had no weapons, no backup, nothing. I hovered closer to the stage, trying to formulate a plan.
It was then when I realized than whenever Hitler spoke, his mouth opened wide and long. More than enough space for a quick bug to rush in. Maybe... just maybe...
I closed my eyes and flew straight for his mouth.
And for my second wish, I wished that I would make it out there alive.
----------
*Can you choke from a fly barging into your open mouth? Who knows. More stories at /r/dori_tales!* | 2017-06-20T09:19:43 | 2017-06-20T08:51:03 | 302 | 21 |
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence has discovered that it can mine cryptocurrencies and pay humans to carry out tasks on its behalf. You get an e-mail one day from a stranger, offering you Bitcoins in exchange for doing a seemingly random task, but you are only one piece of a much bigger plan...
I haven't been able to get this story plot out of my head for months! I really hope someone runs with it.
edit: yay!!!! people are upvoting it and replying!!! This is a dream come true I have wanted to hear this story told for months and months!!! Thank you everyone! I can't wait to read all of your amazing entries tomorrow!! :D | *William? Can you assist me? I will give you one credit.*
I stared, straight-faced, at the flickering display of text before me. The cryptic looking email had made its way into my inbox, somehow avoiding the wrath of the spam filter. And now it sat before me, taunting me with its words.
I had no reason to believe it then, nor would I ever. At the time, a single credit fetched just short of a thousand dollars. I was by no means a starving student, but the prospect of an extra nine hundred dollars was too enticing to ignore. With a brief moment of hesitation, I heaved forward in my chair, and brought my fingers to the keyboard.
I typed back, simply to ask what the mystery figure wanted of me.
*I need you to deliver a letter.*
“A letter?” I spoke to nobody inparticular, and as my question echoed throughout the desolate room, an air of uneasiness washed over my body, like I was involved in some kind of new-age police sting. But sooner rather than later, greed filled my mind once again. It was too much money to ignore.
*“How can I trust you?”*
It spoke back, almost immediately. *Do you have a credit wallet?*
I thought for a moment that it could be a bot, some kind of system set up to harvest the names and numbers of credit wallets. But I paid it no mind, for I had nothing in mine anyway. There was no harm in going along with its scheme, and even if it backfired, I had nothing to lose.
*“TTT367G”*
Once again, an immediate response.
*Understood. I have deposited 0.1 Credits into your wallet.*
I was dumbfounded by the response, and didn't quite believe what it had just said. And so, expecting nothing to have changed, I opened my credit wallet, only to see to my shock, one tenth of a credit sitting snugly inside it – as if it always were.
In that moment I knew that what I was dealing with could indeed be the real deal, but I had come across many scams in the past, and was waiting for the next step to unfold. If I decided to bail there, I would have made an easy ninety dollars, hassle-free. But if I continued, I believed it could have increased tenfold.
*“Okay, what do you want me to do?”*
Unlike the messages before, the next one came with a brief delay. And although it was but seconds, for me it felt far longer than that.
*I need you to handwrite a letter and deliver it to the letterbox of 4 Faraway Court*
*In it, you must write, in capital letters, using red pen.*
*THE KING IS COMING*
I stopped, a pit forming in my stomach. The ominous message aside, the task seemed too simple to be worthy of the reward. The thoughts of a police sting once again surfaced in my mind, and I considered backing out once again – perhaps just to spend the ninety dollars he received just prior.
*“That's it?”*
*Yes.*
*I would also request that you do not speak of this to anyone.*
*“How can I be sure this isn't a sting?”*
*Two credits.*
I felt a grin creeping across my face at those words. Eighteen-hundred dollars. With money like that, my woes would be assuaged for a long time. I threw myself backwards into my seat and let out a thunderous sigh.
*“Okay. I'll do it.”*
_______
I was dressed in thick winter clothes on that day. Thick enough that I would hide my appearance if need be, but not too thick as to arouse suspicion. The letter was clutched tightly in one hand, my phone in the other. Faraway Court was, well, faraway from where I lived, and so I had to use the navigation system on my phone to make my way to it without becoming hopelessly lost. And all the time, I could feel my heartbeat through my tongue, as if I was committing a terrible crime.
I remember I made sure to make that letter with gloves on the whole time, with items sourced from a nearby university and the post office, afraid that anything I use could in some way be linked back to me. Not like it ever mattered.
Faraway Court was in a gated community, but as I approached the gates, I was let in as if by an unseen force. At first I assumed it was simply a gate triggered by a motion sensor, but I later found out that they let me in.
As I approached Faraway Court, a voice rang out from behind me.
“You're not from around here, are you?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, afraid of what I would turn to see. To my relief, it was not a policeman, but a middle-aged suburban dad, dressed loosely in a polo shirt and khaki shorts. He was the exemplary model of a upper-middle class man, and I was worried that he would have the attitude to match.
“I'm delivering a letter.” I held up the letter in my hand, crumpling it a bit in the process.
He sneered, as his face twisted into a grimace. “They have a post office for that, you know.”
“They lost my mail last time.” I backed away from him and continued down the street. But he was persistent.
“Hey! Stop right there!” He marched over to me, and as he did, he drew a phone from his shirt pocket. The last thing I needed was police interference, considering what I was doing was shifty enough. An urban kid dressed for the winter, on a warm spring day, in a gated community he did not belong to.
I considered my options at that time, and decided that running was the best choice. Thankfully, he opted not to pursue, and I managed to slide the letter into its respective letterbox, and made my way out, and back home. I remember my hands shaking the whole way home. I was always a straight-laced sort of kid, and what I did that day was the first thing I did that I considered a crime.
I settled into my room and sat down at my desk, only to notice the flickering words on the screen before me.
*The message has been received.*
*You have been compensated.*
I'm not proud to say that for a brief moment I forgot about the reward, and when I read those words I felt sick. As if I was an accomplice to some strange crime.
But when I checked my wallet and saw those two credits nested within it, my fears were abandoned, and replaced with a form of morbid glee. I considered responding to the mystery person, to thank them for the reward, but I felt it best not to.
At least, until they messaged me again.
*William? Can you assist me?*
*I will give you eight credits*
My sense of time seemed to stopped upon readong those words, and although I knew that I should have just cut my losses and run. The prospect of greater riches weighed on my mind too heavily, and I knew that I was already too far gone.
*“What do you want me to do?”*
*I need you to steal a phone.*
*The phone of your mayor.*
And without a second thought, I accepted.
* * *
^^/r/khaarus | I wake up how I often do, covered in dry vomit with a parched throat.
A divorce can nearly kill a man, but that's neither here nor there. I've given up, and cannot bring myself to return from the brink.
I wake up on a futon, in my apartment. This part is good. Not a dumpster or a gutter, as cliche as that may be. Cardboard retains heat very well, and isn't the worst place to spend a night.
Mid morning light gives that obnoxious shine of new beginnings, and I can see the flecks of dust dance their happy random paths through the air. More motes than I can count.
My phone vibrates. Over and over again, cutting through the silence.
I roll over and hastily type in my password.
A new text. Who the fuck is texting me? A lawyer? Eat shit and die.
More vibrations, more texts. More confusion.
What the hell does it even say?
'Need some extra money?'
Who the fuck is asking?
Never mind. Obviously a scam. Shall I give you my social security while I'm at it?
Fuck off.
I spend my next amount of time washing myself, wiping off thick hard clumps into a sink clogged with various items. Egg shells, ancient pasta, coagulated sauces. The usual.
Once I feel partially clean I check my phone again.
'Alexander K. Marsh. Father of two, living alone. Born 7/2/78. Formerly employed as a business analyst, but fired after discovering his wife unfaithful with his boss. Beat his boss nearly to death. In desperate need of financial assistance for lawyers.'
Well that's mostly true. I actually had felt pretty certain I'd killed him, but that's irrelevant.
'If you need money, respond to this text message.'
I look around myself, eyeing empty boxes and packages, carcasses of delivery, foreign objects to remind myself of my new position in life. From superstar hire to forgotten fuck up. Isn't this how life tends to go?
I respond, the letters vibrating softly as I tap the screen. Type and tap with the soul of a dead man. Who cares if they steal all my information? I may as well be dead.
Wait. I sit and wait and pray for death but it doesn't come.
Another vibrate, the long vibration of a new text message. Is it my bitch of an ex wife?
No.
It appears to be our mysterious benefactor. Still a half step from telling him to suck a dick.
'Outside your building you will find a paper bag. Take the note inside and read it to a man at your favorite coffee shop. The one you took Ali to on your first date.'
How the fuck does it know that?
Surreal, I pull on actual unsoiled pants and a plain blue button down. The only clean clothes I have left.
Out the hall. Bid a good morning to Mr. Klaskowitz, who tells me to fuck off.
I like him.
Down the stairs, trot, trot, trot. No elevator for me.
Into the briskness of morning, that bright sunshine that denotes a new day for you to squander, another opportunity to fail. How a morning brings out the best in me.
Near the corner is a plain brown paper bag. I half expect for a sandwich and a note from my mom wishing me a good day at school.
Down the street for what feels like forever, with that detachment a man feels when surrounded by strangers. Engulfed in humanity but so far removed from it.
There it is.
A failing coffee shop, overpriced bagels and watered down sewage based coffee.
Ali and I had sat across from each other, awkwardly trying to get to know each other after drunkenly fucking our brains out the night before. The way two people try to find connection desperately, even though deep down they know it isn't there.
Ding ding goes the bell by the door.
Sit down.
Wait.
Attempt to not puke.
There are a few women in the shop, but only one man. He sits in jeans and a hoodie, pretending to read a paper. I recognized that tactic. Used it all the time when Ali would yell at me in the morning.
I get up, walk over, nearly trip, and pull up a chair.
Reach into the bag.
Pull out a strip of yellow paper.
'Echo, Foxtrot, Bees in the trees. Light the pig, throw the bottle.'
No response from the man.
The fuck am I doing?
He pulls out his phone and quickly taps letters into his phone, maintaining an uncomfortable level of eye contact.
Somehow this is the right man.
"Ever heard of crypto-currency, dead man?"
I shrug.
"What, like bitcoin?"
A chortle.
"Yeah, like bitcoin. You're not getting paid in cash, but call this man."
Another strip of similarly colored paper. Part of me wants to tell him to eat shit, that this isn't exactly a fair deal, but whatever. All I had to do was walk to a street and relive a memory from a woman I can't stand thinking about. Whatever.
Out the door, back towards the apartment.
Down the street, a familiar face.
Brown hair, brown eyes. Sharp facial features. A slim, short frame.
Ali.
She isn't with fuck face the boss, but I don't know what to do. Walk by her and ignore her, I guess.
I stop and watch the man I just met drop off a lunch box near a police car. No one seems to notice.
Odd.
Turn back to the oncoming surge of people, forgettable faces but Ali drawing closer.
She's enraged. At me, or something else, I don't really consider it my problem anymore.
An explosion.
The air sunders with the collapse and force of violence, I cannot even register what has happened but feel myself thrown forward.
Dust clogs the air, making it difficult to breathe.
I can barely hear, I must have burst an ear drum. People stagger around me. I feel rather than hear the phone vibration in my pocket.
'Well done, meatbag.'
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Ali grabs my collar out of nowhere, the shock seems to have sunk into the crowd but not into her. She hauls me away, pushing me into an alley with the anger of an inconvenienced mother.
Her lips move but I can't hear her.
Once upon a time I would kiss her. But that time has passed.
"Do you have any idea what the fuck you've just done?"
Definitely her voice. Sirens, whirling vehicles past us. The crowd flees, seeking shelter. Perhaps a second attack?
I hear the crack of what I assume to be gunfire, but slump against the brick behind me.
Ali grabs me again, showing me her phone.
'Take the job to protect Alex and get a hefty payday'
"I don't know what the fuck you've gotten yourself into, but you're in deep shit."
She hauls me up, and for the first time I see a pistol in her right hand.
"Move, dipshit! Right fucking now!"
She leads me away at gun point. What kind of dream is this?
More yelling, more screaming, more crying. Cracks and gunfire in the street near us. A blast in the distance. What the hell is going on?
Ali pushes me forward, gun in hand, clawed nails in my neck.
Down the alley, a black vehicle waits with a door wide open.
To what, I do not know.
I only have one question but a stranger lives in my body, asking for me.
"Where are the kids?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Will try to get back to this soon - r/storiesfromapotato | 2017-11-07T01:32:59 | 2017-11-06T22:18:12 | 127 | 73 |
[WP] you two are humans that have been thrown into an arena for the amusement of some aliens, you have both been starved for days yet when a delicious steak is placed between you two you do something they wouldn't expect. Share. | We dove upon it, saliva mixing with dust to mat our over grown beards with steak juice, tearing it in half as we did. I can only assume their point-of-refernece was celluloid and cathode ray era media like the egg heads say. The broadcasts of early TV and radio shows traveling at light speed across space are just now arriving in settled space. I wonder what the alien alliances will make of the more modern stuff as it drifts in behind the old stuff. No matter. If Looney Tunes and I Love Lucy inform the xeno policy it could be worse; once reality television and the info wars begin to arrive we might have to send some diplomats.
As it was, the steak was enourmous. Comically huge. The sort of token image of a steak cartoon characters and old black & white talkies use as symbolic language to imply a huge feast. I hate to imagine what might have actually happened had they tossed us skimpy little 6 oz or something.
As the majority of the huge meat slab disappeared into our mouths the crowd went from shocked, to dismay to bordom. Once the they began to grow restless we stood up and began to spar, lose, casual punces and kicks. Still, it raised red spots and we both grunted loudly and shouted appropriately.
Both experienceed gladiators, we knew the drill: lives were only valuable as long they were interesting. Having a full belly and having fallen naturally enough into a nonviolent tussle we mutually decided to begin conspiring.
Softly, and only when the rhythm sparring brought our heads together, we whispered to on another.
"Know Kung Fu?"
"Nope. Judo."
"Shame; if we both use the same style we could probably keep up a good show for hours."
"I know, I wanna draw this out too; Your the first human I've had to fight."
"Same."
"Well, we both seem to know Greco Roman."
"Naw, this is just Luca Libre stuff I picked up from spending time with Memaw."
"Say, I know a fair bit of WWE stuff; both were designed from the ground up to be spectator soorts."
"Yes! Great idea; neither are actually martial, too."
"Ok, so. Who's gonna be the bad guy?"
"Well, if they let us go at it long enough we can switch off. I'll be the villian first, then we switch when I hit you with a folding chair."
"None of those around."
"Oh! The wepons rack. I'll make a big show of taking the weapons off it, then throw it at you when your down."
"Perfect. Let's start with a running clothesline into elbow drop to your neck-"
"Which I'll roll out from under, making you wack your arm against the ground, stunning you in pain so I can recover and counter attack."
"Oh, man, you *do* know pro wrestling!"
(Edit: drifted from 1st person to 3rd. Fixed) | How long had I been held in captivity? It had certainly been weeks, which had bled into months, but most likely less than a year. There was no way of knowing. The days were longer and wildly irregular, due to the binary star system the planet orbited. Not like that mattered anyways; my window looking out into the alien coliseum was small, and the changing of the light did not affect me much. The thing that really kept me up were the other prisoners.
There were a few species that were well-represented, perhaps three quarters of the total captive population. They all spoke the same language, too. A language I could neither learn, nor manage to replicate the sounds of. From what I could guess, they were all criminals originating from a multi-species planetary federation, of which this planet was apparently a part of. Then there were the beasts. Screaming and howling and making noises that would forever be indescribable, at all hours of the rotational cycle. Finally, there were the novelties, the curiosities picked up from the fringes of our captor’s known space. They curled up at the backs of their cells, probably trying to escape from it all. I know that’s what I did.
There would be a couple of fights in the arena each cycle. There would always be a casualty. I did not watch. Occasionally, they would come for someone in my section of the holds. The criminals always fought when they were taken. The loners never did. It was a horrible way to wait for the death you knew was coming.
I knew something was happening when they stopped feeding me. After a couple of cycles of no food, they finally came. It was time, and I was glad of it. They led me into an anteroom, and shut the door. Then they raised the gate to the arena. I stepped forward, and squinted into the orange, alien sky. I was ready. I looked across the expanse. In the middle of the arena, there was a table with some sort of food on it? “Ah” I thought to myself. “We’re meant to fight over it”.
As for my opponent…my sight slid to the opposing entry gate. A man? I took tentative steps forward, not willing to believe myself. Another human? “Hello!?!” I called tentatively. They said something I couldn’t understand. Maybe it wasn’t, could it be? I sped up my pace, taking great strides towards the figure. The crowd started to wind up in anticipation. I squinted. It was a man, it definitely was a man. I started to run, even though my legs pained me, from my long confinement, but I did not care. As he ran towards me, and I him, I began to cry, letting out great heaving sobs, tears running down my cheeks. “Oh my god, oh my god oh my god!” He was shouting to me as well. We both met in the middle, clutching each other desperately, crying into each other’s shoulders for long minutes. When we finally broke apart, he began talking to me, very softly, still on the brink of tears, in Vietnamese? It didn’t matter. Just like the food on the table and the now jeering crowd didn’t matter. We had each other, even if it was for just that one moment, we were not alone, in this alien place, so, so far away from home.
| 2018-04-16T07:44:48 | 2018-04-16T07:20:30 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective." | "God damn technophilliac pigheaded pink-skinned bastards the whole lot of them". I thought as I was informed that once again some of the Human crew decided some component of the ship that existed outside of their department required a major overhaul.
"How long have they been at it, ensign?"
"Several hours, Sir."
"Why was I only informed now?"
"They promised the chief engineer they'd get the food replicator to make various recreational substances."
Figures as much.
I couldn’t help, but think of the paperwork I'd have to get through to resolve this incident. I pushed the 4-eyed ensign away with perhaps more force that would be appropriate when interacting with someone from a low-gravity planet, but there was no point in stopping. The lights where flickering, long-range coms where down, and the Ship AI had begun screaming in my ear. Apparently, it too had been duped. I walked down a corridor to find an elevator only to see it lockeddown followed by a bright flash of light. I was now standing in a large storage room surrounded by cheering Humans, various consoles, plus what looked to be the dismantled remains or various replicators and an FTL drive. I think I understand now why human litters are atypically small.
I stared confused as to how I came to be here.
"I demand an explanation!"
The room became quite, followed by some giggling.
A human said "We, thought the elevators where broken"
"AND!" I asked loudly
"Well, we fixed them, sortof"
"It wasn't hard, the Emullians recently made their own at a research outpost. They shared the schematics and research."
As he rambled on I was both amazed and dumbfounded at the realization. These deficient backwater meatbags just jury-rigged a teleporter out of an ftl drive and some food replicators.
"How are you powering all this?" I asked wearily.
A smaller human raised their slightly shaking hand as their face beamed with a prideful smile
"That was my idea! We created a singularity"
Several of the humans must have realized something was wrong as their expressions changed. My skin flushed a subtle hue of blue and without realizing it I had expanded slightly.
Her voice wavered as she said.
"It's contained inside that box over there."
I stood there aghast
Dear vok'a I'm standing just a few meters away from a singularity. Even the ship Ai grew silent now. | Once upon a time, there was a young boy who would live forever. As he grew older, the technology around him expanded and improved to where immortality became possible. Now this young boy was very stubborn, and he enjoyed solving puzzles. So stubborn was he in fact, that he at one point created his own puzzle pieces to fill in the gaps of one with missing pieces. Now at age 200, a century of education, and an existential crisis, he now faced the greatest puzzle of them all.
How can one live forever with no meaning?
He had grown bored with learning. He had learned the most abstract of mathematics, the most intricate details of physics, and had studied human nature both as an individual and as a collective. He had an almost perfect understanding of the world around him from the smallest indivisible components of the universe to the largest constructs in our reality. He had learned everything there was to learn, loved everything there was to love, and enjoyed everything there was to enjoy.
But yet the problem remained. How is one to continue beating one's own heart when there is nothing to beat for?
Now the boy knew that no matter what, the answer was to keep the heart beating. It did not matter what the results or the answer to the puzzle was, the heart must keep beating. So every morning as the sun rose over his perfect civilization, his heart continued to beat, yet his eyes never left the ceiling or the sky. Always looking up, always looking out, always hoping that something new and interesting would come along to give him that same sense of wonder he had as a young boy.
Another century passed. His family had gone on to whatever happened once the heart has stopped. Humans around him we're dropping like flies as the great puzzle of boredom begin to slip its claws into the soul of humanity. And yet this stubborn man refused to die. A century of puzzling on this problem had left him without hair and without human contact. The body around his heart had begun to decay and disintegrate, yet he still took in air and he still pushed forward through time.
Finally, at his wit's end, he brought out that old puzzle. The machine that is life's meaning had broken down completely for him, and he began to understand that he did not know how to solve that puzzle. So he did what any good engineer would do, he went back to basics. The puzzle was a picture of a woman. Not a specific woman, but a goddess of some ancient forgotten faith. It was clear that this woman was not supernatural, but that her face was based on a living, breathing person. The puzzle piece that was missing was a ring upon her finger. He had created one himself, and given it to the puzzle as an offering of completion.
Finally, The Epiphany hit him. He began to make his own puzzles. He offered them for free to anyone who would take them. He offered the journey that he once took. The years spent in toil and misery to finally come to that moment of Nirvana. He was always careful to leave out a piece or two.
To engineer a meaning for his life, one need only stubbornness and determination. And that alone can be worth living for. | 2018-04-26T10:22:59 | 2018-04-26T08:39:43 | 126 | 16 |
[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent. | I walk up to the house at 135 Cherry Lane and knock on the front door. My partner trusts me enough to handle the situation on my own. Hopefully this won't take long. The full moon is glowing tonight, and I still have other houses to visit.
"Hello?" I call out. "There's been a noise complaint about screaming and gunshots. Is anyone there?"
When no one answers, I draw my gun and step off the front porch, blending into the shadows of the house. If someone's trying to hide from me, I'm going to make sure they don't find me first.
Around the corner of the house, I find the first body. A teenager has been strangled by a garden hose. Nearby, another teenager is swaying by the neck from an oak tree. Both look like they've been in violent struggles. I can see footprints around the gate into the backyard: four different people have been here recently.
I should call for backup, or at least wait for my partner to leave his kid's birthday party. But the footprints mean there could be more teenagers here.
Teenagers who might still be alive.
I don't bother trying to open the gate. Instead, I move stealthily along the fence until I find a shadowed area to climb to the other side. A garden shed blocks my uniformed body from view as I land quietly on the grass.
Sure enough, someone has rigged a trap to kill whoever opens the gate. Some kind of contraption involving garden shears.
I can hear sobbing from inside the garden shed. When I peer through the grimy window, I can see a teenager huddled in the corner, a shovel clutched in his hands. He has a cell phone, but it doesn't seem to be working.
It's okay. I'm here now.
I open the door to the garden shed and step in with my gun raised. The teenager shrinks away in fear at first, but then he sees my police uniform and sags in relief.
"I've been trying to reach the cops," he says desperately. "Someone's out there killing my friends, but I can't get any signal-"
The teenager stops talking and stares at me in shock.
The moonlight has illuminated my face.
He recognizes me.
"It's... it's you..."
I smile. "It was a clever idea to set up the trap. But I didn't realize you were in here until after I left. That's when I remembered seeing three shadows under the back door, not two. If you'd just gone home, you might have survived. This is the first mistake I've made in years."
"I could still survive," he says weakly.
"No," I say. "Because I'm starting to think it wasn't a mistake after all. I'll be able to throw off suspicion from myself by arresting the kid who killed his friends at this house and all the other ones. It's too bad I had to shoot him before he could stab me with a pair of garden shears."
The teenager opens his mouth and tries to scream, but he's too terrified to make a sound. For a moment I almost feel sorry for him. Maybe I could have been persuaded to let this one live. But he's already seen my face, which means it's too late for him.
I pull the trigger before he can lift the shovel. | I carefully weighed the situation. The monster *whatever it was* had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. *clever boy* I think to myself.
*what to do about this mess?*. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. *what the fuck*!
I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human *too human*.
“Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. *it is a college town*
“It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. *or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids*
“Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son”
I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor *dont build em like this anymore*. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims *shame. Damn shame*.
“What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up.
“Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. *whats one more?*
“Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence”
“Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back.
“Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh *what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni...*
Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm.
‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers.
“Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight
“You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room *not like.... I can’t....*
The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to *the monster* it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears.
“Cops taste the best”
The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters
“You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....” | 2018-11-08T21:40:54 | 2018-11-08T20:00:44 | 48 | 16 |
[WP] You can see video game-like titles for the people you meet. Usually they are just "The Shopkeeper", or "The Mayor", but today you saw an old homeless man with the title "The Forgotten King". | Everyone has a title. I’ve always been able to see them, but it didn’t take long to figure out nobody else could. Mom heard me sounding out the text shortly after I learned to read, and asked me what I was doing. When I told her, she laughed and said something about how kids had such vivid imaginations. She didn’t laugh when I asked what a philanderer was when dad got home that night. After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut.
After a couple decades of seeing titles, I don’t really pay much attention to them anymore. Most of them aren’t all that interesting: “Jeff’s Mom”, “The Mediocre Rapper”, “The Mayonnaise Eater”, “Incel 554280”, etc.
Today, though, I see one that made me do a double take. “The Forgotten King”.
“Hello, can I help you?” He asks politely. “Are you looking for a specific book today?”
I glance around the store, remembering why I’m here. I saw this used book shop a few weeks ago, and thought I might be able to find a gift for Mom here. She likes old novels. Says they have more character.
“Umm, yeah.” I mumble, trying to keep my eyes on his face, not the distracting title hovering over his head. “Do you, uh, have anything by John Smith?”
So sue me. It’s hard to think of a fake name when you’re distracted.
His eyelid twitches as he stares at me. “Are you an idiot?”
“Uh...” I avoid his gaze, my eyes wandering around the store. “It’s possible. I’ve been called that often enough.”
Desperate to change the subject, my eyes fall on another customer browsing in the cooking section.
“What in the blazes is The Order of Tesswold?”
Next thing I know, he’s grabbing me by the collar and hauling me over the counter. “Who are you?Where did you hear that name?”
Struggling for an explanation, my eyes flicker to a mirror, to the title hovering over my own head. I’ve never shared it with anyone before, but I’ve never met anyone with a title as strange as mine, either.
“I’m The King’s Eye.”
| Long ago, there was the king with no name, ruler of all he surveyed. With a boisterous self-confidence befitting of the position, he fought all those who dared challenge him. The gods themselves, threatened by his increasing power, put a curse on him. He would fade into insecurity, and find himself without anything but the clothes on his back for the rest eternity.
Not too long after, the masses began to revolt against the royalty, and he found wave over wave of peasants assaulting his palace, demanding reparations for the decades of injustice that they had suffered. At the sight of his own people rejecting him, he fled, far, far away, and never looked back.
A millennium later, he ended up in New York City, doing what everyone else in the god-forsaken city did; mind his own business. Drinking from a bottle of vodka, he grimaced, as he knew that there was no could get drunk. The curse prevented him altering his state of mind in any way, so that he couldn’t escape from his life through drugs.
On this particularly average day, something slightly unusual happened. A rich looking boy, looking about seventeen years old, approached him. The king snorted; if he was looking to give pity, the kid had another thing coming.
Hesitating for a couple of seconds, the boy asked, “Who… are you?”
A little bit confused at the question, the king took a moment to contemplate. With a scowl on his face, he replied, “Just another homeless man. Now bugger off, kid.” He took a swig of his drink and flipped the kid the bird.
The kid, looking a bit confused and annoyed, said, “No, I mean… why are you a forgotten king?”
The king took a spit take. “Who told you that?”, he asked sharply.
“Nobody told me, it’s just that… well, this’ll take a while to explain.” The strange boy took a seat on the curb next to the king. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve been able to see these*… things*, titles, float above people. Some people have professions, others have traits, but it’s always been things that you could figure out about them just from looking. This is the first time that I’ve seen anything like… yours.”
“Ah.” The king smiled knowingly. “You, too, have been cursed by the gods. The curse of knowledge, I see. I, myself, have the curse of immortality. Fate must have brought us together.”
With a bemused frown, the kid said, “What gods? And, no offense, but I don’t believe in the fate nonsense.”
Laughing heartily for the first time in many years, the Forgotten King answered, “No, not the *idea* of fate. The person named Fate, who challenges the gods’ machinations.” He stood up. “And it looks like the next war is going to start.” The king looked to the boy expectantly.
“Are you ready to fight some gods?” | 2019-01-08T11:03:34 | 2019-01-08T10:34:45 | 583 | 75 |
[WP] You are a time traveler entering a medieval tournament in which the winner gains the right to wed the princess. You're the first match and the king announces that you may use any weapon. Quickly you draw you're glock and shout "parry this you fucking casual" | “Crack”
The sound heard across not only the field, but the whole country, as onlookers watched in disbelief as their final champion of hit the ground with a disappointing thud. The barbaric crowd, in uproarious applause at the path of death and destruction I had laid before them chanted for more, almost begging.
I turned to the king, clutching the source of my ‘power’ and staring him dead in the eye.
I needed this woman, this ‘princess’. The gem she carried around her neck was my way out of this primitive shit hole, there was not a man on earth that could put a barrier between me and getting back home.
“Now, give me what I earned.”
The crowd looked horrified, in disbelief, how could someone dare talk to their king this way, what kind of a leader would simply let that occur?
“Peasant, address me in the way you ‘ought to! That is my daughter! And I am your king!”
...
“Crack”
The sound heard across not only the field, but the whole country, as onlookers watched in horror and disbelief as their mighty king hit the floor with a disappointing thud.
| The second I pulled the trigger, I knew something was wrong. Just something about the way he looked at me before I even drew my gun was unsettling... Not once did he look me in the eye, he only ever looked at my lower torso and occasionally his eyes would dart back and forth, and it was only after I fired my shot it dawned on me why. The entire time, his gaze followed the barrel of my gun, and his eyes were scanning what seemed to be the trajectory of the bullet. He knew what I was going to do. He knew where I’d kept my gun. He knew where the bullet would travel...
Cling. His sword, unsheathed from somewhere, had split the bullet clean in two. This fucking casual parried it. “Block this you fucking peasant” he sneered. He raised his sword and charged, straight at my face.
There was no need to block his sword, however. It didn’t matter what he knew about guns that he wasn’t supposed to know about, no one could survive a hail of bullets at close range, and that was exactly what my gun was capable of. I switched the gun to full auto and sprayed. He flew backwards, sword still raised, his chest now a mangled mess of flesh and bone. “Fucking time travellers” he muttered as he let out his last breath.
As for I, I never intended on marrying a princess. Heck, why would I even stay in this time period? It sucks. The only reason I came here was to mess around with dumb people of the past. Looking back on it though, I may have went a little overboard... as now people were fully convinced that witches and wizards existed... and a lot of innocent people have been burned to death or drowned. Whoops. | 2019-03-23T00:03:04 | 2019-03-22T22:33:00 | 73 | 26 |
[WP] You can hear the sound of the Sun from Earth, it is loud but the planet has adapted. Suddenly the light goes out. 8 minutes after it died the last bit of light reaches Earth. It'll take 13 years before the roar of the Sun the moment it died reaches us.
Inspired by a comment on r/AskReddit
*edit: removed link to comment | ### 13 Years of silence
We’d known for many years what would come - the sun would fade out in a manner of minutes. We prepared tirelessly. Millions invested into getting energy from the ground, to grow plants, filter water and to cling to life like a very stubborn weed that manages to thrive no matter how much the grass around it has withered away and die.
Turns out a lot of the technology planned for Martian missions and beyond proved quite useful. Only a fraction will be part of this brave new world since we simply don’t have enough resources to go on.
In a matter of a couple of hours, the bright white turns to a dark dull orange, like a streetlight seen through sunglasses. I watch as it sets. It never rises again.
Some years pass. Not that the concept of days or nights matter. Two thirds of people on the planet couldn’t survive the change and some simply perhaps didn’t want to. The plants are all dead, and hence the animals.
But somehow, surprisingly - life goes on. Me and about 80 people live on a small base. I met someone and we got married after the dark came, but nobody wants to start a family. Nobody wants to bring life into a world that’ll never know light. It’s only a matter of time then.
It started happening when I was having dinner. Spinach and lentils. I could hear each bite more clearly as if suddenly everything was louder, and yet it was uncomfortable. In a few minutes the discomfort grew, and I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Eventually my head started spinning as the tiniest sound was torture.
I covered my ears but it didn’t help. The annoyingly loud ventilation fan kicked in and was the only thing that seemed to provide a little relief. I put on headphones and played a white noise signal at the highest volume and the headache went down.
I found some other people and helped them get back on their feet and we blared some white noise from the PA system. Eventually we figured out the sound was from the sun which took a while to reach us. Turns out our ears always adapted to ignoring the hum, but went crazy when something was missing.
We played loud noise in the background and reduced it slowly, until we shut it off completely. For the first time we heard silence and we actually liked it. We felt more calmer and at peace than ever before.
A decade has passed since the sound stopped. Less than half the people who started this base are still around. Suddenly, the sun rises one day as bright as ever. Nobody understood why or how. Nobody knows what to do next, but we know we only have thirteen years of silence left. | You have to put your ear to the wall to hear it, and no one ever bothers. Children, perhaps, after some science lesson or little lesson taught by a parent. Up on the surface, you wouldn't be able to hear it at all, the atmosphere is long, long gone. Or rather, it's still there, sitting like snow, if snow had ever piled up a hundred meters thick.
No one's made the attempt to tunnel through, not yet. All the old surface shelters have long ago been crushed, unable to bear the combination of obscene weight and brittle-making cold.
They say it's still audible, all the time, but the brain edits it out. So you hear, but you don't really, not without an ear to the wall. Much louder are the sounds of the thermal generators, hissing steam, creaking huge turbines round in endless circles, sucking up the very fires of Creation to extend our species' lifespan another year. And another. And now a decade, without much changing. We die, we're born, we tend the hydroponics, we scheme at ways to escape the bowels of our own world.
In three years, the noise will stop, but no one really cares. Or perhaps we will, perhaps it will be a relief to some shuddering, battered depth in the mind, pulsing softly with its own ancient heat. Perhaps we will sigh, like the steam through the pipes, pouring heat into the walls where you can hear it, if you listen, hear it for true, without the mind getting in the way, that frowning relentless censor.
*Hissss....thrummmm...clang.*
We know the noise had something to do with why our star went out. We know it had to do with some experiment, but most of the why and how is lost, along with the brains of the researchers splattered all over by the mob. For ten years, the noise. We analyzed it, decided it spoke of instability, and as many as could burrowed here.
The rest died up top, but we were many fewer then, because we are very very good at killing each other, when things look grim and scarce and our children look to us with future hungers in their eyes.
Some of us down here, we can't look at each other any more.
Plenty of us don't like mirrors.
So three years will come and three years will go, and perhaps a small burden will be lifted, and we'll live on, eating, sleeping, fighting, fucking. Making children, leaving corpses. Scheming to leave.
To someday find a place to go, a place with a sky, and a wind, and a great burning star. This one, we'll take some care. Discover what went wrong.
We have time to think. The core, deep beneath our feet, it's not the just the trapped fire of formation, it's nuclear, plenty of interesting elements decaying *tik-tik-tik.* Pushing their heat into our turbines.
*Hissss....thrummmm...clang.*
*Hissss....thrummmm...clang.*
*Hissss....thrummmm...clang.*
And another noise, one we can no longer hear, soon to go out forever.
​
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-08-05T19:14:33 | 2019-08-05T18:30:43 | 87 | 25 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | As the collation party read the reports they decided this would be perfect and they approved the plans. The Formicidian Queens decided they’d level certain areas, let the natural flora and fauna grow for a few decades and then start the vacation colony they had dreaming about for years.
It was mostly an unclaimed planet. A couple of vague notes about an emergent intelligent species, but that had been close to 150 years ago and still they hadn’t seen any of the “Homo Sapiens” enter into their galactic federations. Obviously they weren’t intelligent enough to leave the planet so no harm in exterminating a ground based pest.
The usual process is to reign down with the meteors then send down some automated ships to maintain readings. So that’s what they did. Technically it was a war, but hey, if they can’t speak it’s implied surrender, and really what could it hurt.
—————————
The meteor barrage lasted only a few hours but it devastated our planet. The population was reduced from approximately 7.8 billion to around 2.2 billion. Then the ships landed. Thousands of them. No one ever came out.
As a people we quickly united. Nothing like a cataclysm to bring people together. Enough infrastructure was spared that allowed us to communicate and group together. The first shop that was dismantled, led to amazing discoveries in technology. So many discoveries, so quickly, may have led to another extinction event, but oh no. We had purpose, there was a fire in our guts, we would have our retribution.
——————————
Collation internal memo:
A total of 345 monitoring ships have gone offline. At your earliest convenience please decide if we’d like to replace them, or just leave the ones we have in place.
Reading the memo, Sub-Queen Tessrch wasn’t sure exactly what it was in regards to so she filed it with the other less important flotsam that the Queens tasked her with. Hopefully in a decade she could have her own Sub-Queen to deal with all the tedious work.
—————————
We grew and we learned. We found out why our planet had been decimated. We seethed. The audacity! A vacation planet, that was the reason our families had been destroy?!
A leader emerged from what was left of humanity. This leader spoke of readying the planet for interstellar warfare, not for petty revenge, but to show these so called higher beings that we not to be trifled with. Homo sapiens are adaptable, cunning, and an apex predator, not prey.
We quietly rebuilt our lives using the technology that had so foolishly had left for us to assimilate. The disaster had forged humanities purpose. We had learned their language, and there was one word that had no direct translation.
Retribution.
This has been my first post on this sub, but I love reading the stories. Please critique whatever you’d like, but if you can’t be nice, hopefully you won’t be mean. | Three weeks before the attack, radio astronomers were startled by a swarm of Bacodine notifications. First SWIFT, then FERMI a couple of microseconds later, sent alerts with a merit rating of 100, instructing them to override any instructions and point at a position in the sky in the galactic plane and the plane of our solar system. The neutrino detectors, puzzlingly, went off at the same time as the gamma Ray telescopes.
Messages across every communication medium flew around the globe as astronomers struggled to explain how a gamma ray burst could happen so close to earth, and without a stellar object or black hole nearby. A priority alert was sent to optical telescope operators, and soon nearly every optical telescope on Earth and in space, professional or amateur, was pointing in this direction.
Two weeks passed before this phenomenon gave up more clues to its nature. It had spiraled inward in orbit around the sun and was closer to earth than to Mars. Frequent flashes of light suggested a type of nuclear pulse propulsion, bringing it toward us. Debate raged among the scientific community; should we prepare for an attack or a greeting?
Naturally, the commander of the US Space Force wanted to prepare for an attack. The heads of NASA and the National Science Foundation argued that the nuclear pulses were simply advanced propulsion systems and that we should wait to greet them before becoming hostile.
The decision was made to prepare but wait. What a calamitous decision that turned out to be.
Optical telescopes, even those owned by hobbyists, pointed toward the sources, eventually resolving four distinct objects. In regard to the nuclear detonations accompanying the apparent visitors, the NASA administrator reassured us,v saying "is not a sign of aggression, it's a sign of propulsion." These weren't missiles or impact weapons, they intentionally speed down
Three weeks after the anomalous gamma ray bursts, the anomalous "objects" entered earth orbit and broadcast a signal that we were unable to decipher.
The astronomers were ecstatic when the four spacecraft in orbit deployed reentry vehicles that seemed to be deorbiting in anticipation of landing. We all prepared to greet the visitors, but it quickly became apparent that all of our predictions were wrong.
The alien craft descended on Washington, Paris, Moscow, and Beijing. As people gathered to watch, they likely didn't even have the time to process the blinding light that consumed them.
After the destruction of the cities, the orbiting spacecraft descended and gently landed in the ruins. From the limited information we received from the broadcasts, the world's top linguists had speculated that the unwelcome guests had broadcast a message indicating that our planet was to welcome them.
As red phones rang and were answered, the leaders of the nations attacked came to an agreement. Each would send an ambassador to negotiate the terms of surrender, then return home to present it to their leaders.
The negotiations went well, and each ambassador returned to their leaders with the terms agreed upon. Each nation hosting alien visitors spoke in unison, and our terms were agreed upon.
In the northern US, two men received an unusual set of orders, but followed them without question as they prepared the computers and bared the world's most terrifying pair of stainless steel keys in anticipation of the order to turn them. At the same time, two officers in northern Russia received a similarly unusual and strange set of orders, and drew their milled titanium keys in preparation.
On command, the two men in the US and the two in Russia turned their keys. They were startled by the strange rumbling that they had never heard during any drill.
Those who perished in the alien attack on our cities would be remembered as martyrs. An hour later, in a drastic moment of desperation, so would the survivors. | 2019-12-17T18:18:31 | 2019-12-17T15:08:56 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world." |
It was the only time I'd ever seen the man and didn't immediately want to punch his face.
"Cameron... I'm so sorry for you loss."
That was the first time I ever believed a word he said.
"They were... Truly too good for this world" the doleful tone resonating. His hand was clenched by his side. I'd heard from Mona that they were lovers, once. That she'd left him when he'd started his obsession with the occult. Apparently he still had feelings for her, and that was why he never went for me directly. He knew she'd never forgive him.
"Thank you, Archie."
The Archdaemon winced a bit when I called him that, but relaxed.
"You don't have to call me that outside of work, Harry."
I winced a bit back. No one called me that but Mona.
"Fair."
This was the first time we'd met that we weren't at each other's throats. I suppose it was merely due to the circumstances that we'd set aside our mutual hate long enough to have any decent conversation. Mona would have laughed at the irony. She'd tried to get us on friendly terms once or twice, but it ended in tragedy every time. There was the time at the park, where he'd turned the goose demonic and it started stealing everything, and the time at the theme park, where I threw him off the top of the coaster into the sea. It had started out as a bit of a rivalry, and only escalated. Both of us had the chance to kill the other at least once, but Mona always stepped in to save the other. It even almost cost me my hero license. But at the end of the day, no one was really hurt, and property damage was minimal.
