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Make it as awkward as possible.
Edit: Bonus points if you can tie it into /u/DaiTuong's prompt:
[A bank robber finds a girl he took hostage cute and shyly asks her out on a date.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/39wq98/wp_a_bank_robber_finds_a_girl_he_took_hostage/) | [WP] You're a lonely person, looking for any group activity to use as a mixer. By some stroke of luck, you and several others are currently being held hostage during a bank robbery. | "Hey" he said out of the side of his mouth" I'm Rob."
"What?" she shot back at him in a hushed voice, "All of us are being robbed here asshole, not just you."
There was a pause.
"No, no. Like, my name is Rob, nice to meet you."
She shot him a look.
"I would shake your hand but..." Rob lifts up his zip-tied hands and shakes them, as if to point out that they were zip tied.
"Yeah I got it. Please shut up."
There was yelling from the other side of the counter behind which they were being held.
"Hey, that's not very polite. I am just trying to make small talk."
"While our lives are in danger? I don't think it's rude of me to expect you to be quiet!" she was still keeping her voice hushed.
"I mean, can I at least get your name?" Rob inquired.
"Valerie. My name is Valerie, now please be quiet."
The quiet lasted for a few seconds before Rob spoke up again.
"So do you work in the area?"
"Look," Valerie turned to Rob best she could, "You seem like a nice guy Rob, but I really really don't want to get fucking shot right now, so if you could stop asking me stupid fucking questions I would really appreciate it."
"HEY!" A third voice interjected. "Are you talking back here? I said keep quiet or I was going to blow one of your heads off!" A lanky man swaggers into the room holding a small automatic looking gun.
"Was it you talking?" the lanky man pointed the gun at Valerie.
"No! No! I swear! I didn't say anything!" she pleaded.
"She really didn't" spoke up another one of the hostages, "this guy over here kept asking annoying questions!"
"Well, I hardly think that's fair." retorted Rob. "I am just trying to meet new pe-"
He was interrupted by a gunshot and the sound of plaster hitting the ground. The gunman had shot the wall. That was followed by the sound of breaking windows and a few more loud bangs. It seems the police took that as their cue to stop the whole event. The gunman's body hit the floor with a thud a few feet away from the zip tied hostages.
"So, maybe we can get dinner sometime." said Rob.
| Everybody sat hunched on the floor, staring at the ground. From the next room the robbers could be heard rummaging through desk drawers and speaking in low tones.
I looked around and spotted a guy wearing a Firefly t-shirt. Great! I'd been looking for some fellow geeks to jive with in my new city.
*psssst*
Everyone looked up at me, wide-eyed. I made eye contact with Firefly dude.
"Hey! You free this weekend to watch *Serenity*? It's been a while since I've seen it."
I smiled at him to show just how friendly and approachable I am.
The wide-eyed stares shifted between him and me.
He stared blankly at me.
"E-excuse me?"
"I just mean when this is all over, you should come over to my place and we can order pizza and watch *Serenity* on Saturday night," I looked around at the others. "You guys are also welcome to come, I just noticed his shirt and thought he might be into it."
"Oh! My shirt," the guy said. "Uhm, I...what?"
"Oh! Sorry, my name's Steve, I just moved to town a couple weeks ago and I'm still making friends. Figured since we have something in common you might wanna...hang out sometime?"
I smiled again, broadly and enthusiastically. It was a winning smile, my mother always said.
The silence hung in the air and I began to doubt whether I had made a good decision.
"Or...not, that's cool too, nice meeting you and all. Hope you have a good weekend! Weather's supposed to be spectacular on Sunday."
I returned my gaze to the floor, feeling many sets of eyes boring into my skull.
Maybe I should try meetup, I thought. |
[WP] You are granted a fish by a higher power. You have no idea why. | *Useee meee...*
Sasuki blinked, looking around his family's small, cozy kitchen in the Osakan suburbs.
*Useee meeee, Sasukiii...*
"Okay, now you're just freaking me out," the teenager said, then called out in a louder voice, "If that's you, imouto, no, I don't want to use you. I love you, little sis, but not in that way."
*Yourrr poweeer isss purrrrity...*
Sasuki realized what was talking: a raw, unprepared marlin on the table, ready for a deboning and the fry pot, apparently.
The teenager looked around the room. "Where the hell did that come from?"
*I ammm a mossst diviiiine fisssh...*
"Okay, if I have to put up with and accept this, you need to talk like a normal person, fish spirit."
The marlin flopped once or twice. *I understand.* it said clearly and concisely.
"Better." Sasuki nodded. Then he freaked out, "A talking spiritfish!!"
The neighbors next door smacked the walls, yelling, "Hey, keep your weird family business to your own walls!"
Sasuki hopped up and bowed to the wall. "Yes, of course. I am so so sorry. It won't happen again." He darted to the fish. "How dare you embarrass my family like that!"
The walls were pounded again. "Hey!"
"Sorry!" Sasuki turned back to the fish to say in a softer voice, "What are you doing possessing my delicious dinner?"
*I am not your dinner, Sasuki, Son of Tomoki, descendant of an ancient line of warriors known as the Fishermen.*
"Wow," Sasuki said, "you're really talking to me right now, fish spirit."
*Duh.* Fish spirit said. *But I am not speaking to you through my mouth or gills, Sasuki of the Fishermen. We are connected mind-to-mind. You are hearing me in your own mind, through a most fishy spiritual link every Fisherman has with his fishsticks.*
Sasuki laughed and laughed.
*What? Why do you laugh?*
"Oh, nothing," the teenager wiped away his tears. "It's just my ancestor's choice of terminology didn't hold up well with age and modern times."
*Nevertheless,* Fish spirit said. *I am your fishstick--*
"Lame. Rewrite. I'm not going around calling you my school lunch."
Fish spirit sighed. *Fine, whatever. Will 'Divine Marlin Blade' satisfy your modernity?*
"Okay," Sasuki said, "I can accept you're a talking fish and all, but you're a weapon, too? That's a little...strange."
Fish spirit was undeterred. *I am known as Gan-za-ne, the Sword That Separated the Seven Seas.*
"Cool."
*It is not merely 'cool', Sasuki of the Fisherman. I am your sword, now. As I was the sword of your ancestors, who were most divine, and carved this world into islands, continents and seas with their skill.*
At the end of that conversation, Sasuki had gotten a juice box out of the fridge, talking around the straw. "Uh,huh. So, why are you bothering me with this, now?"
*Because, Sasuki, your duty as a Fisherman has come.*
Sasuki drained his juice box, which made that empty slurping sound as he kept probing the empty box with the straw for the last few drops. "And what if I tell you I don't want to?" He asked the fish spirit. "I have exams next week."
*You have little choice, Sasuki. You must now pick me up and wield me by my tailfin, for danger draws near.*
"Danger?"
The ceiling exploded inwards, and Sasuki leapt away from the debris.
"What in the holy crap! Our roof!!"
"Hey, you!" The neighbors banged on the walls. "What do you think you're doing over there!"
Sasuki called back, "Nothing! Nothing, sir. Just a roof leak. Ha ha ha..."
The debris cloud cleared, revealing a beautiful young female ninja Sasuki's age.
*Holy crap, she's hot!* Sasuki thought.
The teenaged female ninja was wielding a mackerel in each hand.
*Oh hell.* Sasuki realized.
"Sasuki of the Fishermen!" the beautiful ninja yelled. "I have come to defeat you, and finally reclaim the Gan-za-ne your ancestors stole from my family!
*Yeah!* Left Mackerel said. *Get some!*
*Lord Gan-za-ne,* Right Mackerel said. *It is an honor to cross fins with you again.*
"Fish spirit..." Sasuki was nearly in tears at the madness. "Do you know these, um...people?"
*Yes,* Gan-za-ne said. *That is Ma-shen and Ma-shin, the Port and Starboard Fins of Justice.*
"Okay," Sasuki said, "but who's the hot chick?"
"What!" said chick yelled.
The walls nearly caved in. "WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE, YOU TWISTED FREAKS!!!"
Sasuki flinched.
*Ah,* Gan-za-ne informed the teenaged boy. *She is of the Anglers. A rival clan to your Fisherman.*
"That's right, Fish Lord!" She did a fancy show with her fish, striking a combat-ready pose. "My name is Ayami, of the Anglers! And I have come to settle an ancient dispute!" She pointed Ma-shen at Sasuki. "Pick up Gan-za-ne to defend yourself, Son of Fishermen! And make ready for death!"
*Do not worry,* assured Gan-za-ne. *Wield me, and you will see our combined power.*
"Uh... Okay?"
Sasuki picked the talking marlin up by its tailfin. The spiritfish sword's scales lit up in divine light, basking the kitchen with its radiance. Enough to spill out through the windows and into the neighbor's houses.
"SASUKI MIYAMOTO!!" The neighbors roared. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU NOW!"
Sasuki snapped his eyes away from Gan-za-ne's brilliance. "Oh shit!"
"Hah!" Ayami the female ninja called, leaning forward. "Die, fool!" She leapt towards Sasuki, fish wielded.
And so started the many trials of Sasuki of the Fisherman, destined for a most fishy life.
| Pulling the gaming mask off of my face I got ready to go to work. *God I hated work* I thought to myself. Shower, eat, dress, drag a comb through my hair and I was set. Shambling down the decrepit steps that lead to my apartment I shouldered my way into the crowd muttering rough apologies as best I could. It was New York City, after all. I'd never see these people again so what did it matter if I bumped them a bit? I started the walk to the subway getting my usual coffee from the vendor outside of the subway. *ugh* The coffee was unusually acrid and bitter this morning. Almost tasted like the Japanese food I had last night. Long story short Japanese food and coffee don't mix. For all of the subway ride I had to deal with growing discontent in my stomach. Exiting the subway onto the muggy, damp platform, I pushed through the crowd and up into the humid June air. Casually walking along the sidewalk for a couple blocks, weaving around on a circuitous and random route but still going in the same direction, I ever so casually sat down on a bench and observed the passerby. Good. No one unusual or oddly out of place. Trying to calm my unsettled stomach once again I hurriedly turned into a nearby alleyway and stepped into the first doorway. Inside the Russian was sitting there. As I forced the door closed behind me, glancing one last time outside to make sure no one had seen me he spoke up. "Alex, good you made it. I started to get worried we have very little time. You know what to do. Get anything you can out of him" Nodding my agreement but not bothering to question who he had captured I opened up the steel door into the soundless, padded room. Sitting at the table, handcuffed, was the British PM. *What? Is he serious? The PM?* As I widened my eyes in surprise I suddenly doubled over, and hacked up the remains of my dinner. Right up and out of my trachea and onto the floor came something...unusual. Even though it was only 2 seconds, which seemed like 2 hours, I stared down at the fish sitting there. It was flapping around, struggling to breath. *Fugu fish. 1200 deadlier than cyanide if not prepared correctly. Bloody hell how did I eat that??* On a tag on its tail there were tiny words that I could just make out. "God doesn't give a damn if you hate work" | |
[WP] You are granted a fish by a higher power. You have no idea why. | *Useee meee...*
Sasuki blinked, looking around his family's small, cozy kitchen in the Osakan suburbs.