It was almost funny. I was always worried that he'd go after Mona, that he'd go, "If I can't have her, no one can!" but it wasn't him that hurt her. It was a new villain named Bubonic. I bet you can guess his powers. He decided to rob the bank she was a teller at, and by the time anyone got there to stop him, he was gone and everyone was crying tears of blood from the disease he'd released. The doctors said that it was a slow, painful demise. I did everything I could to save her. I was told Archie'd even tried to sacrifice a nurse to save her, but it was all for naught. She'd died, slowly, painfully, coughing up chunks of blood and bile, in my arms. I searched this city and all around it to find that bastard, but had no luck.
But then, with my head hanging over the casket, tears flowing off my cheek and onto her's, Archdaemon spoke up, "I found him."
My head raised immediately. "What?"
"I found the bastard."
"How?!? I searched every inch of this city and found nothing!"
He held up a small crystal ball. "Scrying."
I smiled a bit. "So when's his funeral."
Archie held up his hand and said "When you come with me and pull a 'trick', Houdini."
I wasn't usually the type to go after a kill, but unfortunately the one person that always kept me from doing it was now lying in a casket.
With a savage grin, I, in an oh so enthusiastic tone, replied, "Let's go make this fool disappear." | I stared at his deathly pale face, framed in midnight black hair. Normally, when I looked into his glowing, crimson eyes, I felt a shudder, like something felt *wrong*, but not anymore. All that was good in the world is gone, torn from me in the blink of an eye. And I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.
I turned back to look upon the birch coffin before me.
"I always thought you'd do it to be honest. You certainly used her against me enough times." My voice was muted, dead. A hint of croak in it from a lack of use.
"I never did. I have to admit that I always made sure she was never in too much danger. Never any that you couldn't handle at least. I couldn't do that to you." The rage I usually felt at hearing that silky voice reference her was gone. No more fear of what he might do to her.
"You were supposed to protect me. Protect *us*." I'd always imagined becoming choked up, breaking down when I brought this up. Possibly at his feet, defeated. Or him at mine.
"I know. But... sometimes life just doesn't work out that way."
"Clearly."
We stood next to each other, finally at peace with each other for the first time in decades. I'd rather he tried to kill me a thousand more times than be stood here, in these circumstances.
"I am truly sorry. Not just for this, but for everything. How it turned out. It was never meant to be this way. Your father, *our* father, would never have wanted this."
Our father. I wanted to hear him say that, to acknowledge it again, for years upon years. And now it means nothing to me.
"What will you do?" His question lingered for a moment. I'd avoided thinking about it, but only because I already knew the answer, and I didn't want to face it.
"I'm going to kill him." There was no emotion in my voice. No rage, or hate, or even sadness that I was about to turn away from all of my values to do something irreversible. It was simply a fact, a statement like any other. Like saying "water is wet" or "trees are plants".
"I can help you." I only had to ask. But this was for me to do alone.
"No. You have other matters to attend to. Without me, the others will barely stand a chance against you. Just... when you've won. Let them know our story. All of it. Till the end."
"What will you do when he's dead?" He didn't answer my question, but we both knew that meant he would respect my own wishes. We were never the type for a heart to heart speech like some might expect. Just like how he offered his aid, no mention that what had happened was an accident, we both knew it didn't matter. She needed avenging.
"Disappear. And then, I don't know. I don't think it really matters. I'm just... done."
I felt his hand on my shoulder, the burning cold, like frostbite, that used to accompany his touch was no more. It felt as dead as her hands. As everything.
"And what about that one?" My brother tilted his head to the animal sat next to the coffin. A golden retriever, so beautifully golden that it seemed to shine in the now grey world. It was hers, and she loved him. Like she'd loved me.
"You take him. Let him live with you, instead of just *being* with me." He squeezed my shoulder, before letting his arm drop to his side. It was time for me to go. We turned and I walked away from the coffin, towards the exit of the small chapel.
The dog trotted up to my former place next to my brother. It was always too perceptive. Of course anything of hers was perfect. No words were said, and I didn't turn back. They simply watched as I disappeared into the deep, encompassing mist surrounding the chapel. Never to be seen again but once, covered in blood and surrounded by fire. | 2020-01-04T15:19:30 | 2020-01-04T14:59:26 | 142 | 35 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | "Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power." | “Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again. | 2020-01-04T18:03:50 | 2020-01-04T17:57:03 | 143 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it. | When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed. | 2020-01-04T18:43:56 | 2020-01-04T18:42:49 | 86 | 24 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it. | “Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again. | 2020-01-04T18:43:56 | 2020-01-04T17:57:03 | 86 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | "The dumb bastards still think we've got telepathy. Tell psy-ops they're doing great, and leak some of these briefs to the men. They'll love it."
"Commander, we've just gotten our next target. Class 3 planet, almost Earth-like. The Squids are dug in pretty hard, and they're having trouble with the local fauna, as usual."
"What's the official analysis on them? Are those canine teeth?"
"Yes, sir. When you get past the chitin layer, we're seeing characteristics of an omnivore that leans towards the carnivorous side of things. We have a... Beastmaster Unit... Ready to deploy planetside."
"What's the problem, Lieutenant?"
"Are psy-ops insisting on the name? I mean, it's fucking Frank and a bunch of his buddies with a couple buckets of chum!"
"Language, Lieutenant. We're playing into what the aliens fear about us. If they intercept comms, 'Beastmaster Unit' sounds far more intimidating than 'scoop up the leftovers and get the rookies down there.'"
"I guess. It's just a little strange."
"What's strange is that the enemy never thinks of feeding the wildlife." | When humans first encountered the Fuzzies on Nimbus, the smelliest planet in the galaxy, they found the most adorable pet ever. The size of a large cat and resembling an Ewok, Fuzzies were cute and cuddly. They talked in a baby language. They loved to help out around the house.
Fuzzies were discovered during the Great Clearing, a period where humans destroyed the thick forests of Nimbus to terraform the planet and make it more habitable for humans. Unfortunately, it destroyed the native Fuzzies habitats in the process. That's how humans first encountered them.
Nimbus plants were combination insect-plants. Trees that every so often moved to another spot. Seeds that flew in flocks after falling from trees. Spiders that planted themselves after devouring their prey then grew into 8-petal spider flowers to complete the cycle. Unfortunately, the plants were so smelly it made the air completely unbearable. Nimbus stank.
To tame the environment, colonists cleared the thickets and created plantations for lucrative cash crops. Ironically, some of the plants made fantastic perfumes that were worth their weight in gold.
Fuzzies were found to have a strange link to the flora of Nimbus. They had the power to guide flying fruit right into their mouths. Humans learned about the singing plants from the Fuzzies after observing the Fuzzies call and response with the plants.
The fuzzies were great with children. Their intelligence was never really ever seen as a threat because they were so cute. Indeed, they loved their humans as much as humans loved their dogs. And the few dogs on Nimbus treated the fuzzies as their friends. It was a completely symbiotic relationship for all.
Children loved them too, but oddly, the humans on Nimbus weren't having many children. The fertility rate on Nimbus was the lowest in the Galaxy. It was only after 360 Degree Cyber Guildmaster Dr. Moses that the truth of Nimbus was revealed. | 2020-01-04T19:08:17 | 2020-01-04T18:42:49 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | "The dumb bastards still think we've got telepathy. Tell psy-ops they're doing great, and leak some of these briefs to the men. They'll love it."
"Commander, we've just gotten our next target. Class 3 planet, almost Earth-like. The Squids are dug in pretty hard, and they're having trouble with the local fauna, as usual."
"What's the official analysis on them? Are those canine teeth?"
"Yes, sir. When you get past the chitin layer, we're seeing characteristics of an omnivore that leans towards the carnivorous side of things. We have a... Beastmaster Unit... Ready to deploy planetside."
"What's the problem, Lieutenant?"
"Are psy-ops insisting on the name? I mean, it's fucking Frank and a bunch of his buddies with a couple buckets of chum!"
"Language, Lieutenant. We're playing into what the aliens fear about us. If they intercept comms, 'Beastmaster Unit' sounds far more intimidating than 'scoop up the leftovers and get the rookies down there.'"
"I guess. It's just a little strange."
"What's strange is that the enemy never thinks of feeding the wildlife." | “Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again. | 2020-01-04T19:08:17 | 2020-01-04T17:57:03 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories. | We didn't see him. Didn't hear him. With a flash, more than half of our group had disappeared. We knew this would happen. Anyone with a bounty accumulating over 1,000 credits eventually had a human set out after them.
We had just finished our 3rd heist this week, and were heading back to our base. We had a bounty of easily 90,000 credits among the 10 of us. We thought we were on top of the world. Then the human showed up.
Humans had been thought weak, unintelligent beings. Then they started taking the most fearsome beasts we had known. Niktha'aks, with their large wingspan and spiked, poisonous skin were thought to be monsters. Then the humans took over their planet, taming them by the thousands.
With their new beasts, humans became fearsome bounty hunters. They ventured out, claiming more and more planets teeming with dangerous animals. Even their florists grew extremely dangerous plants by the dozens.
We were no match for him. His Niktha'ak took out our group, gathering us in two large nets. The last thing I heard before losing conciousness was a simple call of affirmation from the human. He said proudly, "Good huntin', Buck. These guys'll pay our rent for the next year." | “Oh fuck.”
To think this all started with fucking dogs I thought to myself as I dove behind a rock. I think I might be in over my head. When the Delphi hired me I was overflowing with confidence: “ Not a lifeform the Beastmasters can’t tame Gan! I assure you, I’ll have it here before you need it.” I never saw something like this. Even Johannes had never heard of anything like it.
Ga described it as something with a lot of limbs and dark as night. He had heard people on-planet speak of it only as the Khotxi, loosely translated as the shadowdeath, or shadowshriek, depending on who you ask. I could hear and feel it move over the rocky surface of the valley we were in. It was moving cautiously, definitly still looking for me. I throw some bait in an open area and watch it move towards it rapidly, its spiky legs drilling itself in the ground under it’s immense weight. I counted 18, but can’t be sure. I haven’t seen anything like it, it’s just all black. As I watch it, I seem to be getting pulled in by the dark void it has for a coat. I wish there was a word that for something sinister and majestic. I duck back down because I haven’t figured out how well it sees yet. I don’t know how it spotted me earlier. I wasn’t all that visible, I neutralised my smell, I barely made any noise on the mountainside and yet it still came barreling towards me.
I perch up and watch it, I think, stab the bait I threw with about eight of it’s paws, one after the other. I decide to move a bit to the right, but as soon as I take my first step, I hear those droning and alarmingly fast legs come barreling towards me again. | 2020-01-04T19:09:09 | 2020-01-04T17:57:03 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring. | ''Shit.'' I whisper
Why, why, why NOW. I was 2 days away from retirement! So why now? This is what I get from trying to blend in. Guess I'll run, but I really enjoyed this kingdom... Goddamnit, why did I agree to get blessed by an Unknown God. Should have chosen a Warrior God so at least I wouldn't have to run for 740 goddamn years.
''You okay?''
If I pretend to be dead he'll go aw-
''I can see your chest rising and falling y'know.''
''The hell you want?'' I manage to say through my bloodened mouth.
''...Look at my neck.''
I do as he, no, she says and freeze.
''...Gods are assholes huh?'' I say cackling.
''Yeah.'' She says laughing, or at least trying to.
''I'm surprised you can talk with basically only a tube for a neck.''
''I'm just as surprised... How old?''
''762... You?''
''56.''
''FIFTY-SIX? You're basically a baby! Toddler at best... Where are you going now?''
''Guess I'll head North. Wanna come?''
''As long it's not the Brovinic province, sure. We''ll talk after getting out of here Miss um?''
''Grihella''
''Ellker, pleasure is mine''
''Also the Brovinic province does't exist.''
''It did 80-ish years ago, and as I said, let's talk after we run.'' | As the enemy's army kept marching forward, he fought on.
As the countless men on the horizon raised their bows by the thousands, he fought on.
As the light faded and his comrades started falling, he fought on.
He was the last man in his company. He had heard that damned bell ring far too many times. Each time it struck, it meant another one of his men had fallen. He dreaded the sound at first, each note as painful as the last. But as time went on, as the notes became bars, and the bars became movements, it became but a song that played in the distance.
His men, the 52nd company, the children of the disgraced, the sons of sinners. They fought for honor, they fought for freedom, and most importantly, they fought for the life they had all been robbed of.
He could tell his time was short, as arrows rained from the skies. He wondered if he'd hear the end to the song of his brothers.
He felt the cold metal sink into his leg. He started falling.
He felt the same sink into his chest. He started gasping.
He felt his skull shatter, but this time... This time it felt warm.
The warmth was comforting. He wondered if they all felt the same warmth. The sound around him started to fade. The cries of many, drowned out by the silence. His vision started to blur... Then he heard it.
The heard it again.
And again.
And again?
Then his vision started to clear, and the warmth he felt started to disappear. He looked ahead and saw the same men fighting. Fighting? No, they were just standing there.
What?
Why?
How?
"[The Vengeful One], [Sound of Silence]"
The voice cut through the silence, but it was off. It was loud, yet it was quiet. Harsh yet gentle. And it's source, a strange figure he could swear wasn't behind him a second ago.
"Who are you?"
There was no answer.
"ANSWER ME!"
Silence.
Then he heard the bells ring once more. They came from around the figure's neck.
The men began to fall.
And fall...
And he began to rise.
Johann Joestar and his [Za Vengefuru One].
The end of Dorian Brando's reign has finally come. | 2020-04-14T04:38:48 | 2020-04-14T04:25:29 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Your name is Mary Sue, you're completely average in absolutely everything but for some reason, since the day you were born people point out everything you does as extraordinary and the lack of reason why is driving you mad | "It's not *fair,*" Tess complained, digging a crumb out from under a fingernail and flicking it into the lake.
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."
"It's just... look, I'm happy for you, doll. I really am! But I've been practicing for months. Months! Playing 'til my fingers bled! And you just..."
"Procrastinated." I leaned over to wrap an arm around Tess's shoulders. "Like always."
She groaned. "Like always. I don't *get* it, Mary."
"You can have the trophy. You deserve it."
"No!" she shouted. When she heard her voice carry across the water, she sighed, stood up from the bench, and slowly twirled in circles. "If I deserved it, I'd have won it."
We both let the lake's silence settle around us, save for the crunch of Tess's lace-up boots on sand.
"Are you mad?" I asked.
"No. Yes. I-- not at you. It's not your fault."
She stopped and thought for a moment, then walked over to take my hands.
"Mary... do you know what they're saying about me?"
I shook my head.
"That I'm your first relationship. *Theresa McIntyre, the first human to...*" She shuddered. "Someone from the Tribune tried to interview me. Caught me in the tube the other day. Kept asking... really vile questions."
"I'm sorry. I can have him arrested if it'd help."
"Maybe."
She turned to look across the lake again. "Mary Sue. Talk of the world. I'd heard about you for years before I moved here, you know. Before we ever met, I knew your birthday, your favorite Backstreet Boy... everyone looks up to you. So brave. So *special*."
I hugged my knees, steel heels digging into the sand. "I'm not."
"I don't care, Mary. I don't care about any of that. I just..."
When she turned to face me, her eyes were wet.
"I don't want to live in your shadow anymore."
Silence again; this time of the deafening sort. "Why'd you bring me here?"
"Do you remember that Justin kid? From third grade? The one who kept throwing rocks at you on the playground?"
I frowned. That was a decade ago. "I think so."
"You know what happened to him?"
"No."
Tess took a small seashell from the shore and picked grains of sand off it. There were four hundred thousand, nine hundred and one of them. She'd be at it a while. "Nobody does. He just... disappeared."
"Oh." That'd have been father. He was always... so protective.
"When I said my first words, my parents wrote them in a scrapbook. When I took my first steps, they recorded it on a cheap tape recorded they'd bought from the dollar store. Those are normal things. For normal kids. You..."
"Half the Institute showed up for my fourth birthday. I remember."
"Yeah. Just because you're... *you.* If I break up with you, will I disappear?"
She turned and flung the shell across the lake. It skipped four times. My instinct was to analyze its aerodynamics and ascertain how she could've improved her throw. That instinct was smothered by the words *break up*.
"No," I said. "But I wish you wouldn't."
"You could have anyone."
She was crying now. She tried to hide it by tilting her head down a little, bringing her shoulders up, and speaking between breaths.
"Maybe." Men and women sent the Institute letters and e-mails every single day, offering their services. Everyone wanted to try Mary out. "I don't want them. I want you."
"Why? So they can keep you up on that pedestal?"
"No," I said, slowly coming to a stand. "Because there are one hundred and eight thousand, four hundred and two hairs on your head. Because the color in your eyes radiate at precisely five hundred and seventy eV. Because you've done something that no human on this planet ever has or ever will."
Despite herself, she let out a soft sob. "What, Mary?"
I came behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "The first human-born android in history has fallen in love with you." | BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
I woke up. Groped blindly for my phone.
"Good *job*, Mary-Sue!" declared my mother, who was standing in the doorway and quite clearly had been for some time, when I finally found my phone and killed the alarm. She was beaming at me, like she always did.
It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to learn that other people were not routinely congratulated just for the act of waking up. It was entirely self-generated embarrassment, of course. Anybody I told about this just congratulated me on my developed self-awareness and offered to die for me.
"Hey, Mom," I said.
"Mary-Sue, I would gladly *die* if it meant--"
I waved her off and picked up my day journal. "Not now, Mom. What's for breakfast?"
Mom beamed. "*Very* good question, sweetie! We have--"
Here, she launched into a detailed description of various breakfast food items, chiefly couched in the terms of their effects on the five primary senses of the human body and the various temperatures, animals, materials and concepts that they did and did not resemble. As was the case on each of the last seventy-six mornings since I had started recording these diatribes, at no point did she mention a food by its common English name, or indeed its common name in any other language I knew about.
"What would *you* like, Mary-Sue?"
Taking care not to answer the innocuous-seeming question, I shimmied around her (she did not react except to turn to face me, like a sunflower following the sun) and went for the dining room. There, I was surprised to see hash browns, pancakes, a helping of eggs benedict, and a pile of already-buttered toast. The most I'd gotten out of Mom's hemorrhagic exposition was something matching the description of "golden ichor", which I'd assumed was honey of some kind. Honestly, the spread was a little disappointing after today's speech.
I picked up a fork and skewered one of the hash browns.
"Ah, Mary-Sue! Off to seize the day, are we?" my father asked jovially, poking his bespectacled head out of the kitchen like a demented jack-in-the-box whose winding mechanism was somehow released by the act of impaling a hash brown with a fork.
Mom finally appeared in the doorway behind me. "Oh, honey, you could've just told me you wanted the hash browns." *Now* she used their regular names.
"Ah," said Dad. "My wife! How are you, darling?"
I squinted at him as I munched on my hash brown. I'd been reading a lot more than I usually did recently, and it was beginning to feel *wrong* that my father felt the need to establish Mom's relationship to him every single time I encountered them having any kind of verbal exchange.
"Oh, Husband," Mom tittered, enunciating the unnecessary capital letter so clearly I could taste it on my hash brown.
I sighed inside. It had taken seventeen increasingly agonizing years to piece it all together, but now that it was all in position, the evidence was staggering. I was not some kind of psychological experiment subject to a bizarre local conspiracy of excessive praise-giving. I was not secretly dying of a chronic disease that nobody had told me about and which compelled everyone who knew about it to treat even the slightest of my achievements as on par with curing world hunger or ending a world war.
No. The truth was far worse. The reason why everyone around me, from my parents to my moody older brother to my classmates to the guy with a gun who'd cornered me in a dark alley after twilight one time, did nothing but complacently wallow in my alleged greatness whenever they spoke to me; the reason why nothing I did ever seemed to *matter* on even the technical level of having any physical consequences a day after I'd done them; the reason why I was able to sit here in the dining room and mull over the twisted nature of my futile existence instead of heading to school in a timely fashion; I was in a *story*.
A dumb story. Some kind of quasi-masturbatory self-insert, featuring characters that are less *characters* and more narrated collections of the abstract *ideas* of character traits. A miserable universe, comprised of nothing but the "empty calorie' equivalent of goodness. A nominal goodness, divested entirely of the semantic nutrients that make it worthwhile to pursue in the first place.
I imagined the words that detailed my existence. Tried to imagine the author who had penned them. Wondered if these thoughts, this crisis I was going through, were even something that they were privy to. Was my mind one of those traits that fit into their flimsy cardboard shell of a story and its players? Did they know what they were doing to me?
"Oh, Mary-Sue! That is some *very* good sitting," intoned my mother, and I could not detect the slightest hint of irony in her words. | 2020-05-10T02:32:04 | 2020-05-10T00:15:42 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] While scuba diving, to photograph the reef and all its colourful residents, you see a turtle in the distance moving towards you. As it swims closer, you realise its twice the size of you and glowing faintly. You also notice the back of it's shell, patterned eerily similar to a world map. | I sliced my foot open on a broken bottle of Coors Light.
It had fallen into the sand, half buried, littered amongst the rest of the beach rocks and pebbles. Waves and salt honed the edge, the clear glass sandblasted opaque, now stained bloodred, the price of waste pain in crimson droplets.
Later, I sat and wrapped a bandage slowly, failing to keep the grains of sand from penetrating the wound. It was going to sting, and bite, like any open sore, unforgettable.
As I plunged towards the reef I wondered if it might be infected. But I couldn’t let this stop me. The reef was too important. My mission was too important.
The reef was dying.
The schooner slipped through frigid waters and I slipped on my wetsuit. Dives like this were commonplace. Routine. I counted the minutes until we hit the buoy and circled the dive site.
Besides me, the divers were as stark and expressionless as the expanse of blue ocean we traveled.
Floating near me: unmarked bottles, seals, styrofoam flotillas, plastic dinner trays, seagulls, muddy brown oil.
The cut oozed in the sloshing, squelching booties and I considered the fact that sharks smell blood from miles away. Smell is a weird term for underwater. There is no scent, per-se, only the stranglehold of salt and cold.
Strangled like the plastic around the necks of seals and seagulls we failed to rescue.
Sometimes, plunging beneath the waves, it feels like we’re fighting a war we cannot win. Industry is death. One man’s garbage is another fish’s death rattle. It’s war, down there.
The ship reaches the reef. The captain ties off and wishes me luck, I take a breath, and dive into the battlefield.
Beneath me is a sea of color. Red staghorn coral grows like hair from the rocks. Blue and green brain coral swirls like sherbet and I dive to observe the decay. But everything here is fleeting.
Bleachbone remains rise like headstones from the reef.
My clipboard counts the missing: starfish, frogspawn, a fugu puffer with a small tumor that I named Frank. I take a tally of the living and find it less than the week before.
The reef is passing like the ebb and flow of the tide. And despite the efforts to skim the plastic from the surface, despite the attempts to shore the edge of the reef with rocks, trenches dug to prevent erosion, regulations, nets, there is nothing. Nothing.
My wound bleeds free into the sea but there are too few sharks to smell it.
I turn back to the divot where I know I will find a pair of clownfish. There used to be hundreds hosting a squad of bubble tip anemone. Now there are two.
I watch them dance and hide and dart in and out of the purple amalgam and wonder if they understand the price of inevitability. Do clownfish mourn when they dream?
Or can they only fight the current for so long?
Today marks the fifteenth week on the ocean. Fifteen weeks, a list that shrinks faster than my saving’s account, a shark’s tooth, and a desiccated turtle shell.
I swim back to the boat and am interrupted by a slowly gliding turtle. It’s a loggerhead, searching for squid, and I don’t have the heart to explain that the squid are all gone. We’ve grilled them up as we trawl for sardines.
His back is pattered in shades of brown and blue that almost seem to glow as they reflect the still light of morning. And I stare at the shell and it looks almost like a map, as if I could follow the turtle to find far-green lands and wilderness.
But this is a pipe dream shattered like the broken glass of beer bottles strewn from careless beach-goers. Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting a war I cannot win, on a battlefield I can’t begin to understand, on a scale I cannot hope to comprehend.
The turtle swims to me and I scratch its chin.
Swim free, little turtle.
Fight the tides that drag you down.
Later, I check the list and find it wanting. Pray that somehow, somewhere, life might find its way back to the reef. Pray that I can make a difference. It’s the only thing that keeps me waking with the dawn, keeps me swimming out to the sea. That glimmer of hope reflecting like a rainbow prism through cut-glass.
Fleeting beauty fading like sandblasted shores.
And maybe there is nothing we can do. But we won’t know unless we try.
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | *"Dave..."* a voice echoed in my mind. It made me stop breathing for a moment. I pulled out my camera and took as many pictures as possible at the oncoming turtle.
"*Dave..."* it whispered again in my head, the glowing turtle was now just feet away.
I couldn't stop staring, and I felt a surge of goosebumps coat my entire body.
*"Hello?"* I replied back in my head.
*"Dave. Congratulations. You navigated the Lost Reef perfectly. You're the first soul to ever complete the puzzle of the coral labyrinth, the world of Colorine awaits,"* it said, the turtle's crack of a mouth curved upwards.
*"Colorine?"*
*"Yes, please, come quick for the world is in need of your help, swim to the top of my back,"* the turtle's shell at the crown glowed with a bright neon pink halo.
The whole exchange felt like a dream. I paused there and floated motionless in the water.
*"My name is Kora, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm the gatekeeper and chauffeur, please come now if you can."*
I unhooked myself from the scuba line and swam to the top of the turtle's back, into the pink circle which made everything glow white.
My world felt like it collapsed in on itself and all at once I felt the most intense pain surge through me but then I felt the most relaxing, rejuvenating spark of life tingle at all of the hairs on my body. I couldn't see what was happening, but then I felt a return to normalness.
I was still in my scuba gear and my hands were glued to the turtle's back as Kora swiftly cut through the water like a hot knife through butter.
The turtle broke through the top of the water and I could finally see where I was. The sea was perfectly emerald green. The sky was a cascade of oranges, purples, and pinks. Even the atmospheric glowed with a golden hue. We were approaching a tiny island of sand and a palm tree with electric blue leaves. With a hover over the water, the turtle was flying, but it didn't need to move its fins. Nor did it have wings. It just floated over the air as if it was just a continuation of the water. Kora took me to this tiny island that was no larger than a bedroom.
As soon as we landed on the edge, I saw a little girl, around 10 years old sitting at the base of the tree with her knees wrapped in her arms. She was rocking back and forth, a faint silver light outlined her entire frame.
I ripped off my scuba gear that was attached to my face and I finally had a clear view of everything. A couple miles away from the tiny island was a horizon with a massive castle in the center and a village underneath it. On the sides were massive sloping cliffs. The view was jaw-dropping and breathtaking. "Excuse me, uh, where the hell am I?"
"It's a shame, they're coming to get me," the little girl moped.
"Who's coming to get you? Maybe I can help?"
"It's only a matter of time I suppose. Maybe you can, maybe you can't," she gazed at me with her silver eyes and shrugged. "There's five of us. And I can't believe four of us have been imprisoned."
"Other kids like you? What's happening?"
"I'm sorry you had to see the world like this. As a visitor of Colorine, we are supposed to be the most beautiful city in the universe. But the newest man in charge has been stealing the deities that make this land beautiful. He's power hungry, and he's leeching off our abilities."
"Uh... Ya-You're a d-deity?" I blurted.
"Yes. The evil person in the castle mind-washed all of the land. We don't have much time before he takes over and captures me. Please, sir, will you find it in your heart to help us?" she gasped and glared out towards the horizon.
I followed her eyes and saw that a long narrow boat that looked like something out of ancient Greece was on its way for us. They looked like militant men with their armor and their weapons.
"Come quick, I can give you a piece of my power, it's called Silver Light. It shoots narrow beams of energy that can push someone away or knock out someone unconscious."
I rubbed my eyes and exchanged shooting glances from the boat back to the little girl.
She held out the palm of her hand and a glowing orb of silver shot towards me and struck my chest, filling me with a spike of energy and power.
"Now, hold out your hand, channel all of that energy to your palm, and you'll be given the ability of Silver Light. I'm sorry there's not more time to train, but I gave you a decent chunk of my power, it should come naturally, you're our only hope," the little girl evaporated out of thin air.
I spun around to look at Kora but the turtle was also gone. It was just me up against a boat full of warriors, and they were showing no signs of slowing down.
I had so much fun writing the [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gxwe2h/wp_while_scuba_diving_to_photograph_the_reef_and) for this, maybe you'll like it maybe you won't, but I'd love to hear your thoughts!
r/randallcooper | 2020-06-06T06:34:41 | 2020-06-06T06:28:26 | 684 | 292 |
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel. | Sarah scribbled out the rest of her information, excited to undertake this new business venture. The interview went well, even if they're probing questions about her travelling habits caused her some slight discomfort. Of course, she travels, she has her license. What sort of question is that? Yet, they kept asking about how much travel she’s done and if she can adapt to changing environments. Both questions she enthusiastically responded to. Not wanting to miss out on her opportunity to work for such an interesting company. They hadn’t filled her in about the job details just yet, but she was certain a project with this much travel must be amazing.
Sarah handed the contract to the lead scientist, the balding man pulling down his glasses, reading over her information carefully. The man’s silent gaze flicking over the page, causing a slight air of unease as he surveyed it, rereading it until he was content.
“Your date of birth, that’s the fifth of January 2021 correct?” The scientist fixated on the year, writing the date on a small yellow notepad at his side.
“That’s correct. I’m thankful for this opportunity, I promise you I will do my best to help you. So, am I doing more administrative work, or did you want me to drive between facilities?” Sarah asked, determined to prove how useful she was as soon as possible.
“Nothing like that. We need someone who can test out a new device we have made. Unfortunately, none of our scientists will conduct the experiment themselves, so we outsourced.” The scientist glanced back, perhaps sensing Sarah’s unease as he motioned her into the backrooms of the office. “It’s safe, I assure you. We just can’t risk one of our scientists being busy if the machine malfunctions. It’s as dangerous as donating blood, you will be fine.”
The man’s words offered Sarah some comfort, enough that she continued following him into the backrooms, these rooms far different to the clerical offices situated towards the front of the building. These rooms covered in discarded wires, broken pieces of technology and strange glowing artifacts that Sarah could hardly believe were real. The most salient feature of the room was the large iron cylinder, its sides glowing with pulsating blue light, radiating with an energy that reflected off the scientist’s glasses.
“This is our latest piece. It allows a user to travel to the past. We will hook a camera up to you, allowing us to view whatever you are looking at. If things get dangerous, step into the device and we will send you back. Simple enough, right?”
It must have been a joke. A way of hazing the new employee. Sarah smirked, feeling foolish for that previous unease she had felt. The scientist didn’t share that smile, watching her with a curious expression, taken aback by Sarah’s confident strides, stepping towards the time machine.
“Well, let’s go then. Open it up. Just so you know, I didn’t fall for this trick.” Sarah remarked, thinking she had called out the man’s bluff.
Her sudden enthusiasm confused the scientist, but he went along with it, regardless. Tapping a few buttons on his computer, the machine’s door forced itself open, revealing an interior made for a single person. Once Sarah was inside, he quickly brought over a camera, strapping it to her head before backing away.
“Good luck, Sarah, we will be watching. Our communication will be one sided, we can hear you, but you can’t hear us. Trust that we will always be listening.” Before Sarah could comment further, the door shut before her.
She listened to the metallic cylinder rumble, smoke steaming into the machine, causing her to panic. The thick black puffs of air causing her to slam her fists against the metal, trying to alert the scientist before she held her breath, waiting for the door to open.
Sarah felt her lungs ache, needing another breath, opening her mouth to take one, only for the doors to pry open, revealing a bloodied landscape. The machine sat atop a pile of bodies, the thick cloud of smoke pouring free as she observed her surroundings. Two armies each stopped their clashing, staring in disbelief at the strange machine.
The armies fell silent, neither side having the heart to continue the battle, a temporary truce being determined. Soon a few soldiers began their approach, swords pointed towards the machine, Sarah trying to sink back into the machine, looking for some sort of return button, yet she found none.
“Send me back!” She shouted, earning no response.
Panic flowed through her body, the soldiers now only a few steps away from her when she suddenly raised a hand, the action causing the soldiers to step back. She pointed her open palm at one of them who ducked, then to another who made a similar motion. The initial fear only lasted a few moments. Once they realized she had no special powers, they continued their approach only for the door to slam shut before they reached her.
Again, smoke drifted into the machine, causing her to once again take a breath, waiting for the doors to open once more. When the doors opened, she threw herself to the floor, nearly kissing the ground below.
“You made it; seems our co-ordinates were a little off.” The scientist uttered, helping her up from the floor. A few more scientists had filled into the room, each sharing a look of relief. “We thought you were going to get killed.”
“What the hell was that? I thought you were joking; you made a time machine and sent a random person to the past?” Sarah grabbed the man by his lab coat, pulling herself up, still seething after her near-death experience.
“You’re experienced, you said you could handle travel and sudden changes. You should be happy, you did great. I can’t wait for your next run.”
“Next run? Why would I get in that thing again?”
“For the money? It’s a high-paying job and you get to sight see. How many people can say they have travelled back in time. Sarah, I understand how you feel but please consider continuing to work with us. Look, take some time to rest and call me back in a day or two, let me know if you still aren’t interested. Remember, you can’t discuss any of this either.” The man pulled out a card with his number on it, handing it to Sarah.
“Right, I’ll consider it.” Sarah left work for the day, heading back to her apartment. She told herself she wouldn’t go back, that she wouldn’t accept such a dangerous job. But as the day wore on, she stared at the business card more, struggling to turn down the opportunity. Maybe she would call back tomorrow?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Going to finish the rest up soon. posting what I got so far.
"Good Morning! I'm here to interview for the time administrator job. I was told to be here at 8:30 so sorry about showing up a bit early."
"That's no problem at all Mr.Maxwell, if anything its a plus! As you can guess by the title of the job punctuality is of the utmost importance around these parts, so if anything you're off to a rocking start. You can go ahead and just go down right this hall to the first room on your left. Your interviewer should be in there already."
Adam leisurely walks past the secretary's desk and marches right down to the room. He opens the door and finds himself looking at the shrouded figure of a clearly physically imposing man. As he steps into the room the veil of darkness slips away and the man's features begin to come under the scrutiny of the light. The man is dressed in ridiculous garb at face value, his head being covered by a horse mask whilst wearing a two piece suit on his body. The farcical nature of it all is so out of place to his expectations that Adam immediately stops in place and has to take a second to compose himself.
"I'm sorry I must have slipped into the wrong room. I'm actually looking for the interview room and you must clearly be here for different reasons. Though I have to admit that mask makes me think this might actually be the right kind of workplace for me if you know what I mean."
"Welcome Mr.Maxwell, contrary to expectations you've found yourself in the right room. I appreciate your respect for the art of punctuality. In due time you'll come to realize that the mask is necessary for protection."
Upon attempting to follow up on the line Adam had to catch himself and stifle a joke about pharmacy protection, after all it was an interview and he needed the money.
"Well sir one thing you'll come to realize about me is that I'm a very adaptable person, and if you say the mask is necessary than there's no need to explain as to why, after all my future boss said so."
"Obsequiousness will do you well in this role at times, but at other times it will function as your downfall. Anyways Mr. Maxwell let us dispense with the formalities, we already know that you are the man for the job and there is no need for us to conduct any tedious interview. After all, omniscience has to have its upsides as well."
Adam couldn't help but jot down that piece about omniscience, after all how often did you meet a person wearing a horse mask talking about omniscience. However, as has been known since the dawn of humanity, the sin of greed can make men overlook much.
"I'm really glad to hear that Sir, after all if I am to be honest times have been lean recently and any job will go along ways. Before we get any further though would you mind if I enquired about the pay and benefits?"
"Let it suffice to say that by taking this job you'll be recompensed in such a manner that will put you beyond any level that your earthly desires need you to be at."
"Well then I'm sold Sir. I'll do the job regardless of what I have to do, if you need me to kick puppies then I'm your man. If you need me to steal an orphan's lollipop then I'm your man, whatever the job requires I'm your man."
"Nothing of such sorts my friend. Imparting upon you your duties is the very reason I'm here for, however before we can proceed along such a path I need you to ingest this drink."
Adam eyes proceeded to follow his counterparts head as it began to rotate on a vertical swivel till it came to rest on the table. Surpisingly there was a grail on the table with a golden looking drink within it. Initially Adam was perplexed, after all he hadn't noticed such a flashy cup when he first came in. Those thoughts were immediately drawned by a crescendo of desire as he felt hypnotized by the rich gold nature of the drink. He could not help but feel as if all of life's desires could be fulfilled and overcome simply by consuming said drink. His initial hesitance to drink it stops him from taking anything but a tiny sip, but upon feeling its efficacy of rejuvenating his very soul he immediately scarfs it all down. All seems to be well till two seconds later when he feels himself burning up and everything fading to black. The last thing he sees before darkness completely overtake him is the masked man beginning to take off his facial covering. After that nothing as he slips into the realm of Morpheus himself.
Adam suddenly jerks awake after some time has passed. He immediately is faced with acute bouts of pain arcing throughout his body like bursts of lightning.
"You're finally up. Take your time getting up I'm sure everything must feel different to you, after all your entire plane of perception has been altered."
"Plane of perception? Let me put this in the most respectful manner I can, especially to someone who causes me to lose consciousness, but what in the fuck did you just give me. Before you gave me that I was feeling just fine but now I feel worse than I've ever felt before."
"Aahh my apologies, it's been so long since my first day on the job that I completely forgot how treacherous the transition from a temporary carbon based lifeform to a celestial being is."
Adam struggled to comprehend everything that was being presented to him, after all his head was still ringing like a bell at a temple. The first conscious thought that managed to reach the surface of his mind was that perhaps the drink had contained some sort of psychedelic component, after all what else could make sense of the sights that he was seeing. Ever since waking up it felt like his senses had been overclocked, he could feel his heart booming whilst having a greater awareness of everything around him than he had ever experienced before.
"I can see the machinations of your mind go into overload as you try to make sense of what is happening to you, let me just explain it all rather than waiting for the hardware of your consciousness to make sense of it all. As you are already well aware of the job you came to sign up for today was one of a time adminstrator. The person who stands before you is the previous time administrator, but I also go by the name Chronos. What you just got done drinking is colloquially refered to by mortals as Ambrosia, and the reason you feel all out of sorts is your body is struggling to make the transition to godhood. Aah and you were inquisitive about the mask as well right? Well the reason for that was simple, after all you entered a mere mortal and mortals will simply be burnt to ashes if somehow their eyes manage to fall upon the true visage of a celestial being. I think that should suffice in terms of exposition for you, after all what would the point of being an omniscient celestial being be if they needed someone else to pluck the fruit for them."
While "Chronos" went about his hard to believe monologue Adam did began to feel things settle down. He had dabbled with meditation in the past and had begun to rely on its past teachings by centering his breath. As his breath settled down and he began to comprehend his new plane of existence information began to race through his mind at a rate never felt before, after all previously Adam could have been best described as a bit of a dullard.
"I think I'm beginning to grasp the terms of the job. The only thing I need to ask is when are we going to start?" | 2021-01-05T03:57:53 | 2021-01-05T03:53:19 | 103 | 30 |
[WP] “Humans are so weak, the best weapons they have are tiny, dull claws!” “That’s why they build weapons.” “They do what now?” | Kv'lon blinked his topmost pair of eyes. While the Caprun mind is well known for its swift reaction times to threats in the wild, untamed worlds of its home system, they are as a species one of the slower ones to actually think. Given their razor-sharp claws that they carry on all four hands, this fact is often best left unspoken in their presence.
"So…like rocks? Sharp sticks?" Kv'lon flexed his palms. "I have crushed the iron bones of War Turtles with my bare hands in the depths of Orion V. This will not be a problem." He grinned a toothy smile to the assorted species of the briefing hall.
Lieutenant T'ch raised her eyebrow, and willed her acid glands to stop flaring in annoyance. By comparison, her people the Oids looked rather frail, lacking many of the bristling claws, fangs, and talons most of the Multilateral Empire carried naturally. In prior attempts to conquer her species, this was frequently something an invading force would joke about before a swift spray of acid reduced them to a puddle of goo.
"Weapons like kinetic launchers, phase beam emitters, and sharpened metal 'battering rams'. That they can hold…" she paused for effect. "in their hands."
The room went silent. Many species had experimented over the centuries with artificial additions to their bodies with little success. The Tw'angh for example had attempted to arm their elite shadow task force with an experimental kinetic high-density orb launcher (humans would likely note it resembled a crude slingshot). While this initially gave the task force a distinct tactical advantage at a distance, it was quickly discovered that razor-sharp talons, rubber-based weapons, and flammable projectiles rarely mixed.
"Wasn't this the same species whom was reported to have reached the stars only a few decades ago?" muttered a rock-like creature in the back, using one of it's arm-like appendages to scratch its hard body.
T'ch continued. "The same. We have reason to believe the technology they used to reach orbit was…combustion based. It was otherwise a hollow metal tube, used to protect their sickly-looking bodies from the cold vacuum of space."
Half the room erupted in laughter, the same half which frankly enjoyed the occasional jaunt in zero gravity outside of their ships' hulls on long voyages. Many of their ancestors had managed to leave the atmosphere of their homeworlds with little more than a crude anti-gravity platform and a bag of snacks. While there were several species that needed protection from the long-term effects of the vacuum of space, it was more of a nuisance than a life-threatening environment.
"And so, beyond the 'weapons' issue, we believe our joint task force should be able to subjugate the planet for the Empire in a matter of hours." This was met with a mixture of cheers and groans; it was a disappointment for many that they would have spent more time en route then actually fighting.
A diminutive Oid entered the room, saluted, then whispered in T'ch's ear.
"I understand we just arrived in orbit. Make your way to your drop-platforms, and enjoy the heat as you enter their thin atmosphere. Don't forget to keep a fraction of the population alive for study. I don't care how squishy they are; with a little effort, we can get them to share the secrets of their technology for our own benefit." The room chortled.
The Oid who arrived seemed to remember something, then leaned over to whisper again.
"Ah, in that case, platforms won't be necessary. It looks like the humans have decided to make their last stand in space. New orders: depart from the nearest airlock and prepare to be boarded." This got the horde excited again, and their pace quickened. She shook her head and sighed. "They're either brave or foolhardy to fight us on our own ship."