*Useee meeee, Sasukiii...*
"Okay, now you're just freaking me out," the teenager said, then called out in a louder voice, "If that's you, imouto, no, I don't want to use you. I love you, little sis, but not in that way."
*Yourrr poweeer isss purrrrity...*
Sasuki realized what was talking: a raw, unprepared marlin on the table, ready for a deboning and the fry pot, apparently.
The teenager looked around the room. "Where the hell did that come from?"
*I ammm a mossst diviiiine fisssh...*
"Okay, if I have to put up with and accept this, you need to talk like a normal person, fish spirit."
The marlin flopped once or twice. *I understand.* it said clearly and concisely.
"Better." Sasuki nodded. Then he freaked out, "A talking spiritfish!!"
The neighbors next door smacked the walls, yelling, "Hey, keep your weird family business to your own walls!"
Sasuki hopped up and bowed to the wall. "Yes, of course. I am so so sorry. It won't happen again." He darted to the fish. "How dare you embarrass my family like that!"
The walls were pounded again. "Hey!"
"Sorry!" Sasuki turned back to the fish to say in a softer voice, "What are you doing possessing my delicious dinner?"
*I am not your dinner, Sasuki, Son of Tomoki, descendant of an ancient line of warriors known as the Fishermen.*
"Wow," Sasuki said, "you're really talking to me right now, fish spirit."
*Duh.* Fish spirit said. *But I am not speaking to you through my mouth or gills, Sasuki of the Fishermen. We are connected mind-to-mind. You are hearing me in your own mind, through a most fishy spiritual link every Fisherman has with his fishsticks.*
Sasuki laughed and laughed.
*What? Why do you laugh?*
"Oh, nothing," the teenager wiped away his tears. "It's just my ancestor's choice of terminology didn't hold up well with age and modern times."
*Nevertheless,* Fish spirit said. *I am your fishstick--*
"Lame. Rewrite. I'm not going around calling you my school lunch."
Fish spirit sighed. *Fine, whatever. Will 'Divine Marlin Blade' satisfy your modernity?*
"Okay," Sasuki said, "I can accept you're a talking fish and all, but you're a weapon, too? That's a little...strange."
Fish spirit was undeterred. *I am known as Gan-za-ne, the Sword That Separated the Seven Seas.*
"Cool."
*It is not merely 'cool', Sasuki of the Fisherman. I am your sword, now. As I was the sword of your ancestors, who were most divine, and carved this world into islands, continents and seas with their skill.*
At the end of that conversation, Sasuki had gotten a juice box out of the fridge, talking around the straw. "Uh,huh. So, why are you bothering me with this, now?"
*Because, Sasuki, your duty as a Fisherman has come.*
Sasuki drained his juice box, which made that empty slurping sound as he kept probing the empty box with the straw for the last few drops. "And what if I tell you I don't want to?" He asked the fish spirit. "I have exams next week."
*You have little choice, Sasuki. You must now pick me up and wield me by my tailfin, for danger draws near.*
"Danger?"
The ceiling exploded inwards, and Sasuki leapt away from the debris.
"What in the holy crap! Our roof!!"
"Hey, you!" The neighbors banged on the walls. "What do you think you're doing over there!"
Sasuki called back, "Nothing! Nothing, sir. Just a roof leak. Ha ha ha..."
The debris cloud cleared, revealing a beautiful young female ninja Sasuki's age.
*Holy crap, she's hot!* Sasuki thought.
The teenaged female ninja was wielding a mackerel in each hand.
*Oh hell.* Sasuki realized.
"Sasuki of the Fishermen!" the beautiful ninja yelled. "I have come to defeat you, and finally reclaim the Gan-za-ne your ancestors stole from my family!
*Yeah!* Left Mackerel said. *Get some!*
*Lord Gan-za-ne,* Right Mackerel said. *It is an honor to cross fins with you again.*
"Fish spirit..." Sasuki was nearly in tears at the madness. "Do you know these, um...people?"
*Yes,* Gan-za-ne said. *That is Ma-shen and Ma-shin, the Port and Starboard Fins of Justice.*
"Okay," Sasuki said, "but who's the hot chick?"
"What!" said chick yelled.
The walls nearly caved in. "WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE, YOU TWISTED FREAKS!!!"
Sasuki flinched.
*Ah,* Gan-za-ne informed the teenaged boy. *She is of the Anglers. A rival clan to your Fisherman.*
"That's right, Fish Lord!" She did a fancy show with her fish, striking a combat-ready pose. "My name is Ayami, of the Anglers! And I have come to settle an ancient dispute!" She pointed Ma-shen at Sasuki. "Pick up Gan-za-ne to defend yourself, Son of Fishermen! And make ready for death!"
*Do not worry,* assured Gan-za-ne. *Wield me, and you will see our combined power.*
"Uh... Okay?"
Sasuki picked the talking marlin up by its tailfin. The spiritfish sword's scales lit up in divine light, basking the kitchen with its radiance. Enough to spill out through the windows and into the neighbor's houses.
"SASUKI MIYAMOTO!!" The neighbors roared. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU NOW!"
Sasuki snapped his eyes away from Gan-za-ne's brilliance. "Oh shit!"
"Hah!" Ayami the female ninja called, leaning forward. "Die, fool!" She leapt towards Sasuki, fish wielded.
And so started the many trials of Sasuki of the Fisherman, destined for a most fishy life.
| I prayed, I’m not sure why I prayed, but I did. I knelt down and prayed, like really prayed for the first time in my life. Yes, I had gone through the motions, but I never really tried to talk to god, but for once, I needed guidance, I needed help, I needed forgiveness.
I never believe in a greater evil, I just thought there was us, and true, some of us were better than others, but in the end, it was just us. The priest could drone on, warning about evil, but I never listened. Then evil touched me. It engulfed me and made me do terrible things. I watched, bound to my brain, helpless as evil used my hands, my voice, my anger to inflict suffering on others. As others died, perished, fell, I watched with dead eyes.
Inside myself I battled, I fought with every fiber of my being the evil that had inhabited my body. I fought until tears streamed from my face and I won. I won, I vanquished evil. And then I prayed for forgiveness. I was someone else, I was something else, I was not myself. I prayed to the omniscient, omnicognizant god for a second chance, I prayed for forgiveness, I prayed for anything.
God gave me a rotten fish head and told me to “fuck off.”
| |
[WP] You are granted a fish by a higher power. You have no idea why. | Last Wish
By Steven Carlton
“It’s a fish,” Kimberly said, looking at the silver body in her hands.
“Yes, it is,” said the angelic figure standing in front of her.
“A fish,” she repeated, as if maybe the angel had not quite heard her correctly the first time.
A sigh as heavy as time flowed from the angel. “Yes,” it said. “I know. It says right here on this little clipboard I have. Fish. You are Kimberly Green, right?”
“You asked me that already,” Kimberly said. “I don’t get it. What am I supposed to do with…”
“Not my problem, sweetheart,” the angel snapped, waving its clipboard at her. “I get the assignments, I carry out the assignments, end of story. You’re the one with free will, not me, sister. If the form says to grant you a fish, then that’s what I do.”
“I didn’t ask anyone or anything for a fish,” Kimberly insisted.
The angel stared at her. “We don’t make mistakes, honey,” it said.
“Tell that to the platypus,” Kimberly quipped.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
The angel sighed again. “Listen, it says right here that you wished on the first star of evening for a fish. Something about a fish that would make some boy like you. Is he a fishmonger, or something?”
“Wish,” Kimberly said. “I didn’t ask for a fish. I wished on the first star of evening, yeah. I did that lots of times, but I never asked for a fish. I wished that the wish I wished come true.”
“Is that some kind of mantra?” the angel asked, deadpan. “The wish that you wished. You wished that the wish you wished…it’s silly. It’s a star. Same as the sun. That particular one is twenty-six lightyears away. You’re probably too young to realize it…”
“I’m thirty-nine,” Kimberly interrupted.
“…but the light from that star is already twenty-six years old,” the angel went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Now, we angels aren’t physical so we’re not subject to the speed-of-light limitation, which is why I’m here, now, at this moment, granting your wish. For a fish.”
“So…you’re here to grant a wish that I made twenty-six years ago,” Kimberly said. “When I was thirteen. You’re here to grant it now.”
“Hey, I’m not the one wishing on stars that are so far away,” the angel snorted.
“What about all the other wishes I made?” Kimberly asked. “I must have wished on a star a thousand times. Are you telling me that an angel is going to show up here every so often for the rest of my life to grant those wishes, too?”
“One fulfilled wish per customer,” the angel said.
“And the wish you decided to grant was for a goddamned fish?”
“Language, young lady,” the angel chided. “You shouldn’t get so angry. Some people don’t get even this much. They wish that they hadn’t said something or that they’d get to go to summer camp. Dumb stuff. But you…well, I got nothing. A fish is pretty dumb, too.”
“No, this is dumb! Who decides which wish to grant, anyway? Huh? Is there anyone in charge up there?”
“Whoops! Look at the time,” the angel suddenly said, looking at its bare wrist. “Got another appointment to keep. Lots of fish to deliver. Better luck next time!” There was a bright flash.
Kimberly blinked away spots in her vision. She was alone again, standing in her kitchen, holding a fish. She stood there a few minutes, just staring down at her gift, thinking that at any moment it would vanish or that she would wake up. Neither event happened, and she was a pragmatic woman. She had learned that lesson the hard way, growing up poor and hungry, lonely and afraid, wishing every night that someone, or some thing, would come and rescue her from her miserable childhood. Finally, her shoulders sagged with defeat. She turned to the counter and picked up a knife.
Half an hour later, the front door opened. Her two children came thundering into the house. Her teenage son, glowering as usual, stomped angrily upstairs to his room without acknowledging her. Her daughter, not quite a teenager but already dressing like her idols did in their music videos, threw open the fridge and got out a soda. Popping it open, she asked, “What’s for dinner, Mom?”
“My hopes and dreams,” Kimberly said bitterly.
“What?”
“Fish. We’re eating fish.”
“Jeeze, Mom! You know I can’t eat fish! I’m a vegan!”
Kimberly gripped the knife tightly in her hand and talked herself, yet again, out of violence. She glanced up through the window over the sink. The stars were beginning to appear. Smiling thinly, she picked the brightest one and made a wish.
| I prayed, I’m not sure why I prayed, but I did. I knelt down and prayed, like really prayed for the first time in my life. Yes, I had gone through the motions, but I never really tried to talk to god, but for once, I needed guidance, I needed help, I needed forgiveness.
I never believe in a greater evil, I just thought there was us, and true, some of us were better than others, but in the end, it was just us. The priest could drone on, warning about evil, but I never listened. Then evil touched me. It engulfed me and made me do terrible things. I watched, bound to my brain, helpless as evil used my hands, my voice, my anger to inflict suffering on others. As others died, perished, fell, I watched with dead eyes.
Inside myself I battled, I fought with every fiber of my being the evil that had inhabited my body. I fought until tears streamed from my face and I won. I won, I vanquished evil. And then I prayed for forgiveness. I was someone else, I was something else, I was not myself. I prayed to the omniscient, omnicognizant god for a second chance, I prayed for forgiveness, I prayed for anything.
God gave me a rotten fish head and told me to “fuck off.”
| |
[WP] You are granted a fish by a higher power. You have no idea why. | Last Wish
By Steven Carlton
“It’s a fish,” Kimberly said, looking at the silver body in her hands.
“Yes, it is,” said the angelic figure standing in front of her.
“A fish,” she repeated, as if maybe the angel had not quite heard her correctly the first time.
A sigh as heavy as time flowed from the angel. “Yes,” it said. “I know. It says right here on this little clipboard I have. Fish. You are Kimberly Green, right?”
“You asked me that already,” Kimberly said. “I don’t get it. What am I supposed to do with…”
“Not my problem, sweetheart,” the angel snapped, waving its clipboard at her. “I get the assignments, I carry out the assignments, end of story. You’re the one with free will, not me, sister. If the form says to grant you a fish, then that’s what I do.”
“I didn’t ask anyone or anything for a fish,” Kimberly insisted.
The angel stared at her. “We don’t make mistakes, honey,” it said.
“Tell that to the platypus,” Kimberly quipped.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
The angel sighed again. “Listen, it says right here that you wished on the first star of evening for a fish. Something about a fish that would make some boy like you. Is he a fishmonger, or something?”
“Wish,” Kimberly said. “I didn’t ask for a fish. I wished on the first star of evening, yeah. I did that lots of times, but I never asked for a fish. I wished that the wish I wished come true.”
“Is that some kind of mantra?” the angel asked, deadpan. “The wish that you wished. You wished that the wish you wished…it’s silly. It’s a star. Same as the sun. That particular one is twenty-six lightyears away. You’re probably too young to realize it…”
“I’m thirty-nine,” Kimberly interrupted.
“…but the light from that star is already twenty-six years old,” the angel went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Now, we angels aren’t physical so we’re not subject to the speed-of-light limitation, which is why I’m here, now, at this moment, granting your wish. For a fish.”
“So…you’re here to grant a wish that I made twenty-six years ago,” Kimberly said. “When I was thirteen. You’re here to grant it now.”
“Hey, I’m not the one wishing on stars that are so far away,” the angel snorted.
“What about all the other wishes I made?” Kimberly asked. “I must have wished on a star a thousand times. Are you telling me that an angel is going to show up here every so often for the rest of my life to grant those wishes, too?”
“One fulfilled wish per customer,” the angel said.
“And the wish you decided to grant was for a goddamned fish?”
“Language, young lady,” the angel chided. “You shouldn’t get so angry. Some people don’t get even this much. They wish that they hadn’t said something or that they’d get to go to summer camp. Dumb stuff. But you…well, I got nothing. A fish is pretty dumb, too.”
“No, this is dumb! Who decides which wish to grant, anyway? Huh? Is there anyone in charge up there?”
“Whoops! Look at the time,” the angel suddenly said, looking at its bare wrist. “Got another appointment to keep. Lots of fish to deliver. Better luck next time!” There was a bright flash.
Kimberly blinked away spots in her vision. She was alone again, standing in her kitchen, holding a fish. She stood there a few minutes, just staring down at her gift, thinking that at any moment it would vanish or that she would wake up. Neither event happened, and she was a pragmatic woman. She had learned that lesson the hard way, growing up poor and hungry, lonely and afraid, wishing every night that someone, or some thing, would come and rescue her from her miserable childhood. Finally, her shoulders sagged with defeat. She turned to the counter and picked up a knife.
Half an hour later, the front door opened. Her two children came thundering into the house. Her teenage son, glowering as usual, stomped angrily upstairs to his room without acknowledging her. Her daughter, not quite a teenager but already dressing like her idols did in their music videos, threw open the fridge and got out a soda. Popping it open, she asked, “What’s for dinner, Mom?”
“My hopes and dreams,” Kimberly said bitterly.
“What?”
“Fish. We’re eating fish.”
“Jeeze, Mom! You know I can’t eat fish! I’m a vegan!”
Kimberly gripped the knife tightly in her hand and talked herself, yet again, out of violence. She glanced up through the window over the sink. The stars were beginning to appear. Smiling thinly, she picked the brightest one and made a wish.
| I had a fish. But I didn't know how to fish.
I had been on the island for six days. There was a little freshwater spring (by the grace of the Lord, amen), but no food. Tough, unchewably woody brush that made a decent shelter but made my stomach cramp throughout one long, terrible night.
That had been my second night, though. The first night I was sick with worry, and the whole next day I was brimming with an irrational optimism which coalesced and took form around one simple concept: fish. Fish. Fish.
*I'm surrounded by ocean. I'm surrounded by fish,* was the thought which gleefully ping-ponged through my head all day.
But I didn't know how to fish. My attempts at making a spear fell flat. I couldn't figure out how to make a line from the remains of my clothing. When I finally did get a sharp bit of rock tied to a thread suspended from a long segment of woody vine, it just fell off in the water as soon as I tried casting it.
And so I prayed. I prayed for fish. And on the seventh day, my prayers were answered. I awoke, and there it was, just lying in the sand next to me, meters from the water's edge. A fish. It was fresh, not rancid, seemingly just caught. I practically wept as I prepared it, offering up thanks for the tiny shred of unexpected provenance. I have never eaten any meal that tasted as good as that barely cooked, unseasoned fish.
But. I still don't know how to fish.
It's the thirteenth day, and I'm hungry again. Every fiber of my being is dedicated to praying there is another fish tomorrow. Every thought I have. Every motion, every word to myself. Fish. Fish. Fish.
I haven't even begun to think about what I might do otherwise. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | ((I decided to ignore the Spirit Animal aspect just because I like the idea of having essentially Spirit Animals via Augmented Reality Glasses representing Clippy-esque assistants. Yes, I liked the idea of Clippy even if its execution wasn't that great, shh, storytime))
When augmented reality went big, Pokemon were quick to capitalise on the glasses, and created an official app: Pokemon Companion AR.
The idea was that the app would take into account your preferences from other apps and determine the most ideal Pokemon to act as a glorified interface for other features on your phone.
Some were unlikely to use it, and it was for this reason on perusal they got a Magikarp: has potential to evolve into a Gyrados, a particularly heavy user, but for the time being happy to occasionally splash about and treat it like a futuristic Tamagotchi pet/real world screensaver.
It was surprising how compatible the faux-holographic displays of Pokemon were with just about everything. While scientists debated if the seemingly in increasingly emergent intelligent nature of the AR Companions made them technically class as true AI, albeit with animalistic natures, most people enjoyed them, even if they had no control over what Pokemon they had unless they signed in under a new account designed to have specific preferences.
Many Pokemon were never unlocked. For example, Nobody seemed to fit the requirements to get a Luvdisc. There were rumours of a hacker in Madagascar who figured out what was required, but he soon vanished, and the world moved on.
Similarly, nobody in the public had a Ditto, although that was a development decision: a Ditto user has full administrative control over the system, being able to transform into any Pokemon, and thus have full capabilities without needing to buy Technical Machine upgrades from The Pokemon Company.
Nobody had a Mew, of course, the requirements were too strange and arcane to work out. Mew had the abilities of Ditto, potentially.... Nintendo also revealed that due to a bug in the coding of the Gen 1 series, Mew could permanently corrupt other AR companions if it beat them in combat. It was permadeath, if Mew was on the virtual battlefield.
People joked about Missingno, and the world was happy in the knowledge that Mew did not exist.
And so it was that my girlfriend signed up for her first Pokemon Companion AR interface.
As she finished, and the program compiled, an eerie 'Meeeww?' shook me to my gourd.
She laughed.
"It's kind of cute. What is it?"
"... A Mew. You... What. How do you have a Mew?"
"Dunno. Just answered the questions honestly."
"Sweetie, the Pope got a Houndoom. Obama got a Machamp. David Cameron got a Muk. I have a Charmander. These things are representative of their personalities. So how come you have the Pokemon that is supposedly the most innocent and sweet, when I know you are a foul mouthed tentacle porn orgy lover who drinks, smokes, and is morally loose?"
"Dunno. Why, does it matter?"
"... We are going to get lynched. We are going to be killed for your account. Oh boy." | *Pick up the phone. You know it's her. She probably needs help with it.*
"Hey, did you finally get yours?"
"My what?"
"Your Pokemon."
"Oh, is that what this thing's called?"
"I'm taking that as a yes...what is it?"
"You just said it's called a Pokemon."
*Innocence never ceases to amaze me.*
"I mean what does it look like?"
"It looks like a big cat. It's got big eyes and a really long tail."
"Ah, sounds like a Persian..."