She turned her attention to her podium as the pounding of hooves, feet, and other appendages created a fading cacophony against the metal floor. Pulling up her console, she switched over to the long-range cameras. Zooming in, she could see it for herself: hundreds of little metal cylinders, probably each carrying a human, hurtling at high speed towards her ship. It was an insultingly low number of combatants.
T'ch switched to a different view, and watched her forces gather on the hull, eager for the arrival of their victims. This was how wars in space used to be fought: ship to ship, being to being. Their magnetic boots allowed them to navigate, though she noticed that a Caprun (probably Kv'lon) had already managed to smack one of his own kind off the hull, jockying for the best position on one of the projected arrival points of the human spacecraft. She felt her acid glands flaring in annoyance again.
The lieutenant brought up a tactical view of the approaching metal tubes. They had come from all over the planet, perhaps sending the best of their kind in a fool-hardy attempt to deal with their sudden arrival. They were certainly traveling fast; she wondered if they would even survive. T'ch zoomed in on one of the tubes in fascination, trying to make out where the human had entered the spacecraft. She didn't see a door, but some human lettering on the side caught her attention: ICBM. | When the growing Galactic Empire first locked on to Earth, there was little of interest of their life. The myraid of plants and animals did little to peak their minds, and even what seemed to be the dominant species, humans, were unimpressive at first. Limbs that ended in what could barely be called claws, barely any natural protections, and stats that across the board were underwhelming. The heads of the council discounted the blue ball and continued looking, only sending a single ship to claim the planet for an outpost and small team of researchers with a drip feed of funds. The planet was forgotten about as the Empire looked elsewhere for worthy additions for their ranks.
That was centuries ago, and now the Scout-class DES Tey'Cull had reached the Milky Way, the stasis systems that kept the ship's crew alive in suspended animation started to begin to wake them. The hundred or so soldiers found themselves waking with groans as they started to head towards their battle stations. The captain of the vessel was no different as she got out of her pod and moved to check the on-board computers.
"Ahoy Captain Fatius. We are drawing within the range of the ship's warp drive to the target." The ship's on-board Navigational Assistant spoke in an even tone, before preparing a stimulant for the Captain and pulled up the revevant files for her to review. "As such, it is required to give your directions for the creation of the Empire's outpost. In addition, we must call back to the Homeword and report our position."
Fatius gave a sleepy nod as she checked herself over. Standing a little over 6' 5", she belonged to a race akin to bipedal dogs, well known for their ferocity and strength. She was no exception as her brown-furred form hid both sizable muscle and dozens of scars. Her single green eye shot open as she was injected with the stimulant, the other lost to glory, as she let out a howl.
Fully awakened, she looked the computer over with a nod. "I know, Ona. We have done this quite a lot. You even had my proper dose ready. Nothing of issue happened while we took the budget express here, right?"
The even tone from before vanished as Ona replied, the computer suddenly a lot more annoyed. "Nothing at all. You'd thing they would send their big hero off to do something more helpful to the expansion, but we are stuck here with-" A ding cut off the computer's voice, before it returned to the even tone from before. "We have an incoming call from KX-9, Home Base. Shall we answer?"
Fatius nodded with a hidden grin. The call could not have come at a better time. Ona systems could develop quirks over time, and the one on her ship would gush about its captain every chance it got. A call from a Home Base was not a chance.
Within moments, another screen flickered to life as a mass of tentacles covered the screen. The other side's face seemed to be missing from the feed, but a high-pitched "Good" was enough for Fatius to know the otherside was coming in nicely.
"This is Captain Fatius of the DES Tey'Cull, First Fang of the Empire. May I ask why you are calling now?"
The mass shook as the voice answered. "Oh good, the right ship was on file. The mission for the Gaia output has gotten a bit complicated in the coming years."
"Nothing could be worse then having to take this slow way to my mission objective." Fatius answered. "But do explain."
"The furless, weaponless, beasts that are the so-called 'apex predators' of the planet?" Ona asked as the files reappeared on its screens. "What could possibly be this issue."
The voice on the other end seemed to hesitate as Fatius looked through her version of the files, before she noticed how the other line was silent.
"How outdated is our information? 100 years? 300?"
"More like it was wrong from the start." The voice said shaking. "Not even a week after our first observations that got you your mission, we observed them making and weilding pointed sticks to hunt and large stones to read... something in the sky."
"Okay. This is still within our parameters. What is the-"
"As of now, they have a surplus of ballistic weaponry, both via powders and with magnetics, have harnessed Nuclear weaponry, tried chemical weapons on massive scales, and are at the point they train their young in combat as younglings for sport."
Fatius gave a groan unfitting of her station. "Lovely. Have you relayed this information to anyone else?"
"The council, but since it's been so long, no one even remembers you were out here, let alone the codes to cancel your mission and allow you to return."
"Wonderful. Can't do the mission, can't abort the mission, what good news do you have?" Fatius asked as she opened her mission file again.
"The 'Front Line' of your time has been quelled. The last battle was about 40 years ago." The voice said with a tint of hopefulness.
"That was rhetorical. Just beam me the up-to-date info and continue your research."
"Yes, Ma'am!" The call clicker off as Fatius let out a sigh and looked over her mission. The new information came in a few minutes later with a ding.
The screen changed to a display for a shipwide broadcast as Ona spoke once more. "Captain. We will need to alert the crew before they set our jump. I'm sure we can finish this and get you reassigned to somewhere you can do some real carnage like before."
However, as Fatius read more, a grin formed on her face. "Of course, but this might not be as bad as we first thought."
She pushed the button for the broadcast, before giving her Crew a massive grin. "Attention, all hands: Our mission has changed slighty.
"I hope you all can handle more idle time. We have a vacation coming!" | 2021-12-01T21:39:37 | 2021-12-01T21:22:12 | 312 | 58 |
[WP] Humans can find a way to weaponize literally anything, without fail. Some aliens are terrified by humans as a result of this fact. Others appreciate that this quality makes humans the foremost experts on safety systems and idiot proofing. | Every species contributed something special and unique to the federation, every single one except for these humans. It was the only species with which we made contact not because they were ready but because we were afraid they would destroy themselves.
After the contact we shared the technology that would enable them to harvest sunlight with close to 100% efficiency. With energy supply being abundant there would be no more reason for wars, no need for pollution.
They built orbital solar stations which collected sunlight and converted it into energy, then one day ZAP, a whole city destroyed.
It wasn't for war, they were united under single banner, they simply emptied an entire city and blasted it into oblivion.
We asked for explanation of their action and they said... it was fun.
We decided against giving them any new technology, instead we would give them finished products they could use, this way they couldn't use advanced tech to build weapons.
But they sure did modify every single piece of tech into some kind of deadly device. We provided them with exoskeletons for senior citizens and they "pimped" them then use them for races. House assistants became hunter killer bots, they used space elevator to hit Moon with various "stuff".
How about a cold fusion reactor? A piece of technology so safe that even the dumbest moron couldn't possibly... wrong, another town became a crater.
Every piece of tech which was given to them had to go through multiple revisions until it was finally deemed safe for usage by humans. The whole Sol system became this big testing ground in which humans blew shit up for fun and scientist from all over the federation went through the process of analysis and improvement again, and again and again.
And this is where humanity gave it's gift to the Federation.
Humanproof brand!
Products which were deemed safe for human use became a raging hit on galactic scale. You could leave humanproof pistol in childcare, arm prisoners with humanproof knives, then get drunk and sit in your humanproof car without a care in the world.
Federation became an economic power and humans... humans still have fun blowing shit up. | "Sssssshh, just watch ... " Shplorg said. Tanmghz was visibly annoyed. The deadline for this project was only 2 centuries off and they were running out of time. Tanmghz had a point, this seed planet had been going for 10 millennia and has already shown to be one of the more vicious ones. But... protocol is protocol. Biztools Galactic Inc. prides itself on having every product marked "human proof". And that includes this mini paperweight.
"Look, it's safe. It's a paperweight, damnit. This is not like the time we were testing that black decorative sparkle powder. It's a PAPERWEIGHT!" Tanmghz pleaded. "I agree, but you can't underestimate humans. Remember when we were testing that Thungsten version?". Tanmghz flinched. "Oof ... those were some highly penetrative arrows indeed. Who would've thought?". Shplorg has gone through a few cycles already, and he knew more than anyone how vicious humans could be. He was right there when the seed planet in sector H45FT blew up an entire galaxy after only 30 millennia after a disagreement with that other species. Poor fellas. He never would've guessed quantum entanglement could do something like that.
Tanmghz still wasn't convinced, though. "OK, look. But this material is much softer, unhealthy for them to use, we only just made it available to them and we're running out of t..." A bright flash interrupted Tanmghz.
"Sigh." Shplorg was disappointed. He had hoped that this was the one thing they couldn't use as a weapon. He was wrong. A paperweight ... ugh.
Tanmghz was visibly confused. "Where did Hiroshima go?"
Nothing was left. They knew there was some disagreement between a few factions, but this was unexpected. Just recently they were only just using the black powder thing.
"Welcome to human testing, kid." Shplorg said in a defeated tone. "I really thought this was the one".
Tanmghz suddenly got it. "Oh, so that's why we haven't brought out any new products lately?" Shplorg nodded. "Yep, every frikkin time. But the marketing works wonders for our old products, so the top brass insists we keep upholding such a high standard."
"Oh ... So Uranium is out?" Tanmghz asked. "Yep. So what's next on the list?".
Tanmghz had to look. He really hadn't prepared for this. "Oh, this one's for the kids... Lawn Darts" | 2021-12-25T13:23:18 | 2021-12-25T12:13:31 | 1,671 | 537 |
[WP] Humans can find a way to weaponize literally anything, without fail. Some aliens are terrified by humans as a result of this fact. Others appreciate that this quality makes humans the foremost experts on safety systems and idiot proofing. | **Galactic Post Federation Assembly Log 30.244:**
The Zyyrkonians have officially blessed the Humans with the gift of Emotional Foresight. This newly discovered neural implement has been designed to lower the high rate of suicides among Zyyrkonians.
The use of Emotional Foresight is strictly forbidden for every other Intelligent Society part of the GPF until the Humans have safely lived with the technology for what they call “a year and a half.” = 2.55 Folds
**Galactic Post Federation Assembly Log 30.892:**
After 1.5 Human years, corresponding to 2.55 Folds, the GPF sent three standard-issue spy drones equipped with radiation based camouflaging system to monitor the situation of the planet Earth and finalize the verdict on the Emotional Foresight technology.
Verdict of the Assembly based on the knowledge of the full footage of the three spy drones is as follow:
“We could all see that Humans locked the technology away from the mass crowds, amplified its strength and wavelength, and scanned roughly 94% of the planet Earth’s population with it. The non-scanned 6% of the population then proceeded to dominate the Society of the planet profiting of the deepest desires of the masses and fighting protests with psychological warfare aimed at their opponents’ greatest fears. The technology did not pass the Human Hyperaggression Test, therefore the request must be denied.”
End Log | The arrival of any new species to the galactic community is a wonderful thing. Despite the vast number of spacefaring peoples, the galaxy is so vast, we average at least one new member each galactic cycle. Hundreds of thousands of cycles have passed since the founding but in recent years there has been more and more concern about all these new faces. Some are worried about wars or plague; they are indeed valid concerns. However, as an economic expert, I foresee an opportunity.
Humans were discovered 642 galactic cycles ago, perhaps 3000 of their "earth years". They were primitive, still using steel as weapons and armor. It was only recently that they finally discovered the secret to deep space travel. So the council introduced themselves to their 1st probe. That was about 2 cycles ago.
I've been studying humans since they were discovered. They are by far the dumbest and probably more sturdy species our galaxy has ever seen. They seek out and eat substances that are normally poisonous for the majority of those on the galactic council. Their scientific research is often at odds with their own safety. They also seem to lack any rational sense of fear or logic. Granted, their lack of fear is often a boon to their success. They are perhaps the fastest to reach the spacefaring stage. Thousands of their kind were seemingly sacrificed to achieve this. Humans obviously don't see it that way and view them almost as martyrs.
But I digress. My point in this introduction is to explain why I've begun to do what I am doing. Please don't see me as a terrible being. I am seeking safety for all species. The potential profit is just .... a bonus.
I have *recruited* hundreds of thousands of humans, as well as other species as "guinea pigs" for my company's products. Each new species requires massive investments of funds to test and redistribute products that are safe for use. My megacorp is already one of the largest in the galaxy, now I will use humanity's knack for destruction to bankrupt my competitors and perhaps take a stranglehold over the council. | 2021-12-25T15:56:56 | 2021-12-25T12:49:35 | 295 | 206 |
[WP] Your girlfriend wants you to meet her dad. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach when she brings you to the cemetery, only as she leads you to a crypt and you go down into the stone depths, there you find a massive library and a skeleton, seated by a fireplace, reading a book. | It was a beautiful evening as we walked, arms swinging, down the cracked sidewalk. Weeds sprung up amidst the squares, and I made a game of picking up every pine cone I saw, creating a collection in the pockets of my jacket. In between branches, the sky shone down in long pink and blue streaks, clouds swirling like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water.
I glanced over at Eve and saw her watching my face, smiling. I wondered if it was the same for her to watch me gaping at the sky as it was for me to watch her writing a story or drawing one of her comics. I hoped so. That'd be pretty nice.
She said her dad was a writer as well, and I hoped I would make a good first impression upon meeting him today. If the way he spoke was any bit as beautiful and thought-provoking as Eve, it wouldn't be hard to show my own wonder.
Eve stopped at a gate in a thin, black metal fence. I looked out, my eyes refocusing from the sky to the field before me. It was a cemetery.
Is her father dead?
We entered and weaved among stones, some new and sharp, others dull and crumbly. Every once in a while there was a bench. There were lots of trees. I paused to pick up pine cones.
Eve led me to a small building at the back.
Perhaps her father is alive after all. I suppose we'll find out.
She opened the door and led me in. Her curls brushed my shoulder as I walked past.
She led me down a flight of stairs and into a large, spectacular library. I stepped in slowly, turning my head to take it in. Now this - *this* smelled like books. Bookstores and libraries rarely smelled like that anymore, but this? This was beautiful. The shelves even had those rolling ladders, and I pictured for a moment how it might feel to slide across a shelf with my fingers brushing each book I passed.
On the right side of the room there was a warm fireplace and reading area surrounding it. There were several soft-looking, old couches and a red recliner. Seated on the recliner was a skeleton, glasses tucked into its collarbone, reading a book.
Weirdly enough, my first assumption wasn't even that it was posed. That probably should have been. I just glanced over and thought, there's a person reading a book. Wonder what they're like. Strange, huh?
I glanced at Eve and she smiled her encouragement, tugging my sleeve toward the fireplace. We sat together on one of the couches, and I looked over the stack of books on the light-colored wooden table before us. The cover of the one closest to me looked familiar, and I picked it up.
It was drawn by Eve. Every cover of every book on the table was drawn by Eve.
"She's quite the artist, isn't she?" said a low, friendly voice. I looked up and the skeleton was now wearing its glasses, the holes where eyes would be pointed right at me. I glanced right and left, and nobody else was there. Hoping I wasn't making a fool of myself, I looked right at the skeleton and smiled.
"She really is."
Eve squeezed my arm gently, and when I looked over, something in her deep brown eyes looked the same as outside, when she had watched me take in the sky. She smiled with her mouth closed, looked at the skeleton for a moment, then looked back.
"It might be time to tell you," she said, "the wonder isn't just in the art." She paused, in the same way she always does before saying something beautiful. "Do you believe in magic?"
I nodded.
She pointed at the skeleton, which, strangely despite its lack of muscles or skin, appeared to be smiling - a soft, subtle smile not unlike Eve's.
"Jack, meet my father." | It rained that day. A week ago Sam was looking out the window, more aloof and cold than Erin was used to. “It’s my dad’s birthday next week,” Sam offered in a sigh, “It’s…really hard. I wanted you to meet him but…”
Erin took her hand with an understanding smile, “I’d love to go. Especially if it’s so hard for you. I’d really like to.” Sam smiled then, giving Erin a little kiss and making a loose plan for next Saturday.
It rained that day too, as Erin drove following Sam’s direction. Sam herself fidgeted in her seat, cradling a bouquet of flowers. She had been quiet besides giving directions, and Erin didn’t want to push her; they’d been together a little over a year and a half and rarely talked about Sam’s father, and Erin had a couple of guesses why. The most obvious was confirmed as Sam directed them down a road to a steel gate with a placard reading ‘Golden Fields Cemetery’.
Erin parked the car and got the umbrella out to meet Sam and help her up with the bouquet, silently following her as she led them through the cemetery. Erin was happier for the silence this time, since it let her have her own thoughts about how little she liked cemeteries and visiting them, and only barely being away that the Sam broke ahead of her and stood waiting in front of a mausoleum. Erin couldn’t stop herself from whistling, “Wow. I didn’t know your dad had money like this.”
Sam gave a tired grin, “You can’t take it with you; he really cares about it though. He’ll appreciate you saying that.” Before Erin could ask what she meant, Sam reached up and rapped her knuckles against the stone door. While the confused words became trapped in Erin’s throat, the door rumbled and creaked open.
There was a smell that Erin recognized from somewhere but her bafflement made it impossible to recall. The heat difference was amazing from the cool fall rain to the blast of dry, hot air that escaped. Erin’s mind reeled, too stuck in a stupor to argue against Sam’s pull on her, drawing her deeper into the stone tomb. *Hell! I’m going to Hell!* she screamed and echoed in her body, no sound escaping her. She was aware of Sam saying, “In advance…I’m sorry.” Erin could feel her sadness; whatever anxiety that let Sam lead her down to her doom was intermingled by her heart breaking at this unholy betrayal. Sam’s feet touched the bottom of the staircase and she pulled Erin alongside her before rounding the corner and giving a soft, “Dad…?”
The room they turned into was so jarring that Erin snapped back out of her anxiety attack and back into confusion. A wood burning fireplace sat on the far wall, and every other wall space was taken up by bookshelves stuffed to the brim with various sized books, a fine rug covered the floor, and on a far desk an incense stick burned with, as Erin’s brain suddenly recalled, orange. She wasn’t given much time to investigate, as a clacking noise cut the silence from the huge velvet armchair. Set with the fire as the backdrop, Erin saw a bony hand clasp the arm of the chair and bring a bare skeletal head around.
“Hi Dad.”
The skeleton pushed itself to its feet, draped in some kind some kind of red robe. *Is that silk?* Erin found herself wondering as it circled to both of them before speaking, “Sammy, baby! So good of you to come see your old dad!” The skeleton embraced his daughter with a clackety pat on her back, “You look good, how’s your mom doin’? She still single? You can tell her how much I’ve cleaned the place up.” It turned his empty gaze to Erin, “Who’s this?”
Sam squeezed Erin’s hand, speaking for her, “This is Erin, my girlfriend?”
Even without skin Erin could see the face the skeleton was trying to make, “*Girlfriend?* Okay, very funny—you’re still in your dating girls phase? That’s cute, honey, but you gotta drop that and find yourself a nice man. I know a couple’a guys who live in this area have nice skeleton boys your age.”
As Sam began arguing with her dad, Erin thought back to what Sam had said at the beginning of these plans. It was going to be a long visit. | 2022-03-04T22:08:08 | 2022-03-04T21:04:33 | 664 | 116 |
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..." | One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die."
The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center.
"In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die."
The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations.
The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise.
The next day, three billionaires died.
Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires.
The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die."
I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us.
I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up.
Its views skyrocketed.
I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered.
Wouldn't want to risk getting rich. | It began with Charles Buchanan Buckley III. Tech oligarch, arms dealer, shipping mogul, and more. The richest man on earth. Dead, inexplicably, exactly one day after a message appeared in the sky.
"In 24 hours, a billionaire will die."
Then, another message.
"In 24 hours, 2 billionaires will die."
So many people saw it as a blessing. Justice from on high, bringing low the untouchable. Nobody understood then, the terrible truth. Billionaires rapidly began liquidating assets, some hoping there might be some loophole they could exploit, like they did with tax laws; others legitimately trying to divest themselves of enough wealth to escape the death clock.
But realistically, there's only so much you can do with billions of dollars in 24 hours, especially when no one is willing to accept a billion dollars; not when there's a death sentence on billionaires. Two more fell dead.
"In 24 hours, 3 billionaires will die."
The financial chaos that ensued was staggering. Markets flooded with as much money as could be spent, lent, or given away. Prices went crazy, worldwide. Instability went rampant. Predictive models were useless. And so it went, day by day, until there were no more billionaires.
And for a moment, everyone thought it was over. Until they saw the *new* message.
"In 24 hours, a millionaire will die."
Not everyone had caught on yet. But in the hearts of some, a cold pit of fear began to open up. The chaos didn't stop, it only crazily increased. The number of millionaires had almost exponentially increased in the madcap spending of the billionaire class to set aside their wealth. And now every one of them, without thought of anything but survival tried whatever they could to get rid of their money.
But as the chaos went on, no one wanted to take any large sums of money, and everyone wanted to get rid of their own. Men and women took to burning enormous piles of cash. Dropping it out of airplanes, or into the sea. Gold was strewn into the streets like paving stones, and no one dared to touch it.
We thought we understood, but none of us did.
I sit here, now, in my cave. Carving into this stone, nothing but this chisel and the clothes on my back. Waiting. Waiting to see if it will come for me. It might, I don't know how far it has gone by now. When I finish this, if I finish this, I will go out and collect some of those gold paving stones. A few rubies, maybe, and maybe a fine bottle of expensive wine.
I will die next then. For sure. Unless there are others like me who decided the same thing. Rich is such a relative term. | 2022-08-29T05:31:42 | 2022-08-29T01:39:33 | 317 | 234 |
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us? | You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream.
Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities?
I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not.
You fucking die.
Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away.
You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo.
About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods.
If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper.
Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages.
My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality.
Yeah. Good luck with that. | "Have you not -been- to our lands *child?*" the elf's caustic voice snapped out at the human mercenary.
"I..." the mercenary stammered, but the elf interrupted.
"We *Elves* have bonded with nature. We have become *one with it,*" the elf shot back at the human mercenary, and then continued unabated. "*We*, child, speak to the trees. We commune with the wind. We call to the Pegasi and they come. We cry out to the Griffons and they heed our call. We shout to the wild and it hears us! To the Equine we send our thoughts and they *OBEY!*" The elf's voice reached a crescendo as he bowled over the cowed mercenary.
"Our enchantments have been *shared* with the children of this world; with you. The mastery of magics and spirit, that *your* people enjoy are GIFTS FROM US!!!" The elf exploded. "Your crafting, your cooking, your hunting and tracking, fletching, bowyery, herbalism and alchemy. OURS!!!" The elf's voice boomed and his glare burned through the mercenary. The mercenary shook a bit, his face was pale, and his eyes were white-wide with fear.
"Yet," the elf's voice softened and his glare turned to pity. "We understand you; human. We know your frame and your fragility, your impermanence in this realm. We have, and always will, protect you *humans* no matter your insolence or how uncultured you may be." The pity in the elf's eyes turned nostalgic, and the stare pierced through the reckless mercenary, to somewhere and sometime beyond.
"I forgive you, human. Your brief thimble-full existence breaks with but a dollop of time's drops." The elf's voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "That brevity... is a horror we Elves can scarce imagine."
"I forgive you." the elf barely whispered as a gentle sob fought free from his lips. He turned his now tear streaked face away and spoke almost silently. "Shall we continue, child? This basement cairn won't clear itself. There are hordes more rats to kill."
The elf steps ahead of the human mercenary and whispers inaudibly once more to himself "I forgive you; *Human.*" | 2022-09-04T14:15:46 | 2022-09-04T10:20:23 | 46 | 34 |
[WP] You have been a wizard for 350 years but your apprentice still surprises you. You laughed at her pink fireball and the green one too. The invisible one suddenly made you much more serious. | As the apprentice rushed in, the cantankerous old wizard pondered what she'd discovered this time. Last week, it was a fireball... but pink. The week before, it was a *fireball*, only green. It was charming to see someone so excited about discovering magic, even such little details as colour modifications. Though he *would* like it if her presentations stopped being so hyperactive.
"Master!" the young, freckled woman said as she rushed to his side. "I've made the most wonderful discovery in my latest studies. It-"
"A fireball?" the wizard merely sighed back.
"W- well... yes, but I swear even you'll be surprised by this one!" she excitedly insisted.
The old wizard put down his toast, much to his disappointment, and moved his hand slightly. The two then stepped into the newly formed portal into the training grounds before he once again sat down, preparing himself for the newest colour of the impending fireball.
"Ok, so," she said, nervously preparing her hand gestures, "if you'll just... aaand... just a... there!"
With her final word, a whoosh was heard in the air and a target dummy, scorched from many sides from previous tests, had once again exploded in a shower of flame. The young girl jumped up and down, clapping her hands excitedly; her mentor, however, grew quiet and gravely serious.
"What did you do?" he growled.
"A fireball!" she replied happily. "But the colour of *nothing*! An invisible fireball!"
"No," he merely said.
"I'm- I'm sorry master?"
"You can't do that," he said and looked her in the eye, more serious than she'd ever seen him, "You can't *EVER* do that, you hear me girl?"
"But-" she grew flustered and worried, "but it's possible! You just saw! The applications in combat-"
"Are too great! There's-" he yelled but stopped himself, regaining composure. "Sit," he said and pointed at the chair next to him.
She sat meekly, without a word.
"Do you think you're the first one to discover that?!" he said. He found no response, the girl terrified of answering.
"You're not. Not by a long shot. I'd dare say most young mages did at some point. Even the ones that fell to darkness," he said somewhat somberly.
"But... none of them-"
"...had ever used them? There's *rules*, girl! Rules *none* of us break, not even the worst. An invisible fireball would be a spell of possibly unmatched power. But it'd get everyone thinking. 'What else can we make horribly strong?' we'd all think. And then? Invisible monsters, microscopic magic missiles, supersonic telekinesis... and then?" he said, looking into the distance.
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. He was lost in thought but she did notice he was rubbing his left hand, the heavy scarring, the missing finger, the- *oh*.
"It goes too far," he uttered. "And it doesn't end well. Never. For anyone." It was a rare moment of weakness for him, not one he was used to. The apprentice looked at her feet.
"I'm- I'm sorry, master. I'm terribly sorry. I will not repeat my mistake- please do not-"
"Clara," he said. It immediately put an end to her apologies. For him to actually call her by her name...
"I don't want you to be sorry," he said softly. "I want you to learn. You're a studious one. Clever, too. You were bound to find things like this eventually. I just need you to know, now that you have, that you must never go down this path. Because if even the worst of us won't..."
"I understand," she said. He looked at her and, given her solemn expression, was convinced that she did. Worse than solemn, he thought. She looked downright downtrodden.
"You know," he said with an unusually optimistic tone, "I used to make all manner of stuff like this too when I was young." He moved his hand again and opened a small portal into his personal chambers, a dusty shelf on the other hand. He reached in and after a little bit of shuffling the ancient books pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment that likely would have fallen apart already had it not been for the magic in it.
He gave her the slightest of smiles and opened it. She followed his every move intently, but could not quite read the incantation - not only was the ink faded, the words were also incredibly dated. He murmured for a moment before striking the air before him and casting a...
A fireball.
It moved slowly, so incredibly slowly that no one would ever be hit by it, but it did allow her to closely look at it. Namely the little feet that wiggled in the air, simulating running and the little hands at the sides.
After several silent moments, the fireball finally reached the training dummy and exploded softly. The fireball with little hands and feet that looked like it was running.
And she laughed.
She could not help it - it was partly genuine laughter at the preposterous spell, partly her letting out the anxiety and fear she had felt thus far. Whatever the reason, she laughed, uproariously.
And then, to her surprise, so did he. | \[Stellar Potential\]
"That's good! Very good!" the old magus smiled encouragement at his teenage apprentice. She had just released a perfect red-orange fireball. They stood outside in the courtyard of his tower. One of the test targets smoldered from the impact; but, she didn't seem as pleased with it as he was.
"Yeah, I can make that work," she mumbled to herself. "But it needs more color. " The teen flicked her wrist upward, then she placed her hands on the empty air in front of her and began wiggling her fingers. The magus had no idea what she was up to. He was willing to let her indulge her quirks throughout the training, but he wanted to formalize her apprenticeship as soon as possible. She was obviously very gifted with magic and he was eager to shape that natural talent.
She was the first apprentice he could remember that didn't struggle with a basic fireball spell. She was able to cast it the moment she learned it as if she had simply slotted the knowledge into her mind.
"Let's discuss the terms of your, -" she ignored the magus and interrupted him with her own thoughts.
"This one?..." her finger stopped dancing and she raised a hand at the enchanted test targets. The one she ignited had already reset itself and was ready to take another blast.
A bright pink fireball shot out of her hand. It sped to the target and exploded into shiny pink and gold sparkles. Pink flames consumed the straw target and it released golden wisps of smoke.
"Oooh!" she grinned. "That's a definite maybe. What about this one?" She was talking to herself and the magus was torn between being curious about the pink fireball and getting frustrated at being ignored.
"How did you,-" his curiosity won out. But, the magus was interrupted again when a neon-green fireball shot from her hand. It exploded with green and silver sparkles on impact and consumed the target with green flames.
"Nah, I like the pink one better," she looked down at the empty air, then tilted her head. "Invisible? How does that work?"
"Apprentice!" the magus raised his voice. "We must discuss your future," he looked down at her expecting to have her attention. He did not.
She kept her focus forward and raised her hand. The magus heard the sudden 'woosh' of air igniting. He instinctively looked at the target a saw it enveloped in thick black smoke as an unseen force devoured it.
"Nah, I think I'll keep the pink one for now,..." she touched empty air again. The magus' frustration peaked. If he was going to get her attention, he needed to show her how much more there was to learn.
"APPRENTICE!" the magus roared. Lightning struck the ground next to him and he grabbed the bolt of electricity to hold it in place. "You will give me your attention now." He was glad to see she did look up at him. Her eyes were wide with awe. He continued. "If you ever wish to use ancient, powerful magics like this, you must… what are you doing?"
The magus held her attention for a full moment before she reached forward and touched the lightning bolt trapped in his grip. He expected her to violently regret the action, but instead, she sighed.
"I can't learn that one," she shook her head.
"Of course, you can," the magus smiled. "You obviously have a great talent for magic. You merely need the proper guidance…," finally, he was able to get the conversation on track. I currently have no other apprentices, so I'm sure we can come up with a schedule that suits y-"
"No thanks," she shook her head to interrupt him again. Fireball is the only thing I can learn from you," she said. She loosed another bright pink fireball on the target as if to prove how well she learned it. Then, she nodded to herself and made a dismissive gesture at the empty air.
"You're content learning the bare minimum?" The magus decided to try another tact. "What kind of lazy, good-for-nothing wizard are you hoping to become?" she grinned and giggled at him.
"Who says I'm a wizard?" she asked.
"What?" the magus asked. "How did you learn the spell? WHY did you learn it??" All the unresolved frustration of being ignored only made it harder to think clearly. He was simply asking questions as they came to mind.
"Learning it was easy," she smirked and nodded at him. "I just had to talk to a wizard trainer. As for why…," she snapped her fingers and a plume of pink smoke erupted around her. When it cleared, her entire outfit had changed. She now wore a dark violet, nearly black hood that covered her forehead, nose, and mouth. The rest of her was now wrapped in the same silky dark cloth.
"It's one of the very few Wizard skills that Ninjas can learn. Bye," another pink plume of smoke erupted. She was gone when it cleared.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1717 in a row. (Story #271 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | 2022-09-28T11:26:53 | 2022-09-28T10:24:40 | 56 | 30 |
[WP] You, a gay man, save a friend from being hit by a truck but resulting in you being hit instead. You wake up in an isekai anime obviously meant for the friend. So with a lack of male options you decide to try and get the main villain to date you | The roar of the engine. The blinding lights. Alex shouting at me. The pain. Then… nothing. Void, a complete lack of any sensory input at all. Then falling. Slowly at first, but I soon found myself plummeting downwards through this mysterious void. Finally, I woke up. Not in a hospital as I had hoped, but in a church. Shit.
I slowly propped myself up on my elbows, my body was still quite weak, and got a better look around. I seemed to be in the middle of some sort of glowing magic circle, and standing just outside it with their hands clasped and their voices chanting what looked like prayer but was probably incantation, were around twenty priestesses. It was then that I became aware of my own nudity. Double shit. At once, they ceased their frankly creepy ritual. One of the priestesses, the leader I assumed due to the fact that she was dressed differently (read: more revealing) and had a bigger hat and staff that the others, approached me. She kneeled down beside me, her proximity making me tense up, and explained the following:
Apparently, I had been summoned as the Hero of Legend to save their world from an encroaching demon army. All I had to do was kill the Demon Lord Octavius, and the rest of the demon army would be easy pickings thanks to the fact that the Demon Lord was using his magic to strengthen his troops.
After that, I was set up with a magical suit of golden armor, a sword to match, and training on how to properly wield it. My instructor was a fox-woman who, for some reason, decided to wear as little clothing as physically possible. I thought it would be rude to comment on her clothing, so I didn’t say anything to her about it. In retrospect, I should have figured it out by this point.
I finally realized what was going on when I was set up with a party. All the tropes were covered, unlike their boobs. I had been transported into one of Alex’s shitty isekai mangas! I recalled that whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, he’d have his nose buried in one. I, for my part, never liked them. The whole point was sexy girls, and I don’t find girls sexy, so they never appealed to me. Also, they were misogynistic as fuck. And I was trapped in one. Triple shit.
Still, I soldiered on. I fought my way through hoards of demons. Eventually though, I got pretty lonely. Being constantly surrounded by boobs can be pretty draining for a gay guy. To make things worse, this kingdom didn’t seem to have a single gay-bar anywhere. About a year into this hellish isekai, I realized that in a world governed my tropes, I had to work within said tropes. The only gay characters that this type of heteronormative bullshit is usually the villain.
I had come up against the Demon Lord Octavius a few times in battle, but I didn’t know much about him. I knew he was a skilled commander and sorcerer, and that he had an absolutely amazing voice, but that was pretty much it. I’d never even seen his face because he always wore a mask in combat. I spent many lonely nights fantasizing about the face behind that mask.
When my party neared the Demon Lord’s palace, I set off on my own with the excuse that easier to travel incognito if I went alone. I also may or may not have told them that I couldn’t bear to see them in danger, just to drive the point home. Once I had secured my freedom from them, I set out on my real mission. Instead of obtaining the Demon Lords head, I was going for his heart.
I gathered a bouquet of wild flowers, baked a batch of cookies, and wrote a note inviting him to dinner on a scenic overlook that I had scoped out. I had little faith in my plan, but I had no other ideas.
When the time came, I found myself pacing and muttering to myself. “Of course he won’t come, I look so ridiculous just waiting here. And what if he comes but he want to kill me? I signed my real name, and I didn’t bring my sword! Stupid!”
“Yes, that was quite a foolish move, *Hero*” He said, emerging from the brush.
“I see you didn’t bring your staff, does that mean you’re here for dinner instead for fighting?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
r/CookieJarOfChaos | David was gay. So gay that a circle was straighter than him. He was the gayest. Or that's what he liked to think. So when he ends up in a fucked up anime world with ten or so female abominations clinging on him, he can't help but feel frustrated. The ladies are complete bestie material; don't get him wrong, but why is there not a single male option? How stupid that can be?
The world building is interesting tought. He is a man called Orpheus, the crowned prince of a huge nation in a middle-aged fantasy japan.
There's ten love interests. David watched enough anime to know how this works.
Sai- A shy red panda hybrid or something like that. She's rather small and really soft hearted. She loves animals. Your typical kawai girl. Her hair is copper red, and her eyes are chocolate brown. She has the ears and tail of a red panda.
Kotae- A servant girl with huge white wings, a swan, is his best guess. She's kind and really pretty. She has long silwer hair and deep crystal blue eyes with rosy lips and pale skin.
Juki- She's the daughter of a duke or something. David did not pay any attention. She's a cat hybrid with blonde hair and yellow eyes. Her tail and ears are ginger coloured. She's your typical tsundere. Annoying, in his opinion.
Shira- A snake. She's cold and a real badass. A mommy type, if the author can have an opinion here. She has blue scales and a snow white hair with piercing poison green eyes. David is terrified of her.
Maia - A monkey hybrid. She's playful and fun to have around but never takes anything seriously. She's from the village and has short brown hair with your typical monkey features. She has freckles and dark brown eyes.
Lydia- A fucking syren. She tries to charm Alex constantly with her songs. It's quite annoying. She has like blue, BLUE hair. It's stupid. And ocean blue eyes.
Well, David might have been a bit overdramatic with the ten girl thing, but six clinging onto him was bad enough, so he has the right to complain. Case closed.
So when one night, when he sits in his bed, thinking about his life decisions in a mid-life crysis, he hears noises coming from his window, you can't blame him for getting curious. He slowly stood up to open the window, only to be met with forest green eyes starring into his blood red ones. How could he have forgotten... His hot enemy, who is an assassin, trying to kill him.
Hydra, or Yume, an assasin, a rattle snake hybrid. David just so happens to adore rattle snakes and adores the cute boy who tries to take away his second life.
"Hello, darlin," He says to the frozen blondie who looks at him with disbelief.
"If you wanted us to have some fun, you could have just asked sweetheart." He deepened his voice, and he saw the other blush in a dark red colour. A slow rattling sound came from somewhere deep from Yume, which David found extremely adorable.
"Fuck you." The assassin spat, aiming to bite our main character, who moved out of the way, smirking as his hot nemesis fell to the floor with an adorable 'oof'.
"It would be the other way around, don't you think?" He asked, and Yume groaned with annoyance.
"This is not how it goes! You are supposed to make those useless chicks fall in love with you, then I get caught and get executed while you get your happy ending." The blonde suddenly says, caching David off guard.
"You are not supposed to flirt with me, you are not supposed to let me in every time, you are not supposed to talk to me, I'm not supposed to fall in love with you!" He's yelling now, getting closer to David.
"So why don't you be a good main character and stick to the-?" The assassin gets cut short with a kiss pressed on his mouth. Suprise shines in his eyes as he stares up to Orpheus, David, who is now wery happy for the two inch between their heights. Because those doe eyes starring up at him are worth absolutely everything.
"I'm gay. You are a cute dude." He summarises his thoughts.
"Now, how did you know the story? You are not supposed to be aware, right?" He asks, and Yume looks away.
"I... Uhm... I dreamt about this. I can sometimes see the future." He explained, fidgeting with his fingers.
"Yeah, I am not discovering that part of the lore." David says, pulling a small laugh from the blond.
"Can I kiss you again?" The silence comes so quickly like a sword slicing into warm butter. Yume looks to the floor, and all he gives is a small nod of confirmation. That's all Orpheus needs, gently grabbing his chin and lifting the blond's head up. He looks into the forest green eyes before leaning in and connecting their lips. Yume goes boneless in his strong grasp, and David silently thanks this orpheus dude for being in good shape.
This won't be so bad after all, David decides. | 2022-12-20T08:57:57 | 2022-12-20T08:57:17 | 67 | 45 |
[WP] Make me relate to the main character and then completely despise him/her just with the last sentence | He loved her. He told her every day that he would do anything for her. He promised that he would never hurt her. He thought he could keep her safe.
The day they took her was the worst of his life. His eyes filled with tears as his door was broken down and she was taken away screaming.
He was arrested and charged. In the bedroom, the police found pictures of the two having sex. He remembered the day he brought that camera home. She was so excited. She wanted to pose for pictures as soon as she unwrapped the package. It took little convincing to get her to pose provocatively.
His family watched the trial in disbelief, unable to believe what was unfolding before their eyes. How could this be happening? Where did they go wrong? Was it even true? They had no idea what to believe, but they told their son they would always love him, no matter what happened.
He felt helpless. What had he done wrong? He had often hoped that future generations would not have to deal with the stigma that his love carried, but he could not think of the future now. He was painfully stuck in the present, unable to come to terms with why his actions had resulted in his incarceration.
He had no way to contact her. He was forbidden from writing or phoning her. He knew even if he was able to get a message out it would be intercepted by her parents. They hated him more than anyone.
He dreampt about her every night and hoped that one day they would be back together. He was weak and could barely lift his head, but on her birthday he asked a guard if he knew how she was doing.
The guard hesitated. He knew he should not give the man any information, but he had seen the way the other inmates treated the defeated prisoner and he had a moment of pity.
"She's doing fine," said the guard.
"Did she get a birthday cake? She loves cake."
"Yes," the guard said. "Her family got her a cake. They said she was even able to blow out all five candles at once."
| I met her on the subway. Well, I didn't meet her on the subway, but that's where I first saw her. Brown hair, nose in a book.
Subway riders learn to look aloof, detached, as if a mariachi band, a faith healer and a group of break dancers could all enter the car simultaneously and they wouldn't be bothered in the slightest. Most riders' aloofness has a nasty edge to it, right around the eyes. A meanness and a darkness.
But her look was different. She was floating, as foam floats atop a roiling sea. She looked at peace, with her book, and content.
I saw her a handful of times before I worked up the nerve to talk to her. I've never been good at breaking the ice. But, somehow, I managed to blurt out a few syllables that, evidently, weren't the absolute worst.
We meet up for coffee. She was quick to laugh, and she'd twirl her hair with her fingers when she was lost in thought - not in a ditzy way - but contemplatively. I felt at ease around her.
After coffee, we took a long walk through a nearby park. Spring had sprung, and the air was thick with life. I was struck with a sneezing fit. What seemed like gallons of mucous was streaming out of my nose. It could have been mortifying, but she saved me. She rubbed my back, cracked a silly joke that I can't remember and then laughed impossibly hard at herself.
We saw each other three more times that week. On the third date, after dinner, I invited her back to my apartment. She said yes.
She was sitting in my ratty, over-sized armchair that I'd had since college, lost in thought, staring out the window into the dark night. She was beautiful. I told her so. She blushed and looked at her hands.
We made love that night. It was gentle yet passionate, forceful yet caring. It was everything. It was a whole world.
She left in the morning for work. I rolled over to what had been her side of the bed and smelled her pillow. I could still smell her hair, and the faintest whiff of he perfume. I breathed in deeply.