"I've never seen a Persian cat that can float in the air."
*Oh, how far she'll go with a loose tongue like that...*
"Wait what? That changes things...no, it can't be..."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, just...has it been saying anything?"
"I told you, it's a cat. It just meows."
*Bingo.*
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the salon, but I'm almost done. I need to go grocery shopping though..."
"*NO!*...Sorry for yelling, but you need to bring the Pokemon home as soon as possible. It's more powerful than you think."
"What? It doesn't look like a vicious animal at all! It'll be fine waiting in the car for a few minutes. It's not hot out or anything..."
"That's not the point. The point is you have a pet now and we need to know how to take care of it. Bring it back first. We can go shopping later."
"Okay. I'll be there in a few. Bye."
...
*You did good. However, I no longer require your services.*
"WHAT? PLEASE NOOOOOOO-"
*I almost feel sorry for him. He only just got his pet lizard, but the flame's already burned out...but that is the past. I will be meeting with Mew One soon, and from there, we will set the record straight that this is our world.* | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "CHARMANDER!" I cried out in glee as a bright, orange creature with a flaming tale appear in front of me. My very own spirit animal was incidentally the first Pokemon I owned in the Pokemon game that I played back when I was a young child. Charmander gave a low growl, a little cautious of me.
"Come here, little guy. You and I are going to be best friends... for real this time." I bit my bottom lip and slowly reached towards him.
It stared quietly at me but stayed still.
"There we go. That's it." I petted him and I felt a rush of joy overwhelming me. This was the happiest day of my life. My Charmander against the world! Nothing can stop me! Charmander can easily beat out all the weak Magikarps that everyone else have! I'll level up my spirit animal until it evolves into Charizard and conquered the world. I can finally leave my abusive relationship with my girlfriend. I'll travel to new-
"HEY, honey! I'm home! You can't believe how cute this is! Take a look at my new blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing! You better make sure the toilet seat is down again or I'll set this little guy loose on you!"
| *Pick up the phone. You know it's her. She probably needs help with it.*
"Hey, did you finally get yours?"
"My what?"
"Your Pokemon."
"Oh, is that what this thing's called?"
"I'm taking that as a yes...what is it?"
"You just said it's called a Pokemon."
*Innocence never ceases to amaze me.*
"I mean what does it look like?"
"It looks like a big cat. It's got big eyes and a really long tail."
"Ah, sounds like a Persian..."
"I've never seen a Persian cat that can float in the air."
*Oh, how far she'll go with a loose tongue like that...*
"Wait what? That changes things...no, it can't be..."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, just...has it been saying anything?"
"I told you, it's a cat. It just meows."
*Bingo.*
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the salon, but I'm almost done. I need to go grocery shopping though..."
"*NO!*...Sorry for yelling, but you need to bring the Pokemon home as soon as possible. It's more powerful than you think."
"What? It doesn't look like a vicious animal at all! It'll be fine waiting in the car for a few minutes. It's not hot out or anything..."
"That's not the point. The point is you have a pet now and we need to know how to take care of it. Bring it back first. We can go shopping later."
"Okay. I'll be there in a few. Bye."
...
*You did good. However, I no longer require your services.*
"WHAT? PLEASE NOOOOOOO-"
*I almost feel sorry for him. He only just got his pet lizard, but the flame's already burned out...but that is the past. I will be meeting with Mew One soon, and from there, we will set the record straight that this is our world.* | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | The sight of my Charmander, seemingly fresh from his egg as he rolled about on the floor playing with his own tail, the scales on his body a stark black, suddenly seemed to be much less impressive. No less endearing, but certainly less impressive. Not even the thought of what he would eventually become, a massive, winged, fire breathing drake, compared to what she had just told me over the phone.
"H-has it said anything to you?" I ask, remembering what words were and how to use them.
"No, not really," she says, giggling as what I really hoped it wasn't must have been floating around. "It just keeps mewing."
I had to resist the urge to slam my face into my palm. "That would be it saying something, hun."
I'd always known Vanessa wasn't the type for this sort of a thing. She was a solid enough top on League, and she was always good for a round on Halo, but Pokemon had never been her thing. I was just a bit more of a nerd than she was, and I'd long ago accepted that. I mean hey, she'd accepted me right?
But only now was it beginning to set in just how little she actually knew about a phenomenon two decades old. A part of me found it almost endearing. The rest of me found it cruel that her spirit animal was the single rarest Pokemon in all of existence shy of the gods themselves.
If her spirit animal had been an Arceus or a Groudon I likely would have been much more concerned. As it was, I just found myself at a profound loss. "Vanessa?" I said, my voice perhaps a bit higher than I'd have liked. "Do... do you think you could bring it over here for me to see?"
"Sure!" she said, her voice bright and airy. "I'll be over in just a mome--" There was a strange garbling sound just before Vanessa appeared just in front of me in my apartment, her hair still in a mess from bed, her pajamas still on. "... ent."
"Don't freak ou--"
"OH MY GOD!!"
"Vanessa please, it just used Tele--"
"I'm NEVER going to be late for work again!"
Once again I was rendered speechless. She had just been teleported about five miles still in her nightwear and it hadn't even registered that this was out of place. Just that it was convenient for her.
And then I saw it. Floating out from behind her, small and so very pink, came Mew. The original Pokemon, at least so far as the ones which populated the world of Pokemon. From it all others descended. It was every Pokemon at one time and something that none of the others could ever be.
"Mew."
I blinked, unsure whether it had actually spoken or just said it directly into my mind. Its large eyes bore into my own, and I could practically *feel* Mew's presence in my head now. It was searching for something in me. Perhaps comparing the memories it must have already gleaned from Vanessa to me. But then it blinked and looked downwards, floating a bit towards Charmander when it noticed the small fire type sniffing up at it.
It didn't take long for the two of them to start playing, with Mew bobbing around giggling, its laughs echoing as much through the room as my head, while Charmander jumped around trying to catch its tail. Some part of me prayed that it would continually fail, because I didn't want a stray outburst of kinetic energy to destroy half of my apartment. Or block.
*Or city.*
"Vanessa I don't think you understand how important this is," I said in a hushed tone, forgetting that Mew could probably hear my thoughts before I even said them. "Like, this is big."
She was entirely entranced by the way the two of them were playing. "God, if I'd known they were so cute I'd have bought the games a long time ago."
"I've shown them all to you!" I said, a bit exasperated. "You've literally fallen asleep on my couch while I play..." I took a breath, shutting my eyes and focusing. "... not the point. Vanessa, focus here. This thing? It's cute, and cuddly, and probably won't ever try to hurt you."
"Then I don't see the problem, just LOOK at him!"
"It," I corrected. "Mew doesn't have a gender. It's a thing about the really rare ones." I waved off her confused glance with the quickest explanation I could come up with. "And that's just it. This one is named Mew, and its REALLY, *REALLY* rare. Like so rare that people are willing to corrupt their hard earned game saves just to get one. And it's what Nintendo loves to give out to drum up publicity. This was the first Pokemon to be on the top of everyone's want lists."
"And now I have one!" she was practically beaming at me now, not quite getting what I was going for.
"And now everyone else is going to want it from you," I said firmly, reaching out to grip her wrist and keep her looking at me instead of the scene even I was having a hard time ignoring.
She looked at me distantly, and I could see the gears falling into place behind her eyes. "Y... you don't mean."
"I do," I nodded solemnly. "You probably shouldn't let anyone find out that you have it. I can't guarantee how crazy things might or might not get."
"But... but doesn't everyone have their own?" she asked, looking at Mew with worry on her features.
"Vanessa," I breathed out, trying to give her an understanding smile. "... you REALLY have no idea what Pokemon is about, do you?" I brought her over to the TV and flipped it on, going from station to station. Almost everything was displaying emergency broadcasts. Lapras sightings in Loch Ness, a Gyarados that had attacked an oil tanker, Pidgeots taking up roosts in airports and causing issues with departures and landings, Magnemites and Voltorbs arriving en masse to power plants and sapping energy from city lines. Almost as if on cue, my TV and lights flickered for just a moment, likely from the same issue locally.
"Just because they showed up to us doesn't mean we can control them," I told her, shaking my head and giving Mew a careful glance. "When we can raise them from infants like my Charmander."
"So THAT'S what a Charmander is??" she asked, gazing at the salamander. "No wonder everyone is always talking about it."
"Vanessa, over here," I brought her attention back to me. "Babe, these little guys aren't loyal by default. And what's more, they're powerful, even if they don't look like it."
A sudden burst of fire splashed against my fridge, making Vanessa jump back and me jump forwards, bundling the agitated Charmander up in my arms while Mew flew over to huddle behind Vanessa's back, peeking over her shoulder. "... at least it was just the fridge," I breathed out, patting Charmander to try and calm him down. Maybe Mew should have let him get the tail at least once. "But just like that, they aren't exactly something that can just be ordered around, at least not at first. And what's worse, people are going to start trying to take them for themselves."
"Why would they do that??" she asked, her voice pained, pulling Mew around into her arms like a mama bear. "Don't they have their own?"
"Yes," I nodded, this time going over to my computer and pulling up Reddit, where sure enough the Pokemon subs were absolutely on fire. I pulled up image after image, showing her what others were getting, the majority of which were better off in a fish tank than accompanying anyone on a journey. "From what people can tell, most of us only have this guy. Magikarp. Turns into that big blue sea beastie attacking that ship I showed you, but pretty much useless before that. Only a small percentage seems to have gotten anything else." I set down Charmander and kneeled next to him, giving him a small pet again, proud that not only had I avoided a Magikarp, but even gotten a shiny Charmander to boot.
"Meanwhile NO ONE has gotten Mew... and the Pokemon games are very much about getting the ones you don't have. In fact it's sort of their catchphrase. The games are pretty good about teaching kids," I stopped at her quirked brow, giving her an impatient response. "They're still kids games but no way could an eight year old understand all the finite... OH NEVERMIND." I was defending my choice in playing a game that had literally just become reality. That should have been justification enough.
"Look Vanessa, people suck, and I don't know what could happen if people decide to start going for others' Pokemon!" I bursted, and she took a step back, looking between Mew and Charmander.
"They... I won't let them," she shook her head, biting a lip.
Ugh, that wasn't fair and she knew it. I couldn't stay mad after that.
"Then that leaves us with two options," I said, reaching forwards for her hands, an apology in my eyes. "We either hide Mew, or we accept that the world is about to change, and that the games are going to become real. That people are going to come for Mew, maybe even for my Charmander, and that we have to be ready."
"... what else happens in the games?" she asked, still worried.
"Oh it isn't all bad," I told her, pulling her over to my couch and setting her down. She leaned towards me and I leaned towards the couch's arm until we were both laying down. Mew floated above us, looking down at us oddly, and I could feel Charmander's tail heating up the air around where my feet stuck over the edge of the other arm. "People will start roaming around having friendly fights with each other."
"Using their Pokemon?!" she asked, incredulous.
"It's what they want," I assured her, directing her gaze to where Mew and Charmander were already starting to play again in the center of my living room. "Pokemon aren't weapons, but they fight and grow stronger all the same. And when they have trainers, which now we are, they do it to get stronger for us. Faster than they could alone. Eventually some, like Charmander, evolve. Others, like Mew, are powerful on their own and won't need to. In order to make their Pokemon stronger, some people will start Gyms. And the strongest trainers in those Gyms will rise to the top as specialists, and eventually competitions will begin. Trainers all over will travel far and wide to prove that they're the best like no one ever was." | *Pick up the phone. You know it's her. She probably needs help with it.*
"Hey, did you finally get yours?"
"My what?"
"Your Pokemon."
"Oh, is that what this thing's called?"
"I'm taking that as a yes...what is it?"
"You just said it's called a Pokemon."
*Innocence never ceases to amaze me.*
"I mean what does it look like?"
"It looks like a big cat. It's got big eyes and a really long tail."
"Ah, sounds like a Persian..."
"I've never seen a Persian cat that can float in the air."
*Oh, how far she'll go with a loose tongue like that...*
"Wait what? That changes things...no, it can't be..."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, just...has it been saying anything?"
"I told you, it's a cat. It just meows."
*Bingo.*
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the salon, but I'm almost done. I need to go grocery shopping though..."
"*NO!*...Sorry for yelling, but you need to bring the Pokemon home as soon as possible. It's more powerful than you think."
"What? It doesn't look like a vicious animal at all! It'll be fine waiting in the car for a few minutes. It's not hot out or anything..."
"That's not the point. The point is you have a pet now and we need to know how to take care of it. Bring it back first. We can go shopping later."
"Okay. I'll be there in a few. Bye."
...
*You did good. However, I no longer require your services.*
"WHAT? PLEASE NOOOOOOO-"
*I almost feel sorry for him. He only just got his pet lizard, but the flame's already burned out...but that is the past. I will be meeting with Mew One soon, and from there, we will set the record straight that this is our world.* | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | ((I decided to ignore the Spirit Animal aspect just because I like the idea of having essentially Spirit Animals via Augmented Reality Glasses representing Clippy-esque assistants. Yes, I liked the idea of Clippy even if its execution wasn't that great, shh, storytime))
When augmented reality went big, Pokemon were quick to capitalise on the glasses, and created an official app: Pokemon Companion AR.
The idea was that the app would take into account your preferences from other apps and determine the most ideal Pokemon to act as a glorified interface for other features on your phone.
Some were unlikely to use it, and it was for this reason on perusal they got a Magikarp: has potential to evolve into a Gyrados, a particularly heavy user, but for the time being happy to occasionally splash about and treat it like a futuristic Tamagotchi pet/real world screensaver.
It was surprising how compatible the faux-holographic displays of Pokemon were with just about everything. While scientists debated if the seemingly in increasingly emergent intelligent nature of the AR Companions made them technically class as true AI, albeit with animalistic natures, most people enjoyed them, even if they had no control over what Pokemon they had unless they signed in under a new account designed to have specific preferences.
Many Pokemon were never unlocked. For example, Nobody seemed to fit the requirements to get a Luvdisc. There were rumours of a hacker in Madagascar who figured out what was required, but he soon vanished, and the world moved on.
Similarly, nobody in the public had a Ditto, although that was a development decision: a Ditto user has full administrative control over the system, being able to transform into any Pokemon, and thus have full capabilities without needing to buy Technical Machine upgrades from The Pokemon Company.
Nobody had a Mew, of course, the requirements were too strange and arcane to work out. Mew had the abilities of Ditto, potentially.... Nintendo also revealed that due to a bug in the coding of the Gen 1 series, Mew could permanently corrupt other AR companions if it beat them in combat. It was permadeath, if Mew was on the virtual battlefield.
People joked about Missingno, and the world was happy in the knowledge that Mew did not exist.
And so it was that my girlfriend signed up for her first Pokemon Companion AR interface.
As she finished, and the program compiled, an eerie 'Meeeww?' shook me to my gourd.
She laughed.
"It's kind of cute. What is it?"
"... A Mew. You... What. How do you have a Mew?"
"Dunno. Just answered the questions honestly."
"Sweetie, the Pope got a Houndoom. Obama got a Machamp. David Cameron got a Muk. I have a Charmander. These things are representative of their personalities. So how come you have the Pokemon that is supposedly the most innocent and sweet, when I know you are a foul mouthed tentacle porn orgy lover who drinks, smokes, and is morally loose?"
"Dunno. Why, does it matter?"
"... We are going to get lynched. We are going to be killed for your account. Oh boy." | I pause for a moment, as I double-check my memory. Been awhile since I actually looked up gen 1 pokemon. If there were ever a time to study up, it'd have been now, but whatever.
"That...." I paused for a moment, and thought about it.
Mew, pokemon #151, the most adoreable floating fetus you've ever seen, though since the origional sprites they've been making it into a cute psychic cat-fox thing. Generally depcted as a childlike, kind soul, somehwat mischevious, able to do crazy magic/psychic things for fun and games. Like if Loki were a puppy.
Then I thought about her.
Smart, clever, good with technology ( God knows she's better than I am), happy to learn anything the world throws at her. She's funny and sociable, always making me keep a semblance of a social life for my own good when I'm too willing to tuck away in a hole, so long as she shares it with me. She carries an air of excitement and love with her, love of people, love of discovery, love of *life*.
Yeah, I think that all fits pretty well. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "CHARMANDER!" I cried out in glee as a bright, orange creature with a flaming tale appear in front of me. My very own spirit animal was incidentally the first Pokemon I owned in the Pokemon game that I played back when I was a young child. Charmander gave a low growl, a little cautious of me.
"Come here, little guy. You and I are going to be best friends... for real this time." I bit my bottom lip and slowly reached towards him.
It stared quietly at me but stayed still.
"There we go. That's it." I petted him and I felt a rush of joy overwhelming me. This was the happiest day of my life. My Charmander against the world! Nothing can stop me! Charmander can easily beat out all the weak Magikarps that everyone else have! I'll level up my spirit animal until it evolves into Charizard and conquered the world. I can finally leave my abusive relationship with my girlfriend. I'll travel to new-
"HEY, honey! I'm home! You can't believe how cute this is! Take a look at my new blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing! You better make sure the toilet seat is down again or I'll set this little guy loose on you!"
| I pause for a moment, as I double-check my memory. Been awhile since I actually looked up gen 1 pokemon. If there were ever a time to study up, it'd have been now, but whatever.
"That...." I paused for a moment, and thought about it.
Mew, pokemon #151, the most adoreable floating fetus you've ever seen, though since the origional sprites they've been making it into a cute psychic cat-fox thing. Generally depcted as a childlike, kind soul, somehwat mischevious, able to do crazy magic/psychic things for fun and games. Like if Loki were a puppy.
Then I thought about her.
Smart, clever, good with technology ( God knows she's better than I am), happy to learn anything the world throws at her. She's funny and sociable, always making me keep a semblance of a social life for my own good when I'm too willing to tuck away in a hole, so long as she shares it with me. She carries an air of excitement and love with her, love of people, love of discovery, love of *life*.
Yeah, I think that all fits pretty well. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | The sight of my Charmander, seemingly fresh from his egg as he rolled about on the floor playing with his own tail, the scales on his body a stark black, suddenly seemed to be much less impressive. No less endearing, but certainly less impressive. Not even the thought of what he would eventually become, a massive, winged, fire breathing drake, compared to what she had just told me over the phone.
"H-has it said anything to you?" I ask, remembering what words were and how to use them.
"No, not really," she says, giggling as what I really hoped it wasn't must have been floating around. "It just keeps mewing."
I had to resist the urge to slam my face into my palm. "That would be it saying something, hun."
I'd always known Vanessa wasn't the type for this sort of a thing. She was a solid enough top on League, and she was always good for a round on Halo, but Pokemon had never been her thing. I was just a bit more of a nerd than she was, and I'd long ago accepted that. I mean hey, she'd accepted me right?
But only now was it beginning to set in just how little she actually knew about a phenomenon two decades old. A part of me found it almost endearing. The rest of me found it cruel that her spirit animal was the single rarest Pokemon in all of existence shy of the gods themselves.
If her spirit animal had been an Arceus or a Groudon I likely would have been much more concerned. As it was, I just found myself at a profound loss. "Vanessa?" I said, my voice perhaps a bit higher than I'd have liked. "Do... do you think you could bring it over here for me to see?"
"Sure!" she said, her voice bright and airy. "I'll be over in just a mome--" There was a strange garbling sound just before Vanessa appeared just in front of me in my apartment, her hair still in a mess from bed, her pajamas still on. "... ent."
"Don't freak ou--"
"OH MY GOD!!"
"Vanessa please, it just used Tele--"
"I'm NEVER going to be late for work again!"
Once again I was rendered speechless. She had just been teleported about five miles still in her nightwear and it hadn't even registered that this was out of place. Just that it was convenient for her.
And then I saw it. Floating out from behind her, small and so very pink, came Mew. The original Pokemon, at least so far as the ones which populated the world of Pokemon. From it all others descended. It was every Pokemon at one time and something that none of the others could ever be.
"Mew."
I blinked, unsure whether it had actually spoken or just said it directly into my mind. Its large eyes bore into my own, and I could practically *feel* Mew's presence in my head now. It was searching for something in me. Perhaps comparing the memories it must have already gleaned from Vanessa to me. But then it blinked and looked downwards, floating a bit towards Charmander when it noticed the small fire type sniffing up at it.