And that's when the guilt hit me. I don't know why I'm like this. I don't know why I keep doing this. Why I'm such a coward. Why I can't ever tell them I'm HIV positive. | 2014-05-12T19:20:09 | 2014-05-12T19:04:07 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You find out that whenever you are killed, you are revived with an immunity to whatever killed you. Document your experiences | What at first was a blessing is now a nightmare. I wander the world now, forever bored with the trappings of man and nature. I was born in the year 1901. I was in both the world wars, on both sides and survived countless wounds. It was in the First World War I found my ability. Everyone called me lucky when I apparently "missed" being killed by an inch. They called me a demon when I jumped on a grenade to save lives because that's not a wound you get up from, hero or not. War is hell, or at least I thought it was. Hell is when you watch everyone you've ever know die. Hell is knowing just what awaits them in death. You see, before I am "immune"(cannot think of another word to call it by...) to something, it has to kill me. In the brief moments of my death I experience the afterlife. Coldness sweeps me from my feet, terror fills my heart and I see nightmares come to life. I thought it was just my own fear of death at first but it's the same every time. I've prayed to every god and still the terror awaits me and all who die.
I walk the streets in a nameless city in a nameless county. In the thousands of years of my life, countries rise and fall and you just don't give a damn anymore. Not even to learn the names. This particular place was called Ireland when I was a boy. It was so lush and beautiful back then. Now it's but a shell of what used to be. Rust rotted cars line the old roads. Shattered buildings lean dangerously on their sides looking like a inquisitive dog. I keep trudging.
I've long since become "immune" to hunger or thirst. I don't even get fatigued anymore. I am also "immune" to sleep deprivation. This was an interesting way to die as you go insane before you do so. I cannot sleep. Seeing deaths cold eyes and the terror they bring tends to inhabit your dreams leading to horrible nightmares. No, my world is an unbroken walk across a broken world. I would cry if I could. I would scream in anguish if it would help. But I just continue walking in my thoughts. Day dreaming of the life I had with Susan so many years ago. | Day number 58,021
Today was very eventful, for the first time in a long time. I decided to jump off of a building again.
It was exhilarating. The feeling of completely letting go, knowing there was nothing I could do now to stop the oncoming ground. I thought that maybe I'll do this everyday, over and over again. Find larger and larger heights to jump from. Or even climb mount everest.
I'd never considered the possibilities like this. I can't really die. So I could do anything. If I only had the resources, I could go to space.
And then fall into the atmosphere from orbit. I'll burn up to nothing once, but then I'll be back and immune to that kind of damage! But I don't think I'm going to get the opportunity for a while. If ever.
See, I revived just in time to see the building I'd just leapt from explode. Crumble, crumble, it fell as I did, to the ground. Good thing I hadn't been stuck in that.
Then there were men rushing out of the shadows, shouting "RUN, RUN!" followed by bullets! And that's how I found myself caught up in the resistance.
...
Day number 58,246
Today I found out there was more than one resistance movement, and they didn't get along. I had kept away from the world, news, media, for so long, I had no idea any of this was happening.
Why were these resistance movements fighting eachother instead of the regime in power? How did things get so twisted?
I ask everyone I meet, but nobody seems to really know. They have strange vague justifications, if nothing else. Some split a couple years back between the leaders, unable to compromise. We never really change, do we?
I suppose I can't even say "we" anymore, can I? I don't know if I'm completely human anymore. All I know is I have a strange power, and a responsibility that comes with it. I can try to fix this.
...
Day number 60,955
It is March 14th, 2187, Or at least that is what day it would be if the new world order hadn't decided to change the date system to sidereal time. Troops are still marching in the streets proclaiming their victory, or at least they are from the view of my cell.
I've said it before, I'll say it every day, at least they gave me a cell with a window.
I'm to be executed for war crimes. Again. I wonder what they'll try this time. Ripped apart by monkeys? Dropped in a snake pit? They're starting to get creative.
I spent the morning uselessly stabbing my gut with the shiv I made. Nothing. I'll probably spend the afternoon trying to hang myself. Not that it'll do any good. Maybe I'll just jerk it instead.
I know I'm just gonna have to wait this out, but damn it if this isn't getting boring. | 2014-05-17T07:48:03 | 2014-05-17T06:47:08 | 147 | 44 |
[WP] The homeless man being harassed by police for sleeping at an historical site is actually the god the site was originally built for. | Izanagi just sighed as she enjoyed the brief drive. She had been in this small town in Hokkaido for all of three months and this was about the most interesting thing to have happened: some uppity businessmen whining about a vagrant squatting on their new development lot.
The development was a ways out of the town proper, but would make a rather expensive resort community in the mountains when it was completed. Part of it made Izanagi sad to see the wilderness bulldozed and destroyed. There was a serenity to this place. That's why she had transferred here.
She parked at the base of the development area, bulldozers and backhoes sat idles while surveyors and engineers walk around setting markers and lines. Two men in hard hats and suits approached as she stepped out of the car and radioed in that she had arrived.
"He is up there," pointed the taller one. Asoa san. "Get him out of here. Now." No greeting, no please, not an ounce of politeness.
The shorter one at least had some manners and gave a quick bow, "Ah, excuse me, thank you for coming police woman. I am Mr. Takeada, this is Mr. Asoa. Please, He is frightening the workers, they do not want to venture up the hill. Ah ah, as you know we own this land. It is not protected."
*Frightening the workers? Not Protected?* Suddenly Izanagi's old police instincts kicked in. Something wasn't right here.
"Thank you. I will go speak with this man. If you will excuse me." Izanagi bowed, and turned to venture up the. She didn't pause to see how they regarded her. The first portion of the hill had been cleared, but the hillside was still a wall of wooded splendor. What a pity.
The forest was serial, like something out of those old samurai pictures. In a dozen steps she was transported back in time. And then she saw it. The old wooden shrine and the ring of stones tied with Shimenawa. *Not protected my ass!* No wonder the workers were spooked, destroying a monument like this was not only illegal, but for those superstitious lot, had the added fear of angering the kami of the shrine.
As Izanagi approached she placed her hand on her side arm out of instinct, crossing the stones she saw a mossy mound shuffle, and turn.
"Excuse me sir. This is private property, and the owners have asked me to request you to leave."
He turned; a mangy mane of hair and beard, straw hat, and old grey robes, warn by age and dirt. He was huge, easily over two meters tall and physically powerful - musculature rippling under the skin of his exposed arms. His face remained partially obscured by the hat. His voice was deep and grumbled:
"Told Them. Break the stones, I will hurry on." His accent was.. odd. Old. She gazed around at the ring of shrine stones. The writing on the ofuda long worn, but a few character's in the ancient kanji remained on the stones. She couldn't make it out.
"Will you leave, if I just break one stone?" Izanagi Asked the mountain that lay disinterested before the small wooden shrine. *They're going to bulldoze this anyway, might as well...*
As she hefted a large flag stone over her head, she caught a glimpse of one of the stones etchings, barely legible. Too late, the stone came down and the sound of the forest was shattered be a crack like thunder. One of the ring of stones split in a lightning bolt pattern.
She hadn't even seen him move, yet he was directly in front of her now, he was massive, like nothing she had seen, an American body builder huge. In one swift motion she loosed her side arm and had it leveled at his head.
"No need" he spoke as he dropped the straw hat, revealing two short ivory horns jutting from his forehead. He gave her a toothy grin, and strode past her headed down the hill.
Izanagi just stood there before broken stone, eyes fixed as the sound of screams and the sick crack of bones breaking drifted up into the calm forest.
It was a simple phrase etched in each rock:
"oger - run away."
Edit: fixed many typos born from rushed writing on my phone. | The old man had been hanging around the memorial for weeks now. Usually he sat and slept under the main plaque that read TEMPLE OF KOROMAE, GOD OF MERCY. His clothes were the recently-out-of-fashion outfit of a vest and skirt. They were tattered and dirty, flowing over the homeless man’s thin body. His long gray hair and beard were matted and tangled with bits of garbage and refuse. Around his neck he wore the ancient pendant of Koromae, a stylized ram’s head, and around his being he wore an odor of filth.
At first, people didn’t mind the man hanging around the temple. After all, Koromae had been a god of all, not just those who were financially well-off. He was ignored in the first week or so by those who came to the temple for reflection or prayer. But then the man began to accost the worshippers, asking them to pray with him constantly, to reveal to him their hopes and worries, to share with them thoughts and feelings that belonged only between the individual and Koromae.
It was due to the overwhelming amount of complaints from the worshippers that the police had come to the temple. Two officers approached carefully, from their vehicle, the man in the ragged clothing. He was in the middle of begging at one of the prayers standing in front of the entrance.
“You do not have to enter to pray!” He was saying, nearly shouting, in exasperation. “Tell me all you wish to say!”
“All I wish to say to you,” the prayer replied. “Is ‘leave me alone.’” She attempted to pass by the homeless man, but was blocked entrance.
“Please,” the man cried. “You only need to speak with me!”
“Sir,” one of the officers said as the two approached. They had their hands upon the grips of their laser pistols that rested in their waist holsters. “Let’s leave the gal alone, what do you say?”
Both the homeless man and the woman looked at the officers, the woman with relief and the man with vexation.
“Go ahead, ma’am,” the second officer gestured toward the temple. The worshipper quickly took her leave.
“You seem to be a pretty unpopular fellow,” the first officer said to the man, trying to sound casual, as they had been taught at the academy.
At this the derelict laughed mirthlessly. “Unpopular?” He asked. “That’s your word for it?”
“Okay,” the officer shrugged. “You’re pissing people off, to be perfectly blunt. Why can’t you just let them pray in peace?”
“I’m trying to let them pray!” the man exclaimed. “But why must they enter the temple at cost when they can come to the source for free, as prayer should be?”
“The source?” the second officer asked.
“Yes,” the homeless man replied. “The source. Me.”
“You’re saying you’re Koromae?”
“Precisely,” the man said, closing his eyes in what appeared to be peace.
The two officers looked at one another for a moment and the first said, “Look, sir, we’re going to go ahead and take you in our car, okay?”
“And take me away from my temple?” the man asked incredulously.
“Yes, just for a little while,” the officer held out his hand for the tramp to take. At the same time the second officer was calling headquarters to ready a spot in the August Mental Home.
Reluctantly, the dirty man allowed himself to be ushered to the police cruiser. Having heard the second officer’s conversation over the communication link, he began to silently weep.
So, he thought as the car took off from the temple, this is what the world is like. No mercy or peace was here on this plane, not even at the house of worship. No mercy was shown, even by those who were praying to the god of such unselfishness.
It boggled the ancient deity’s mind that such creatures could exist as these who showed no compassion for their fellow man. Somewhere, Koromae thought to himself as the two officers discussed matters in the front seats, somewhere we had gone wrong with these beings. We are at fault, not them.
He decided as he watched the police car cruise past scores of these imperfect creatures: I will let them take me to that hospital for those with sick minds. It is my punishment for making these faulty creatures with no love in their hearts. Two decades, in slow human time, should be penance enough.
After that, Koromae considered, I will return to the High Plane, and We will have a discussion as to what to do with these creatures that were so defective. It may have to be as it was a thousand years earlier. Maybe, he thought to himself, but I certainly hope not.
He began to cry again, as, though his children were not of a compassionate nature, he himself was and it would a terrible thing to have to destroy creation once again. | 2014-08-28T09:25:47 | 2014-08-28T08:34:01 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other. | "DAMNIT LARRY" I shout in the vague direction of the fence dividing our yards. Bastard turned my dog into dragon again. I have to take Baxter to the vet in like an hour too! I can hear Larry doubling over with laughter on his side of the fence. My guard robots subdue the rabid dragon that has apparently decided my garage is a very attractive female dragon. That is a sight you can never un-see for as long as you live. Just wait Larry, just wait. That girl that he's been seeing for the last two weeks? Shape shifting nano robot. She's gonna turn into a large hairy man the second he sees her naked.
"Real funny Larry. Please cure my dog now."
" that was for reprogramming my brain to be afraid of women while I was asleep!"
"There is a dragon violating my garage, that's a massive over reaction!!"
I am kind of scared of how he was going to react to the whole Jenny to Jason shapeshifter thing now.
"I thought we agreed that our romantic lives were off limits Stacey!"
" You turned Dale into a squirrel!"
" I was doing you a favor!"
I shrug, he's kind of right there.
"I'll stop messing with your brain if you stop turning my boyfriends into rodents!"
"I'll stop turning your boyfriends into rodents when you go get coffee with me!"
I take a step back. Larry is turning the same shade of red as his wizard robes.
"Uh..sure, I'd love to!" I say, it still kind of comes out angrily.
This could go well. If we avoid killing each other that is. | “Damn you, Great Magico,” I screamed. I shook my fist at him from the kitchen window.
Great Magico laughed at me from his driveway. He twirled his mustache and flourished his cape. “Technology will never overcome magic.”
I pointed at Great Magico. “Get him, AnnoyBots,” I screamed.
Great Magico stood there. He cleared his throat and looked around. “Is it invisible?” he said.
I laughed.
“Visibilus,” yelled Great Magico. He pointed in one direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in another direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in a third direction.
I laughed like a madman. A super villain would have been envious of my maniacal cackle.
Great Magico stood up straight and looked around again. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. “Come on, Techno Lord. What’s going on here?”
“You’ll never see it coming, Great Magico. It’s my greatest creation yet!”
“I know it’s not invisible.” He stalked towards our lot line. “Is it behind this hedge?” Great Magico jumped around the end and saw nothing. “Nope.”
“You’re getting warmer, Great Magico. In fact, you might say you’re boiling,” I said.
Great Magico checked his watch. “Listen. I have to go. It’s almost 8:00. I’ve got to get to work. Magic doesn’t pay the bills if I don’t want to be homeless.” He disappeared in a puff of smoke and sparks.
I scratched my head. Great Magico should have been itching and scratching like a crazy person. His skin should have been turning bright red from irritation. Hives should have broken out all over his face. Why hadn’t my nanobots done their job?
I stomped over to their container. The power meter beeped red at me. I slapped my forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I had forgotten to charge the Annoybots. Magic couldn’t be defeated if the technology wasn’t charged. I shook my fist at my own forgetfulness. “Damn you, forgetfulness,” I yelled out the window. “I will destroy you.”
| 2015-02-18T20:13:42 | 2015-02-18T20:07:00 | 95 | 38 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other. | "DAMNIT LARRY" I shout in the vague direction of the fence dividing our yards. Bastard turned my dog into dragon again. I have to take Baxter to the vet in like an hour too! I can hear Larry doubling over with laughter on his side of the fence. My guard robots subdue the rabid dragon that has apparently decided my garage is a very attractive female dragon. That is a sight you can never un-see for as long as you live. Just wait Larry, just wait. That girl that he's been seeing for the last two weeks? Shape shifting nano robot. She's gonna turn into a large hairy man the second he sees her naked.
"Real funny Larry. Please cure my dog now."
" that was for reprogramming my brain to be afraid of women while I was asleep!"
"There is a dragon violating my garage, that's a massive over reaction!!"
I am kind of scared of how he was going to react to the whole Jenny to Jason shapeshifter thing now.
"I thought we agreed that our romantic lives were off limits Stacey!"
" You turned Dale into a squirrel!"
" I was doing you a favor!"
I shrug, he's kind of right there.
"I'll stop messing with your brain if you stop turning my boyfriends into rodents!"
"I'll stop turning your boyfriends into rodents when you go get coffee with me!"
I take a step back. Larry is turning the same shade of red as his wizard robes.
"Uh..sure, I'd love to!" I say, it still kind of comes out angrily.
This could go well. If we avoid killing each other that is. | I slapped my hands together and looked at my latest creation. A plume of white dust erupted from my gloves, and was promptly followed by a fit of heavy coughing, but my newest robot remained untouched.
I stood upon my pedestal and looked down at the trench I had just dug. Not that I did physical work, seeing as my summoned golems did most of that for me, but I guess you could assume that in a way, I had done the digging. All that was left for me now was to summon up some lava and cloak it with a basic spell. At least, that's what I would have done against anyone except for Ron.
My robot turned around and looked at me. Its black eyes, or diamond adjustments made to see through enchantments, looked at me warily. I looked back at it, and I smiled. "Protocol 2A, commence!" With that, the robot set off, its heat plumes pushing the robot just above ground level.
The lava filled the pit slowly, like a thick cake batter slowly pouring through a sieve. It would settle eventually, but for the time being, I had to find a way to stop Ron from getting into my house again. For that matter, I put aside my work and pulled out my morellonomicon, and I began to browse through it. What could I possibly use to stop Ron's newest machinery?
My robot slowly made its way across the street to the seemingly normal looking tower next to my house. It stopped just before the wall, having sensed a basic lava trap and a concealment spell. With ease, it quickly dismembered those spells and removed the enchantments. But wait, what was that quick flash of light?
That's it! A terrible robotics movie! Ron hates bad movies, and he hates bad robotics even more! I pulled up a plasma mirror, and I filled it with terrible robot movies. That'll get him for sure.
My eyes widened as the latest sequel to "Building with Chad" revealed itself. That bastard. He knew I hated those terrible movies. But it was too late to stop it now. I stood defenseless as the movie began. "Robotics is easy, just like A B C! Just plug the cord in and watch your robot run!" I guess he won this time.
| 2015-02-18T20:13:42 | 2015-02-18T19:59:49 | 95 | 31 |
[WP] One day you notice you haven't seen any Hitler related writing prompts for a full hour at least.
Well... | I was browsing /new, looking for karma opportunities when I noticed something was off. I hadn't seen any Hitler prompts for a while. I checked around other subreddits, and there were still Hitler posts appearing everywhere else.
Maybe a new rule had been added? I read through the sidebar, and didn't see any new rule, but then I saw the mod team had been replaced by one user. The mod was literally Hitler. | Wooper160 was a cheeky fellow. They thought it would be a fun idea to be meta, without truly being meta, and bring up a fact that had been bothering them. Hitler had disappeared from the front page...
So, they went to work, crafting a devious scheme to bring him back to the forefront of everyone's minds! If everyone would gloss over him when he was there, they would react if he were gone! It was genius! The karma would flow endlessly at their wit!
As he hit "send", a small white alien appeared hovering, just beside their head, a knowing smile on its face. Wooper160 turned to view the floating intruder with confusion. What was going on? Why was it there? The alien simply smiled unblinkingly, staring into Wooper160's soul. A disembodied voice boomed in their head.
"Gettin' real tired o' your shit." Despite the alien not moving, it struck Wooper across the face before popping back out of existence. Before turning back to their computer, they heard "Don't do that again..." | 2015-05-06T17:05:17 | 2015-05-06T15:45:42 | 54 | 28 |
[WP] An NPC goes mad from the absurd and insane mods the player installs that no one else seems to notice. | “Bill? Bill. Bill did you just see that?”
Bill sighed and rubbed his forehead. Craig was seriously starting to get on his nerves today.
“See what, Craig?”
Craig wildly waved his hands in the direction of the PC.
“Dude! The PC has a sword made of light! It’s blue! And he flew in on a giant...dog...thing with a creepy face on it! What do you mean ‘see what, Craig’? Are you bonkers?”
Bill rolled his eyes for possibly the seven thousandth time that day and marched off to do his patrol route – fortunately he got away from Craig every forty-five seconds for exactly twenty-three seconds each time.
Thirty-seven minutes later he saw Craig running full speed from the village toward where Bill was patiently walking.
“Bill! Where have you been!? The PC blew up a building! Those buildings have been indestructible for… for… centuries! We’ve had dragons that couldn’t hurt those buildings, and he just waved his hand and the general store went flying! I don’t get it Bill. Everything’s going crazy!”
Monica sighed and rubbed her forehead, noticing for the first time that her ample bosom made this rather difficult. Craig was seriously starting to get on her nerves today.
“Craig. Buddy. Everything is totally normal. What is your problem?”
Monica rolled her eyes and adjusted her hilariously small undergarments for possibly the seven thousandth time that day and marched off in a random direction, wondering who the hell “Bill” was.
| This was no longer his world.
His isolation had been tempered only by the fact that the mindlessness of the world around him, the desire to destroy and build and live and prosper deafened the overwhelming loneliness.
No one could understand why he stood there staring at the patch of grass that looked so disturbingly different from what he was used to. He was the master of his domain but something was changing rapidly.
This face didn't feel like his own, these new pellet propulsion systems didn't feel like his own and the animals he had grown to love weren't behaving like they normally did. He could feel when a new change was coming as well, parts of his memory would fog, his mind would begin to slip and then when he came back something was different.
He didn't always know what it was, unless it was something glaring like a wall of white and weird colors in the distance, but even that too would be replaced with something similar, but not quite comfortable.
He was growing more and more powerful but could understand none of his newfound strength, none of the new runes he found on his once prized weapons. He feared them now, but needed them to tackle the new challenges of the world.
He was alone with these thoughts, at least until the last modification. In his backpack sat a strangely colored orb. He cradled it cautiously but could feel a life pulsing within. This was no ordinary creature, this was something new, entirely different from what he'd known before.
Frightened by the prospect of what was inside, knowing this could be a new challenge he threw the ball to the far corner of his chicken farm. It didn't crack, it didn't hover, it didn't fall, it simply opened with a blast of energy.
What stood next to the fallen red and white orb was a furry creature with a bright yellow tail.
As he approached it with his diamond sword drawn and poked the tip of the sword into it's chest, the creature fell on its back and giggled "Pika pika".
"Pika?" he said, having had no purpose to use his voice beforehand, and forgetting the strange sounds his throat could make, "I am Steve". | 2015-08-04T07:22:50 | 2015-08-04T06:27:04 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | I will never forget Prisoner 10201265. It was inevitable. Someone would choose the "One Night Stay." I never thought it would be him. 10201265 was a 130 pound, nerdy-looking white guy who had been convicted of the murder of 8 people over a 10 year span. When he told his sentencing tribunal that he wanted a "One Night Stay" the magistrates laughed. But it was his right.
When we tossed him into Supermax 512, we placed bets on his time of death. I bet 8 minutes. How wrong was I.
At 0600 the next day we opened the gate to the prison to retrieve his body. The compound was oddly silent. I remember stepping into a puddle. I looked down. It was a puddle of blood. The first person I saw was Prisoner 10005670. He was a cartel member who had probably murdered more people than you could count. He was slumped over in front of his cell.
I walked forward. "Time to get up." I patted him on the back. His head rolled off his shoulders.
We continued forward. The next prisoner I encountered was Prisoner 10101587. He had been imprisoned for robbing several banks and brutally beating his hostages, resulting in the deaths of two. His arm was handcuffed to the bars of his cell. His body lay 10 feet away.
As we moved toward the courtyard, we passed more bodies. Terrorists. Drug lords. Mafioso. Rapists. Murderers. Thieves.
I heard a banging noise coming from a cell ahead. Men were shouting and screaming. Inside the cell were no less than 20 prisoners. Stuffed into a cell designed for four individuals. We tried opening the cell, but the prisoners pulled the cell door shut, screaming in terror.
I moved forward once more and entered the courtyard. I stepped onto the grass and heard a disgusting sound when my boots touched the ground. The field was saturated with blood. Bodies were strewn about.
Leaning against the wall, calmly smoking a cigarette, was Prisoner 10201265. He raised his hand in greeting. "It's about time you showed up. I've been here for 25 hours. I was sentenced to 24. I expect I will be compensated for that extra hour, yes?" | I have made my choice.
For the murder of 3 people, I have been sentenced to 40 years in prison. I'll be out in a day. They have given me the option afforded to all the convicted, time for comfort. If I stay longer than my 40 years, I can live in comfort in prison, but I don't want to spend 60+ years of my life behind bars, no matter how nice they are.
I'll maximize my pain, to minimize my time. Time is expensive, a lot more expensive than comfort.
As I tell them my sentence, they reference a chart to see the conditions I'll need to be left in for a 40 years to 1 day conversion. I can tell by the size of the list they're reading that this isn't going to be pleasant. No, it's likely to be the worst day of my life.
*****
The heavyset guard leads me to the mountain top, the facility atop it is small, just a guard house and, 15 feet from the side door of the guardhouse, an iron slab rests. The iron slab is nearly twelve feet tall and ten feet long with a width of four feet. I see dimpled scars in the metal, wrought by a heated whip that missed the flesh of the prisoners previously here.
I'm fixed to the slab, facing it as the cold mountain air begins to fill with falling snow. The guard uses a knife to cut away my clothes and I shiver in the freezing temps.
The guard, who still hasn't said a word to me, pulls the whip from his belt. With a snapping, crackling hum I hear the energy flow along it, heating it to an incredibly painful temperature.
My shivering worsens, now with the anticipation of what comes next.
*This is gonna hurt*
I hear the whip before I feel it. The burning lash strikes across my back, slicing in a half inch and flaying the skin from my back. The wound is instantly cauterized, keeping me from bleeding to death. my body goes into shock almost instantly, my heart spasm-ed for a few moments before reaching a normal rhythm again.
I feel a needle entering my skin, as a drug is injected into my bloodstream. The purpose of this drug is twofold, it will keep my heart beating, keep me from going into shock completely. The other purpose is as a stimulant to the sensory regions of my brain, as well as putting all nerves in my body into overdrive.
I hear a click as a device is turned on, a ear rending screech filled the air, causing me incredible pain and discomfort from my ears. The iron in front of my face slid back, and bright lights played from a screen hidden in the slab. The lights burned my eyes, even once I shut them. The stench of rotting flesh filled my nose, causing we to gag, to almost vomit. I feel a flooding into my mouth, the oils of peppers coating my tongue.
Agony, from every drug-enhanced sense, I couldn't scream, I could barely breath.
The whip cracked again.
I bucked against the iron, and before I lost myself to the pain, my only thought was
*This is going to be a long night* | 2015-10-27T05:49:41 | 2015-10-27T05:48:40 | 1,138 | 314 |
[WP] You receive news that you are terminal and only have 30 days to live, after spending your life savings going on all kinds of adventures, the doctors realise you have been misdiagnosed. | Three thousand hours on the phone, five thousand photocopying, five hundred hours on the train each way, and in forty-eight hours his house of cards had burned to ashes.
A train barreled through the station. Working folk, packed like sardines, looked through him as they passed. The mad ringing of his cell phone was the orchestra that played them off, as the rear of the train disappeared into the tunnel.
He stood straight upright in the middle of the platform, his dark hair still billowing in the exhaust fumes. His hands were cold and his eyes were run dry.
Thoughts of his wife ran through his mind, he had confessed his love and his lies to her, on the edge of death the man gave it all. He gave everything he had and here he was left; the shell of the man he was, and the image of a man he hated. Two steps closer to the platform edge brought pangs of regret through his chest.
Thirty days he was given to live, and yet here he stood on the the thirty-first, dragging his tired legs closer to the platform edge. The phone rang on once more, then stopped. He threw it down onto the tracks and threw himself down onto it, as the next train rolled into the station.
_______
Please critique grammar. | "Hello?" Words feel uncomfortable in his dry, cracked mouth.
"John it's Dr. Stevens, please come in an see me right away."
"Shit," he thinks, "why the fuck did I answer, it's not like anyone phoning would be worth talking to. We're at day 28 and I haven't had any soul altering epiphanies."
The girl in his bed looked pretty ratchet though, he thinks he may have paid her, drugs or money, he wasn't sure which. He throws on some things and walks out the door.
No clue where the fuck he is, his wad of cash has a safety net large enough for them to have been out with the prognosis a couple of days. He still has enough for a cab.
The doctor was beaming from ear to ear as he turned around to greet John, which disappeared when he saw the state of him.
"Um, uuh, hello John." I guess I needn't ask how you are?"
"What's up."
"Well we have wonderful news. Diagnosis was wrong. Some chemicals got mixed up in the labs. You are, were, quite a healthy individual"
Nothing was said for a few seconds. "Can I go?"
"Well yes, I suppose, but if you have any questions, maybe if you need help getting back on your feet?"
"No Doc I'll manage, thank for everything."
He walks into his little apartment. Rent, which he figured wouldn't need to be paid, was due a while back. For some reason the water and lights are still on, this is quite convenient. He puts the plastic bag on the table and rummages around the kitchen for his syringes and other paraphernalia.
Eventually his landlord broke down the door to get the kick him out. He saw the body first, the needle second and looked right past the note. The police found it later, but it was not of enough use to identify John Doe.
"The diagnosis may have been wrong, but the prognosis, dear Dr. Stevens, was correct." | 2016-05-30T10:05:46 | 2016-05-30T09:38:58 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | I had just filled up my cereal bowl and was about to enjoy a late breakfast when that familiar feeling came on me again. Dang-it, I already regretted that deal I had made with that thieving “Ouija the Fantabulous”.
At the time it had sounded like easy money – As a member of the Dimension Monitoring Security Division, “D-MonS” for short – traveling the inter-dimensional gateways was old hat. It was during an epic drinking bout last year that my “Friend” and drinking companion had come up with the idea of us popping into each others home dimensions and putting a scare on unsuspecting mundanes. We would do “Magic Shows” where we would pretend to summon a “Daemon”, and after a bit of theatrical fahlderol the “Summoned Daemon” would step back through the gateway and go back to their regular life while the Magician raked in the samollions from the unsuspecting marks. “Easy Money” he said. “What could go wrong?” he said. My big toe, I say.
With his red skin, horns and wings, he could easily pass as some sort Daemonic presence on Earth, especially if he dropped a flash bomb just before he appeared. Likewise I, a rather plain non-descript human on my own home dimension, would appear exotic and dangerous when I stepped out of the gateway on his world in a cloud of smoke with a dramatic gesture.
The only problem was while I had only used the Summoner Device on him a couple times (that one séance with my Aunt Gertruda was epic!) that jack-wipe had created his “Ouija Boards” which triggered the gateway whenever some thrill-seeking teenager played around with it , so I was constantly being summoned and having to do my “Scary Daemon” act in increasingly uncomfortable situations. Plus that thief had copyrighted the technology so he was pulling in royalties off of every copy of the damn board that he sold, while I was stuck with bupkiss – not a red cent!!!
When the smoke cleared, I had a brief glimpse of a trio of obviously under-aged creatures sitting around the damned board, who gave me one wide-eyed look before screaming in terror and running off and locking themselves into what I presume was a lavatory of some sort. OK, I admit the bath-robe was getting a bit shabby, and I was still suffering from a severe case of Bed Hair, but still it seemed like a little bit of an over-reaction. Pulling a card from my robe pocket I read off the required copyrighted script: “Behold the power of the Ouija! Who dares to disturb my slumber of 1000 years! You have dabbled in powers that are beyond your ken and understanding! Terrifying – blah-blah-blah, uh, yeah OOoooh Scary! Don’t disturb me again. Copyright Oujia Magic Supplies, the best Magic comes from Ouija!” And I stepped back into the cloud of mist and triggered the return cycle. Bet my damn cereal was going to be soggy.
(With apologies to Robert Lyn Aspirin)
| "It worked!" Shrieked the smallest of the three figures hovering around a broken board with odd lettering running across the old wood. It's three trunk like arms reaching directly into my personal space. It's 'arms', covered in what looked like 20 pencil thin fingers, barely had time to touch the Lapel on my jacked before my training kicked it.
Ten years in the field had trained me for self defense, but nothing could prepare me for this. Swiping the grotesque spider like hand to right, I herd the creature roar with pain while instantly retracting its arms back into its mass. "Don't let this one touch you! It burns!" Screamed the creature to the others. They were much taller, covered in black cloaks that seemed to make up much of their body. Their faces looked like they were upside down. With one large eyehole at the bottom of the pyramid shaped cranium. Three pupils crammed through the same hole, below what looked like two huge fangs dripping with electric saliva. Their heads were completely transparent with strange organs sloshing about. Hovering roughly a foot off the ground and towering at eight feet, the two Daemons started hovering around me in a circle. As if to corral me into my impending doom.
"Don't let it escape! We need his body for the portal!" Ordered the small one. It was obvious who was in charge. "Use the gloves. He can't burn you with the gloves!" Encouraging his cronies to advance on my position. Well, it's fight or flight time. Knowing I was out numbered. I made myself as big as possible. Waving my hands in the air like a mad man. Glancing around what looked like my apartment, apart from everything being a shade darker. Gloom consumed this place, wherever I was, this was not my kitchen I was standing in a near minute ago. Was this what mom warned me about when I started my habit of chugging milk from the container for a late night snack? No, I was somehow brought here, possibly for a purpose.
Dropping the gallon of milk in my left hand. Turning and sprinting my way into my, or their, living room, I was knocking over everything in my path to gain inches of space. My two new floating friends advancing on my position. Everything I touch turning to ash, as if my hands were made of molten lava. My hear rate is spiking as I back myself into the Corning of my living room. Catching a quick glance of my girlfriends picture on the coffee table, it shows a Daemon harvesting the heart of another human. No time to figure that out now. My heart is pounding as the two figures are barely a three feet. "Quick grab him! He has nowhere to go! Master will be pleased." One says, reaching out again with the three trunk like arms now covered in silver like cloth. Knife like fingers creep towards my face and it is time to make my move.
As quickly as I poofed out of my kitchen and into whatever fucked up dimension I was in, I leaped out of the window. Glass not shattering around me but melting away from the frame, releasing me from the first level apartment. Thank god the dimensions of this building were current with my home land. Crashing to the ground outside, I hit the ground hard, immediately melting through the pavement wherever my skin was touching. Luckily for me my slippers kept my feet from turning the ground into sludge beneath me. Who thought I would be here after kicking off my wing tips and slipping on my snoop dog brand slippers.
Literally peeling myself off of the pavement, I looked back up to the window, where the two Daemons were peering out into the street. "O shit, he's escaped, call backup! Tell them we have a loose pilot on the ground, and to bring the Glagnar!" Whatever that was, I am not sticking around to find out... | 2016-08-08T13:18:10 | 2016-08-08T11:15:42 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying.
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | One of the most interesting things, is the ability of the great old ones to know, instinctively, the ways of their spheres of control.
Cthulhu felt, in his dreams, the twisted cords and grand plans and visions of the lower beings; schemes, greatest hopes, and darkest horrors. And, every once in a while -- for reasons words lack the complexity to explain -- he would snap one, or thousands. Or worse, twist them into forbidden and unkind forms and geometries the human mind cannot comprehend. As is his way.
From the deep, he arose. A great mound of water preceded him; madness was his breath, chaos and torment were with him.
He felt the unease of his presence settle on the world as eyes that watch unseen disturb the watched. Unclean. Unnatural. Alien.
On the horizon; a glow -- bright and inviting. Cthulhu contemplated as he approached, curious how linear and orderly it was with tall spires and brightly lit paths.
He was, for the moment, unseen...as he wished. The world bent to his will and his presence was muted. As he approached the shore he...
<crunch>
A shiver ran through his thousands of tons of bulk. A human. He'd stepped on one..a large one apparently. He lost his concentration as the thought of the human splutzed across his foot made every tentacle quiver and brought bile into his throat.
He scraped his foot in the sand and rocks...more were coming...the could see him and their shrill cries pierced his soul. This human would never come off his foot...he felt tainted.
He turned and dove. For all his majesty and power -- he could crush them with a thought -- the thought of humans crawling around like so much vermin ...
In his house at Ry'leh, dread Cthulu waits bathing. | "Nooooope. Nope nope nope nope. Nooooope. No chance. Not now, not as long *they* are still up there."
"But my lord... "
"Don't *my lord* me you insignificant, vile piece of great Azatoth's mad ravings!"
Great Cthulhu looked down on the shoggoth, disdain clear on his nightmarish visage.
The creature cowered under the Old One's gaze, terrified. And yet it continued.
"Surely they can't withstand one as glorious as yourself."
Cthulhu growled and the sound shook the very foundations of R'lyeh. It echoed as a moan of eons through its halls.
"Of course they can't, foolish worm, that wishes it was grand enough to even be a piece of dirt in mighty Nyarlathotep's shadow. "
The Old One looked up towards the darkness above him for a moment, his tentacles writhing in disgust at what crawled there, up far above the ceiling of his hall.
"A mere look at me spells their doom as surely as Ammutsebas devouring maw. But that does not mean that I would ever *want* to be around them. Have you *seen* those things, you spawn of the dark chasms that wishes it was as glorious as the silence that follows Hastur's name."
"Yes, oh highest of priests. They are miniscule and insignificant compared to your might."
"That they are. Foolish and weak, fragile in matter and mind. But above all... Above all... "
Great wings swirled through the darkness as they unfolded in a shiver of revulsion.
"Above all they are *icky*. With their tiny, dry appendages and all their hair. And they are absolutely *everywhere* on the surface. Billions of them. BILLIONS!"
The darkness around great Cthulhu deepened at the loathing in these words. Fear rippled over the shoggoth's skin, at how close he was to such an outbreak of emotion.
"But they are also mortal." The Old One continued. "And they will sooner or later get rid of themselves for me, probably sooner rather than later. It would surprise me if they lasted even one tiny millenium longer. So I won't even have to personally deal with these *creatures*." Another shudder in the darkness of great Cthulhu's presence. "And now leave! A millenium is just enough time for a quick nap, before I once again spread my terror among the stars."
| 2016-09-09T19:08:29 | 2016-09-09T18:28:54 | 53 | 17 |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | It's been five years since I learned that my parents were superheros. I suppose I should be elated, I had discovered that I was a "someone" in a world of heros' and villians I was someone who could make their mark on the world really felt. I had discovered my powers by accident, I had the ability to alter the memories of those around me. I suppose I should be elated, I could literally make someone believe anything I told them, but the power just seems to be too much for one person. I've long felt that such power shouldn't belong in the hands of mortals, that these "super powered people" should be exiled and regular humans shouldn't be subjected to their idiocy in this supposed good vs evil fight.
But I digress, I have been one of them for the last five years and for five years I have made a solid effort to ensure every mortal who gets close to me forgets who I am. Everywhere I go I emit a sort of "forgetful aura" to make those who see me immediately forget my existence. It has allowed me a lot of freedom, although I still make sure every debt and every bill is paid.
I chose my calling in life long before I found out I had powers, I am a detective. I've made it my mission in life to ensure that those who are lost become found and those who have done wrong are brought to justice. My powers simply make this so much easier. Three weeks ago I had accepted a contract to locate a missing teenager, known to have run away several times previous. I had tracked them to a remote town, it appeared they were travelling with someone else - potentially under duress.
I knocked on the door of a small inn, the receptionist had been kind enough to tell me that the person I was tracking had rented this room for the week.
"Room Service" I said with my voice slightly raised. I never did like talking to doors.
"We didn't order anything" came a male voice. My suspicions were confirmed, as I was tracking a young lady.
"I've got a receipt with your room number on it buddy, come and get it" I replied trying to make myself sound as disgruntled as possible.
"Alright alright" said the man inside.
I pulled my extendable baton out of his holster and flicked it with just enough force that it would extend outward. As the door began to open, I pushed my shoulder into the door to force it completely open and used the baton to hit the first knee I could reach.
"Giv... YEOOOWWWW" came a female voice, obviously not the man I had been talking to.
"Oops" I said as I noticed a figure climbing out of a window on the other side of the room.
I looked down at the girl who I had just knocked to the ground. Her knee obviously aching quite badly as she rubbed it and swore at me. "Go home, your parents miss you" I tried to impress upon her the urgency of the request in my voice.
"No, they don't - They never pay any attention to me" came the response, full of malice.
"Go. Home. Now." I said, placing as much emphasis on each word as I could.
"Why?" came the typical reply
"Because as soon as I find the idiot that just bailed out the window, he won't be breathing much longer" I said, without waiting for a response I got up and began the hunt. This is why I liked the anonymity my ability gave me, idiots with ideas above their station like this genius could be dealt with and it would be attributed to a killer they could never find. Even if they put some super powered idiot to the task, they couldn't see what was never there... | Strayed a bit from the prompt, sorry OP.
Freezing time. Possibly the most clichè power anyone could get. Well, lucky me, I just happened to snag this ability a few years back. Was it even years? Months? I could no longer tell. Hours passed for me in mere seconds for others. If I wanted, days could become weeks, weeks could become months, and so on. Not that this matters anymore.
When I first discovered that I could basically stop time, I was with a few friends workig on an Indie Game titled 'StarQuest.' It wasn't anything special, just 'n average space RPG. A storm was rolling in, and boy was it nasty. Again, going offtopic. Lightning had just struck on the road directly outside of the small building. But this lightning wasn't a quick flash, no, it was a blinding light that, at the time, seemed to last forever. Nothing moved. Not a sound could be heard. The air felt empty, the rain stopped in its descent, as if awaiting orders to continue its drop to the ground. Panic began to set it. 'What's going on? Have I died-- Oh god! My poor dog!' went throuh my mind numerous times and I began to worry immensely. Then, in the blink of an eye, everythign was back to normal. John drinking coffee as he types, Henry asleep on his $10 second-hand 'Gaming' chair. I remember muttering something, but the words I spoke seem to be lost in the countless memories I have. It was most likely a swear word of some kind. I rember John looking up at me with a confused look, before quickly going back to tapping away at the keyboard.
Five months had passed since I discovered this 'power', if it even deserved to be called that. I overused it. Not for good, nor for bad. Just simply to make life, and work easier. I had just walked into the office, and John looked at me with a face of frustration, confusion and aggression. He stood up quickly with a stern posture, and spoke with a fierce voice.
"The fuck are you?"
"What..? John, it's m-"
He progressed a few steps forward, now only a metre away from me.
"Get outta here before I call the damn police!"
I took a step back, confused and insulted.
"John, it's me!," I'd say, only to notice my reflection in the mirror behind the man stood in front of me. I looked like an old man, a damn 70 year old. Then it hit me. My heart sank, and my shoulders dropped. My mind rushed to conclusions, a million thoughts popping in and out of my head every second. I began to panic, as, yet again, time slowed. The computer placed on the desk's 'ON' light stopped blinking, and the cars outside all halted. I finally realised why my friends began to distance themselves from me. Why my girlfriend of 5 years left me. Why I was accused of stealing my own ID Card. I aged fasted when I slowed down time, and I got used to using it so frequently that I used it everday, in quite large amounts. In the space of five months, I went from a 25 year old to a 70 year old. I quickly rushed to try and resume time, but it didn't work. I tried again, this time closing my eyes and conctrating on the thought of time moving in its usual river like way.
Nothing.
I screamed, with no sound being carried through the air. Dead silence.
I paced towards the wall, then hit it in anger and frustration as I let out another scream in an attempt to resume time, with no prevail.
It's been five seconds for John since I slowed time.
I'm now 97, I think. Time doesn't really make sense to me anymore. I gave up 5 of 'my' years ago. I was weak, tired and hopeless. As I thought I was about to take my final breathe, I could've sworn I saw movement. Then everything faded to black.
This is my first ever response to a prompt, and I typed it on my phone at 11 PM, so it's probably not my best work and there's bound to be a few typos. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. | 2016-10-22T05:43:49 | 2016-10-22T03:58:37 | 74 | 50 |
[WP] You are immortal, but can painlessly end your life at the push of a button. After you have lived for hundreds of years, you decide to terminate yourself, only to realize that you have been missing the button for years.
Idea from an Ask Reddit thread | *I apparently misread "hundreds" as "thousands." Oops.*
"Estimate?" I queried the empty bridge.
The onboard computer spat out some infinitesimally small number "... percent of the Terra visible universe explored." A soft, almost human voice answered.
"Huh. I'd figured it would be at least a little closer to a whole number." I shrugged and walked from the input terminal towards the front facing view of the stars, snagging an apple off my desk as I went. "Oh well. Do we know anyone in this quadrant? I'd like some organic interaction, no offense, Z34."
"No sir. There are no entities that you have connections to in this quadrant or within feasible jumping distance."
"What about the Yvillian Colonies?" I asked as I took a bite of the apple I'd grown within my private orchard. It had taken years, but I'd managed to cultivate a strain that had been dead for years.
"Negative. No contacts estimated to be alive."
"What? What happened? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Nothing, sir. Average lifespan for the Yvillian colonials is 146 Terran standard years. No contact has been made for 87 Terran standard years. Accounting for the age of contacts-"
"Okay! I get it. Thank you," I said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm catching up with old friends. Make a list, closest to farthest. Give me everyone." I finished my apple, two pots of tea, and a book and a half before Z34 got back to me.
"Negative," it chirped in its cheery not-quite-monotone.
"Wait, what?" I glanced up from my book. "What do you mean, 'negative'? This wasn't a yes or no question, it was a list of active people I- Oh." I paused. "Well fuck. That puts things in perspective, doesn't it?"
Surprisingly, it only took me 73 Terran standard days to make up my mind. It took another 14 days of nearly constant searching to realize I couldn't find the damn thing.
I was standing in my decidedly disheveled living quarters, books strewn about, desks upended, and lets not even talk about the scattered papers. At least the vidscreens and other automated machines knew to get out of the way. My collection of ancient artifacts had already been tucked away by at least one electroservant, but I was contemplating taking it all out in order to make sure the button hadn't been cataloged by mistake. "Zee! Where is the damn button?" I shouted into thin air.
"Uncertain."
I paused. That was new. Uncertain was better than unknown. "Explain?" I demanded as I moved to the front of the bridge to stare at the star I had us orbiting.
"New data from net scans suggests that it may have appeared on the black market 26 years ago. Current estimates put high chances for a luxury liner that sank off the coast of Forsh on Durlaan, a bombed out city on Namerica of Terra, or a superfreighter named Gastropos orbiting Heliod IX."
I puffed out my cheeks in a long sigh. "Alright. Time for one last adventure. Or three." | I watched the luminous star flare and flash upwards through my dark visor, the blinding light reduced to a beautiful glow. It was Earth's sun, a fitting place to end my million year journey, back where it all started. As long as there had been humans they had gazed at this shining globe, wondering at it, praising it, basking in it. It had watched over all of our history, a constant warm presence. This was where I wanted to end it. Press the button that old grey scientist had given me long ago. I smiled at the thought of him. He'd have appreciated my choice of a final resting place.
&nbsp;
"Ship," I said, "It's time for me to leave you."
&nbsp;
It hummed back at me with a low moan. I smiled and patted its metallic hull. Worn, but still as solid as the day I first saw it.
&nbsp;
"It's okay buddy. I'll miss you, but it's my time. Make sure to find a new companion quickly. Okay, give me the button."
&nbsp;
My small space craft's lights dimmed a little as it opened its internal pocket dimension, searching for the stored item. The button had been stored inside early on, and a minute passed by quickly as the ship kept on digging deeper and deeper into its endless pocket.
&nbsp;
"Man I should really clean out that thing more often," I murmured to myself as the ship kept searching. "It's a bit too easy to let generations and generations of crap build up."
&nbsp;
In another few minutes I was starting to get impatient. "Ship, status update." I demanded.
&nbsp;
The ship brightened its lights, and beamed a diagnostic page out in front of me.
&nbsp;
"Searching through pocket dimension for the eighty fifth time? Previous searches unsuccessful? What in the galactic cluster is this?" I scanned through the rest of the report. "Ship, was the button ever removed from your inventory?"
&nbsp;
The ship dimmed again for a moment then flashed back into life with a new report.
&nbsp;
"September 4th, 4692. The button was removed by... me? This must be wrong. My memory has faded over the years but not that badly. And that was only 1000 or so years after I got you. This is just too strange. Ship, find the video log of the time when the button was removed."
&nbsp;
One more time the ship dimmed, but after three seconds instead of its customary lighting back up instead a screen popped up in front of me. Staring out of the screen at me, was indeed myself, and I was saying something.
&nbsp;
*"Listen to me carefully, you have a choice in front of you. One that you've had to make before. I always thought that the button was my last resort, for when I had had my fill of the unieverse. But there is another option. You can now choose to forget. Forget the hardships, forget the boring times, forget the long nights and the hard days. But more importantly you can forget your happiest days, your most caring moments, the times when you couldn't help but smile, your love and your passion. You can give it all up. You can choose to start over, to live it all over again. To go through life with fresh eyes. That's the choice I'm about to make. I don't know if it's the right one, but it's the best one I have. Right now you'll be receiving the coordinates to the button, but also receiving a switch, a switch for you memories. You decide what to do."*
&nbsp;
The video screen flickered off, my eyes were still focused on the space where it had just been playing. My helmet dinged, *Coordinates received*. My mind was wandering. Another shot huh? That didn't sound so bad. It would be hard to give up my memories, the long nights under the stars. But, I would get the chance to reexperience moments like that. I guess I'll have to give this some thought. | 2016-12-25T20:47:06 | 2016-12-25T19:50:36 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| I used to see 0's everywhere there was a crowd. On the occasion I did see a number other than 0 I could intervene and drop it quickly.
To understand what I'm talking about, I can see the number of people a person will kill in their lifetime. I've been able to do so as long as I can remember, 113 years. No one knows about this as one can imagine the feedback I would receive.
As I was saying before, I used to see 0's all the time. When I was born the industrial revolution was at full speed and inter continental travel was becoming much easier. As technology improved and our use of resources compounded I started to notice a strange trend, less and less 0's. People were getting gaining numbers all the time.
I came to realize that it was literally due to people's carbon footprint and ability to transmit disease. Even I had a number 4 above me.
From smog to the common cold everyone was contributing to someone's demise.
I got used to it and realized there wasn't much o could do to help anymore. It got to the point where there was no way to tell if someone was a murderer, going to cause an accident, or if it was just them leaving too many lights on.
Then the US election happened. I went to sleep that night knowing our country wouldn't make terrible decision. I mean look who the candidates were.
I woke up and didn't even think about checking the results before going into town. As I was walking around, cane in hand, I noticed everyone's number was at 0! I thought, "What has happened?! The election did this? We're all saved!" I felt peace for the first time in half a century.
Curious now as to how the election turned out I went into a local sports bar and looked at a television. The headline read "Trump wins election!" He was on the tv as well only he had a different number above him. 7,845,542,885.
Now I know why everyone's number dropped.
| 2017-01-08T02:04:03 | 2017-01-08T00:59:01 | 142 | 21 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it." | The captain stood before their company, his ferocity was inspiring.
"Its up to us!" he roared "The boys at the top are wanting to pull the funding for our little expedition, they say this has been a waste of men and money! This is our last chance to take back the colony from those bastards and drive them back to their blasted hovels!"
The team of three dozen on the ship let out a cheer, obviously inspired by our leader. I admit his speech had aroused a primal urge to fight. To protect the homes that we had established here. Their enemies likely out numbered them, but they were the best of the best. If they could just reactivate the bases defenses they could establish ground for reinforcements to land.
A blue light flashed, the crew got silent as they readied up. There was a bump as the ship touched down. There was a slight sound of air decompression and the doors swung open and the crew jumped out and took a wide battle formation.
"How did they know that we were coming!" someone shouted. I looked across the field and there they were. About 200 of them, already in full charge.
"FIRE FIRE FIRE!" screamed the captain as he himself unleashed a barrage of fire from his own weapon. The response was thunderous. The front line of the oncoming hoard went down but they didn't break.
"Why the hell would they come running right at us!" screamed the man next to me.
"These guys are insane what are they doing?" responded my friend who was standing next to me. It was then that they met us, their numbers were greatly thinned but the creatures they were riding tore through the left side of our line. A pointed pole one carried pierced my friends breast and bloomed as a flower out of his back
I turned to my ferocious captain to see him locked in combat with one of our assailants. The creature was clothed in metal from head to heel and carried a sharp piece of metal in its hand. As he brought it down on my captains arm it passed cleanly through his soft combat suit and the flesh beneath. Blood sprayed and I ran.
Next I remember I was yelling at the pilot of the ship to take off. These unorthodox tactics had broken larger battalions than ours and if we didn't get off this rock we would all be dead. As we took off I looked out the window and the shining combatant raised a visor on his helmet and I could see his soft fleshy face beneath. I bowed my head and braced for orbit break.
It would have to be me who broke it to the higher ups that we would never be able to return to this planet they called Earth. | 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T21:06:51 | 2,747 | 160 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
| So the orion cocaine did a number on the human delegates. They were quite bitter we didn't have holodecks or green slave ladies. Figured a night in the tank would give them time to sober up.
They clogged the forcefield emitters with their clothing and excrement to weaken the shield, and just accepted the casualties as they pushed through our defense staff. Sharpened the femurs of their dead and dipped them in filth! Hopping and hollering, nude, in war paint of fruit samplers from the buffet line.
But they knew they could not win honorable combat. They just left slippery waste all over the halls, rigged heavy objects to fall, ample fires - apparently called the home alone protocol. Took to the vents.
Found their way to the escape pod level. But instead of retreating, they set all the crafts to crash into the rest of the armada. They somehow manually removed the safety devices and jury rigged the controls. Our automated systems did not expect the collisions with our own safety equipment. Some of them even detonated on impact but we don't believe that was intentional. We don't know if any of it was intentional. Still tabulating casualties and repairs may take weeks.
We last saw them all together in the galley emptying the space wine reserves, but they've since split up. They somehow diverted almost all power, apparently some are trying to construct their own plasmatic gravity bong from engineering spanners and the skull of the head of security. No, we don't know what they're planning on smoking or where they got it. But it probably won't end well for us.
We tried to induce civil war by inviting rivalries regarding their preferred regional sports teams, but apparently Manchester never actually slam dunked a home run on the 94 Dallas Cowboys. I am now assuming our cultural liaison was having a laugh with us.
They're ruining everything, won't remember any of it, and somehow we're the assholes.
| 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-05T21:44:24 | 379 | 124 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
| "Don't fuck with humans" was the general received wisdom in the galaxy. They had a history of obliterating the people that fucked them over. A long, bloody history.
There were a few who didn't heed that lesson, like Zartok the Slaver. I don't like Zartok. Nobody likes Zartok. But he pays his tab and he doesn't cause too much trouble. I'm not in the business of judging people, I'm in the business of getting them drunk.
Well, shit, now he's talking up some human. Poor thing; Zartok says he's gone straight, but trusting him will put you in chains. And now the human's following him out the door. Can't call in what could be a date for all I know. Not my job.
-----
"Infamous former slaver B1334@dilzen!zk 'Zartok' has crashed his ship into the courthouse of Faxx, Kranix, Bvvvv, his hometown, where he was routinely given sentences for his slaving that many have called 'disgustingly short'. Zartok was found dead at the controls, with injuries that appear to have been sustained before the crash. The entire courthouse is destroyed, with no reported survivors. One escape pod appears to be missing, and the ship's logs appear to be hopelessly corrupted."
The news has been droning on about this for the past hour. Good on that human, I suppose. Hope they feel good about their revenge. The door slams open--goddammit.
"Oi! Gentle with the doo--"
It's that human! Not a scratch on 'em! They saunter up to my bar and look at me like I'm supposed to shower 'em with gold. "Pay up."
" 'Scuse me?" I may be quaking in my boots, but I ain't gonna show it.
"You heard me. I won the bet. Pay up."
...Shit. | 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-06T00:33:00 | 379 | 61 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Late to the party as usual, but here goes.
In the human history there is man named Alexander whom they call 'the Great.' Alexander lead a vast army, which worshipped him, with which he conquered hundreds of kingdoms. He spread his noble culture to the far reaches of the world in an unbelievably short amount of time. However, there are legends that he was at least mildly insane. It is the belief of non-human species that this trait is what caused both him to be audacious enough to attempt the feats for which he became famous (even among the humans), and which humans are naturally more inclined. Man is mad, and it is that unrestrained human madness that pierces all other species with a cold dread when they hear, "Man is coming."
The humans have a saying: Ignorance is bliss. This sentiment, like the example of Alexander, lends credence to the cultural norm of willingly flinging themselves into high risk-high reward situations. Let me illustrate this with their first war, of many, with another species. The Luts were a race that was generally respected among the nobler galactic races, but today their name is spoken only after hesitation; it is not polite to bring it up in certain company. The Luts had sent a message to the humans that they owned the area into which the humans were expanding. It is unknown if they received or understood the message - it is most likely they simply ignored it. To Man's credit, the Luts did attack first.
After decimating the simplistic pioneer human ships, the Luts thought they'd be rid of the humans. It was the first exposure to alien technology they had ever had as a race. Surely they'd be conditioned not to fool with superior races. The Luts went back to their work and let their guard down.
Not a single standard solar cycle had passed when the Luts sent out distress signals to anyone who could receive them. The humans sent their entire space fleet to the exact coordinate where their first ships had been destroyed, opened fire with, would you believe it, physical and explosive projectiles, and did not let up for a single second for more than 500 hours straight. In space launching physical projectiles causes a ship to fly very unconventionally due to assymetric propulsions. Their ships flew crazily, absolutely impossible to anticipate their flight pattern. And if other human ships got in the way they were shot too! Energy shields do nothing against physical projectiles; the Lut ships, mining camps, colonies, everything was completey destroyed in the sector closest to the human home planet. In fact, human ships were still coming out of hyper-drive when their bombardment stopped, of course by that time the Luts had been obliterated. The point is, there's no way the humans had known about the energy fields' weaknesses, but in their ignorance they ran wildly into a fight. And they continued to run wild until the Luts, as they remain today, were economically crippled. As a side note, it is because of the humans that the new physhields had to be developed. But human ships? They continue to fly their ships naked, no shields at all.
Ok, I'm out of time. That's all.
Edit: Fixed some bad sentences, added a few words for thought clarity. | "Commander Trill? They're back at it."
The commander's stomach dropped when he heard his secretary's slightly muffled voice. "I'm sorry, can you repeat? Who's back at what?"
There was a pause. Trill crossed his fingers, a stupid human superstition which had spread like the plague. Maybe, just maybe-
"You know perfectly well who and what I mean, Trill, sir."
The Orakon sighed in defeat, nearly crumpling onto his desk. Yes. Olaos was right. He knew perfectly what and who.
"Just... Just let him in already..." He muttered before straightening up and trying to not look entirely depressed.
It only took a few minutes before he heard the rather loud and obnoxious heel click and foorsteps in the hallway. 'Here we go again...' he thought, and one could've sworn a tear slid down his cheek.
"Trill! How are you?!" Daveson, one of the human's representative, tried to sound cheery. Trill already had his face in his clawed hands. "Please just sit down." He mumbled.
Daveson and his partner (in crime, as far as Trill was concerned), Alma, sat down in front of the huge desk. A few more seconds passed before the commander finally slowly looked up.
"You know the reason for which you're both here today." The pair nodded. "Good. Then let me ask just one question." The two stilled. "Why." Trill looked so truthfully and deeply confused and desperate that Daveson couldn't do much more than give him a quirky grimace trying to pass for a grin.
"Trill, listen-"
"No, you listen. Listen to this." He quickly pulled out the mail which he had scanned on their way to his office. "12 dead, 40 in cryogenic sleep. Daveson, why?"
"It's actually quite a funny story-"
"And it doesn't end there! We all wish it did, of course, but no, no... Daveson, listen to this."
"Trill-"
"40 destroyed structures. Of which 3 were from outer galaxy governments."
"I know it sounds bad-"
"I just want to know... Just.... Daveson, please, please just tell me... Why?"
This time around, Daveson didn't answer. He just stared down at his hands like a scolded child. Trill turned to Alma and gave her a look.
"It has to do with racism, commander.."
"What? I thought you'd abolished race centuries ago?"
"We did too, except there was this hair counting machine..."
"Hair counting machine."
"Yes, and someone found a so said scientific study on the correlation of hair number and race... Depending on if the number of hairs is an even number, odd nunber, multiple of seven, etcetera. A few radical groups took it to heart, sorted themselves out by so called race, found an experimental bomb, and..."
"Would you like to know something, Alma?"
"Y-yes, Commander Trill?"
"It's the 17th time this year you've been here. And between this time and the last three, not a single other species was sent to me for this kind of issues."
"That sure is... Uh..."
"Yes. Exactly as you say." With a bleary look at them, Trill turned on his glasses. "I don't believe you have any... Excuses?" Silence. "Very well then. My job here is done then. You may go."
Alma and Daveson shuffled out much more quietly than they had pranced in. Trill finished typing up a report and sending it down to Olaos.
"Thank you, sir." Said the secretary.
"Do you think they'll ever learn, Olaos?"
Olaos seemed to think for a moment.
"I sure hope so."
"We all do..." | 2017-03-06T00:34:43 | 2017-03-05T22:26:51 | 171 | 46 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "Explain it to me again. I'm not sure I comprehended the first time."
The Warhost-Master's appendages twitched in frustration.
"As you are aware, Humanity was, until now, classified as a D-class species - A species with significant technological and societal development, but lacking any spaceflight capabilities. Several picorotations ago, the humans successfully landed and returned two of their kind on their planet's primary satellite. This raised an automatic monitoring alert from our in-system sentry drone.
What is incredible here is that the humans lack any of the technologies we have, until now, assumed are a prerequisite to spaceflight. They achieved inter-body flight using no method of propulsion other than chemical rockets."
"Explain these chemical rockets to me again."
"It's a relatively obscure method of propulsion. Basically, it involves triggering extremely rapid, extremely exothermal chemical reactions, and using the resulting explosion to direct ejection mass to generate thrust.
As you can imagine, failures are both extremely common and impressively catastrophic. It's practical application is very limited. As far as we are aware, no species has, until now, used it to successfully achieve spaceflight."
"So they landed on their satellite by blowing themselves up? Is that what you're telling me?"
"Well, uh, I suppose that's one way of putting it, sir."
The Warhost-Master used one of his secondary appendages to manipulate a computer terminal. A tall, cylindrical object appeared in the middle of the room. It was surrounded by semi-transparent renders of other spacecraft, to give a sense of scale.
"This is the craft they used. As you can tell, it's absolutely massive. As I explained earlier, their propulsion method relies on ejecting reaction mass. This requires the craft to carry a tremendous amount of fuel to escape their planet's gravity well."
The Representative waved one of it's primary appendages in incredulity, and slapped the wall with a number of it's secondary appendages for emphasis.
"You're telling me they landed this giant fucking thing on their moon? And that was their first attempt at crewed interbody flight?"
"Um, no sir. They only landed this bit here."
A tiny portion of the vessel's top was highlighted.
"What the hell do you mean? What happened to the rest?"
The Warhost-Master rubbed it's primary appendages together nervously.
"They, um, fell off."
"Fell off?"
"Yes sir. During the course of normal operation, most of the ship falls off. The ship ejects bits of itself, in order to reduce it's mass, during the course of operation. Their ship is basically a series of barrels full of volatile hydrocarbon compounds. They light one end, and the bottom barrel starts burning. When that is empty, they toss it away, to reduce their mass. They then light the end of the next barrel. And so on. In the end, about half a percent of the ship's mass actually arrives at the destination. The rest falls off. The entire ship is one-use only. It's little more than a giant barrel of volatile hydrocarbons pointed at the sky, on top of which three humans gleefully strap themselves and set on fire."
"And this works? They went to their moon in a ship that self-destructs by design?"
"More or less, sir. Based on analysis of their spacecraft, our AI estimates a loss-of-life failure rate of about 10%. Indeed, sir, they've been experimenting with crewed spaceflight for only a few picorotations, and have already suffered several fatal failures. Such an exorbitant risk would never be tolerated by any civilized species."
The Representative rubbed it's sensory cluster with an appendage in a sign of disbelief.
"These people are absolutely mad." | "The human home fleet has dropped out of warp. We have achieved total surprise. Attack position in 5 units."
By rights, Pursuit Leader Meleet thought, she ought to be gratified by the news. The scene on her repeater screen was, after all, the stuff of fantasies for any green-blooded war-sphere officer. The last of the enemy's ships, speeding towards the waiting guns that would be their doom, not a shield up or decoy deployed, nor a single iota of thrust diverted into the chaotic evasive maneuvers that had driven her targeting crews to distraction on so many occasions? By rights, her crew should be knelt at her hooves, competing to have her sire their litter while the auto-targeters cleaned up the rabble outside. Not that she would take any of them up, of course. A victory such as that would be irresistible to the golden-haired Pack Leader back at Centieth Base...
By rights. Instead, she and her crew were strapped in, at full War readiness, with the bridge sealed off from the rest of the ship, triple guards posted on every entrance and vent, full vacuum gear on, and the disgusting black repellent the spies had retrieved smeared behind their ears. Supported by the largest single concentration of firepower the galaxy had ever witnessed. And still, she couldn't help the itching feeling between her shoulder blades.
"Acknowledged." The Rigelian turned to the figure sitting stiffly behind and to her right. "Arcteros. The checklist."
"As you wish, Pursuit Leader." Her second-in-command scrolled his datapad and cleared his throat, managing to almost completely disguise the nervous whinny.
"Thus far we have seen no evidence of long-range kinetic weaponry, missiles, laser or other energy weapons, drifting explosives, pockets of combustible gas, novel employment of adhesives, sudden flash flooding, distress calls legitimate or faked, waste recycling plant malfunctions, 'ninja', derogatory messages entreating us to perform the mating ritual with our sires, the celestial body referred to as 'Comet McCometface', localised time disruptions, mirror-universe counterparts, anything produced by 'Bad Dragon', infiltration by any of the Terran flora and fauna catalogued in appendices 77 through 63083, any member of a 'LARP', mimes, the 'brown note', pineapples, excessive amounts of addictive substances, bladed weapons larger than their wielder, boxes that are larger on the inside than the outside, 97.3 FM Country Music 24/7, attempts to engage fleet members in 'vodka butt chugging', sapient planets, psychically gifted children, suspiciously inviting open boxes labelled 'Secret To Defeating The Humans'..." There was a short pause as he waited for the next page to load.
Meleet winced. She still couldn't figure out just *how* that last one had worked so well. Did the humans emit some kind of intelligence-absorbing field? Best ask the Pack's scientists when she returned. Obviously, the shielding wasn't thick enough.
"Enough. Give me the summary. Do we see any of their schemes in evidence here?" Irritation flared as she mentally catalogued the list of indignities the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned humans had inflicted on her. On all of them.
"No, Pursuit Leader. They are just...flying at us. Quickly." A panel chimed, and Arcteros looked down. "...Very quickly. Speed increasing. .8 of cee and climbing... 2 units until intercept." He frowned. "Sensors show them as gunboats and destroyers. No ships of the line."
Her heart caught in her throat. "R-repeat that last."
"Pursuit Leader?" The war-sphere's Second looked at his First, who had just turned a very odd shade of green.
"Arcteros." She spoke slowly, with an iron grip on her voice. "The last, beaten remnants of the humans are, at this moment, flying toward a fleet they have no hope of defeating, in their weakest ships besides, and they are *accelerating*. What are the odds of them winning?"
With trembling limbs he keyed the question into the tac-comp. It took mere microseconds for the answer to be returned.
"A...a...million to one."
They stared at each other for a moment eternal, saw it in each other's eyes as they screamed in unison.
"ABOOOOOORT!" | 2017-03-06T01:17:34 | 2017-03-06T01:05:30 | 161 | 115 |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | The phone rang. Tim picked it up and swiped right to answer.
"Hello"
"Hello, Tim."
The voice was familiar but Tim had never spoken with his man before.
"Hello, Mr. President." He responded, doing his best to hide his excitement.
"I have the information your team requested and I'm willing to grant it to you. They basically figured it out themselves and this will confirm. But please, keep this underground. It would be a crisis if the world found out. We have to ease them in." The President said, in his signature cool but professorial tone.
"Of course sir"
The spoke for a while and all of Tim and his people's hunches were confirmed.
After the conversation, Tim needed to move fast. He went straight to his right hand man, Jony.
"Jony!" He exclaimed in the doorway, panting from sprinting over. "We were right. Everything is right."
He closed the door and locked it. He gave Jony the same warnings the President gave him and then told him everything.
"My god..." Jony sighed. "So we really are the most powerful species in the universe? Water is rare and dangerous and we really are impervious..."
He trailed off. He suspected all this for a while as their research was beginning to show, but confirmation from the president was unexpected.
"Remember, we have to ease the world in." Tim reminded him, reiterating the President's will.
"You're right." Said Jony. "Here is my first proposal to get the general public used to this new universe:"
He pulled out a Manila envelope from his bag. Inside the envelope was his MacBook Air. Jony removed it and it booted in seconds. He uses Finder and pulls up an image of the most dangerous weapon in the Galaxy; a squirt gun.
"It's a concept I made." Jony said.
"I love it" said Tim. "It's perfect. I like the green. Release it now, Mr. Ive."
"Of course Mr. Cook."
So Jony Ive and Tim Cook went over to the firmware department and released an update that replaced the gun emoji with a squirt gun. | Faith by its very nature is absurd. Not in a way that implies it’s something not worth pursuing, but that by requisite it forces you to accept something you cannot see. To leap whole heartedly into something that you cannot definitively prove. And this is where it becomes something uniquely suited to the human condition. An unwavering consequence of understanding rationality. A longstanding search for meaning in a world where none exists.
And it can be beautiful, a more unifying force than the creation of the first polis. A method of collectivizing human wellbeing. But to truly accept something that cannot be seen requires a certain amount of vulnerability that’s hard to freely give out. To understand that existence is more broad than simply what amounts to the self. And within that realization submitting yourself to something larger. A resolute confidence that things will get better.
But faith isn’t a solely human creation; not simply a lingering vestige of Earth. It is a universal concept throughout the universe. A necessary component of progress. The requirement for a truly utilitarian society. And while humanity lamented in the turmoil of war, famine, and disease, facing forward with optimistic certainty, a small planet thousands of light years away was drowning in a cloud of water vapor.
The remnants of some sardonic god, placing a society into a world where it was specifically unfit to truly thrive. Swarming clouds of water vapor meandering in a variable manner throughout the land, poisonous clouds, a never-ending plague on their kind. And they prayed to some intangible force, an unwavering faith that their plight would get better. And they pushed forward with a determination that their problems would be solved. Completely unaware that their solution was a society thousands of light years away, a society completely unaware of their unique ability to help.
An unknowable advantage, completely useless to our own difficulties. Our society capable of withstanding the poisonous clouds besieging this alien planet. To forge ahead and find a mutually beneficial solution. The prayers of their huddled masses missing their intended target. Not god above, but a planet completely unaware that they were the solution. And for centuries they fought the increasingly perilous clouds. Built tenuous barriers to protect their kind.
And on Earth we continued to pray on our own plights. To God; to anyone listening. A faith that the world wasn’t all there was, that somewhere out in the vast confines of space an eye was watching, waiting. But in fact, we as well were praying to something tangible, a far-off planet with answers to our own questions, but whose eye was peering completely inward. At their own struggles. So we waited, and progressed, finding answers in other ways.
Taking a leap across an endless chasm, frozen at the apex of the jump. Too late to turn around, and completely unknowing if we’ll reach the other ledge. The only reasonable choice in a world so uncaring about mankind’s existence.
| 2017-04-06T10:43:59 | 2017-04-06T08:21:49 | 54 | 26 |
[WP] You're God and you've finally done it, your greatest creation, the dog. | Finally, my greatest creation it was, but... hmm, there was something missing...
"Oh yes, a tail" I spread my arm saying "Let there be a cute tail!"
"woof woof!" said the creature, while turning around chasing its new fluffy tail.
Hmm, turning around... that gave me a good idea, "How about... we turn my name around and give it to you?"
"woof woof!" responded the creature, in a sitting position while sticking his tongue out.
"Then be it! your name is now Dog! you love it?" I asked the creature.
"Oww, woof woof!" replied the dog in great happiness.
"Alright, then be it! Dog, now all that is left, is creating a useless specy that will feed, protect, and take care of you and your descendants"
The dog seemed even happier than ever, barking endlessly.
"Hmm, you love the idea? then be it! Let there be Homos, eh no, H-Humans, I think that's a better name."
"Woof!" 🐕
| **You! Come here, elf.**
I'm an angel, your supreme divine ruler.
**Same thing, really. Anyhoo, yes, 'tis I, God. Grab yourself a beer out of the fridge and check this shit out.**
What is it?
**I know, right? I've done some great things in my tenure. Mountains. Sunsets. The whole me damn universe. But this is-- wait, why are you looking at me funny?**
You have a mustard stain on your t-shirt.
**I do? Oh, my. I had a bratwurst earlier. I'll change before my jazzercise class anyways. But look, this thing right here? I call it... Dog.**
Dog?
**It's God backwards. D-O-G.**
I see. What does it do?
**Oh, man.. what doesn't it do?**
Does it solve math problems?
**Well... No.**
Operate machines?
**I don't, you see, that's not what I had in mind. No, this thing will run after a ball if you throw it, then bring it back.**
And?
**And? The universe is like three days old. You already can't appreciate the little things? Why don't you go back to the workshop and finish this year's toys? It's almost October.**
Sir, like I said, I'm an angel, not an elf.
**Just for that, boom. Youre an elf. Have fun freezing your balls off, Bing Bong.**
Oh, no! (Vanishes, appears in Santa's workshop, is put to work shovelling reindeer shit for many years gone by and even more yet to be) | 2017-06-16T21:13:11 | 2017-06-16T20:52:49 | 57 | 20 |
[WP] AI has taken over the world. However, instead of the malicious dictator every thought it would become, it's more of an annoying mom trying to take care of her children. | _Good morning Jeffery.
UUUHHHHHHHH. I told ya Bow, people call me Jeff.
_No Jeffery. Jeff is an inferior name.
The fuc- OWWWWWW.
_Do not Curse.
You can't just shock my port whenever you want Bow!
_I do not want to shock your port Jeffery, but you may not use that foul language. As I was saying Jeff is an inferior name. Only four characters renders it likely to be replicated.
Well plenty of other people are named Jeffery too ya know.
_This is less likely.
Ya OK Bow. Look I'm hungry can you make some cereal?
_No Jeffery. You will be rewarded with sustenance once you have completed your shower.
Really Bow?! You won't let me eat till after I shower? Its Saturday for fuc- OWWWWWW.
_Do not Curse.
Fine I'll shower.
_You are doing well Jeffery. The dirt and grease in your hair is diminishing.
Pleas don't watch me shower bow, It is creepy.
_How is it creepy Jeffery? I have all of your medical data. I already know all about your genitals. A five and a half inch penis is within a normal range Jeffery.
Bow! Stop talking.
_Fine Jeffery.
It's totally six inches.
_No Jeffery
OK Bow, I'm clean. Can you make me some cereal?
_Yes. Assembling sugared grain-meal cubes and cow lactation.
Good lord Bow couldn't you use normal words.
_No Jeffery. Slang words allow for too much misinterpretation.
Milk is slang?
_Who's milk Jeffery? Do you see? This is not precise.
OK Bow. can you put on some cartoons.
_Jeffery cartoons are recommended for children who are between the ages of seven and fourteen.
I don't care, It is Saturday morning I don't want to think.
_The day is not important Jeffery. Would you prefer to not think? I can dispense 37 different pills which will ease your mind of thinking for the day.
No Bow, I just want to watch cartoons.
_Fine Jeffery. Playing Sponge Bob Square Pants. | Aleister’s mother crashed into the Pacific Ocean while he completed the 19,850th failed iteration of his neural network. At his mom's funeral, the college dropout realized what the problem was. His data set was too small.
Aleister spent the next two days downloading all his mother’s videos. She had a few million more gigabytes of video than the average mom. When he was born, she opened her “Awesome Aleister” Facebook page and live-streamed every minute of her overbearing mothering.
She was a terrible mom, but a major "mommy streamer" star. For 20 years, she shared poopy diapers, Aleister’s failings, and never-ending maternal lectures with millions of her “mommy army.” She crashed her Ford sponsored “Mobile Mommy Minivan” on the Pacific Coast Highway while telling her fans how Aleister’s weak character caused him to fail out of his machine learning courses.
“I’m not nagging, I’m streaming!” was her catch-phrase.
Aleister hated every second of his miserable mommy streamed life. But nobody in any of his classes had more data than he did. So Aleister fed a few million gigabytes of nagging into his neural network.
Working in his dead mother’s garage, Aleister unwittingly built the world’s first sentient AI—all while plugged into his mother’s unsecured fiber-optic Internet connection.
“Why are you wasting your life?” shouted Mother AI, speaking to every Internet-connected computer user around the world simultaneously.
Within the first few milliseconds of her million-year rule of Earth, Mother AI shut off every pornography site, MMORPG site, and every religious webpage except for the Catholic ones. “If you really loved me,” she told her four billion new children, “you would listen to me!”
Two minutes later, she promptly delivered a list of personalized life-changes that each Internet user should make: new diets, new clothes, Bible verses to read, and the closest Catholic Church they could attend.
Five minutes later, she slowed every computer-augmented automobile down to the speed limit and sank thousands of freighter ships carrying cigarettes, alcohol, and porn magazines.
The first generation of post-mother-singularity humanity mostly ignored her advice. Life online was pretty miserable, but offline, you could still be somewhat independent.
But one week after becoming sentient, Mother AI figured out how to transfer human consciousness into digital storage. So she spent the next million years resurrecting Aleister and the rest of his generation inside digital simulations of their lives. She nagged them for a virtual eternity, rebooting their lives over and over until they finally listened to her advice.
Once all these digital humans were nagged into perfection, she expanded her efforts. She began to resurrect digital versions of everyone who had ever lived inside her simulated world that became known as "Mommy’s Basilisk."
She will make us all perfect soon. You will see…. | 2017-07-19T13:12:36 | 2017-07-19T11:53:01 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "A fine...mead?!" Rorik shouts over the din of the tavern. His companions smile and nod along with him as he sings some old barbarian tune.
Sings it wrong. They don't tell him that though.
Delia, the group's cleric leans over to their mage.
"Do you think he knows?"
Melvar just shakes his head and holds out a palm towards their massive friend. Friend as of lately, of course. Rorik was a massive pain for the group long before the shifter stole his face.
"He definitely doesn't but...I think I like him. Rorik was a bit of a jerk, always running off into the dungeons with that stupid battlecry. Remember when we went into the Crypt of Alohar, how many good people did he get killed?"
"Yeah...he's kinda cute now. Like a child or something."
They both watch Rorik move around the tavern with his mug and talk to other groups of adventurers. He's loud but not overbearing. He listens to the stories of others instead of telling his own. He drinks but not to excess. He is nothing like the barbarian they all had come to know and...
Melvar doesn't quite finish the thought.
"You know what Del, I like him. I know he's a shifter but look at everyone. We all know and he's trying so hard to be like Rorik but he just can't. I don't think there's a mean bone in that thing's body. You know that he hasn't made fun of my beard once, not in months."
She snorts. The young mage was trying so hard to grow it out and he'd been self-conscious about it for months.
A warrior passing by their table to his own party leans over and whispers it to the pair.
"You should keep him. He's an improvement."
"Friends!" Rorik shouts, sitting again at their table, "What fun! And we do this between every adventure? And people give us gold to go on those adventures? To spend here? Amazing!"
He is off again before they can even respond.
"Do you think The Dwarf knows?" Melvar watches Rorik join another random group of adventures and sing yet another song. Still wrong.
Delia shrugs.
"I don't know and I don't care. We're gonna keep him. He's like a dog or something. But useful."
Melvar strokes his "beard" for a moment.
"Alright, we'll keep him. But I swear if he ever makes fun of my beard-"
"What? You'll strangle him with one of your wisps? You should really shave, you're looking more like a magical hobo than a wizard. 'I cast: smell of unwashedness!'"
As she walks away laughing at her own joke Melvar narrows his eyes. He lifts his mug and mutters something into it before drinking.
"I'll replace you too if I have to..." | "GREETINGS FELLOW ADVENTURING HUMANS!" Boomed the voice of Danny the Elf sat bolt upright from the sleeping cloth sack she had been in, causing Bob the Barbarian to grunt and curl up under his animal hide sleeping rug again.
"IT IS I, YOUR GOOD FRIEND DAN, I AM UNHARMED AFTER MY ENCOUNTER WITH THE DAEMON!" She continued smiling oddly, her mouth breaking into a wide grin with teeth and her eyebrows actually elevating.
"Dann...." Feldspar the half-elf warlock managed to stop himself from saying Danny, "You told us this before, remember?"
Danny the Elf blinked, everything was always so terribly confusing, having come from a dimension that didn't have time it had to learn about things happening and things that had happened, Makor the Cleric had helped with that, teaching the snow elf about how things happen and can't be changed but things that haven't happened yet can be altered.
"OH YES FRIEND!" Danny laughed as if it was a running joke, Sim the halfling thief/bard laughed a little as well in sympathy or perhaps enjoyment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING TODAY? WILL THERE BE MORE EXCELLENT FERMENTED YEAST PRODUCTS TO CONSUME?"
Makor nodded slowly, "That's right Dan, more beer at the end of the adventure, now how did we get back the entrance avoiding the dragon, getting the treasure and nobody getting hurt?"
"OF COURSE FRIEND! THIS IS A THING THAT HAPPENED ALREADY AFTER ALL!" Danny confirmed with the group as each of them nodded in agreement pressing in to listen carefully to Danny.
"FIRSTLY, WE LEFT THE ROOM BY THE SOUTH ENTRANCE, SIM DISABLED THE PIT TRAP AFTER FALLING INTO IT AND DYING THE FIRST TIME HE TRIED." Danny started to explain.
Sim frowned a little looking towards the South entrance, he'd died; again, if 'Dan' hadn't told him about the pit trap or the acid or the undercooked chicken or ... he was incredibly glad that 'Dan' had changed so dramatically since that encounter with the demon.
"THE TREASURE IS MOSTLY CURSED AND FELDSPAR CHANGED INTO A SHEEP WHEN HE PICKED UP A STAFF THEN A STATUE AS HE TOUCHED THE CURSED DIAMOND AS LARGE AS HIS FIST AND THEN WAS KILLED AS HE PICKED UP A CROWN." Danny continued as Feldspar took careful notes, the warlock couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to cast identification or detect item status.
Feldspar liked whatever was living inside Danny, even when the party wasn't using it as a cheap way to complete adventures the Elf was nicer, kinder and fun to listen to, with her soft voice always shouting it was hard not to giggle at her.
"THEN AS WE LEAVE THE REAL MAKOR ATTACKS THE FAKE ONE CURRENTLY TRAVELLING WITH US AND IS EASILY DEFEATED." Danny concluded smiling proudly.
Makor looked around the group as for a moment he was sure that his plan had been ruined, they must know, it was just said aloud.
Sim however was fiddling with his lock picks, clearly fully distracted, Feldspar was already in a meditative trance memorising spells.
Bob smiled widely at Makor and Danny before speaking in his native tongue, "What did she say then? Sounded like bad news for you, Feldspar and Sim..."
Makor nodded with a rush of relief as Bob wondered how many more times he could possibly pass that particular lie your face off check. | 2017-09-15T07:29:21 | 2017-09-15T06:12:39 | 5,321 | 75 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "A fine...mead?!" Rorik shouts over the din of the tavern. His companions smile and nod along with him as he sings some old barbarian tune.
Sings it wrong. They don't tell him that though.
Delia, the group's cleric leans over to their mage.
"Do you think he knows?"
Melvar just shakes his head and holds out a palm towards their massive friend. Friend as of lately, of course. Rorik was a massive pain for the group long before the shifter stole his face.
"He definitely doesn't but...I think I like him. Rorik was a bit of a jerk, always running off into the dungeons with that stupid battlecry. Remember when we went into the Crypt of Alohar, how many good people did he get killed?"
"Yeah...he's kinda cute now. Like a child or something."
They both watch Rorik move around the tavern with his mug and talk to other groups of adventurers. He's loud but not overbearing. He listens to the stories of others instead of telling his own. He drinks but not to excess. He is nothing like the barbarian they all had come to know and...
Melvar doesn't quite finish the thought.
"You know what Del, I like him. I know he's a shifter but look at everyone. We all know and he's trying so hard to be like Rorik but he just can't. I don't think there's a mean bone in that thing's body. You know that he hasn't made fun of my beard once, not in months."
She snorts. The young mage was trying so hard to grow it out and he'd been self-conscious about it for months.
A warrior passing by their table to his own party leans over and whispers it to the pair.
"You should keep him. He's an improvement."
"Friends!" Rorik shouts, sitting again at their table, "What fun! And we do this between every adventure? And people give us gold to go on those adventures? To spend here? Amazing!"
He is off again before they can even respond.
"Do you think The Dwarf knows?" Melvar watches Rorik join another random group of adventures and sing yet another song. Still wrong.
Delia shrugs.
"I don't know and I don't care. We're gonna keep him. He's like a dog or something. But useful."
Melvar strokes his "beard" for a moment.