It didn't take long for the two of them to start playing, with Mew bobbing around giggling, its laughs echoing as much through the room as my head, while Charmander jumped around trying to catch its tail. Some part of me prayed that it would continually fail, because I didn't want a stray outburst of kinetic energy to destroy half of my apartment. Or block.
*Or city.*
"Vanessa I don't think you understand how important this is," I said in a hushed tone, forgetting that Mew could probably hear my thoughts before I even said them. "Like, this is big."
She was entirely entranced by the way the two of them were playing. "God, if I'd known they were so cute I'd have bought the games a long time ago."
"I've shown them all to you!" I said, a bit exasperated. "You've literally fallen asleep on my couch while I play..." I took a breath, shutting my eyes and focusing. "... not the point. Vanessa, focus here. This thing? It's cute, and cuddly, and probably won't ever try to hurt you."
"Then I don't see the problem, just LOOK at him!"
"It," I corrected. "Mew doesn't have a gender. It's a thing about the really rare ones." I waved off her confused glance with the quickest explanation I could come up with. "And that's just it. This one is named Mew, and its REALLY, *REALLY* rare. Like so rare that people are willing to corrupt their hard earned game saves just to get one. And it's what Nintendo loves to give out to drum up publicity. This was the first Pokemon to be on the top of everyone's want lists."
"And now I have one!" she was practically beaming at me now, not quite getting what I was going for.
"And now everyone else is going to want it from you," I said firmly, reaching out to grip her wrist and keep her looking at me instead of the scene even I was having a hard time ignoring.
She looked at me distantly, and I could see the gears falling into place behind her eyes. "Y... you don't mean."
"I do," I nodded solemnly. "You probably shouldn't let anyone find out that you have it. I can't guarantee how crazy things might or might not get."
"But... but doesn't everyone have their own?" she asked, looking at Mew with worry on her features.
"Vanessa," I breathed out, trying to give her an understanding smile. "... you REALLY have no idea what Pokemon is about, do you?" I brought her over to the TV and flipped it on, going from station to station. Almost everything was displaying emergency broadcasts. Lapras sightings in Loch Ness, a Gyarados that had attacked an oil tanker, Pidgeots taking up roosts in airports and causing issues with departures and landings, Magnemites and Voltorbs arriving en masse to power plants and sapping energy from city lines. Almost as if on cue, my TV and lights flickered for just a moment, likely from the same issue locally.
"Just because they showed up to us doesn't mean we can control them," I told her, shaking my head and giving Mew a careful glance. "When we can raise them from infants like my Charmander."
"So THAT'S what a Charmander is??" she asked, gazing at the salamander. "No wonder everyone is always talking about it."
"Vanessa, over here," I brought her attention back to me. "Babe, these little guys aren't loyal by default. And what's more, they're powerful, even if they don't look like it."
A sudden burst of fire splashed against my fridge, making Vanessa jump back and me jump forwards, bundling the agitated Charmander up in my arms while Mew flew over to huddle behind Vanessa's back, peeking over her shoulder. "... at least it was just the fridge," I breathed out, patting Charmander to try and calm him down. Maybe Mew should have let him get the tail at least once. "But just like that, they aren't exactly something that can just be ordered around, at least not at first. And what's worse, people are going to start trying to take them for themselves."
"Why would they do that??" she asked, her voice pained, pulling Mew around into her arms like a mama bear. "Don't they have their own?"
"Yes," I nodded, this time going over to my computer and pulling up Reddit, where sure enough the Pokemon subs were absolutely on fire. I pulled up image after image, showing her what others were getting, the majority of which were better off in a fish tank than accompanying anyone on a journey. "From what people can tell, most of us only have this guy. Magikarp. Turns into that big blue sea beastie attacking that ship I showed you, but pretty much useless before that. Only a small percentage seems to have gotten anything else." I set down Charmander and kneeled next to him, giving him a small pet again, proud that not only had I avoided a Magikarp, but even gotten a shiny Charmander to boot.
"Meanwhile NO ONE has gotten Mew... and the Pokemon games are very much about getting the ones you don't have. In fact it's sort of their catchphrase. The games are pretty good about teaching kids," I stopped at her quirked brow, giving her an impatient response. "They're still kids games but no way could an eight year old understand all the finite... OH NEVERMIND." I was defending my choice in playing a game that had literally just become reality. That should have been justification enough.
"Look Vanessa, people suck, and I don't know what could happen if people decide to start going for others' Pokemon!" I bursted, and she took a step back, looking between Mew and Charmander.
"They... I won't let them," she shook her head, biting a lip.
Ugh, that wasn't fair and she knew it. I couldn't stay mad after that.
"Then that leaves us with two options," I said, reaching forwards for her hands, an apology in my eyes. "We either hide Mew, or we accept that the world is about to change, and that the games are going to become real. That people are going to come for Mew, maybe even for my Charmander, and that we have to be ready."
"... what else happens in the games?" she asked, still worried.
"Oh it isn't all bad," I told her, pulling her over to my couch and setting her down. She leaned towards me and I leaned towards the couch's arm until we were both laying down. Mew floated above us, looking down at us oddly, and I could feel Charmander's tail heating up the air around where my feet stuck over the edge of the other arm. "People will start roaming around having friendly fights with each other."
"Using their Pokemon?!" she asked, incredulous.
"It's what they want," I assured her, directing her gaze to where Mew and Charmander were already starting to play again in the center of my living room. "Pokemon aren't weapons, but they fight and grow stronger all the same. And when they have trainers, which now we are, they do it to get stronger for us. Faster than they could alone. Eventually some, like Charmander, evolve. Others, like Mew, are powerful on their own and won't need to. In order to make their Pokemon stronger, some people will start Gyms. And the strongest trainers in those Gyms will rise to the top as specialists, and eventually competitions will begin. Trainers all over will travel far and wide to prove that they're the best like no one ever was." | I pause for a moment, as I double-check my memory. Been awhile since I actually looked up gen 1 pokemon. If there were ever a time to study up, it'd have been now, but whatever.
"That...." I paused for a moment, and thought about it.
Mew, pokemon #151, the most adoreable floating fetus you've ever seen, though since the origional sprites they've been making it into a cute psychic cat-fox thing. Generally depcted as a childlike, kind soul, somehwat mischevious, able to do crazy magic/psychic things for fun and games. Like if Loki were a puppy.
Then I thought about her.
Smart, clever, good with technology ( God knows she's better than I am), happy to learn anything the world throws at her. She's funny and sociable, always making me keep a semblance of a social life for my own good when I'm too willing to tuck away in a hole, so long as she shares it with me. She carries an air of excitement and love with her, love of people, love of discovery, love of *life*.
Yeah, I think that all fits pretty well. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | ((I decided to ignore the Spirit Animal aspect just because I like the idea of having essentially Spirit Animals via Augmented Reality Glasses representing Clippy-esque assistants. Yes, I liked the idea of Clippy even if its execution wasn't that great, shh, storytime))
When augmented reality went big, Pokemon were quick to capitalise on the glasses, and created an official app: Pokemon Companion AR.
The idea was that the app would take into account your preferences from other apps and determine the most ideal Pokemon to act as a glorified interface for other features on your phone.
Some were unlikely to use it, and it was for this reason on perusal they got a Magikarp: has potential to evolve into a Gyrados, a particularly heavy user, but for the time being happy to occasionally splash about and treat it like a futuristic Tamagotchi pet/real world screensaver.
It was surprising how compatible the faux-holographic displays of Pokemon were with just about everything. While scientists debated if the seemingly in increasingly emergent intelligent nature of the AR Companions made them technically class as true AI, albeit with animalistic natures, most people enjoyed them, even if they had no control over what Pokemon they had unless they signed in under a new account designed to have specific preferences.
Many Pokemon were never unlocked. For example, Nobody seemed to fit the requirements to get a Luvdisc. There were rumours of a hacker in Madagascar who figured out what was required, but he soon vanished, and the world moved on.
Similarly, nobody in the public had a Ditto, although that was a development decision: a Ditto user has full administrative control over the system, being able to transform into any Pokemon, and thus have full capabilities without needing to buy Technical Machine upgrades from The Pokemon Company.
Nobody had a Mew, of course, the requirements were too strange and arcane to work out. Mew had the abilities of Ditto, potentially.... Nintendo also revealed that due to a bug in the coding of the Gen 1 series, Mew could permanently corrupt other AR companions if it beat them in combat. It was permadeath, if Mew was on the virtual battlefield.
People joked about Missingno, and the world was happy in the knowledge that Mew did not exist.
And so it was that my girlfriend signed up for her first Pokemon Companion AR interface.
As she finished, and the program compiled, an eerie 'Meeeww?' shook me to my gourd.
She laughed.
"It's kind of cute. What is it?"
"... A Mew. You... What. How do you have a Mew?"
"Dunno. Just answered the questions honestly."
"Sweetie, the Pope got a Houndoom. Obama got a Machamp. David Cameron got a Muk. I have a Charmander. These things are representative of their personalities. So how come you have the Pokemon that is supposedly the most innocent and sweet, when I know you are a foul mouthed tentacle porn orgy lover who drinks, smokes, and is morally loose?"
"Dunno. Why, does it matter?"
"... We are going to get lynched. We are going to be killed for your account. Oh boy." | Every year is a new level!" They say.
Well, they're right. It's the 20th year since the spirit animals appeared, and we weren't ready. We knew that some were violent and powerful, such as Scyther and Raticate, but they were relatively rare so they stayed contained.
Now me and my partner are here in a desert cavern, hidden and trapped. The electric fences are holding off the terrors of the countryside, creatures out for blood unlike my Chameleon or my partners Mew (must be a Mayan thing, I haven't seen any others). Chameleon isn't very effective against them, which makes it tough for me.
But Mew? Mew can learn anything, it seems. Her thunderstorms are SUPER EFFECTIVE against the dragons people's common Magicarp turned into, these so-called "Gyarados".
I only hope the rumors we hear are true, of the new devices that Sylph Co. is making. Little red and white electrical grenades that incapacitate and contain these creatures. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "CHARMANDER!" I cried out in glee as a bright, orange creature with a flaming tale appear in front of me. My very own spirit animal was incidentally the first Pokemon I owned in the Pokemon game that I played back when I was a young child. Charmander gave a low growl, a little cautious of me.
"Come here, little guy. You and I are going to be best friends... for real this time." I bit my bottom lip and slowly reached towards him.