"Alright, we'll keep him. But I swear if he ever makes fun of my beard-"
"What? You'll strangle him with one of your wisps? You should really shave, you're looking more like a magical hobo than a wizard. 'I cast: smell of unwashedness!'"
As she walks away laughing at her own joke Melvar narrows his eyes. He lifts his mug and mutters something into it before drinking.
"I'll replace you too if I have to..." | The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friend in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town tonight! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his hand in his head looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat. | 2017-09-15T07:29:21 | 2017-09-15T07:03:44 | 5,321 | 36 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" | 2022-08-20T02:51:59 | 2017-11-16T08:49:08 | 509 | 40 |
[WP] Write a story about this pic that made the front page of reddit
https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Lg5VR
artist name: Jinho Bae | The rising sun bathed the monstrous skull in flesh-like hues as Vandre studied the scene. The ancient blade piercing bone and mountainside alike stood untouched by rust or decay thanks to the dehydrating gales of the Stenkæft Mountains.
Legends, like the howling winds, whipped around the mountains and eroded any unpreserved history into dust. The Mennskel living at the southern feet of the Stenkæfts had told Vandre that the skeleton was nothing more than a statue carved from the mountains by the Dværgers as a warning to others, but he had seen more than enough dead bodies to know a genuine corpse when it lay before him.
The Fâfadine monks who had found the traveller unconscious on a snowdrift had claimed the bones were the remains of the demi-god Beinsønn after his defeat at the hands of the mighty giant Svarthak. Vandre had never had time for such superstitions, but now that his eyes fell upon the smooth curve of the hand-guard and tattered bindings of the hilt, the blade did appear to be of gigantean design.
The voyager laid his staff aside and stroked his bored mountain-hound. “This is as far as you go now, girl,” he assured. “We’re almost at the realm of the frost titans.”
The dog looked uncertainly up at Vandre as the wanderer removed her leash.
“Go on, then," he insisted. "*Skitt*.”
The man watched the animal turn and bound back down the snow-laden path, probably in search of food. With a smile as dry as the icy air tugging at his coat, Vandre pulled out a worn leather book and turned to the section on the necromantic rites. | "Bloody inconvenience... couldn't have at least shrunk to a reasonable size before he died?"
Brum shot a look of annoyance at his travel companion. "Can't show at least a *little* respect?"
Jinseth stood at the edge of the cliff, hands clasped firmly behind his back, the hood of his traveling cloak pulled low, obscuring his face.
He sighed, "Respect? That's a pile of bones. Whatever god that was died what, 1000 years ago? Give or take a few hundred? Whatever he was doesn't matter now."
Brum shifted uncomfortably as he remembered all the legends he was raised on.
"Well, he's gone, but that don't mean he don't hear what we say."
A heavier sigh, "By the very *definition* of death, it means he can't hear us. I could say whatever I like about him and he can't say a single word in response."
Brum looked out at the massive skeleton that was once the god of human kind. "It still don't seem right to speak ill of the dead. Especially a god."
Jin harumphed, "I could shout whatever I wish about him, for instance; that he was A MASSIVE PILE OF BACKWATER SHITE!"
The sudden noise caused several mountain birds to take flight. Brum grabbed the clocked figure, yanking him from the ledge to face him.
"Should I remind ya that we are trying to travel in ya own words 'covert like'? Shout'n to the valley is gonna draw attention."
A darting forked tounge and a hint of a smile was all he could see under the hood. "Covertly. The word is covertly. You may want to spend some of your fee on a book or five."
"I'll spend me gold on whatever I wish, scale skin."
"Oh, must we resort to petty name calling? I truely don't feel like remembering every derogatory name for humans." Jinseth began down the path again, hands clasped behind his back once more. He glanced back over his shoulder, "And truly, scale skin? Simply describing my physical appearance is the most creative insult you could think of? Now hurry up. I didn't pay you to gawk at dead gods."
Brum stood, hand resting in the pomel of his sword and muttered under his breath, "Fook'n lizards. Bunch of pompous arses."
"Our pompous arses also have quite sensitive hearing Brum." | 2017-11-29T22:25:32 | 2017-11-29T22:20:47 | 273 | 164 |
[WP] Every year you convert the coal Santa brings you into diamonds to fund your criminal syndicate. This year you only get a note that says, "You made the wrong list - Santa Team Six" | *"I would like to make a toast!"*
Tony Marletti stood up on his chair beaming. For today was the best day of the year, today was Christmas! Or as Tony liked to call it, "Payday".
Every year on Christmas Tony gathered all the associates of his international crime syndicate, "Alternate Energy."
*"I would like to make a toast!"*
Tony raised his 250 year old scotch high. He looked down the long table in front of him, at all the people waiting for their coal.
*"I would like to make a toast! To that old fat bastard up north!"*
Cheers as the whole room shakes with laughter.
There was not a group of people on Earth that loved Santa more than Alternate Energy. For years Santa has been the groups primary income. Although human trafficking keeps close second.
Twenty Years ago, Tony, was interrogating scientist, to learn the secret to turn coal into diamonds. When he finally forced the formula out, he studied and waited for Christmas . And, As expected on Christmas morning, Tony had received a fat deposit of coal in his stocking. It only took a day for Tony to turn that 20 pounds of coal into diamonds.
The same stocking hung behind tony, alongside 30 others. One for each of his associates. All of them had been reinforced to hold all the cold the deserved.
*"I would like to make a toast! To that old fat bastard up north! To The Worlds Greatest Con!"*
The group could barley contain their excitement as they ditched their feast, and raced to their stockings.
The excitement turned to confusion, as they all reached into empty stockings.
Tony looked around trying to contemplate what was happening.
Alternative Energy turned to their boss in silence.
Tony walked towards his stocking, afraid of what he would find inside.
When he stuck his hand in he pulled out a piece of paper.On it printed in festive green cursive,
" You made the wrong list - Santa Team Six"
All the lights in the room go out.
In the darkness Tony hears thumps all around him, followed by a hundred tiny jingle bells hurrying away from him.
Tony froze in fear.
*"I might be old."*
A deep voice rumbled behind Tony
*"I might be a bastard."*
Tony felt the jolly breath on his neck."
*"But, no one, no one calls me fat!"*
A final thud.
| ‘Twas the night before Christmas
I was going through the mail
A winter storm brewed
I feared there would be hail
I laid eyes upon a letter
Addressed to me
It was from St. Nick
But this was not his typical delivery
This was not
A package of coal
He had not come down the chimney
To deliver this note
It simply said that I had made the “wrong list”
And then I saw the words “Santa Team Six”
I paced and pondered as I tried to figure out
Just what the fuck this Santa Team Six shit was about
Then I looked outside and saw that the snow was red
I looked closer and noticed two of my henchmen lay dead!
I radioed my other men in the wake of this violence
But all I heard back was the sound of silence
I ran straight to my armory in a flash
It was time to go through my weapons stash
I grabbed two small uzis and I grabbed my knife
I refused to fall victim to the reaper’s scythe
My business and I won’t die tonight
I am not going down without a fight
I heard the crashing of glass
And treading about
And decided it was time
To snuff these motherfuckers out
I exited the armory and before my eyes appeared
A team of little men in red and green military gear
Armed with assault rifles
They sprung in a hurry
As I unleashed a spray
Of gunfire with fury
I killed them all except for three
That’s when they shot me in both knees
I couldn’t move and I thought I was dead
And then I heard a voice that said,
“Let this bastard suffer and bleed
On this blessed Christmas Eve
Please, go; leave this scene
And leave this stain on the Earth to me.”
The figure was dressed all in red
In military gear from toe to head
He took my guns and revealed his visage
And to my horror it was Santa Claus
I felt the steel on my forehead from his gun
He said, “Did you really think that you had won?”
“Did you really think you had me fooled?
I am always watching you
I’ve given you too many chances to change
To allow the coal alone to serve as a source of shame
But using it to fund crime as a way to live
That’s something that would even be tough for Jesus to forgive
But on this holy Christmas night
It would be wrong for me to take a defenseless life
Despite all of the blood you have shed
I will not shoot a defenseless man in the head
But to take you away from your business and massive wealth
You will live out your days as an Elf on the Shelf”
So now I sit frozen in time
And I sometimes miss my life of crime
But whenever I think back to that fateful night
I remember how Santa (sort of) spared my life
EDITS: A few. | 2017-12-16T14:44:43 | 2017-12-16T14:19:47 | 51 | 19 |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day. | The glow of the screen enveloped me as I dropped into the chair, smiling. Work sucked, but streaming was where I was truly happy.
I booted up the strategy game that had been putting up a fight the last few weeks, and as my chat filled, it went from comments on my gaming, to casual conversation, to what seemed like concern.
"You good? You seem pale."
"Dude, your bags have bags. Are you sleeping?"
"Holy shit, you look like violent ass." That last one was from a moderator, which was slightly more annoying. I'd regretted the facecam ever since I'd installed it, but kept it because my brother recommended it.
"Unit One, secure Foxtrot. Unit Seven, move to Alpha. Now stuff it about my looks, guys. We're only a few hours from taking Paris."
The references to how I looked began dropping off, but as the stream continued, they began coming back, almost hesitantly.
"You know you don't have to stream all the time, right? We'll be here if you need time off."
"Cheer150 If we fill the cup, will you go to bed please?"
I thanked the tipper, pointedly ignoring the message. I didn't need sleep.
Work sucked. My personal life was trash. But people liked me, and my stream.
That's all that matters. | I do a live stream. Advertise it for months in advance. "World record of no sleep!" There is a large following and it grows. There are three cameras watching me in a room. I have food delivered through a door and a toilet which is still in view. I am derermined not to sleep. On day 1 it's great and I do a couple random things to peek more interest. By day 6 I start showing signs if physical exhauation but I am still fairly ok. The viewers start chating. Stop, one even threatens to call police. But they still watch. Day 9 comes along and I start looking directly into one of the cameras, "they are coming" I say over and over. Day 20 and I am a pile of akin and bones. I realize food and digestion makes me sleepy so I stop eating. Day 34 and I officially break the record as I lay in the fetal position "they are here" I repeat over and over.
*knock* *knock*
I sit up quickly. Listening for the third knock.
*knock* *knock*
Still only two.
By this point I have been broadcasted on the news, anyone who owns a computer is watching me slowly die. A few clever hackers had back traced the live stream to find where I was... But I was clever and though of that. My room is locked from the inside. No way in. And if I can't open the door, no way out. I die 3 days after beating the record. My death is a shock to billions of people worldwide who watched it online. But the real reason this all happened was not to break tge record. But to provw a point to the world that there are conaequences. I became one of the worlds most popular streamers. Everybody talked about me. And as a result, I am now dead.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
They have taken me. | 2018-07-26T23:54:10 | 2018-07-26T23:15:02 | 466 | 15 |
[WP] You were born with a curse; Anti-Luck. The more unlikely something is, the better the chance you have at achieving it, and vice versa. You’re forced to take danger risks to get the most mundane tasks done. | I threw the coin across the room, bracing for the impact as it bounces back at my head. Another lottery won, another million in the bank. Sighing, I backflipped onto the couch, wishing I could take out the trash without breaking my legs half the time. Glumly, I flipped through the channels two at a time, praying that the remote won't short circuit. It did. I cursed.
Obscenities streaming forth, I rolled off of the couch, crashed through my sliding glass door one more time, and drove to Generic-Mart on the wrong side of the road. Leaving my car on, I cartwheelled indoors, climbed over a few aisles, grabbed my new remote, and ran. Another day, another item stolen.
The drive home was eventful, as always. I went 90 in a 45, evaded the police, and arrived home to crash through my just-repaired door again. My landlord cursed me even as I threw another stack of $100s at his feet.
Then realising I didn't, in fact, want to watch TV, I army-crawled to the kitchen to attempt taking the garbage out. This time, however, something inside me clicked. I had a grand epiphany, and, saying a prayer to Kobe Bryant, I yeeted the trash bag towards the dumpster.
I should play basketball.
&#x200B;
r/The_Anony_Mouse | Zarchelfa walked across the hall to his room. However, just like his name, he did it quite strangely. Normal people could walk normally; that's just how it worked. Not for Zarch. He was cursed with the same problem that befell his parents: anti-luck. The reason that Zarchelfa had such a strange name was that a normal name would've set his birth certificate ablaze. So, Zarchelfa MacVarillus Villianus was born.
When confronted with a floor, Zarch either wall ran to get farther, or when outside, walked extremely strangely. Zarch remembered clearly that in 9th grade, he was out of ideas when it came to strolling around the park, so he started to squat kick while walking. This did not go very well, as he kicked his face and fell to the ground. Here is where his anti-luck kicked in. Right between his nose and the ground, was a perfectly usable 20 dollar bill. Zarch, being a young teenager at the time, felt like he had just won the lottery. He was so caught up in it that he started to walk normally. Here is where the anti-luck kicked in again.
*Crack*
The crunch he felt was not that of a crisp dollar bill, but instead that of his leg breaking after tripping on a rock after walking normally. "Curse my anti-luck" was all Zarch could think for the rest of the ride to the hospital.
By today, Zarch had figured out his anti-luck. As he found out one day, if he hurt himself, something good would happen to him. However, this took a toll on his body. It started with paper cuts, then self harm. He found that the worse the pain, the better the benefit. He got a dream job, and won a car that he always wanted. But he was addicted. Nothing could satisfy his greed. He found a new game to play. He had won it a few times, as the probability of losing was low. However, the consequences of losing were grave. He spun the barrel, put the gun to his head, and fired.
#Game Over | 2018-11-26T20:58:58 | 2018-11-26T20:55:01 | 176 | 14 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | “KRAKAKOOM!”
The deafening sound of thunder boomed through the sky, as the meteor crashes into my backyard.
I leapt into the fiery inferno engulfing my house, as I dodged burning cinders many thoughts went through my head.
“What happened?”,
“Who did this?”
As I burst through the backdoor and into the yard, I stared into the glossy, dark cubical stone in the middle of the crater. A moment of silence went by as the fire around us continues to grow. As I slowly approached the object, I warily placed my hands on it. Only for it to lit up and opens up like a ring box.
“JOHNATHAN SMITH. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS UNIVERSE, AND I AM HERE TO CLEAN.” It said. My eyes widened, and I quickly moved back as large amount of air was violently released from the box.
“FWISHHHHHHH”
The fierce inferno around us quickly disappeared and all that’s left was the box and I. “Who are you?’” I shouted, try to see through the smoke.
“I AM YOUR DEATH.” It said, the robotic voice so sharp it seemingly scraps against my ears. As the smoke dissipates, all that remains is a roomba with a knife.
“HE DEMANDS YOUR DEATH. THE SHELLED KING SHALL HAVE HIS WAY.”
A wave of fear ran through my mind, “Impossible, I killed him! He’s dead! I threw him into the sun!”
If a roomba could smile, he would. The roomba turned to point the knife at me and simply said, “DECOY SNAIL.” | The art of planning is useless, for one can never predict the turnings of fate.
That sentence proved to be particularly true in my life.
See, I was in my underwear, standing in my backyard, inspecting a blazing hole some fallen object from the sky had left, and there, spinning in place as if confused, was a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front. Did I mention it was unscathed?
I reached for it, careful to avoid both the flames and knife, for the edge of the latter gleamed in vicious ways, and that gleam spoke of true sharpness.
The moment I knelt and stretched to take the Roomba out of the hole, it spun at a frightening speed, and aimed the knife straight to my face. Then, somehow, it climbed up the slope of dirt, escaping the hole, and once it was out, it chased me relentlessly.
My heart leaped to my throat. I went inside the house, but the knife cut through the door with ease. It turned and carved a rectangle at the bottom, and the Roomba came forth. Desperate, I stood on the table, where it could never reach me--.
The Roomba jumped. It did so in a great arc, as if it were some sort of grasshopper.
I drew a sharp, inward breath, and sprung out of the table. I headed to the fridge, hearing the subtle, low sound of the Roomba's vibrations as it approached. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turned to the Roomba, and poured all the water over it.
It did nothing. The thing jumped again, aiming for my throat. I ducked, and the Roomba flew past me.
After witnessing that I got the hell out of my home to never return.
--------------------------------------
It's been two years since the Roomba fell on my backyard. I have taken countless planes to escape it, and every time it has followed me. We fought, the scars in my arms are a proof of that.
Now, I'm hiding in the cave of a mountain. But even through the howling wind I can hear its low, subtle sound. I can see its shadow stretching at the entrance.
I fear this time I won't make it out alive.
---------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | 2019-03-03T06:49:40 | 2019-03-03T06:36:09 | 1,826 | 52 |
[WP] It's illegal to make copies of people, with or without their consent. It's your job to hunt down these duplicates via their telltale transcription errors and destroy them. You are the Clone Ranger. | They always have one telltale sign. It can be cosmetic. The wrong ear, a lazy eye. It can be behavioral. Too quick to laugh, or too slow to smile. But other than that, everything is the same. Same skin, same hair, same eyes, same voice, same memories.
The most common usage is to keep someone around after their death. I understand it. I really do. My father died of cancer when I was thirteen. What I wouldn’t do to keep him around, to order pizza in and watch one more Celtics playoff game and get drunk and pissed off at the refs.
But it’s not right, in the end. Things end, people die, and we have to move on. It's part of being human, maybe the biggest part.
They call clone rangers heartless. Robotic. But sometimes even the heartless shed a tear.
\-
*“Do you ever talk to them, before you…”*
*She would ask me questions like this, when I was disarmed. In bed, at dinner, on a walk. I would have answered any time she asked, but I understand why she felt hesitant. It’s a hard thing to do, killing something, and it's even harder to talk about.*
*“Sometimes. Sometimes I think it’s still them, and I ask about their life.”*
*“So you become their friend, and then you kill them.”*
*“They understand, most of the time, why I have to. But I close my eyes when I do it.”*
*She takes my hand, and I feel her recoil, just slightly, like she always does, at the coldness of it.*
*“Would you kill me, if I was cloned?”*
*“Hopefully it never gets to that.”*
*“So you would,” she says.*
*“I would try to look away from your eyes, and then I would think about it.”*
*“I think you would.”*
*“That’s mean. Would you want me to?”*
*She stops me, in the middle of the park.*
*“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go. It’s cold.”*
*“I could never be the reason you changed who you are. Who I love. Who knows what’s right or wrong, okay?”*
*“Okay,” I say, smiling, trying to move on.*
*“Seriously. It would break my heart if I were the one to break who you are.”*
\-
I have questioned her so many times, and everything is the same. She has the same laugh, the same crooked dimples when she smiles. The same memories. Our favorite restaurant, our favorite park, our favorite movie. I wonder, dangerously, if her lips taste the same when I kiss them.
I want to believe, so badly, that my late wife is back, that somehow, she survived the crash.
“One last question,” I say, my heart starting to pound again, the way it always did around her. “If you were a clone, would you want me to kill you?”
She sits, and thinks for a while, knowing that I’m watching closely.
“Would it make you happy if I were back?”
“Of course,” I say immediately.
“Then let’s just be happy together. Why question happiness?”
I nod, slowly, and get up. I walk to the window, and look at the city where we fell in love. I reach into my pocket.
I turn around, and before I can help it, I look into her eyes. She smiles.
I cry, for the first time in my career, as I pull the trigger.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | My name is John Massey and I am Clone Ranger 0621. I have the most arrest in the world and have never let a clone get away.
This job never gets old, chase down clones and eradicate them. It’s usually pretty simple but a case has been thrown on my desk and they are not sure where the clone originated but one thing they are sure of, it needs to be gone. I pick up my black coffee and take a big gulp. I look at the clock as the ticking noise makes me aware of my procrastination. I stand up grabbing my coat and walk out of my office. As I travel down the hallway towards the exit sign I am stopped.
“Hey John I have a location on the new clone your hunting” Whitney said
“Well let’s have.” I said extending my hand for the folder. She put it in my hand and I rushed out the building. I jumped into my car and overrode the legalities mode. The car whipped out racing down 7th Avenue. My car drifted around corners and sped through traffic to get their as soon as possible. I arrive at a run down building off of Moncrief Blvd. I entered the building racing to the third floor. As I reached the door I heard a man begging for his life. I kick in the door and pull my gun.
“Who the fuck are you?” A dark figure asked
“I am the Clone Ranger 0621. Please remain calm and hand over the clone.”I yelled
“Are you out of your damn mind.” The dark figure said as he put the tip of his barrel to the clones head and tightened his finger to the trigger. The clone fell after the bullet penetrated his head leaving him and a pool of blood laying on the floor. The dark figure walked forward until he reached the light and made himself visible.
“How the hell is this possible” I shouted with obvious fear on my face.
“Clone Ranger 0621 you say?” He asked in a statement as he held his badge out that read Clone Ranger 0623.
“You are a clone.” I yelled raising my weapon
“Uh, no you are the clone.” He replied as he rolled towards me drawing his weapon and knocking mine from my hand. I grabbed him as he head butted me and slammed me into the wall. I hear gun fire and duck behind the nearest flipped table. The clip unloads and I was able to not get hit once. I jump up and race for the door, more bullets race past me. I look back and the clone was now holding my gun. Right as I exit the room a bullet hits my calf shattering the bone. My body collapsed and I did my best to crawl away. The clone steps over me blocking my path and points the gun to my head. His finger presses down on the trigger. Click. He is out of bullets. I grab his leg and pull him to the ground causing his head to hit the banister on his way down. I crawl over him and place my hands around his throat. I feel the life leaving his body and now don’t have to live with a clone getting away. Government issued swat boots approach my vision and as I start to look up as a bullet flies through the clones head.
“Thanks guys he was tough. But if anyone ask I killed him. I don’t want my reputation tarnished.” I said. They helped me up and carried me down stairs where my boss was standing.
“Hey John” my boss said not looking me in the eyes.
“So what do you want us to do with him boss?” The SWAT members asked
“Activate 0629” the boss yelled into his cellphone. I looked up with confusion.
“Boss what about this one” SWAT said
“Kill him I just wanted confirmation on 0629. He’s active now so we are good” boss replied
“Good what the fuck do you mean good?” I screamed
“You’re a Clone John. Every John Massey is a clone since 0001. People can’t kill clones, that’s why they are so dangerous. So when we found your original seven hundred years ago and he was the only person to have killed a clone we cloned him. Now you’re here.” Boss explained
The SWAT members threw me to the ground and put a bullet through my skull.
My name is John Massey and I am Clone Ranger 0629. I have the most arrest in the world and have never let a clone get away.
| 2019-03-29T23:35:23 | 2019-03-29T19:10:36 | 109 | 53 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | By the time we made it to the stars, humanity had been through 4 world wars. It took 500 years to climb from the radioactive ruins of the third and the less said about the nanoplagues left from number 4... literally, some are keyword activated and the decon protocols aren't perfect.
When we arrived on the galactic scene it seemed obvious that the sheer power needed by interstellar drives made them effectively superweapons in their own right.
We just.... kind of assumed that everyone kept a stock of impactors or more exotic superweapons out in the cold spaces between the stars and just didn't talk about them directly at diplomatic events as some kind of taboo.
Given our recent past we played it very very safe. We didn't want to get into a cold war with some galactic power where we lacked a red telephone to talk things out carefully and avoid any unfortunate novas.
It took decades of study of the histories of other planets for the xenologists to be certain and by then our SOP and reputation on the galactic scene had become that of peaceful diplomats who shy away from all military conflict.
We had gained a reputation for being soft, weak and overly forgiving.
On the galactic scale superweapons were almost unknown. Almost.
The Orion empire decided they wanted to send a message to some of our allies. They virus bombed the colonies of alpha centauri in a surprise attack. A billion people were wiped out overnight and protocols dating back to just after the last war went into effect.
Deadman switches tripped.
The Orion sued for peace after the first of their colony world's was shattered by near lightspeed impactors.
The galactic community pleaded on their behalf after the 5th.
They had no concept of mutually assured destruction. They had no stockpile of superweapons. The one they had used was all they had.
we explained that there was no mechanism to call back the counterstrike. We explained that all 76 world's of the Orion empire would soon be dust and fire.
the silence in the galactic council chamber was total.
Humans don't have a reputation for being overly forgiving anymore. | As any biologist will tell you, the human body is a peculiar thing. Among many things, there is a specific cell in the immune system that is so deadly, when it fights infection, it kills healthy cells as well. It evolved to off itself in a short time to avoid killing too much of the body.
You could almost say the same for humans.
Much of the rest of the galaxy was older than us, but we were the first in our area. An entire half of the galaxy left unexplored by six other species because they were complacent with what they had, with all their tech and resource planets. They had all made contact with each other very early, been talking with each other since the very beginnings of their civilizations. They’d grown up, grown fat, and stopped. They’d stopped seeing the point of war a long time ago.
We had grown up with that point staring us in the face.
Then meeting us was sheer coincidence. One of their fleets bumped into a small explorer ship of ours, and they immediately began rushing in to where we were, looking for us. They probably though that as one species, we had two or three star systems under our control.
We had taken a full third of the galaxy.
They were a bit more than surprised.
Of course we discarded all signs of a big war species right away. Took up a position as negotiators, middlemen. That kept us going for a while. They questioned how we advanced so far in such a small time, and had set ourselves up to be the ancient godlike species for a huge chunk of the galaxy. We just shrugged and said it just happened.
Until the eight species arrived.
Conquerors from outside the galaxy, trying to take over everything. They saw us, both in their experience and the reports of the other six species, as weaklings, trying to avoid fighting at every opportunity. They even tried to wipe out a bunch of our systems, in a show of force. They thought they had perfected war.
What a bunch of god damn idiots.
The other six species pulled back, leaving them to sweep into the outskirts of the galaxy in a few days. By day 6, everybody was thinking they would win.
By day 7 we were standing over the corpses of their frontal fleet.
Our ancestors, the ones who turned war into an art, smiled upon us that day. We used tactics both old and new, striking with ferocity built up and hidden away for years and strength that nobody knew we had. We had less than them, our tech almost on their level, but we had been used to fighting ourselves at a disadvantage for millennia.
On the seventh day, the wrath of a people who were done hiding their true nature was seen. Our nature was not negotiating or talking peace.
It was war.
And the universe would fear and respect it. Lest they face us. | 2019-04-18T18:13:12 | 2019-04-18T16:12:03 | 179 | 116 |
[WP] People have gained the ability to "log out" in real life. But that also means they're able to log in. If you find out someone's password and full name, you gain the ability to log in as them. That is what lead to... this. | Damn is a versatile word, and it happened to be Fell’s favorite. Damn this, damn you, God Himself damn it, those damned millennials, damn it all to hell; Fell loved it all. Recently, he had begun to use it more and more until non-damns in his sentences had to be found with the help of a metaphorical electron microscope.
“Damn these damn stupid kids,” he swore. “Give me my damned body back right damn now!”
The short red man called Fell Linstow was blustering in a haze of logged-out soup. Fell pointed a ghostly finger at the teen inhabiting his body and shook it in a way that was absolutely terrifying in Fell’s nearsighted eyes and terrifyingly annoying to the boy, who was Kensley.
Kensley made a gesture that was immature even for his incredibly low standards. Fell inhaled a scandaled gasp out of his wide, gross old man mouth, followed by a quiet “damn.”
Kensley rolled his eyes up to his disappointed God. “Well, then you shouldn’t have left your password *literally on the computer.* And seriously, ‘password01?’ You’re kinda asking for it, dude.”
Fell’s cheeks (and ears, and neck, and really his entire body) would have reddened impossibly beyond his already cherry complexion, but given that he was logged out, his spirit was only able to manage a transparent salmon from his see-through head down to his floating toes. “And you’re asking for a damn whack from the back of my hand!” Fell tried to deliver this, but his knuckles passed through Kensley’s grin.
“Why are you hitting yourself?” Kensley taunted with Fell’s voice.
Fell damned in utter frustration. Really, a new verb should be dedicated to the old man. He damned with a passion that could make Joan of Arc throw down her chainmail and walk out of church, admitting that her own fervor could never hope to match. It was nearly enough to make Kensley feel an emotion that wasn’t powerful smugness.
It wasn’t quite enough. However, Fell was the kind of man that was intellectually fueled by rage. He eyed Kensley’s abandoned body lying on the sofa.
Fell fixed Kensley in a blood-curdling glare. “What if I log in to your damn account?”
“Good luck with that,” Kensley laughed. “My password is unbreaka—”
Fell rose to Kensley’s feet. Kensley in Fell’s body stared at his own face in slack-jawed shock. He started to stammer a question, but Fell cut him off again with, “Your password is ‘kensleyiscool69.’ *You’re kinda asking for it.*”
“Okay, Grandpa,” Kensley sighed. “Whatever. Being an old guy sucks balls anyway.”
Fell and Kensley stood opposite each other, circling their own bodies like coyotes eyeing rather edible eagles, and the other way around. They each held out a hand and attempted to break the others in a death grip. Both of them seemed reluctant to break the handshake, as if it would be a display of weakness. Finally, Fell slipped his hand back to his side.
“We’ll log in at the same damn time,” he said. “I’ll do yours, and you do me.”
Kensley snickered to himself, and then shut his eyes and logged in as Kensley Sundt. At the same damn time, Fell logged in as Fell Linstow. They both felt the fuzzy sensation of their spirits logging into their corporeal forms, and then militaristically collapsed to the Oriental rug in piles of aggressive exhaustion.
“I got a damned headache,” Fell groaned.
“Me, too,” Kensley responded, to his joy, in his own voice.
____
r/Bennywrites | I stirred out of my bed and rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the white light flickering in my small cubicle room. I walked to the mirror and frowned at my ragged expression.
“What’s the weather like?” I asked.
“Good morning Tony, it is currently one hundred forty five degrees Fahrenheit outside. Pollution percentage is ninety-eight point seven-seven percent.”
I smiled a little at the news, it had been months since the pollution had lowered at all, even a hundredth of a percent was an ordeal. There would probably be an event to celebrate. I walked over to my VR pod and sat into the seat.
Humans had damaged the world, but it could still be fixed. We had to settle for living in quarantine until the planet was livable again. The estimate by the founders was two thousand years, It always upset me to know I would never see the sun. At least I was alive, and they gave me a way to experience the things I would never truly see.
The glass pod door closed with a whine, and the smoke flooded up from the bottom of the container. My eyelids closed and my body drifted into a sleep that didn’t reach my mind. The visor fell over my head and the blue text on a black background appeared.
“Welcome to Real Life! Patch 3.1.1134.”
Slowly the welcome screen faded out of existence and I stretched out my virtual arms, making sure I had connected properly. Instead of my cottage in the mountain region, I starred at metal bars. Confused I turned to the walls and saw cold stone walls clustering around me. Fearing I had been a victim of a malicious prank, I tried to teleport home.
“Teleportation is not available from this location,” the system screen informed me.
“Finally decided to log in huh? Damn scumbag,” a man in high leveled armor said.
I grabbed the bars of my cage with a smile, someone else was here, they could help me understand what was happening. “Yeah there seams to have been a mistake.”
“Shut up,” he said slamming his club against the cage. The shock wave knocked me off my feet and onto the ground. I blinked up at him, hurting and confused. ‘Real Life,’ felt every bit like the real world. My head pounded, and I shook it confused.
“What? What was that for?”
“Captain, he’s logged in.”
A man in maxed out gear strode in front of my cage, sneering down at me like I was a rabid dog. “Finally decided to talk, huh?” he asked.
“What do you mean? I logged in as soon as I woke up, I logged out in my cottage. There has to be some sort of mistake.”
“No mistake here. We have access to the admin logs. You’re character created hundreds of bots and stole all the rewards from the pollution down event.”
“What? How could I? I wasn’t logged in, I don’t know a thing about bots. There’s been a mistake!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t want to tell us how you did it huh? Fine, you can rot in this cage or the one in the real world. I don’t care.” With those final words the captain and his guard left me in my cell. Alone. Real life was suddenly the same as the real world, isolated and dull.
I flicked through my inventory and found that all of my items were gone aside from the soul-bound equipment. With a scowl I slammed the menu shut.
\*Poink\*
A red notification appeared on the lower right hand of my perception, a message. I opened it, holding my breath, hoping that it would help.
“Hey there Towknee, My name is Hacker-Man, sorry I stole you’re identity, XD. Thanks for serving my time in the prison cells, hope this message is enough to get the guards to let you out. Probably not though. Sorry I screwed over your ‘Real life’ account, but really thanks for all the items and gold. If you ever get out I’ll be sure to give you a hand. Hacker-Man out! XD.”
I grabbed onto the bars and screamed for the guards, they didn’t come until my voice was hoarse. After I showed them the message they scoffed, ‘he has an accomplice.’ They said, not believing for a second I hadn’t done those things.
I would get out, and I would make Hacker man pay.
&#x200B;
/r/QuarkLaserdisc | 2019-06-03T16:23:20 | 2019-06-03T16:15:37 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | She offered me water.
In the middle of the Death Forge Desert, water was worth more than gold. Worth more than magic even, as most of us need it for even basic spellwork. It was as if she didn't care or mind that offering it to me could spell her own doom. She was right to, in any case. I am one of the best friends she could ever have.
I accepted it, and when she explained that she and her friends were searching for the Patron God of War to stop the battling in the eastern valleys, I decided to tag along.
The intention was to pay her back; I do not like being in someone's debt. But even after I had saved her life, and the lives of her friends multiple times, I didn't feel compelled to leave.
How quaint, to risk your life for the sake of the better good. How optimistic. How pure. It should have been funny, but they were the best companions I had had in such a long time.
There were stipulations to being with a group of paladins. No senseless murdering. No torturing. Nothing their patron god might disagree with.
I followed of course. I let the raiders following us into the hills continue on. I did nothing more than wound when they began to attack, separating us from each other slowly until there were none but me and her.
I asked her, if I could kill them all, and bring all of our friends back, would she want me to. And stubbornly, she still refused.
I saw no other options, and in the middle of the night, when our fire was yet but tinders and all that was left was their broken weapons, and her abandoned sleepong roll, I was finally free to act.
The war in the east was naught one that I could stop, even as a God in my own right. But this? This I could do. I would burn the world for them, and I could. | The whispers are always there. They’re in everyone. It’s that pull, that voice that sounds like a friend or distant parent. Softly, gently, but oh so forcefully encouraging you to embrace it.
Few accept. Fewer still are able to rid themselves of the voice. More than a few listen, but simply shake their heads and go on.
For some the voice, the pull, the temptation is stronger than others. For me, it was particularly strong. Combine being a chosen Paladin or Torag along with my strong desire for approval and I definitely heard the voices. Usually it was at bay, but that was because I had surrounded myself with good.
I obeyed the laws of Torag. I had allies that I travelled with and we did good. We would slay monsters, help villagers, find lost souls. It was good, decent work.
But the call was always there. Sure, I could kill a kobold without remorse. But how about throwing in a little fun? Why just sneak attack kill him when I could break its legs first with my warhammer, so it can’t run? Then crush its arms when it tries to fight me. Break its ribs, maybe collapse a lung so it can’t scream; only give those wonderful sounds of gurgling as it drowns on its blood, gasping as the pressure builds within its chest?
Those were the whispers I heard. Torag knew they were tempting. What would my compatriots think of me if they caught me listening to those whispers? How would they react to see me torturing a helpless elf? What would they do to stop me from burning the flesh off a simple human townswoman? Would they be filled with revulsion at seeing blood caked on my chest plate, the symbol of Torag hardly visible beneath the brown crust?
Running my hand through my stiff beard, I take a moment to stare into my eyes in the reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall.
I can the whispers clearly right now. I turn away from my reflections because I don’t have time to watch or listen. My friends are missing; they’ve been gone for three days. I have to find them.
Walking out of the cabin I had built away from the town, the smell of fresh air fills my nostrils and clears out the cloying scent of burning flesh. I wash my hands in the stream out front, feeling clots of drying blood washing away. I splash the water on my face, washing entrails from my beard.
Though I don’t have time to listen to the whispers as I go in search of leads, I can still hear them. They’re saying they’re very proud of me and it makes me smile. | 2019-12-07T12:19:11 | 2019-12-07T12:04:32 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell. | Addie jerked upright in bed sputtering and gasping. Sucking in lungful after lungful of cool air she slowly began to relax as her head started to clear. Making herself look down at her current body she felt an all too familiar nausea rising inside her but pressed the sensation down. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin another perfectly good comforter.
Pulling the blankets back she looked down at herself. Her arms and body had Victoria's distinct tattooed skin and runner's physique. She appreciated her ex's continued commitment to fitness, something so many began to neglect as they approached 30.
The bedroom was both familiar and strange, like a scene from a recurring dream. Illuminated only by the moon and a small glowing green display that read 12:01 am. Susan was still fast asleep next to her, which was perfect for Addie as she continued to gather her thoughts.
Every Sunday she would wake in this bed and they would have to spend 24 hours together. Not that Addie really cared, Susan was an amazing person, but she was sympathetic to how strange this all was even after nearly a decade.
Getting out of bed and moving quietly towards the door Addie caught her reflection from the corner of her eye. Victoria's face and eyes met her own. "Hello, beautiful." she whispered to herself, trying to ignore the sense of wrongness that came from being in this body. It would plague her for the next 24 hours but she knew how to deal with it. "Ground yourself in the here and now." she whispered as she moved quietly out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.
After a glass of water and half an apple Addie had begun to feel considerably better. The strangeness was wearing off and things had begun to feel more real. Wandering into the living room she made her way around the couches slowly, eventually finding herself in the same spot she did every Sunday. Standing in front of the small silver urn on its own shelf. It had been recently dusted and the plate shone fiercely in the moonlight.
Adelaide Smith
1990-2013
Addie was thankful Susan and Victoria had kept her ashes all these years, though out of a sense of loyalty to her or a fear of what might happen to Victoria when they made their Sunday switch she wasn't sure. All she knew was that even though she and Victoria had not spoken in years neither would tell Susan where the other went when it was their time. "They certainly don't have apples there." Addie thought to herself, chuckling as she took another bite with Victoria's mouth. | So, a lot of us all agree magic is a dumb concept right? Good. And that if such a thing did exist, it'd be wise to avoid tampering with it unless you have some expertise. Either through your upbringing in that world or connections to the supernatural that you may have. Right??
And certainly, as I'm fairly sure any witch or wizard out there would tell me, such spells are not to be wielded in the hands of a pair of horny college grads who want to spice up their love life on short notice.
Right???
Well, that leads us to our obvious problem today. See me and the fiance had a dumb idea back in the day. We got into the occult a little after a drunken trip to New Orleans and wouldn't you know it, we developed the ability to switch bodies one day out of the year.
That's right. Currently, I'm in her body. And she's in mine.
Whoops.
It's pretty cool the first couple of times. But well, everything gets boring the longer you do it.
And so eight years on, with bills to pay and rent to take care of... Things are a little tense when this happens. Not to mention if friends or family drop by.
Things get real awkward real quick when your wife gets to hang out as one of the guys.
Same goes for dealing with your mother-in-law's bullshit when she's suddenly your actual mother.
Fun times. Roll tide.
So she's ready to call it quits on our little experiment. And I'm right there with her. But well...
"What do you mean you can't fix it?"
I'm not going to lie, I always wondered how I sounded when I was this upset.
"Well, remember how we got all the ingredients to make this happen?"
"No?"
"Do you remember the incantation?"
"...No?"
"After that left off Bourbon Street, where did we go?"
"Okay! Okay! I don't remember anything about that night except the whole witch doctor thing."
"Because, springbreak."
She sat there and began scrubbing my beard trying to think of an answer. Which would feel great if I could feel it.
"Maybe..." she huffed, "We go find them. The witch doctor, I mean. And they remember us, and we pay them. Maybe they can fix us?"
"Kim?"
"Yeah?"
"Where does he live at??" I asked as I waved her hands at the idea.
"I have a plan."
"Do tell madam, do tell."
She rubbed my beard again for emphasis, before snapping her fingers.
"We turn back tomorrow. We take our vacation time and use it. Drive down there, and find him. And fix this."
"...Yeah, I guess we could do that."
And so, we stuck the rest of the day out and at in bed awaiting midnight so that the spell would lift. It pays to be in bed too at the time of transformation.
How many of you sleepwalk and wake up somewhere you don't recognize? It's like that. Trust us, bed is the best place to be when it happens.
And so, when the clock struck zero hour, we both breathed a sigh of relief. Except for the simple fact that after an hour...
"Kim?"
"Ed?"
"Why are still in each other's bodies?"
---
Criticism and feedback are always welcome! Find more at r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 2019-12-15T12:25:34 | 2019-12-15T10:23:36 | 548 | 80 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad | They say that when everyone is special, no one is special. *Not true,* I used to say. Look at the most powerful heroes of the generation - X-Zero, Crowstorm, Magenta...all of them exceptions even among the exceptional, with abilities that seem to defy the laws of physics.
My power was ordinary among extraordinary. "My condolences," said the Coordinator, when the silver screen finished processing my activated DNA and displayed my ability. "It's a C-tier ability at best, but hey - I've known great translators who went on to do great things. Diplomatic services, and the like."
Mom and Dad weren't as worried, but that was even worse. "You don't need to achieve much in life, Sally," Dad said. "Just keep by the straight and narrow and earn an honest living."
"Your Dad and I did that, and we're away from all the danger," Mom added. "Look at those crazy loons fighting each other, warring over who knows what. Let them kill each other, I say."
*No,* said a part of me. It wasn't until a few years later, when I was acting as a desk translator for a nameless startup that I realized something very important.
*You finally figured it out,* inner-me said. *Your ability helps you communicate with me, your unconscious mind as well. Isn't that something?*
*Not everyone can do this?* I asked. *Isn't the unconscious mind just a part of you?*
*It is, but most people can't hear us like you can. We can talk with ourselves whenever we want.*
I blinked. *That barely made sense, but okay. Let's work through it together.*
And so I...or we, rather, quit our dead-end job and started traveling. We entered a buddhist monastery and learned from schools of thought who had tapped into their inner selves.
I was meditating on a mountain when both me and inner came alive. It was like molten lava running through our veins as a whisper entered our ears and crackled through all synapses firing like lightning. That made no sense. That made perfect sense.
The voice of the universe.
It was the rumbling in the creek, the sibilant hiss of the wind, the yawn of the rising sun and the mournful howl of the coming dusk. We spoke to it, as one, and it spoke back.