It stared quietly at me but stayed still.
"There we go. That's it." I petted him and I felt a rush of joy overwhelming me. This was the happiest day of my life. My Charmander against the world! Nothing can stop me! Charmander can easily beat out all the weak Magikarps that everyone else have! I'll level up my spirit animal until it evolves into Charizard and conquered the world. I can finally leave my abusive relationship with my girlfriend. I'll travel to new-
"HEY, honey! I'm home! You can't believe how cute this is! Take a look at my new blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing! You better make sure the toilet seat is down again or I'll set this little guy loose on you!"
| Every year is a new level!" They say.
Well, they're right. It's the 20th year since the spirit animals appeared, and we weren't ready. We knew that some were violent and powerful, such as Scyther and Raticate, but they were relatively rare so they stayed contained.
Now me and my partner are here in a desert cavern, hidden and trapped. The electric fences are holding off the terrors of the countryside, creatures out for blood unlike my Chameleon or my partners Mew (must be a Mayan thing, I haven't seen any others). Chameleon isn't very effective against them, which makes it tough for me.
But Mew? Mew can learn anything, it seems. Her thunderstorms are SUPER EFFECTIVE against the dragons people's common Magicarp turned into, these so-called "Gyarados".
I only hope the rumors we hear are true, of the new devices that Sylph Co. is making. Little red and white electrical grenades that incapacitate and contain these creatures. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | The sight of my Charmander, seemingly fresh from his egg as he rolled about on the floor playing with his own tail, the scales on his body a stark black, suddenly seemed to be much less impressive. No less endearing, but certainly less impressive. Not even the thought of what he would eventually become, a massive, winged, fire breathing drake, compared to what she had just told me over the phone.
"H-has it said anything to you?" I ask, remembering what words were and how to use them.
"No, not really," she says, giggling as what I really hoped it wasn't must have been floating around. "It just keeps mewing."
I had to resist the urge to slam my face into my palm. "That would be it saying something, hun."
I'd always known Vanessa wasn't the type for this sort of a thing. She was a solid enough top on League, and she was always good for a round on Halo, but Pokemon had never been her thing. I was just a bit more of a nerd than she was, and I'd long ago accepted that. I mean hey, she'd accepted me right?
But only now was it beginning to set in just how little she actually knew about a phenomenon two decades old. A part of me found it almost endearing. The rest of me found it cruel that her spirit animal was the single rarest Pokemon in all of existence shy of the gods themselves.
If her spirit animal had been an Arceus or a Groudon I likely would have been much more concerned. As it was, I just found myself at a profound loss. "Vanessa?" I said, my voice perhaps a bit higher than I'd have liked. "Do... do you think you could bring it over here for me to see?"
"Sure!" she said, her voice bright and airy. "I'll be over in just a mome--" There was a strange garbling sound just before Vanessa appeared just in front of me in my apartment, her hair still in a mess from bed, her pajamas still on. "... ent."
"Don't freak ou--"
"OH MY GOD!!"
"Vanessa please, it just used Tele--"
"I'm NEVER going to be late for work again!"
Once again I was rendered speechless. She had just been teleported about five miles still in her nightwear and it hadn't even registered that this was out of place. Just that it was convenient for her.
And then I saw it. Floating out from behind her, small and so very pink, came Mew. The original Pokemon, at least so far as the ones which populated the world of Pokemon. From it all others descended. It was every Pokemon at one time and something that none of the others could ever be.
"Mew."
I blinked, unsure whether it had actually spoken or just said it directly into my mind. Its large eyes bore into my own, and I could practically *feel* Mew's presence in my head now. It was searching for something in me. Perhaps comparing the memories it must have already gleaned from Vanessa to me. But then it blinked and looked downwards, floating a bit towards Charmander when it noticed the small fire type sniffing up at it.
It didn't take long for the two of them to start playing, with Mew bobbing around giggling, its laughs echoing as much through the room as my head, while Charmander jumped around trying to catch its tail. Some part of me prayed that it would continually fail, because I didn't want a stray outburst of kinetic energy to destroy half of my apartment. Or block.
*Or city.*
"Vanessa I don't think you understand how important this is," I said in a hushed tone, forgetting that Mew could probably hear my thoughts before I even said them. "Like, this is big."
She was entirely entranced by the way the two of them were playing. "God, if I'd known they were so cute I'd have bought the games a long time ago."
"I've shown them all to you!" I said, a bit exasperated. "You've literally fallen asleep on my couch while I play..." I took a breath, shutting my eyes and focusing. "... not the point. Vanessa, focus here. This thing? It's cute, and cuddly, and probably won't ever try to hurt you."
"Then I don't see the problem, just LOOK at him!"
"It," I corrected. "Mew doesn't have a gender. It's a thing about the really rare ones." I waved off her confused glance with the quickest explanation I could come up with. "And that's just it. This one is named Mew, and its REALLY, *REALLY* rare. Like so rare that people are willing to corrupt their hard earned game saves just to get one. And it's what Nintendo loves to give out to drum up publicity. This was the first Pokemon to be on the top of everyone's want lists."
"And now I have one!" she was practically beaming at me now, not quite getting what I was going for.
"And now everyone else is going to want it from you," I said firmly, reaching out to grip her wrist and keep her looking at me instead of the scene even I was having a hard time ignoring.
She looked at me distantly, and I could see the gears falling into place behind her eyes. "Y... you don't mean."
"I do," I nodded solemnly. "You probably shouldn't let anyone find out that you have it. I can't guarantee how crazy things might or might not get."
"But... but doesn't everyone have their own?" she asked, looking at Mew with worry on her features.
"Vanessa," I breathed out, trying to give her an understanding smile. "... you REALLY have no idea what Pokemon is about, do you?" I brought her over to the TV and flipped it on, going from station to station. Almost everything was displaying emergency broadcasts. Lapras sightings in Loch Ness, a Gyarados that had attacked an oil tanker, Pidgeots taking up roosts in airports and causing issues with departures and landings, Magnemites and Voltorbs arriving en masse to power plants and sapping energy from city lines. Almost as if on cue, my TV and lights flickered for just a moment, likely from the same issue locally.
"Just because they showed up to us doesn't mean we can control them," I told her, shaking my head and giving Mew a careful glance. "When we can raise them from infants like my Charmander."
"So THAT'S what a Charmander is??" she asked, gazing at the salamander. "No wonder everyone is always talking about it."
"Vanessa, over here," I brought her attention back to me. "Babe, these little guys aren't loyal by default. And what's more, they're powerful, even if they don't look like it."
A sudden burst of fire splashed against my fridge, making Vanessa jump back and me jump forwards, bundling the agitated Charmander up in my arms while Mew flew over to huddle behind Vanessa's back, peeking over her shoulder. "... at least it was just the fridge," I breathed out, patting Charmander to try and calm him down. Maybe Mew should have let him get the tail at least once. "But just like that, they aren't exactly something that can just be ordered around, at least not at first. And what's worse, people are going to start trying to take them for themselves."
"Why would they do that??" she asked, her voice pained, pulling Mew around into her arms like a mama bear. "Don't they have their own?"
"Yes," I nodded, this time going over to my computer and pulling up Reddit, where sure enough the Pokemon subs were absolutely on fire. I pulled up image after image, showing her what others were getting, the majority of which were better off in a fish tank than accompanying anyone on a journey. "From what people can tell, most of us only have this guy. Magikarp. Turns into that big blue sea beastie attacking that ship I showed you, but pretty much useless before that. Only a small percentage seems to have gotten anything else." I set down Charmander and kneeled next to him, giving him a small pet again, proud that not only had I avoided a Magikarp, but even gotten a shiny Charmander to boot.
"Meanwhile NO ONE has gotten Mew... and the Pokemon games are very much about getting the ones you don't have. In fact it's sort of their catchphrase. The games are pretty good about teaching kids," I stopped at her quirked brow, giving her an impatient response. "They're still kids games but no way could an eight year old understand all the finite... OH NEVERMIND." I was defending my choice in playing a game that had literally just become reality. That should have been justification enough.
"Look Vanessa, people suck, and I don't know what could happen if people decide to start going for others' Pokemon!" I bursted, and she took a step back, looking between Mew and Charmander.
"They... I won't let them," she shook her head, biting a lip.
Ugh, that wasn't fair and she knew it. I couldn't stay mad after that.
"Then that leaves us with two options," I said, reaching forwards for her hands, an apology in my eyes. "We either hide Mew, or we accept that the world is about to change, and that the games are going to become real. That people are going to come for Mew, maybe even for my Charmander, and that we have to be ready."
"... what else happens in the games?" she asked, still worried.
"Oh it isn't all bad," I told her, pulling her over to my couch and setting her down. She leaned towards me and I leaned towards the couch's arm until we were both laying down. Mew floated above us, looking down at us oddly, and I could feel Charmander's tail heating up the air around where my feet stuck over the edge of the other arm. "People will start roaming around having friendly fights with each other."
"Using their Pokemon?!" she asked, incredulous.
"It's what they want," I assured her, directing her gaze to where Mew and Charmander were already starting to play again in the center of my living room. "Pokemon aren't weapons, but they fight and grow stronger all the same. And when they have trainers, which now we are, they do it to get stronger for us. Faster than they could alone. Eventually some, like Charmander, evolve. Others, like Mew, are powerful on their own and won't need to. In order to make their Pokemon stronger, some people will start Gyms. And the strongest trainers in those Gyms will rise to the top as specialists, and eventually competitions will begin. Trainers all over will travel far and wide to prove that they're the best like no one ever was." | Every year is a new level!" They say.
Well, they're right. It's the 20th year since the spirit animals appeared, and we weren't ready. We knew that some were violent and powerful, such as Scyther and Raticate, but they were relatively rare so they stayed contained.
Now me and my partner are here in a desert cavern, hidden and trapped. The electric fences are holding off the terrors of the countryside, creatures out for blood unlike my Chameleon or my partners Mew (must be a Mayan thing, I haven't seen any others). Chameleon isn't very effective against them, which makes it tough for me.
But Mew? Mew can learn anything, it seems. Her thunderstorms are SUPER EFFECTIVE against the dragons people's common Magicarp turned into, these so-called "Gyarados".