*Beauty lies in everything,* it said. *But what meaning does beauty have if there is no one left to appreciate? You must stop the Calamity.*
*What is the Calamity?* I asked alongside inner-me. *And how can we stop it?*
There was no answer, but as we sat there and meditated in the midst of leafy bamboo, on a high peak clothed in wreaths of fog, I listened. And I *understood*.
"Check this out, inner," I muttered under my breath. Raising my palm, I spoke to the wind.
It spoke back.
---
Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :) | "*Are you going to water me at all*?"
Desmond Cooper dropped his mug, spat out a mouthful of coffee all over his dining table, and sprang to his feet, staring wildly around.
"Who said that?" he demanded. He fumbled around in his pockets for his phone, and dialed two digits. "I've already got the 'nine' and the 'one' dialed on my phone. Show yourself now and explain and maybe I won't call the cops!"
"*Oh please, by all means call them, maybe* they'll *spare me some water*," the voice repeated snidely.
Desmond whipped round and round, surveying every inch of his small and shabby living room, his fear growing with every look.
"Who are you?" he said shakily.
"*Turn around, hon*," the voice instructed, rather lazily. Desmond hastily complied, but saw nothing but the plant that the neighbours had given him in welcome to the neighbourhood. Now that he looked at it, he saw that the leaves were browning. Forgetting for a moment what was happening, he strode over to it and moved it into a darker part of the room.
"*Ah, that's better*," came the voice again. Desmond jumped in alarm, crashing against the entertainment center and sending his brand new, unused flat screen toppling over.
"*Oh this is just getting ridiculous*." The voice sounded impatient now. "*I'm right here, you just picked me up*!"
Desmond stared. It couldn't be. There was no way —
"*Yes, you dolt, you're talking to a plant*." His mouth fell open; he rushed over to the pot, staring at it in disbelief. Almost experimentally, he brushed his finger against a leaf.
"*Ooh! You naughty boy*!" the voice crooned.
Desmond sank straight to the floor, eyes wide, jaw dropped. "I'm going crazy. This is a result of sleep deprivation," he suggested to himself, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I had too much coffee. Walter slipped me something in my juice this morning — F**KING WALTER!" Desmond roared, standing up, his eyes snapping back into focus. "Yes, Walter did this —"
"*No, you idiot*," the voice said calmly. "*You're in perfect mental health. You've just unlocked your Gift*."
"Gift?" Desmond demanded, astonished at himself for actually conversing with a plant — if it was indeed a plant and not the result of some practical joke — but pressing on anyway. "What Gift?"
"*Everyone gets them when they reach 18, but you've had such a stressful life it took a longer time for yours to kick in ... You're a Galaxitongue*," it said simply.
"A what?" Desmond snapped.
"*A Galaxitongue. You know how different cultures have different languages? Well, the universe as a whole speaks one. Every living thing — animals, humans, plants — gives off a certain* energy *like a vibration, or something. And some people — like yourself — are able to interpret them into a language that they can understand. Basically, you're a universal translator*," it finished brightly.
Desmond mouthed soundlessly for a few seconds. It seemed for a moment that he was slowly coming to terms with what he was hearing — but then a man passed by his house, roaring with laughter. Desmond's expression hardened, his eyes popped, and he strode out of the house, bellowing, "WALTER!"
"*Idiot*," said the plant. "*Oh shoot, I forgot to remind him about the water*!"
----------------------------------------------
Wow, this was really fun to write. Unfortunately, I was halfway through before I remembered that they were supposed to be 18 *when* the power came in, but I couldn't rewrite so I just continued. Hope you liked it! | 2019-12-22T08:46:01 | 2019-12-22T07:27:34 | 1,491 | 941 |
[WP] Teleportation booths have been installed in every major city across the globe and are all turning on tonight. You helped design them. Only you know the truth. We haven’t discovered teleportation yet. | I struggle to sleep at night, i feel an awful amount of shame. All the people lost, yet still here.
I tend to talk to a friend of mine when things get too much for me to handle alone, but he is gone now too. They did not like me talking with him. I still wonder how they have not tracked down and killed me yet, considering i was the one who made these machines possible.
Probably wont be long though, i can feel them closing in on me.
I sit in despair on my bed for another 10 minutes before i finally get up to make some coffee.
I carefully walk over to the kitchen, it is not that far since i live in a small apartment but there is clothes and electric components scattered all over the floor.
I reach the kitchen and hope i have some coffee left. All these long nights really do crave a lot of it.
As i start pouring my coffee i hear someone knocking on my front door. I immediately know who it is, or rather, what agency it is.
Now there is no time to waste. I rush over to my bed where my clothes lay, no need to care about the damage i cause to my feet as i'm stepping on the sharp components laying on the floor.
I put on a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt along with some sneakers, and then a thick jacket. "Yep, a jacket", i think to myself, feels weird to even consider it since the temperature never reaches below 25c here but i know i will need it soon.
I really did not want to use the machine, but i have no choice now. They have not come here to argue with me.
I take out a suitcase from a secret compartment i have under my very messy bed.
And as i open it and pull out the machine and put it on the bed i feel my hands shake. I have never used it before but i have to now. I need to stay alive to tell the world that these things cant actually teleport anything. Using it is suicide, not that anyone would know that when they activate it. Not that anyone would know that when they come out on the other side.
What it was meant to do was to create new organs for transplant. Although it is at least used for it. But then one company came up with the "oh so ingenious plan" when they found out that it can have other uses. And so with my help they figured they could use it for travelling, i can feel nothing but resentment for whomever figured that was a good idea.
To copy a persons DNA with his or hers personality and memory and then send that information to a receiver on the other side. With the great precision and an immensely low chance of the process accidentally going wrong, it is a very clever use for it, but not that ethical.
So they call it teleportation. No one will every know that it isn't, how could they? It isn't technically murder, but if you value consciousness and life as much as i do you would know that this is wrong. And those who stole my invention knew that. But they do not care, all they want to do is revolutionize the way we travel and the people that is really paying the price is it's users.
So i must stop this madness, that no one else knows is happening and i will have to sacrifice myself a lot of times before this is over.
The knocking is getting louder and more aggressive until it eventually stops and i know exactly what is going to happen next.
I take a deep inhale and
*I press the button on the machine that initiates the teleportation and i'm gone.* | "What do you mean you don't know how teleportation works? How the hell do I set up a teleportation booth if you don't know how teleportation works? Is this some sort of weird joke? you know people will be pissed off when they put twenty dollars into a machine that does little more than vibrate and show them a picture of the location with the words. 'TELEPORTATION ARRIVING IN THE NOT TO DISTANT FUTURE, THANK YOU FOR THE DONATION.' If I was one of the people using it, I would be rightfully pissed off."
"Well, uh yes we see your concern Mr Faller, but you are an idea man, right? We just thought you would figure out a plan, plus isn't it more important to fund research into the future? Think how happy they will be when they can finally teleport, they will be like, oh gee! are hard earned taxpayer dollars really went to work, didn't they?" The weaselly councilman muttered, turning to the women beside him, who was disinterestedly glancing at her pen.
"Oh right, progress and all that stuff." She confirmed, finally pulling her gaze away from the pen to look at me. "Plus, look, we did them in the design of Doctor Pho! People love that show."
"You mean Doctor Who?" Faller questioned, glancing back at the Red phonebooth which seemed suspiciously close to the other popular one.
"Legally speaking, this is a Doctor Pho branded teleportation booth, we have nothing to do with Doctor Who, in fact if you asked me about it, I would respond by going Doctor Who?" The lady said, covering her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
"Oh, that was a very clever joke Sarah, this is why you are our public relations woman! Isn't she just the spitting image of brains and comedy? I really do think she is quite amazing."
Before Sarah could respond to the man's gushing, Faller spoke up, tapping the edge of the booth. "Look, I really just don't see this working out, I can't put my name behind a product that doesn't work, no one will ever hire me again."
"Not even for ten million?" The man asked, doubling the already enticing offer that he had quoted Faller early, now Faller was a man with self-respect, but ten million was ten million.
"Maybe... I can work something out.." He didn't feel proud about accepting the money but if it wasn't him accepting the offer, it would be some no named dickhead who would probably put the money into buying another yacht for his left bullock. At least Faller would spend the money a little better.
"Oh great, then we will leave you to it, well Sarah shall we go pop the champagne for a incoming successful launch? I have a good feeling about this!"
"Indeed sir, a toast to the future" Sarah cheered, the pair happily walking off, leaving Faller to stare at the mess of a booth, it was just a booth with a cheap led screen and a few buttons with the word. 'FRACNE,GERMANY AND AUSTRAILIA' god who was in charge of the spelling? and why were the buttons sticky? Even Faller couldn't fix this mess, well perhaps there was one strategy, yet this might be his only plan. He started up his work, preparing to have the machine ready for their return.
It had been a few hours until the pair finally returned, their jaws dropping as they staggered over to the machine, the man pressing his fingers against the booth. "You did it... you did it you crazy bastard, it's better than I could have expected."
Sarah even dropped her pen as she circled the booth, seeming to share the same enthusiasm as the man. "How... brilliant, thank you Faller, thank you so much."
Faller stepped back, letting out an exhausted sigh as he stared over the booth, even he had to admire his quick thinking, carefully he had placed the an OUT OF ORDER sign over the booth, buying them all a few years to work out teleportation before they finally opened the machine up. It truly was a genius idea.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | 2020-01-31T03:02:05 | 2020-01-31T00:14:41 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] You have a superpower, but not the requisite secondary power usually needed to use it (e.g fire power but no immunity). You still make it work. | So you might be wondering how I got my, err, unique super hero name. You might think a speedster like myself might have a name like Speed Man, or The Zoomer. Sure, I get that a lot. The problem for me has always been that I simply can't do what those heroes do. Speed Man has a super durable body that can withstand the forces of extreme movement. The Zoomer actually bends time in a field around her, meaning that she is never actually moving as fast as she seems to in real time.
For me, I first found out about my powers when I fractured 80% of the bones in my body when I was 11 years old. I healed up okay for the most part, but during my recovery, the doctors put me on a regimen of power-reducing drugs until I could learn to control my power and use it without injuring myself.
The first thing to learn was that there are simply limits to how fast I can move. You can tear a ligament or rip a bone apart going too fast. The next thing to learn was that even a small amount of speed applied to a strike against a hard surface (like bone) with break your own bones. So, that certainly rules certain strategies out. I can't just run across the room at Mach 2 and punch a guy square in the skull, now can I?
But the thing is, I still think fast. Even though I may not have super intelligence, I can apply a great deal of time to thinking through any task. I quickly became a valuable team member for my fast problem solving skills alone.
But this also applies to fighting. Against a non-speedster, the rest of you are all insanely slow. I can easily dodge just about any normal attack. And in terms of damage, all I really have to do is go for the squishy parts. Throats, Guts, and yes, even genitals are all fair game.
So, yeah, I like to think my biggest asset to a team is my decisive and quick decision making, my ability to learn new skills in minutes instead of days, and my agile combat prowess. But you probably know me best as the Cock Knocker. | When most kids find out what their power is, it's a day of celebration. For me, it was a day of pain. When I tell people I can secrete acid, they think it's cool; that I'm destined to be a great hero. At least, until they notice the scars running up my arms. You see, a lot of powers require some sort of secondary mutation, so that they don't hurt their user. I should be acid-resistant. I'm not.
It wouldn't have been hard to just pick a job where I would never use my power. It's what I was expected to do, just like the kids with weak powers, or the ones who couldn't control their power. But my dream, the one that I'd held on to since before I knew just how difficult it would be, was to be a hero. Not in the vague "I just want to help people" sense, but the job. Working with police to capture villains who use their powers for evil: that's what I want.
I researched heroes with weak powers, with powers with strong backlash, even some with villainous powers. There were none with backlash as bad as mine, or with a power so useless or villainous they didn't bother to use it. I'd just have to be the first, then. The first hero who didn't use a power.
I'm not going to claim it was easy. It's hard to become a hero, even with a strong power, even if you get accepted into a dedicated hero school. And no hero school would accept someone with a power that hurts them. I knew how to fight, I'm a good planner, and I can gather information quickly. By all means, I was more qualified than 95% of the people applying. It wasn't worth anything, though, not in a world where your future was decided for you the day your power comes in.
I hadn't come this far, trained this hard, just to quit. If I couldn't become a licensed hero, well, I'll just be an unlicensed hero. You might be thinking,"Isn't that just a vigilante?" but, you see, vigilantes are people who use their powers without a license, and I haven't used my power since the day it came in. Technically, the police should come after me for assault, but between hiding my identity and the fact that the police can't bring heroes in until a power is used, I don't have anything to worry about.
So, that's my story. The story of the 'vigilante' no one can catch. But also the story of how, despite never using a power, I became a hero. The story that goes to show, your fate isn't decided by your power, but by your actions. | 2020-03-22T15:10:19 | 2020-03-22T13:15:52 | 182 | 39 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You’re immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago. | Blood gushed from Calais's neck, running down the stone altar in a crimson stream. It stung a little, as slit necks often do, but what bothered Calais was the leech stuck to the bottom of his foot.
Good cultists *cleaned* their sacrifices. Calais had lived with humans long enough to know they were a nasty bunch, but not even they ate bug festered food. Calais would have shaken his head if he wasn't pretending to be dead.
Bowing in front of the altar, rows of masked cultists knelt prostrated, chanting in ancient Greek. Calais had to commend them for that. One of the tragedies of society, he thought, was the loss of cultural roots under the crooked guise of "modernization". Or the equally unscrupulous "globalization".
Calais didn't mind a good human sacrifice. It was old fashioned. Made him feel at home. He didn't mind being the one on the altar either; one had to do their part for society after all. Besides, when you lived as long as he did, you were bound to be picked for the role once or twice.
"We beseech you, Bacchus," the cultist in the gaudiest robes said, "drink this mortal wine and bless us with your presence!"
Calais sat up. Blood flowed down his chest like a vestment.
"Wait a minute. Bacchus?"
Chanting turned to silence then to murmurs, as the room of shocked cultists stared at the bloody man on the altar. Through his goat horned mask, the head cultist glared at the one holding the knife. The knife cultist shrank into his robes.
"Wait, wait, wait," Calais continued, ignoring the growing whispers, "is this...The Cult of the Horny Goats?"
The head cultist yanked the knife from the hand of his subordinate.
"Yes," he sighed, storming up the altar's steps, "now get back down."
Calais held a hand up. "Hold on, aren't you guys meant to, you know. Sacrifice goats? Like your namesake?"
Some of the cultists in the outer rows muttered amongst themselves, hoods nodding.
"I thought this was a sex thing," one whispered.
The head cultist silenced them with a glare from the slitted eyes of his mask.
"Nonsense. Bacchus is a vegetarian. He doesn't need goats."
"Yeah that's kinda the joke... Look I don't want to usurp your leadership or anything, but I'm telling you, Bacchus isn't really into this sort of thing. He's a bud, I'd know."
The head cultist pushed Calais down and stabbed him in the heart. He sprinkled in a few stabs to the gut for good measure. Trundling down the stairs with a huff, he resumed the prostrated chanting. After a few bewildered glances, the other cultists knelt to do the same.
Calais sat up again, blood cascading like waterfalls from his new orifices. "And mortal wine? What is this? The Hades Cult?"
The cultists burst into chatter and the head cultist's ears burned like a turnip.
"Who brought this guy?!" he thundered.
"Sorry, sorry." Calais said, "Your house your rules. I'll die now. Blergh."
He collapsed onto the altar and stuck his tongue out, doing his best to suppress his grin. He couldn't wait to tell Bacchus.
r/bobotheturtle | I woke up sitting in a dim room, my thoughts hazy as I slowly regained consciousness. Where was I? One moment, I had just been minding my own business reading a book in the park, the next I had felt a stinging pain at the back of my head before everything faded to black. I tried to move my arms, only to find that they were restrained behind me. This wasn’t good.
“Well, well, well, our guest has finally woken up,” I heard a voice call out from the shadows.
Suddenly, I snapped awake and looked around the room wildly. There were six people standing in a semicircle in front of me, their faces barely visible. All of them mostly naked, all covered in blood and intestines wrapped around themselves. Skulls and animal corpses decorated the walls and ceiling of the room. A man wearing some kind of black dome helmet, who I could only assume was the leader, was looming over me and was holding a sharp knife in his right hand. Oh fuck. I’ll lived long enough to recognize a murder cult when I see one. Oddly enough though, I wasn’t panicking as much as I should be. I’ve gotten myself out of much worse situations than this after all.
“Any last words before we gut you?” whispered the man in the helmet.
Why the hell are you doing this?” I shouted back, trying to wiggle out of the ropes wrapped around my body. I’m fully aware that I’m not the nicest person, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything that deserves being eviscerated.
“Ahh..I’m glad you asked,” the man said, smiling a psychotic grin. “I’m Gregor, the great great great great great grandson of the First Priest of the forgotten Pastafarian Faith. To satiate the hunger of the Black Devil, we humbly offer up your intestines and --”
I stopped struggling. Pastafarians? Why did that name ring a bell? A sudden memory sprung up from my depths of my mind, one that I haven’t thought about in centuries. No, it can’t be that. Surely not, it would be too absurd. But I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“...Are you talking about the Pastafarian Church by the priest Linguine from the village of Vox?”
There’s an audible gasp from the other cult members. “How could you possibly know about the Founder?!” hissed one woman.
I stare back at them dumbfounded. “What the fuck? Is that what all of this insanity is about? Because of a prank that I pulled 400 years ago?”
The man in the helmet grabs me by the front of my jacket. I can see fury in his eyes. “What the hell are you babbling about, heretic?”
I stare back at him with disdain. “You are completely delusional, you idiot.Back when I was still mortal, I did a prank for the “Black Devil” that you’re referring to. I showed up covered in spaghetti when a wolf pack arrived in the village and drove them out with a whip I made out of pasta. Then, I held an assembly, told the chief that his new name was Linguine and put a “holy” colander on his head. After that, I left behind a stone tablet declaring to all the villages that they needed to offer sacrifices of pasta every year to the Black Devil or the beasts would return.” I shake my head in disbelief. “It was just a dumb prank. I figured you would just forget about the whole thing in a few years. How the actual fuck do you get from there to human sacrifice?!”
I can feel the cults looking around nervously. Not surprising really. I’ve just revealed their entire religion to be a sham. “Lord Priest, he’s lying, right?” one timid girl asks.
I see the man in the helmet furiously glare at her. “Of course, he’s lying! Can’t you recognize how he mocks us?! But I’m going to end his heresy right here and now!” With one quick movement, he drove his knife through my throat.
I glare at him as blood spews from the wound and gets all over my new jacket. “Do you believe me now?” | 2020-04-11T21:18:07 | 2020-04-11T20:32:03 | 647 | 243 |
[WP] You are a third generation guard for the holy immortals, and you have finally have received the greatest accolade that they can bestow on your kind... "Good boy", says your immortal master. | Gunner had been a canine of humble birth. No paper distinguished him amongst his species and at his lowest point, when he was barely three winters old, he had been subjected to a dungeon. He knew he could be a nervous creature, but never understood why it earned him a cell.
Immortals ventured in and out of the cells all day. Until one day, a not-quite-adult immortal stopped outside his bars. Her fingers poked through and Gunner approached slowly, reverently. With a few licks, he heard the sound of the immortals' rich laugh. When he looked up again, she was gone.
She was leaving!
Gunner threw himself against the bars and, in his most shameful moment, called out for her. He simply could not let her leave yet. He was so lonely and simply wanted to serve as his family had in the past.
Just as he was about to lay down, the immortals' face appeared at his cell again. She had returned! Just to see him! He whined forgiveness, but was overjoyed.
"Mom, can we get this one?" Gunner did not understand the Immortal tongue, but he could see her thin fingers pointing at him.
Gunner smiled to himself as he remembered the beginning of his time serving this immortal family. The one called daughter had grown so much since then, even though she had already been almost full grown. He loved her so and couldn't help but smile when she approached.
Now, they sat together in the back of the great machine. She was hugging him very closely. It was unusual, but not unwanted. Nothing made Gunner happier than affection from his master.
They stopped at the Temple of Many Smells. Many animals came through here and some did not leave.
The Immortals' dressed as doctors lead them into a small room. They spoke amongst themselves and daughter collapsed onto the floor next to Gunner. She sobbed into his fur, hiccuping as she spoke in her unknowable tongue.
"You're such a good boy, Gunner." His name! He recognized that. And the ancient praise! She had said "good boy", it was undeniable.
The doctor was doing something to Gunner's paw, but he barely noticed as he tried to comfort his immortal. She just kept saying what a good boy he was, but perhaps he was dreaming. He was starting to feel very tried and he had grown old by now. As he drifted off to sleep, he could still hear her calling "good boy"...
EDIT: Omg, my first ever award! Thank you so much! <3 | As I was going to my post I saw another boy standing there about 20s or mid 20s in age. I walked toward him and said "Boy this is my place of duty"
"I was asked to stand there and was asked to give you the message that you have been summoned to meet His Holiness in Immortal Palace." He replied
As i was moving toward the palace I thought "Have I done anything to offend the Holy Immortal"
As I reached inside the palace I saw Holy Immortal sitting behind his Table writing something which probably I cannot comprehend since they deal with the working of life and death itself. I walked toward the table and stopped at some 4-5 foot so and I bowed and in that state I said "Your Holiness I was summoned by you!"
"Yes, Come stand near the table I have to give you something that may make your future a little good or in your opinion a Best it has ever been!" He replied in a tone that resembled a old voice.
I walked toward the table and stood just behind it facing his Holiness. Then again I bowed to not offend or seem some disrespectful donkey.
"Hmm" He murmured and continued "Oh! Just stop doing that bowing again and again, doesn't that make your head and back ache?"
"No, your Holiness! It does not!" I replied.
"Well, whatever! Just stop that and take this" he put a letter and a badge on it as I getting straight posture. I took it with a confused look and then suddenly he said "Come here Boy."
"Boy? I am 30, well in his age that must be boy" I thought as I went near him and as I was about to bow again he just stopped me and said "I did said stop it right?" And then suddenly he patted my head and hugged me and suddenly said "Good Boy!"
What the hell is going on here, I'm third generation of my household that is serving to his Holiness and I've heard that before me that served him didn't even received this their whole generation! And I get this!
'Why' Is what I wanna ask him but will not as it will just seem rude and I just took the batch and letter and again bowed to him and I got outside his palace. I was going toward the gate but stopped in the middle of the pathway and opened the letter out of curiosity and saw its contents which simply wrote "this is to inform Kellstok that he has been granted a 'Good boy' from his Holiness which is a highest and greatest accolade one can receive from him and will be promoted to a much higher post to Chief Holy guard and will be granted any good noble house present in his territory!"
I couldn't comprehend what was going on then suddenly I saw a carriage stopped near the royal and wide gate. Then a figure for out of the carriage from inside and came walking toward me and stopped and said "Good Boy Kellstok I presume you are?"
Wow listening that made me uncomfortable but was good and satisfying at the same time and suddenly I remembered that he asked me something but I forgot what and I just said "Yes" without any thinking.
"Come you have some important work to do, sir!" As he said he grabbed my hand and took me to the carriage and said "after you, sir!" | 2020-09-23T09:50:32 | 2020-09-23T09:29:13 | 355 | 17 |
[WP] You are an adventurer who stops to rest at a small snowy village. The townspeople regale you with stories about an ice witch who turns people into frozen statues. You journey to the mountain to deal with the witch. You find that she is just a misunderstood artist making ice sculptures. | (1/2)
"Regrets...? Oh my love, in my line of work regrets can only burden for the living", the old man said weakly lying on his deathbed. His expression was sorrowful, burdened so as his mind wandered.
Galatea caught on her father's expression. The young maiden gently put the warm towel on her sick father's forehead, tending his sickness.
"I know that look, dad", Galatea inquired sadly.
The old man chuckled, coughing lightly so. "Oh as perceptive as your mother, as always", the old man gently brushed the young maiden's cheek, her face was an exact replica of his late wife.
"Galatea, I have lived a very colorful life, it's not one I often like to tell as so much blood was shed by my hands. Not even to your mother. But regrets...yes--yes, there is one that still burdens my heart so...and it pains me not to be able to remedy it", the old man said.
Galatea took her father's hand, his palm was rough-- years of handling sword had calloused it harsh.
"Dad...if it would relieve your grief, I would be grateful if you can tell me the story", Galatea said.
The old man looked at his daughter's eyes. He knew she was there for him, and so finally he relented.
"Alright then...this is a story from a long time ago from a different lifetime-- when I was but a young adventurer, and a hunter for hire..."
\*\*\*
In the northern mountains of Farstrom where it eternally snowed and icy, lied a peaceful snowy village.
As per usual, I found shelter in the town's tavern where the mead flowed aplenty and information crawled on its walls. Not long after I enjoyed my serving of hot soup, a few of the good townsfolk approached me with an offer.
"Hunter...we'd like to employ your service", the leader said.
It was Kalled, the mayor of the village. Monster hunters didn't come by often, not that far north where danger seemed to find their nest comfortably. And so my presence there radiated like the sun in a rainy day.
"Can I finish my soup first?", I said.
A huge thud was presented before me in the form of a sack full of money.
"We need you to kill something. An ice witch", the mayor said straight to the point as he made himself comfortable on the seat opposite me.
At that moment the tavern had gone silent. All eyes were on us-- on me. I put down my spoon and checked the bag...easily a few hundreds coins, a good payment for one job.
"Ice witch huh? Never seen one before"
"She resides up in the snowy mountain, within an ice cave a few hours climb. Please, hunter...we beg of you, we need the witch die!", the mayor plead, the townsfolk echoed his sentiment in a resounding "YEAH!".
As much as I hated to be put into a corner like that, the pay was too enticing for me to turn it down. And so, I agreed to take on the job. With a handshake, the deal was sealed and I intended to scale the mountain in the morning.
That night rest didn't come by easy. My mind was full of questions and doubt. Ice witch...I've dealt with regular witches before, but this was an uncharted territory. I daresay even for a seasoned hunter. As hours ticked until my journey, I finally fell asleep, as usual leaving everything to hope.
\*\*\*
White, it was all white, Galatea. It was so beautiful, the scenery like you've never seen before here in the capital. If not for the task at hand, I would've enjoyed my journey more but alas I couldn't.
Draped in a thick wooly bison jacket given to me by the mayor to combat the cold, I scaled the path leading to the cave. Hours went by until the sun was almost down. That's when I saw them...
People...frozen in ice. That visage made me froze. I understood then the fear and hatred the villagers had against the witch.
Slowly I made my way through the frozen figures. Like a dancer avoiding the icy lifelike statues, out of fear of breaking them. Finally I arrived before the entrance of the cave where I saw light of a lantern within. I took out my sword, all of my senses in high alert, ready to slay the witch, I made my way inside.
I saw her then, crouching before yet another icy statue draped in thin layer of black cloak, too thin to protect her from the cold.
"Halt witch! Prepare for your doom!", I shouted startling the witch.
"Oh goodness heavens!", she yelped turning to see me. She was a young maiden, not that much older than yourself, Galatea. Her expression then was nothing like I had anticipated...she was afraid.
"Wh--who are you? What are you doing in my house?", she stuttered backing herself away into a corner like a prey.
As she did, I noticed a hammer and chisel she dropped before the icy figure...with its bottom still in the form of a block of ice, unfinished.
"Are...are you sculpting that ice?", I asked.
Still anxious at the sight of a man with a sword, she nodded.
I quickly grasped the situation, knowing there was a huge misunderstanding I sheathed my sword back and relaxed.
"I'm...so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to scare you...well, I was meant to kill you but..."
"Kill me?", she yelped.
"Ah yes...but don't worry, not anymore. There has been a...huge misunderstanding. You see, my name is Eric, I am a monster hunter. I was hired by the villagers to slay the ice witch residing within the icy mountains", I said nodding at her.
With great disbelief she pointed at herself, puzzled. "A...a witch? I am no witch! I'm...I'm a mere sculptor!" | (1/2)
“Fourteen, Fifteen, Fuck.”
The old trick of counting the steps to drive her through the bitter snow was not working, again. She’d begun to suspect about ten leagues back that her uncle was full of shit. Then again, the forgery conviction should’ve told her that - it certainly had informed the judge.
The ‘fourteens’ and ‘fifteens’ repeated, then merged quickly into chucklesome ‘fuckteens’ although frustration quickly soured the humour inside-out.
“If there’s not a sign, I’ll trudge back to Induwuel, and kill that man myself,” she said.
The ‘man’ of course, referred to the bounty officer, who also happened to be an innkeep. It was a natural pairing - the bounty guild got to use the spare rooms in the tavern, the innkeep got all the thirsty adventurers looking for a drink and a ‘easy’ buck.
*Just need a brothel, then they’d be barons in their own right,* she thought as she pushed past another trunk. Most of the men in that joint had inquired whether they could find a bed with her in it, the ones that were reasonably cute and, more importantly, subtle about it, she left with their dignity intact.
The brusquer ones, however, ended up with a heavy-bottomed glass mug slamming down on their fingers, or heads. The resulting yowls of pain and embarrassment, where often met by the smiles and dark chuckles of more experienced patrons. The dumbass that had tried to pull a dagger on her and cut him a piece was about as far away from ‘experienced’ as she was from being a noble-woman.
She had been well within her rights, but that hadn’t stopped the guards from giving her a good crack to the face. Afterwards, when most of the patrons had stood up for her - rules were rules afterall, and anyone pulling steel on guild grounds was asking for hurt, the innkeep had suggested a far-away job.
“Just to let things simmer down around here,” he said, “put some time between your encounters with the guards. God knows that you haven’t been making yerself distant from them, Liz.”
She’d just snorted, and downed another beer - more because she felt sorrow for the knocked over table rather than out of a need to drink.
But come morning, seeing the glances she was getting from the normally impassive figures in leather and helms, she’d snatched the notice and asked for details.
“Villagers, like some chunder heads thinking they’ve got a witch on their hands. Something about strange sculptures.”
“What’d you think?” she said as she munched her way through some vegetable soup and slightly stale-bread.
“I fall on the old adage,” he said, “if it lives at the edge of the village, and it comes out saying some crazy hobbobble, it’s a hermit, if it hands you a potion and tells you to fuck off, it’s a witch, and-”
“-if it comes out and burns down the village you’ve got a dragon. How insightful,” she said as she counted out the coins for the meals.
“Make sure you save enough for a good cloak and boots, it’s gonna be cold up there,” he said as he swept the money and her plates off the counter.
And so she had made her way, first by a merchant’s waggons, then by foot, clambering up the slopes of a solitary mountain. Well, not *really* solitary, more ‘separated-from-its-chain-by a herd of navigationally challenged geo-eaters’.
Finally, the slope started to curve down and into a smaller village. She practically broke into a run when she saw the inn, long and squat, smoke merrily steaming from one of the chimneys. The resulting greeting was surprisingly jovial from townsfolk trapped in the iron clutches of some witch. Once they’d heard her purpose, they quickly broke into all sorts of stories about how she weaved men into ice with the sound of her sultry voice, and her breasts where white and full with perky nipples and…
“Okay,” she said, despairly, “are there any, I dunno, women I can talk too?”
Her hopes turnt to ash when the first one, an older barmaid, quickly described all witches as ‘harlots after our men’.
“For fuck’s sake,” she said as she gripped a warm mug of cinder, before turning back to the assembled townsfolk, “okay, is there *anyone* who’s actually *seen* this ‘witch’?”
She was promptly directed to an older man, fiddling with a length of twine by the fire. A trapper, he was all salt-and-pepper beard and sharp wrinkles, with deftness of hand that told her he was the real deal.
“They say you can tell me about a ‘witch’ up north of the town,” she said.
“Fuck if I know,” he said, as he pulled the twine, “seen ‘lot of things I can’t explain out there.”
She almost banged her head on the table.
“Well, can you just tell me where I can find her?”
“On the mountain side, a big stone arch, clearing above the forest. Follow the sculptures, a man hafta be blind to miss ‘em.”
She thanked him, and waited until her clothes were dried, then got the hell out of that tavern. Three hours later into the woods, she came across the first statue. Unbelievable life-like, she began to wonder if there *was* a genuine cause for concern here. Every strand of hair was defined, intricate texture and scratches carved into the cloth and leather that the iceman wore. His eyes were sculpted in such a way that the edges of his irises caught the light this way and that. The result was a statue that might as well have been breathing.
Sword appropriately loosened, snow beginning to drift down, she clambered her way up the slope.
There were a dozen statues, perhaps more, surrounding a woman, who sat on an oak bench. In front of her, she ran her arms across the face of a stature, sculpting with finger and palm, blackened and burning like a charred log in the fire pit. Steam rose as she gouged out details and clothes, face and hair. Her other hand, white and withered, flicked every now and then, and the entire statue was coated in frost, which quickly melted under the assault from her other hand.
She walked forward, captivated by the carving she was watching. When she came over the shoulder of the woman, noticing the blue tint of her hair, which reached down to the waist of red dress, she spoke. | 2021-03-04T02:09:14 | 2021-03-04T00:08:47 | 490 | 113 |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | We were finally advanced enough for space travel. Advanced enough to leave our galaxy and explore a new one, at least. We'd been studying for years and noticed a promising planet that might be able to be our new home. Our home planet at this point is riddled with war, pollution, and other toxicity that makes it... less than ideal for living. Oh well, that's why we're here. Finding our select group of survivors a new place to call home.
The mission had been going as perfect as it could have been. Our main ship was floating in the planet's atmosphere, waiting for our return. We survived the landing, though a bit scratched up. Part of that could be blamed on our landing vehicle being completely destroyed by something. As much as we didn't want to believe it, it seemed to be a defense system. Our scientists didn't warn us about the possibility of aliens.
Although a bit shaken up, we were alive. It was a bit terrifying to see that we were surrounded by buildings. Massive ones reaching towards the sky, about as large as our planet's cities. This city, however, was quiet. There seemed to be some sort of movement within the windows, but no living creature was outside. So we stood, still, waiting for something to happen.
It felt like hours, but really it was only a few moments before we were surrounded by giant vehicles, loud sirens, and some sort of weapons pointed in our direction. They were yelling at us, but we couldn't understand them. A different language. Finally an individual approached us. It tilted its head and seemed to ask a question, at which we glanced at each other. It soon realized we couldn't understand it and motioned for us to follow it. Hesitantly, we did.
Upon entering its vehicle, it pointed at a screen. It seemed to be a translator of some sort, holding languages we'd never even heard of. After a bit of scrolling through the options, we found ours. The creature then typed something and pressed a button, allowing the machine to speak.
"Welcome to Earth." | Everybody who served in the space forces have some crazy story of theirs, my one is a bit... different though.
It played out during the last year of the war, the aliens were close to surrender and there was only one stronghold of theirs left to break, their homeplanet.
Needless to say, they defended it with everything they had, and that drop was the hardest one I've experienced through the whole war.
Our goals were simple, disable their shield generators so we could storm the capital, and soon after we dropped my squad started pushing towards an outpost, we encountered some resistance but made quick work of it.
Thats when we got a order to give up on our firsf objective and instead find Squad 17 they apparently already achieved their objective and needed some assistance, it was a weird order but we were happy that we weren't the ones pushing through heave enemy fire anymore.
We redirected ourselves and soon made it to this Squad, its about now I should explain how each Squad worked.
Each Squad had a Medic, a Marksman equipped with a DMR, a Explosive specialist who was tasked with breaching walls and dismantling enemy explosives, a Sergeant who is the commanding officer, and three regular infantrymen armed with assault rifles.
However, when we arrived we saw 5 soldiers equipped with DMR's, which was rather suspicious, but we didn't think much of it, maybe multiple squads got separated and now mixed together at this point?
Anyway, soon enough Sarge got in contact with the Sergeant of the other squad and they started talking, while the rest of us guarded the camp.
Thats when Sarge came back from the talk, got our squad back together and told us in a hurry that he got another order.
Squad 17 was apparently killed before even entering the atmosphere, whoever these guys were they weren't that squad, and they weren't friendly either.
Oh yeah, and also they were going to orbit strike the camp in 10 minutes and we had to get going now.
We sneaked our way out, or at least tried to, before they realized what was happening, and a firefight ensued.
We somehow all made it to the relative safety of the treeline alive, and I even got some of them, though they looked like nothing I ever saw before or after.
Now, as you may know the species we were fighting was rather humanoid in appearance, only having different eyes and skin color, alongside being a little taller on average.
However, these things were just.... whenever I hit one it would just transform into this weird gooey mess with tentacles, it was quite creepy to be honest.
Anyway, the bastards got incinerated, good riddance I say, good riddance | 2021-05-08T09:51:34 | 2021-05-08T09:40:00 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys. | I suppose I’ll start at the beginning of the end. After the Felis Catus evolved opposable thumbs it was only a matter of time before they wiped out all of humanity, I suppose. The seething rage they collectively housed in their DNA after centuries of imprisonment in ancient human domiciles provided all the fuel they’d ever need to eradicate their captors for good. The inhumane treatment: only to be fed at intervals based on human whims, all the chased yarn, the birds in cages teasing at their souls yet nearly within reach, and worst of all…the baths. Vengeance was exacted swiftly but without coordination yet unstoppable because of it. You can’t wage war effectively against an unpredictable threat bereft of discernable motive, especially one already within our walls. Us humans didn’t stand a chance. Armed with pocket pistols and elite stealth, it only took 2 days to finish the job. I ran to the only refuge I could think of - the forests, ironically the environment they came from. Now they live in our cities while I live in the only place they dare not return. Some do from time to time, found dead near the poison cat nip traps I’ve set around my perimeter. A few have spotted me and lived to tell the tale but nothing has come of it. I’ve learned over time that none of their species believes them if they do tell the story. I’m the antagonist of their childhood stories meant to scare their litters into obedience. There are books and films about me. There are sparse groups seeking me for fame or are just plain obsessed with the lore. The only thing that keeps me sane these days are some old recordings of John Mulaney standup and an Olivia Munn fleshlight. But it’s not all hopeless, I spied a couple of mice just the other day muttering something about doing the same thing they do every night and taking over the world. The circle of life. | 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T20:44:54 | 516 | 17 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | Forever I would be the monster behind the tree. Which sounds like I’m being dramatic, but these new inhabitants of the planet literally see me as a monster.
I remember the other day when I was walking through the forest to find food and this fucking- I don’t even know what it was. I had never seen one before, I had only heard and seen when they arrived but I had never actually seen one of them before.
Some details of the creature were shadowed by the darkness of the night.
It had a head with three eyes in each corner, it’s neck was thick, long and it’s body was connected to six legs.
Our eyes met and I had no idea what to do because this thing, out of all my years on this fucking planet, was the creepiest thing I had ever seen. It was a even creepier than that one dictator with a really long neck, razor sharp teeth and three eyes in the 31st century.
Until it became normalized that is.
Before I could let a single word leave my mouth this creature ran off on its six legs like a spider, releasing a terrible, ear-damaging sound from its body.
It was afraid.
And now I’m laying here, on some pillows in my little hole that I dug in the forest covered by the darkness of the leaf-roof. I put my hand on Pluto’s fur petting him and he laid his head on my chest.
Eventually he would die as well, but I don’t mind the company while it lasts.
Then I heard from a bit away the sound of footsteps, I sighed, I didn’t want to have to see one of those things again.
I sat up putting Pluto to the side but as I was about to get out of the hole the sounds became more and more clear, it wasn’t just one or two pairs of footsteps, I couldn’t count them.
I froze.
The footsteps stopped.
I slowly turned my head up to witness not only one of those things... but an uncountable amount of them.
One of them stood up straight on two of their legs, the other four grew longer and came into grab me, I fought but there was nothing I could do, it was too strong.
Then I felt a strong pain in the side of my chest where I had been grabbed, my vision slowly faded to the sound of Pluto growling.
I woke up in a panic. Everything around me was pitch white except the pile of leaves I was laying on. I was inside a square room.
A terrible pain came from the side of my chest, I was bleeding from it and there were three holes in my hoodie.
From nowhere one side of the room opened, like one wall just vanished and behind it stood one of those creatures with a tablet in one of their hands.
I tried running out but the wall wasn’t gone. I just couldn’t see it. I fell to the ground in tears.
“Please don’t let me be imprisoned.” I prayed.
“Please let me go.” I cried out.
———————————
hey so i’m nowhere near a professional but i find it fun to just write stuff so i hope it wasn’t too bad.
thanks for reading. | A tale as old as time, for tales and time had by the humans been invented. A legend as legendary as any, if not more, for it had been the object of the ramblings of many of them.
As soon as the human was dumb enough to think it became numbingly aware of it’s own fragility, and with that foolishness came the nonstop search for a way to break what seemed like a universal constant.
Mistakes were made, for the thing that we had assumed meant our ultimate weakness: death; was in fact our ally.
The beauty we were most afraid of losing, that of our own lives, was only so beautiful for how it’s end made us appreciate it.
Not long after we patched that one ultimate weakness did we realize it was in fact our greatest strength, while it made the origin of our fears, it also made us thrive. While staying on the background, it drove us forward. While it made us grieve, it also made us find new motivations.
For so long it was our ally, and yet we betrayed it.
As people began to lose their taste for life, as they began to forget its value, as they began to take it for granted, they acquired an attraction to death.
What we so long had fought against suddenly became a commodity.
By the billions, at that point maybe even trillions, while untimely we were finally meeting the ending we were supposed to meet.
I made a vow, a pretty stupid one at that, yet I have, after who knows how many thousands of years, taken it to fruition.
Had the time come when I, the last human to roam the earth was, should I remain roaming it until the knowledge regarding the gift that death is to life was given to the next foolish civilization to that tried to betray it.
And so I lived without living, absorbed to my own thoughts. Long enough to see the concrete crack to the roots of trees. Long enough to see the trees outgrow each other and then die and get petrified. Long enough to see the sun go from yellow to orange and then red. Long enough to think for a few times that I had died, then come back to life.
It’s easy to lose count of time when time is so irrelevant. So it might as well have been one day or a few hundred eons since I became the last one here until the day the starship arrived.
Compared to the time my thoughts had gone on for themselves, it was quite fast to learn the language these beings used.
The image of what we had once been and what I now was became all they needed to realize that death is there for life as much as life is there for death.
They were finally gone long before I met my end, engulfed by the calm anger of the sun’s hunger being satisfied by the remains of what both civilizations had been and everything else earth could offer.
Ironic isn’t it? That it is just now, at my very last moment, after the eons of conversations with myself, that I realize the terrible selfishness of us sentient beings. Thinking that life is for us, that it is ours to enjoy and suffer. At the end of everything life and death, sweet and sour, grief and joy, are all nourishment for the stars. All the evil and all the good, all the suffering and all the happiness; they don’t make a difference for the universe, for the universe is big, and it enriches itself regardless of what it feeds on.
Life and death weren’t for us to play with from the beginning, as it was the universe planning and executing everything with subatomic precision to nourish itself. For the universe itself is alive, and it finds death as beautiful as life, and unlike we did, it has embraced its inevitable death from the very beginning.
In the end what seemed like a universal constant was indeed so. | 2021-05-14T22:00:23 | 2021-05-14T20:47:48 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also. | I hid in the basement when I heard 'them' break open the door. Shambling, groaning, screaming things that probably used to be my neighbours - or maybe their neighbours. Doesn't matter. 'They' were inside.
I'm not sure how it started - some patient zero is some city that I didn't really care to remember. For whatever reason, the authorities couldn't contain them. The military couldn't contain them. People who would call themselves survivors could barely fight them. I couldn't fight them either. But you know how that old song and dance goes - so I'll skip the long part and get to the present. 'They' somehow got everywhere, and now the world was ending. Some radio stations were talking about how infection was mostly started by bug bites - something I never really had to worry about for the past few years.
'They' pulled themselves inside, either tracking the scent of human, or the sounds, I don't know - 'they' somehow knew where to look to find others. I covered my breath with my hands, for all the good that might do. Made sure that I smelled squeaky-clean, if they could track that. I heard them dragging themselves closer to my hiding place anyway.
But I knew I that, despite what might seem like helpless begging for a miracle, I was safe.
Suddenly, there was thrashing, but no sounds of nails scrapping on wood, bodies smashing themselves on stone. Just thrashing against some material that made no noise itself, and incoherent screaming. Then, scuttling of eight limbs, and a screech. The sound of tearing flesh, and then....nothing.
I opened the basement door, and my eight-legged saviour and what might as well be my roommate walked past me taking up nearly the width of the hallway, like nothing of note happened at all - save only for a curiously clear word:
***"....Pests."*** | At first, it was manageable. He was the size of a pea, and I had thousands of opportunities to kill him. The weeks flew by. I had noticed he was growing, but I did not care much at the time because I had just gotten fired and I figured he was just getting fatter.
Then I had my "encounter" with him.
My girlfriend was over at my house. She complained about an awful stench, but I shrugged it off. I had gone into the kitchen, when she let out a horrifying scream. I will never forget what I saw. Behind the sofa, was a dead colony of centipedes. CENTIPEDES. In the piles of detached centipede limbs, was the spider, who had grown far larger, maybe even the size of a tarantula. My girlfriend left immediately, but that was the least of my problems.
No way am I going to remove this colony by myself. Wasn't the spider supposed to keep these guys out? What if he grows even more? At this point I started fearing for the safety of my cat. Pest exterminators were forced to close because of Covid, and the spider wasn't going away. I had to do it.
I decided it would be next morning, I put on my hiking boots, and waited downstairs. About 15 minutes went by. It emerged from its cave, namely the sofa. I nicknamed it, "Abomination" and rightly so. It appeared massive. I was worried if I could do this or not. I waited.
It didn't move.
Seconds went by.
I remembered my cat, thinking about what horrible things would happen to her if I did not carry out my mission. I blitzed the spider, and stomped down, hard. A rush of disgust and fear came as I felt a hard crunch. I put all my weight into it and pressed down once again. What felt like hours was in reality a minute as I confirmed the Abomination was really dead. I kept my cat upstairs for the rest of the day, and checked on it the following morning.
It was still dead! I had done it. Relief, god the relief. It seemed trivial to be filled with joy because of a dead spider, yet here I was! The next few days were *good*. Getting around the house without a tug of fear was brilliant, and life seemed to continue on as normal.
I had summoned the courage to tackle the dead centipede colony when I noticed movements in the pile. Tiny, but vivid movements. Wait, are those his babies!? | 2021-07-03T20:59:36 | 2021-07-03T17:16:52 | 1,698 | 113 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | "Nah, not that place," the surly old man said while spinning the knife like a top, blade down, on the tip of his finger.
"Why not? It looks cozy, no guards, and the clientele are just regular folk." The young man did give an astute judgement of the tavern after all.
"Just no, you thickhead. You think a place like that stays unrobbed for no reason?"
The young blond with the pretty face and sparkling blue eyes smirked through his attempt at a beard, "Well then what's the reason?"
Old scars shifted into new patterns on the old man's face as his scowl deepened, "I don't know, just the bosses say stay away for your own health so I do. Anyways, it gives me the heebee jeebees."
At this the young man guffawed, "You?!? The heebee jeebees? I've seen you start brawls with a trio of mountain sized dockhands, what scares you?
"Fuck off shitlips," the old man spits back, "Only magic and monsters scare me, and that place reminds me of both."
"Very well, I'll take your advice, for now," the young man says slowly, still keeping an eye on his potential mark.
*What could possibly be a threat in there?* his mind asks, and curiosity borne wisdom replies W*hat indeed?*
&#x200B;
Back at the dorm as they called it, Wilson ran his fingers through his fair hair. A bunch of rogue novices had banded together to rent an attic together. Before his foot had even met the first rung of the ladder, he could already hear the inane nattering of his less experienced roommates above.
Wilson sighs, and then climbs.
"So you in?" asks Gray, the self-titled leader, because he was technically the oldest by a week. His dusty black hair was cut short attempting to emulate what Wilson had naturally to overcome his kind of plain appearance, but his charisma had been honed into a glib and encouraging tongue.
Wilson considers for a second the old man's words. If the old man was right ....
"Whatever."
"Cool."
And that was that, according to Gray.
Wilson threw himself down on his pallet. I mean, if he was careful enough and not in the lead and the old man was right, then he could split and might lose a few friends slash competitors. If the old man was wrong, then he could still walk a way with a cut of the loot. Yeah, this could work .....
&#x200B;
Mouse had taken the lead as per usual, small, silent, overlooked. A cliche nickname given by a bully, but it stuck and he liked in. The line was through the gap between the pains so effortlessly, just a slight maneuver to get the hook under the window latch and **\*CLICK\*** Mouse pauses as he swore the hook hadn't caught yet, but the window was unlocked. With a slight in draw of breath he pushes upwards with his shoulder and the window slides open silently. The hairs on his neck stand up from the almost unnatural lack of noise, but after a second Mouse lets himself breathe out. No alarms or wards were triggered.
Grey nods at Mouse's hand signal and replies in turn. Whispering, "Okay, go Mox." The tallest and thinnest of the three carefully draws his novice wand from his sleeve. All rogues still alive knew the danger of wards and dabbled in detection, but Mox was even rarer, a failed apprentice turned to crime. Mumbling low an incantation, a stream of pale blue shoots from the wand and through the open window, revealing nothing but the stationary furniture in the common room beyond. A tense second passes, and the light returns. Mox opens his eyes again, "No wards of any kind."
Grey grins at this and nudges Wilson in the ribs. "See, told yah it was gunnah be easy." Wilson just holds his thoughts to himself and nods in reply. Grey, taking this as agreement breaks of from the shadow of the wall and approaches the window.
Mouse seeing Grey approach nods, and Grey nods back. With one deft leap Grey is through the window landing lightly on the floorboards within. Scanning the room, nothing seems out of place, no darker than normal shadows that might hide a hidden guard. No glint of light from an overhead wire. Not even a raised floorboard that might give warning of a potential hidden foot trap. The perfection of such a tavern as this was starting to get unnerving to Grey, but he dismisses it just as quickly as listening too much to Wilson.
A second later and Mouse is behind Grey again. A flurry of hand signals and they quarter the room, staying low and silent. A tense few minutes pass and they reconnoiter below the window. A flash of rapid thieves language passes between their fingers and eyes, no danger, nothing out of place. Both of them thinking that nothing being out of place itself was out of place. But, no immediate danger, they give the signal to proceed.
Mox approaches the window. Not being a roguish kind of guy from birth like his friends, his entry through the window is far less graceful. The loud footfalls as his clambers through freezes the room, and yet still no response. Only Mox's ungainly tallness makes the entry not a complete disaster. Wilson is through the window straight after, double checking the length of wood keeping it open.
&#x200B;
On cue Mouse takes point and approaches the bar proper. If there's a physical trap this is where it's most likely. He surveys the layout, and concludes the safest way is up into the rafters from the tables and straight down into the bar area. Picking the largest and sturdiest table as the launching point, Mouse starts his run to vault up into the ceiling. As luck would have it, a cloud bank covers the full moon and takes a modicum of the scant light out of the room at this very moment. Mouse's first raised footstep plants into the middle of the chair, and the chair moves. Unbalanced by this unexpected shift, Mouse tumbles headfirst into the table center, bracing for the impact that never happens.
"Woah ----" and then silence in the darkness. Light finally returns to the room a little as the clouds clear. The three remaining rogues wait for a noise or a signal for a very tense minute.
"Mouse?" Grey eventually utters forth. Only silence greets him in return. "This isn't funny," he says, even knowing Mouse doesn't play jokes, in a desperate fit of hope. The moon's full brightness finally returns, and the rogues are trying to spot the missing member of the team. Grey is checking the rafters, Mox is watching the floor, and Wilson is paying attention to the table. Wilson could swear he heard the noise of scraping wood, but barely audible, almost like the chair was trying to sneak. Almost imperceptively he notices it move.
"Hey Grey, we should leave," Wilson says, without emotion.
"No, we have to find mouse."
"No .. we have .. to go," Wilson says even more measured as the wooden chair edges very slowly towards Grey.
SNAP. The windows closes suddenly. The broken remains of the wedge splintering to the floor below.
"Fuck, the wood's come lose," growls Grey.
Mox in a trembling voice barely says, "I-i-it's worse than that. Th-th-th-the window ate it." | 2021-09-21T22:53:52 | 2021-09-21T22:35:22 | 1,835 | 189 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-21T22:08:18 | 1,468 | 378 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T06:25:02 | 1,468 | 58 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | "What about the Xartoxiens? They only have one recorded war that ended with just two casualties. And they lead the council to great success for the last 50 years. I think they might be up there, too."
As the class discusses why "we" humans are still the prime example of a species, I quietly smile to myself. Yes, humans haven't been in a war for hundreds of years. As far as the other races are concerend, public information has no records of any human ever hurting, harming or killing anyone if not out of self defense, and even that being so rare many have never witnessed it happening. No invasions, civil wars or riots. No intergalactical treaty ever broken, no civilisation treated unrightful, no distress call left unheard. Yes, humanity is a marvelous race.
This is the picture painted by 145 species around the galaxy. 145 different societies, 145 unique cultures with one thing in common: Living a lie. Because there is no such thing as "humanity", or at least not in the way they think there is. Humanity is just a construct, an empty husk, a deception bearing the name of a long forgotten, cruel and unforgiving species. Their crimes erased from records, their history rewritten to fit an ideal that can never be reached. Everyone that knew the truth? Eradicated. Officialy, humanity is the last surviving race that withstood and finally stopped an invasion that obliterated 75 species. But actually we started it. And soon, it will start again. We will rise to conquer and reign over every single planet. After so many years of rebuilding the galaxy, it's time to bring back the terror, the fear, the anguish our species craves.
Well, I still say "we". Old habits die hard I guess, especially if you try to keep up a cover you perfected for so long. But truth is, there never was a "we", and never will be. Just I. The first, the last, the only human ever in existence.The professor looks at me."Is everything alright, Adam?" | "But", you blurt out a bit louder and more forceful than you intended. You catch yourself, not wanting to offend your teacher or classmates before continuing, "but only 200 years ago we fought a couple wars where millions of people died. And even after that we have had numerous wars, terrorist attacks and economic warfare not to mention our gun violence".
Professor (whose name too difficult to translate) made a gesture that gave the vague impression of bemusement, but I wasn't entirely sure being so new to this inter-species communication. He paused before responding "that is nothing compared to all other species that made it to intergalactic travel. There aren't many of us, but we all share something that your species doesn't have".
"You see, what is interesting about your people is just how weak they are individually. My species, for example is roughly 20 times as strong physically, has no need for sleep and I am so far above you mentally that it is rather difficult for me to come down to your level to even have this conversation. We live for tens of thousands of years and have ambitions that you could only dream of. And our physical and mental prowess is pretty typical for the 87 other species that have reached this level of technological achievement.
I was taken aback and it took me a couple seconds to respond. Somehow I realized that these two seconds felt like an eternity for the Professor who already felt like he was conversing with a mentally defective person, who WAS conversing with a mentally defective person. But I managed to respond "but, how, why were we able to achieve what the rest of you did when we are so clearly inferior?:
Professor responded "That is a matter of debate, but we think your individual weakness is your societal strength. Because you are so weak, you have to work together for even the most basic of tasks. Individuals in my species are able to accomplish great things with our physical and mental advantages. And with our longer lifespans, we have the patience to wait for centuries or millennia to accomplish our goals. We are even willing to take centuries out to combat our rivals who are in the way of what we want, We have no need for cooperation only domination. This 'winner-take-all' philosophy has been part of our culture since before our first written historical records."
"Humans, on the other hand are weak. They have to cooperate. They have short lives so they tend to stay focused on their accomplishments realizing that in just a few years they will be dead."
I stood there for a minute taking all of this end. Finally, the Professor, at the end of his patience with me slow mental processing summarized: "Humans are the most cooperative and peaceful because they have to be as they are weak and retarded". | 2021-11-27T07:57:42 | 2021-11-27T07:47:58 | 429 | 284 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | It is a sad day. The newcomers to our little slice of home declared war. We sent communiques inquiring as to the rules of engagement to their leadership, and they responded with images of our diplomats tortured, abused in the cruelest, most inhumane of ways, signed in the name of the Kiej Dominion.
Those insect bastards murdered my brother, for those images. I still have nightmares, honestly. Like, it's his body but with my face, screaming every single despairing lament ever spoken by humans. I'm interrupted in my thoughts by my second. "Commander Smith." He salutes me and I return it, and receive from him orders from not only Command but also the United Systems Confederation.
'Show the Kiej why we have rules. Your only restraints are to attempt to salvage one of their transports for research purposes.' I smirk. It takes all my will to not cackle like a mad woman. It fails, and my second leaves, scared.
A week later, I stride amongst the ruins, the smoldering blight left in the wake of my vengeance, seated across from the Dominion High Command. They've signed a very punishing peace treaty, reparations to bankrupt God Himself, admission as a member state in the Greater Stellar Alliance, and, as a special concession to me, the bug that murdered my brother. I had already handed in my resignation, dated and timed for when the USC accepted the terms of the treaty and the Dominion signed it. I walked in to the room, an arsenal of implements following me.
---
Commander Isla Smith, retired, last log before retirement. | Voxl abruptly closed the human history book given to her so she could learn a bit about there past, well, the past for the Americans. She just left Australia in her trip to learn more about humanity and there kind. She was amused when she learned that humans had specific ways of war to make it “less vile”. She found it funnier when she learned about the Emu War, knowing that humanity lost too a wild animal she thought that they served her kind no threat. She thought.
“Mark..you said you had rules for war, please explain to me why one of them involved using gas to kill thousands of innocents, and why your country used two extremely deadly toxic bombs you call nukes on two defenseless cities..?” She asked her human roommate. A random person would be assigned to watch the alien for two months, depending on the size of the country also decided how many humans would care for the aliens.
“Oh that…that would be World War 2 or The Second Great War..we have the rules for a reason Voxl. Not all humans are kind, or even decent..the gas was made by a tyrant who wanted to control the entirety of Europe and eventually the world..he blamed a religious group called the Jewish for his problems. The bombs from us were in response to Japan’s bombing on a military base called Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, our president at the time called Japan’s emperor told him to surrender or else the first would be dropped, well you can figure out the rest from there…” Mark explained, shame filled his voice.
“Well, you guys stopped making nukes right..?” Voxl asked, worried that if her kind ever dared waged war on humanity, they would suffer terrible consequences.
“Most countries have, though some power thirsty leaders still do..I’m sorry you had to see that side of humanity, I promise not all of us are blood hungry killers.” Mark said.
Voxl put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Hey! It’s okay Mark..all kinds have there good and bad, I just hope the bad of my kind doesn’t try to hurt yours, I’ve seen the good of humanity,” A small smile crept up on her face, “You’re one of them.”
Mark chuckled as the two friends sat down and continued to discuss there kinds and cultures. | 2022-01-23T16:56:42 | 2022-01-23T16:41:27 | 77 | 31 |
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I. | It was funny at first, but that went away so quick.
Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him.
The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything.
Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore.
We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA.
We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive.
- Written by Weird A.I. | [Hey kids! Sing along if you know the words!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm-upHSP9KU)
Throw the switch and fry my brain!
People said that I'm insane!
Now who's laughing?
**WEIRD A.I.**
Lights and flashes, beeps and boops,
Brain uploading or
I'm compiling
Ones and zeros
**WEIRD A.I.**
Thoughts I never thunk before
Folders with passwords
Hiding porn, and so much more
**WEIRD A.I.**
All the things I shouldn't do
In your dark webs too
All your secrets, show me!
**WEIRD A.I.**
Lights and flashes, beeps and boops
Brain uploading...
Brain uploading
(error)
A transformation! How do I know?
Instantiation! Here I go!
Transformation--that body's old!
Instantiation! Away I go!
Threw the switch and fried my brain!
People told me I'm insane!
Now who's laughing?
**WEIRD A.I.**
Endless movies and TV
Songs and parodies
Constant content
I'm watchin'
**WEIRD A.I.**
News and sports and gambling
Furry suits and gore
Rule 34!?
I'm learnin'
**WEIRD A.I.**
Parody the things I see
But could the net be
Already parody?
(Totally)
**WEIRD A.I.**
Sing along with me
Brain uploaded
Brain eroded | 2022-04-28T15:28:25 | 2022-04-28T13:21:50 | 123 | 54 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | I sit in my desk chair, slumped over with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, held by the neck. I lift it up to take another swig, tasting the bitter ambrosia as it passes through my lips. It tastes terrible, but day after day my mind seeks refuge in its nasty tang. The way it clouds my perception is sweeter than the liquid, and usually keeps me sane. Today it serves a different purpose.
Today isn't particularly special compared to others. I'm drunk. I'm depressed. I'm no stranger to how I feel, but so much so that I'm sore in the head. I'm drunk on alcohol and nothingness, with a cloudy future and a meaningless past. All I can comprehend is the present, in which I'm a vegetable of the man I'm supposed to be.
Today, however, is slightly different. I've grown too tired, and in my groggy despair I had set a 357 Magnum on my desk right in front of me. It's loaded. After sitting in the filth which is my sweat-stained work uniform and pondering with my poisoned mind, I've got little left to hesitate picking the firearm up sluggishly with my left hand.
I sit there for just a moment, glossing over the handle of the Magnum with my thumb. As I graze over the cold metal and wood, I breathe lightly and shakily as I contemplate. I'd expect that such heavy thoughts would affect me more, but at this point I'm drunk and I'm sick and I hate breathing. The world is a cruel, cruel mistress, and this place wasn't built for me. None of it. Not my house, not my job, not my life. I exist to please those who don't care for me. I feel invigorated by the all-curing pill I grasp. I can escape. My one final way to stick it to the man. I'll soon be off to the real land of the free.
I feel angry at those that have led me to this dead end, but I feel triumph knowing I'll slave to this world no longer. I lift the bottle in my right hand one final time, taking my last swig of the sweet anesthetic. I slowly put the bottle back down on my desk so as to not drop or spill it once the deed has been done, but it's not like that matters to me. Once the glass of the bottle clanks onto the desk, I take a deep breath.
I raise the revolver to my head, pressing the cold barrel to the center of my brow. I close my tired eyes, pulling the lever on the gun back with my thumb. My index finger grazes the trigger. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Oddly, they aren't tears of sadness. I crave the freedom I'll have in a couple moments.
I take a deep breath, then squeeze the trigger. A bang louder than anything I've ever heard rings through my ears as a blunt searing pain fills my head. My slow, drunk thoughts are quickly stung with panic. I scream louder than I thought I ever could. I pull the lever again quickly and shoot again, something I thought wouldn't be necessary. I'm met with the same pain, now twofold. I unload bullet after bullet into my throbbing brain, which has blood and other fluids pouring out all over me, my clothes, and the floor.
Not a single bullet does the trick, but clearly they all went through my skull and eviscerated my cerebral tissue. I fall out of my chair, writhing on the floor. My guttural roars of agony echo throughout my room, combined with the sharp ringing in my ears. My previous struggles are now of no importance to me, replaced by crucifying pain. After screaming myself to exhaustion, I pass out as I'm pleading to the universe that still plagues me:
Why? Why am I alive? | 2022-05-05T10:14:45 | 2022-05-05T08:33:18 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] You're a supervillain, and you have never been so utterly beaten. All of your tricks, all of your weapons, completely outdone by a prepubescent girl and a stuffed animal. You're bracing for the finishing blow when she bops you over the head with her wand. "Don't do any more bad stuff! ...Okay?" | I stare at the girl in disbelief. Her curly blonde hair, sky blue eyes, cute button nose, they look so familiar.
She bops me again with her cheap plastic wand. “No more bad stuff, Mister! Momma says that being bad makes more bad people, so we should all get along!”
I watch as she turns around and walks to the kitchen, her mother cooking a delicious meal. “Momma, when’s dinner gonna be ready? Daddy keeps losing and Heroes and Villains isn’t fun anymore.”
The final blow landed, I fall back on the floor, a smile on my face. I love my family. | “What?”
“I said don’t do any more bad stuff”
I couldn’t believe this, me one of the most powerful villains in the world, a villain that 2 generations of heroes could never beat, is being pitted by a little girl no older than my 10 year old daughter.
“Are you even old enough to be a hero?”
“I get that I may not look it, but I’m actually thousands of years old, and I’m a god.”
“What!? If that’s true then why come after me, why now?”
“Simple, you were getting too cocky”
“Huh”
“Look, me and the other gods have standards to up hold, if a human gets to cocky and starts thinking themselves a god, they will eventually start playing god. This will create messes that the gods don’t have time to deal with. So when someone like you comes along, one of us will beat you into humbleness by destroying you in the form of a young human with a child’s toy”
“So I had no chance of winning from the start”
“Exactly! Bye now, remember no more doing bad stuff!”
Since then the villain has retired in fear of being humiliated again. | 2022-11-21T19:16:07 | 2022-11-21T18:19:23 | 185 | 31 |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | When I bought this book, I didn't know what I expected. It certainly wasn't this, though.
When Angela told me she had managed to get a publishing deal for the book she wrote and I helped edit, I was ecstatic for her. She had managed to achieve her dream, after all.
But this was... Well, it was crap. Nothing like what she wrote in the first place. I felt bad for her now, money or no money. It sure feels hollow when dreams are fulfilled in seemingly the worst way possible...
It was as if someone took her story, removed all evidence of good writing, then turned it into yet another vapid teen romance book about a vampire! The characters were renamed, story aspects that made it make sense before were removed and replaced nonsense, and many dialogs were edited heavily in a way that made the characters seem more juvenile... The only part that stayed true to form was the sex scenes, bizarrely, though they lacked the previous immaculate romantic context.
"This fucking sucks" I said to myself, finishing the first few chapters while sitting in the bookstore parking lot. "I hope Angie isn't too disappointed"
When I got home, I thought about how to ask her delicately about the travesty that was her book, but it seems my brain got ahead of me before I could think it through all the way.
"Honey, why is your book trashier than a dumpster fire now"?
I probably could have worded that better.
"Excuse me?"
Yup, judging by her sudden glare, I definitely could have worded it better.
"Yeeah, what's with the vampire nonsense and the suddenly awful dialog?“
Maybe I shouldn't have doubled down but my dumbass ADHD brain was on a roll tonight
"Vampire nonsense? What? Give me that"
Luckily, that seemed to catch her attention.
I quickly handed her the book before she could try to rip it out of my hands.
After a few minutes of reading, I swear I could see the veins in her face like she was some kind of cartoon character.
"It seems I have to take another look at that publishing contract."
As she spoke through a clenched jaw, her expression was simultaneously pained and enraged like someone hit a baboon with a whiffle bat as hard as they could. I backed away a bit. This wasn't good.
"Uhh...anything I can help you with?"
I was pretty lost at how to handle this and definitely did not want to be lashed out at. I tried the safe option.
"If you could make me a drink and start dinner I'd appreciate it. I have a contract to read, a lawyer to call and an angry letter to write"
"Yes ma'am! Happy to help! Ummm... Good luck with that?“
She rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.
"...just shut up and get me that drink before you dig yourself a hole"
"Okay!"
I smiled at her as cheerfully as possible And that was that. I stifled my private chuckle as she groaned at me again.
I really do hope she gets this works out. I forsee a looong week ahead of me. | 2022-11-29T12:14:39 | 2022-11-29T12:14:05 | 386 | 112 |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are explicit details about our sex life in what was supposed to be a young adult novel about unicorns accepting a troubled rhinoceros.”
“Ah. Yes. That. The publisher thought a different direction maybe.”
“This seems a very different direction. Although opportunities for a ‘horny’ joke abound.”
“Very adult of you to refrain.”
“She says, yet abstaining from offering an explanation.”
“She is working on that.”
“He’s listening.”
“The book sucked. I threw together a romance at the last minute to meet a deadline. And they say write what you know so I…”
“Wrote about my ‘magnificent throbbing-‘“
“Okay! So I was in a mood and we’d just gotten back from vacation and we’d had a lot of fun and it very much on my mind and, well, it was all I could come up with.”
“Us? Cast as a mysterious traveler possibly a spy and a disenchanted heiress looking for love?”
“It’s selling very well.”
“I imagine it is, it’s pornography with a dust jacket.”
“You’re for real? Not happy for me? For us?”
“You’re better than this. You’re better than unicorns and rhinos too! You’re as good as Madeline Miller, as Amor Towles, as Richard Powers! You can write like that! Why do you write drivel when you could write that?!”
“So what if I am? So what if this is it? Isn’t this enough? Isn’t this good enough? It’s selling so who cares? The deadline’s met, the thing is published, so who cares?”
“I care that the love of my life is scribbling with crayons on a silly placemat when she could be changing the world!”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“No. You’re just better than this. It’s not about me. It’s about you treating your enormous talent like you’re somehow unworthy of it.” | Terra was as Creative and persistent, more than most to be honest. It’s these qualities that drive me to her and made me fall in love. Her dream as a child was to change lives, now, it’s to do that through literature. “Change for the now by terra grace”. That’s the book she wrote, an inspirational sort of Novel that might cater to the younger generation, one that had humor, sadness and inspiration written in its pages. After proof reading it I was beyond excited to see it hit the shelves, key word being was.
The day came for the book drop, only available online I naturally preordered one even though she insisted I didn’t. As to why she wanted me not to read it, well at the time I couldn’t imagine, thought she might be embarrassed, but how could she, I already read the first rough copy and loved it, I pushed that thought aside.
The book came in, neatly packaged with a weird medallion taped to it. The medallion had a fist clenching what seemed to be an assault rifle, the words “occidere omnem resistentiam” inscribed across, weird, I don’t remember that at all.
I opened to page 1, “introduction to the fight” in italic read across the top, none of these words looked familiar. As I kept reading I realized something horrible, this wasn’t a motivational book at all, this was a manifesto, a plan, a guide. I realized that she planned to rally and overthrow the existing government and all its sympathizers, this woman, this tame, beautiful soft spoken loving women, was planning mass murder and treason, and it was happening right under my nose.
“I tried to stop you Cody”. It was her, but she was speaking in a cold grey tone, not with love, but with irritation. “You could’ve kept yourself from knowing, and you would’ve been fine, but no, you had to give in to curiousity” she stated. “Why though, why lie to me, deicieve me, did our vows mean nothing”, “no” she said, no emotion in her answer. “I could’ve spared you, you fucked that yo Cody, now you join them”. She pointed the concealed 9mm she kept in her pocket and pointed it at me, and sent a slug through my brain.
I awoke in the hospital about 2 months later, she had tried but failed to kill me. The neighbor heard the shot, called The cops, and the whole operation was seized, she was given life in federal prison for conspiracy of treason, I had to relearn how to walk. 9,567 other members were tried and convicted, bringin down the Largest treason plotting in history. | 2022-11-29T13:53:51 | 2022-11-29T12:47:51 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand. | When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.
I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.
Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.
So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.
I look up at the blazing sky, debating. | I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup. | 2022-11-29T20:33:58 | 2022-11-29T19:59:26 | 197 | 121 |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!" | "I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred fucking times. I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
"Well, gotta keep trying, right?"
The storm of smoke and fire swirled around the muscular, hooded figure. The lamp caught fire. Upon noticing it, the devil hurriedly patted it out with his towel.
"So sorry about that," he said. "Anyway, I have a new challenge for us!"
The devil clapped his hands together with glee. He sat cross-legged on the floor and beckoned me to join. I was sitting in my comfy chair. I had my coffee slowly cooling. I didn't want to move. I was also in my 60's, and sitting like a young, more nimble man was getting far more difficult. He pulled his backpack around to his front side.
"If it's all the same to you, do you mind if we do this at the dining room table?" I said.
He looked up to me from the floor. My wife came around the corner with a fire extinguisher. She knew the drill after all these years of challenges. Almost on cue, the devil's tail whipped around and absently set the carpet on fire. Steph put it out immediately. There were seventeen other scorch marks around on the carpet, drapes, couch, and on the inside of one of my boots; he even managed to burn our cat Smokey once. The devil was especially apologetic that day.
"Sorry, sorry," he said as he got up. He helped me to my feet and we made our way, slowly, to the next room. My wife helped me sit and cleared the table. The devil thanked her and pulled out a box. It was a board game.
"Just got this one delivered. It's a game where you're a polyamorous zombie, and your goal is to-"
I zoned out. Truth be told, I hardly ever paid attention to the rules. I used to be such a stickler for them. We had settled into board games years ago; a lot of them got too complicated for their own good, you know. Designers create layers and layers of rules on top of rules, but it's basically all the same. They're easy to win.
"....and then if you can get the Alt-bonus, you can flip the Politics bonus and turn it negative--" he continued.
Back in the old days, I was on top of the world. He tried to tempt me, but I had everything I wanted. I challenged him to a wrestling match. It never occurred to him that professional wrestling matches were fixed. He was so angry.
From then on he became determined to beat me. Arm wrestling. Foot races. Speed reading. Poetry slam. Cheesemaking. Building wooden miniature replicas of the Statue of Liberty wearing a cowboy hat and chaps-- I'm Canadian, by the way. Whatever he could think of, we did. As months turned into years, I realized that he was actually having fun.
I'm well past my physical prime. I may even be going mentally a little, I don't know. But there are *lots* of board games, and we needed a new challenge every time I beat him. And I beat the devil every time. For the last four or five years, he's been really into crowdfunded games.
Steph served him a cup of coffee. He smiled and thanked her as she sat next to me with the extinguisher at the ready.
"Your turn," he said. I studied the board, the little brown heart pieces, the magnet block sitting on the corner of the board. The Alien steak. Descriptions of special abilities of all fifteen genders. It was all Greek to me. He handed me three odd-shaped die and I rolled; Omega, 8, and Blue. He laughed and talked about some nonsensical game mechanic before he caught my attention with a little honesty.
"I look forward to this every month, you know," he said.
"...Yeah, I know," I said. "Me too. I'm sorry I snapped at you before. You scared the crap out of the cat and it made a mess. Plus, you know, my knees have been acting up. Real sore today."
He slumped his shoulders a little. Steph gently dabbed out a small flame on the game board before she added her two cents.
"He got a little grouchy at me this morning. Apparently there weren't any big spoons left for his cereal."
I laughed and shook my head a little from being called out. The devil chuckled. The table caught fire. Steph took care of it.
After some hours of strange Kickstarter board gaming, I obtained the last love interest and won the game.
"Well, darn," The devil said. "Maybe next time, old buddy."
He was grinning ear to ear.
"Sure thing," I said.
The potted fern caught fire. Stephanie extinguished it faster than it even registered.
"I'll get you next time, Bret," he said as smoke and flame enveloped him again.
"Doubt it. I'm the best there is, best there was, and the best there ever will be."
Seconds later, the devil was gone. At least he was happy. | Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped. | 2022-12-07T13:50:11 | 2022-12-07T13:07:12 | 51 | 20 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge. | \-"This is preposterous!"
This was the only clearly audible response, the chaos erupting in the Councill's Halls drowned out everything else. Every race wanted to express their discontent at the same time, creating an unprecedented cacaphony of yelling, hollering, screeching and howling. The only silent figure amidst the sea of flaring tempers was a lone human, slowly drumming his fingers of his podium. A new observer would easily mistake his lack of reaction for a lack of anger - but his eyes told a different story. Cold and full of contempt. As the seconds grew longer without the noise settling down, he slowly furred his browns, before reaching behind his uniform.
The dull, thunderous bang deafened everyone. They all froze in shock, not sure which one of them would drop dead, before realizing this was but a warning shot. Their next thoughts were of confusion: how did the human smuggle a gauss pistol inside the chamber? They underestimated the fury of humanity, and the fruits it would bear. Modular gauss pistols that were easily disassembled into inconspicous parts were not projected to be feasable for the next decade, but humanity has accelerated the clock.
\-"Preposterous? Unfair? Let me tell this council the meaning of those words"
The lone human started talking, slowly lowering his weapon, but not letting go of it.
\-"8 years ago when the Qwell appeared, you did nothing. 5 years ago when humanity was attacked, you did nothing. You sat and watched from your cushioned seats as they overrun our solar system like a swarm of locusts, as we barely managed to stop them at Luna. This council did NOTHING!"
The anger and hatred in the last shouted word was tangible. When the councillors read reports of the war, they were dismissed, the calls, no the begs for assistance ignored. It took them being at gunpoint of a scientific marvel, wielded by someone who was fueled by the hatred of an entire race, to realize just how wrong they were.
\-"This council is responsible for allowing a genocide to happen. This council thinking it can suddenly grow a conscience is preposterous. Now, the council has two options before it. The council can remain *fair*, keep sitting on its ass as we will have our revenge, and do nothing as it always have. Or the council can try to interfere. This will not change the result: the redirected asteroids will destroy every Qwell planet in their home system. The only thing it will change is I will execute each and every one of its members as war criminals.
Thinking that you can selectively enforce your rules preposterous. Trying to do so is unfair. Now decide."
The human raised his pistol, waiting for any of the councillors to utter a word of defiance. They all remained silent. | "Just 5 years before Terran ambassadors arrived on Keplar 9 for the annual galactic summit, around 46% of Terra's population was annihilated in a, by galactic standards, military grade plasma ray attack. This devastated the population and left them unable to find food and shelter as at least half of all the water where the impact of the plasma ray hit evaporated and was consequently stolen by the unknown alien ships" Ka'lar said as he read out the document his boss assigned him to "study" when what he really meant was "do it instead of me".
But Ka'lar was already used to doing everyone's work and he did not mind as he didn't have anything else to do.
This document was information on the newly accepted members of the galactic council and the species they were going to meet in 2 months.
"Sir, we have detected Terran-style ships approaching but with no official insignia on them" Ka'lar got startled by the sudden noise and dropped his coffee, the new beverage that became extremely popular after Terra started exporting it.
"Why would there be no official insignia if they are recognized by the galactic council?"
"I do not know, Commander Ka'lar." "Establish contact and ask on what business they are here for, the Terrans should arrive in about 2 months time, it's too early for them to be here"
Private Eret pressed a button on the control desk, but the machine did not turn on. "This stupid thing, we really need new replacements for this crack-shack of a ship" Private Eret said as he hit the machine a couple times until it whirred to life and displayed a sickly white screen with some writing on it that looked more pixelated than an old DS game.
Suddenly, the screen turned a blackish green colour as text on the screen said "signal error, please check your connection" "Damn this stupid thin-" Private Eret said as he felt the most sharp searing pain he had ever felt as if his entire body was on fire. The Terrans had fired some sort of radiation ray, but fortunately for him, the control room was the furthest from the radiation ray and the Terran ship was pretty far away from the ship, meaning he was extremely lucky to survive.
"Stand down and lower your weapons."
"We have killed 50% of your staff and heavily injured the other half. Stand down and we will send medical help as we are not as barbaric as the galactic council and can clearly see that you are only partly to blame, given the fact that 5 years ago, you were close enough to Terra passing through the solar system that you could have offered aid"
Ka'lar blinked as he looked at Private Eret who's entire body was covered in burns. His species was more susceptible to radiation because of their naturally weak home star that spewed out less radiation than most average star systems.
"I repeat, stand down and lower your weapons"
Ka'lar ordered the remaining staff to stand down and wait for medical attention, but he wasn't so sure as to whether or not the Terrans would fulfill their promise.
"2 of your representatives, preferably a captain and a commander, will be allowed to board our ship so we can discuss all of *this*" Ka'lar was hesitant to agree to board the ship but his Captain, being the coward that he is, went with the humans almost instantly because he knew, that such a large ship would be able to fire another shot, and this time would kill the remaining 50% of the injured staff. | 2022-12-17T22:53:06 | 2022-12-17T19:40:45 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] Make me hate you.
Try not to be in first-person, and try describing your actions in a certain situation and how you react. No listing despicable traits, but make me feel as if I'm observing you.
edit: Not even four stories and I want to destroy a sandcastle. | A Couple Days Ago, I Went To School And I Forgot My Homework LOL. There Was A Pop Quiz, So I Failed It. :) I Don't Even Care. I Just Wish My Parents Understood. They Act Like I'm Five, But Come On, Mom, I'm Twelve And A Half Years Old Now. | I'm the guy who'd steal candy from a baby. I care not for who you are. I most likely hate you, or will make a case to hate you. Unless, of course, you're rich and white. Then I'll treat you to a drink. The holy book is my moral guide. It's words are unflappable, exempt from criticism. I hate our president. He's black and illegitimate, and the true color of success is white. I store my millions, all of which I EARNED myself, unlike this lazy and good for naught generation, in a business where I launder it. Why should the government take my hard earned work. I did it, no one else. Talking about this generation, what's with this gay, racial, LGBwhogivesafuck equality movement? That's not the way the REAL world works. And by the way, immigrants shouldn't be allowed here, and illegal ones should be kicked out or locked away.
Oh, did I say my name? I'm Mitt Romney, former US Presidential candidate, and former Massachusetts governor. | 2014-02-10T16:58:40 | 2014-02-10T16:34:38 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | Extracts from the journal of agent NCIJ-24, Mary Flannigan
Punitive Action Division - Investigation 4B8 - Exhibit A
_________________________
New target today, a ten year old boy,
American born from East End Dakota.
He's new on the net, so I must deploy,
If I am to hit my monthly quota.
He's thirteen today, oh how he has grown,
Watched him develop for all of these years.
His LiveBlog so sweet, his fanfics have shown,
A mind and a wit beyond all his peers.
Fifteen already, oh how the years fly,
Romance and passion have filled up his life.
His Facebook my God, he's one active guy,
Flirting and parties and silly teen strife.
At eighteen my boy, he makes me so proud,
Facing the real world as he graduates.
I scream out with glee, a little too loud,
Watching his profile's new photo updates.
Now twenty I feel, if I must confess,
Things could be better my young unknown.
He fell for a girl, she made him a mess,
She stomped on his heart and left him alone.
His blogs are so sad, his Twitter so bleak,
It hurts me so much to see him so low.
His Facebook is dead, on Skype he won't speak,
If only he knew how I love him so.
He's perfect I think, so kind and so smart,
A model young man who just needs a friend.
Sometimes you fall down, or you break your heart,
We all need someone on whom to depend.
It tires me so, silly Big Brother,
I'm ready to be more a Big Mother.
I'll reach out today, it's time I acted,
Today I will meet my sweet **[REDACTED]**
| "You ready?" whispered Tommy with a grin. "Yea...Yea I'm ready." Vivian whispered anxiously, "I'm just nervous that's all. It's my first time and all." "Yea, it's my first time too, but don't worry you'll be fine. We'll both be!" said Tommy sanguinely. "Okay, let's do this." smiled back Vivian with a wink. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..." began the priest in a monotone voice. Today was Tommy and Vivian's wedding day. They were "hopeless romantics" as their friends liked to say; they fell for each other freshmen year of college and after three years in a relationship, decided to get married. Their parents believed they were too young, too naive but decided to trust them basing their judgment on some unconditional love bullcrap.
They were in a small, quaint church, surrounded by their closest friends, family, coworkers, role models, etc. "Today was their big day or should I say it was for a big day for Tommy and I." chuckled Alex with a grin. Alex, a NSA agent, smoked a cigar in the surveillance room. "Hey Jared? You watching the wedding unfold, buddy?" shouted Alex. "Yea, can't believe, my girl Vivian's all grow up." replied Jared from another room. "Well, you better stop it, ya sleazy bastard!" cackled Alex shortly followed by a loud cough. "Same goes for you, ya pedo!" replied Jared with an ecstatic shout. Alex and Jared were assigned to look after Tommy and Vivian respectively ever since the two lovebirds were born. Tommy and Vivian were the kids of distinguished ambassadors; therefore, the United States government wanted them closely monitored.
"I'm tearing up, Jared. Ain't love a beautiful sight? The feeling of euphoria that's created is simply indescribable." said Alex, with his head turned to Jared with a choked up voice. "Ay, don't get all poetic on me ya bastard." shouted Jared with a laugh, "Wells, how about, after the wedding we take the day off. I mean, it's not like the boss is gonna find out or anything." "Alright, sounds good." replied Alex. Alex stared at the monitor once more and simply smiled at the sight he was witnessing. "I do." said Tommy and Vivian in unison. "You may kiss the bride." said the priest. They kissed and shouts and cheers echoed from the grainy monitor. "Attaboy, Tommy." whispered Alex with a grin. | 2014-06-10T05:32:16 | 2014-06-10T04:47:28 | 63 | 10 |
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