I only hope the rumors we hear are true, of the new devices that Sylph Co. is making. Little red and white electrical grenades that incapacitate and contain these creatures. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | ((I decided to ignore the Spirit Animal aspect just because I like the idea of having essentially Spirit Animals via Augmented Reality Glasses representing Clippy-esque assistants. Yes, I liked the idea of Clippy even if its execution wasn't that great, shh, storytime))
When augmented reality went big, Pokemon were quick to capitalise on the glasses, and created an official app: Pokemon Companion AR.
The idea was that the app would take into account your preferences from other apps and determine the most ideal Pokemon to act as a glorified interface for other features on your phone.
Some were unlikely to use it, and it was for this reason on perusal they got a Magikarp: has potential to evolve into a Gyrados, a particularly heavy user, but for the time being happy to occasionally splash about and treat it like a futuristic Tamagotchi pet/real world screensaver.
It was surprising how compatible the faux-holographic displays of Pokemon were with just about everything. While scientists debated if the seemingly in increasingly emergent intelligent nature of the AR Companions made them technically class as true AI, albeit with animalistic natures, most people enjoyed them, even if they had no control over what Pokemon they had unless they signed in under a new account designed to have specific preferences.
Many Pokemon were never unlocked. For example, Nobody seemed to fit the requirements to get a Luvdisc. There were rumours of a hacker in Madagascar who figured out what was required, but he soon vanished, and the world moved on.
Similarly, nobody in the public had a Ditto, although that was a development decision: a Ditto user has full administrative control over the system, being able to transform into any Pokemon, and thus have full capabilities without needing to buy Technical Machine upgrades from The Pokemon Company.
Nobody had a Mew, of course, the requirements were too strange and arcane to work out. Mew had the abilities of Ditto, potentially.... Nintendo also revealed that due to a bug in the coding of the Gen 1 series, Mew could permanently corrupt other AR companions if it beat them in combat. It was permadeath, if Mew was on the virtual battlefield.
People joked about Missingno, and the world was happy in the knowledge that Mew did not exist.
And so it was that my girlfriend signed up for her first Pokemon Companion AR interface.
As she finished, and the program compiled, an eerie 'Meeeww?' shook me to my gourd.
She laughed.
"It's kind of cute. What is it?"
"... A Mew. You... What. How do you have a Mew?"
"Dunno. Just answered the questions honestly."
"Sweetie, the Pope got a Houndoom. Obama got a Machamp. David Cameron got a Muk. I have a Charmander. These things are representative of their personalities. So how come you have the Pokemon that is supposedly the most innocent and sweet, when I know you are a foul mouthed tentacle porn orgy lover who drinks, smokes, and is morally loose?"
"Dunno. Why, does it matter?"
"... We are going to get lynched. We are going to be killed for your account. Oh boy." | Our backs were against the wall. This fire in my stomach was burning with as much passion as it possibly could. I looked over to Charmander who looked back at me with the same passion in my heart. We were gonna win this battle and finally get to see Sarah again. We had to do all that we could to protect her but she didn't know. She ended up posting her spirit an-pokemon on Reddit a month ago. Professor Salem at the University told me that we needed to protect her and her spirit pokemon at all costs.
The day we got our spirit pokemon I was at college and she was working at the daycare. I knew a good lot about pokemon back during the second gen but a group of people including Professor Salem converged for a while on what was going on at the time. Turned out there were only first generation pokemon about and I didn't need to think too much about the other 500 some. Thank god. But then again there was that asian student with friends back in Japan that said they all got 5th gen. I wasn't too sure what to do about it.
So now I'm here defending the perimeter of the University from a "Team Galaxy" of sorts from stealing Sarah's pokemon and using it to do harm to the world... | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | The sight of my Charmander, seemingly fresh from his egg as he rolled about on the floor playing with his own tail, the scales on his body a stark black, suddenly seemed to be much less impressive. No less endearing, but certainly less impressive. Not even the thought of what he would eventually become, a massive, winged, fire breathing drake, compared to what she had just told me over the phone.
"H-has it said anything to you?" I ask, remembering what words were and how to use them.
"No, not really," she says, giggling as what I really hoped it wasn't must have been floating around. "It just keeps mewing."
I had to resist the urge to slam my face into my palm. "That would be it saying something, hun."
I'd always known Vanessa wasn't the type for this sort of a thing. She was a solid enough top on League, and she was always good for a round on Halo, but Pokemon had never been her thing. I was just a bit more of a nerd than she was, and I'd long ago accepted that. I mean hey, she'd accepted me right?
But only now was it beginning to set in just how little she actually knew about a phenomenon two decades old. A part of me found it almost endearing. The rest of me found it cruel that her spirit animal was the single rarest Pokemon in all of existence shy of the gods themselves.
If her spirit animal had been an Arceus or a Groudon I likely would have been much more concerned. As it was, I just found myself at a profound loss. "Vanessa?" I said, my voice perhaps a bit higher than I'd have liked. "Do... do you think you could bring it over here for me to see?"
"Sure!" she said, her voice bright and airy. "I'll be over in just a mome--" There was a strange garbling sound just before Vanessa appeared just in front of me in my apartment, her hair still in a mess from bed, her pajamas still on. "... ent."
"Don't freak ou--"
"OH MY GOD!!"
"Vanessa please, it just used Tele--"
"I'm NEVER going to be late for work again!"
Once again I was rendered speechless. She had just been teleported about five miles still in her nightwear and it hadn't even registered that this was out of place. Just that it was convenient for her.
And then I saw it. Floating out from behind her, small and so very pink, came Mew. The original Pokemon, at least so far as the ones which populated the world of Pokemon. From it all others descended. It was every Pokemon at one time and something that none of the others could ever be.
"Mew."
I blinked, unsure whether it had actually spoken or just said it directly into my mind. Its large eyes bore into my own, and I could practically *feel* Mew's presence in my head now. It was searching for something in me. Perhaps comparing the memories it must have already gleaned from Vanessa to me. But then it blinked and looked downwards, floating a bit towards Charmander when it noticed the small fire type sniffing up at it.
It didn't take long for the two of them to start playing, with Mew bobbing around giggling, its laughs echoing as much through the room as my head, while Charmander jumped around trying to catch its tail. Some part of me prayed that it would continually fail, because I didn't want a stray outburst of kinetic energy to destroy half of my apartment. Or block.
*Or city.*
"Vanessa I don't think you understand how important this is," I said in a hushed tone, forgetting that Mew could probably hear my thoughts before I even said them. "Like, this is big."
She was entirely entranced by the way the two of them were playing. "God, if I'd known they were so cute I'd have bought the games a long time ago."
"I've shown them all to you!" I said, a bit exasperated. "You've literally fallen asleep on my couch while I play..." I took a breath, shutting my eyes and focusing. "... not the point. Vanessa, focus here. This thing? It's cute, and cuddly, and probably won't ever try to hurt you."
"Then I don't see the problem, just LOOK at him!"
"It," I corrected. "Mew doesn't have a gender. It's a thing about the really rare ones." I waved off her confused glance with the quickest explanation I could come up with. "And that's just it. This one is named Mew, and its REALLY, *REALLY* rare. Like so rare that people are willing to corrupt their hard earned game saves just to get one. And it's what Nintendo loves to give out to drum up publicity. This was the first Pokemon to be on the top of everyone's want lists."
"And now I have one!" she was practically beaming at me now, not quite getting what I was going for.
"And now everyone else is going to want it from you," I said firmly, reaching out to grip her wrist and keep her looking at me instead of the scene even I was having a hard time ignoring.
She looked at me distantly, and I could see the gears falling into place behind her eyes. "Y... you don't mean."
"I do," I nodded solemnly. "You probably shouldn't let anyone find out that you have it. I can't guarantee how crazy things might or might not get."
"But... but doesn't everyone have their own?" she asked, looking at Mew with worry on her features.
"Vanessa," I breathed out, trying to give her an understanding smile. "... you REALLY have no idea what Pokemon is about, do you?" I brought her over to the TV and flipped it on, going from station to station. Almost everything was displaying emergency broadcasts. Lapras sightings in Loch Ness, a Gyarados that had attacked an oil tanker, Pidgeots taking up roosts in airports and causing issues with departures and landings, Magnemites and Voltorbs arriving en masse to power plants and sapping energy from city lines. Almost as if on cue, my TV and lights flickered for just a moment, likely from the same issue locally.
"Just because they showed up to us doesn't mean we can control them," I told her, shaking my head and giving Mew a careful glance. "When we can raise them from infants like my Charmander."
"So THAT'S what a Charmander is??" she asked, gazing at the salamander. "No wonder everyone is always talking about it."
"Vanessa, over here," I brought her attention back to me. "Babe, these little guys aren't loyal by default. And what's more, they're powerful, even if they don't look like it."
A sudden burst of fire splashed against my fridge, making Vanessa jump back and me jump forwards, bundling the agitated Charmander up in my arms while Mew flew over to huddle behind Vanessa's back, peeking over her shoulder. "... at least it was just the fridge," I breathed out, patting Charmander to try and calm him down. Maybe Mew should have let him get the tail at least once. "But just like that, they aren't exactly something that can just be ordered around, at least not at first. And what's worse, people are going to start trying to take them for themselves."
"Why would they do that??" she asked, her voice pained, pulling Mew around into her arms like a mama bear. "Don't they have their own?"
"Yes," I nodded, this time going over to my computer and pulling up Reddit, where sure enough the Pokemon subs were absolutely on fire. I pulled up image after image, showing her what others were getting, the majority of which were better off in a fish tank than accompanying anyone on a journey. "From what people can tell, most of us only have this guy. Magikarp. Turns into that big blue sea beastie attacking that ship I showed you, but pretty much useless before that. Only a small percentage seems to have gotten anything else." I set down Charmander and kneeled next to him, giving him a small pet again, proud that not only had I avoided a Magikarp, but even gotten a shiny Charmander to boot.
"Meanwhile NO ONE has gotten Mew... and the Pokemon games are very much about getting the ones you don't have. In fact it's sort of their catchphrase. The games are pretty good about teaching kids," I stopped at her quirked brow, giving her an impatient response. "They're still kids games but no way could an eight year old understand all the finite... OH NEVERMIND." I was defending my choice in playing a game that had literally just become reality. That should have been justification enough.
"Look Vanessa, people suck, and I don't know what could happen if people decide to start going for others' Pokemon!" I bursted, and she took a step back, looking between Mew and Charmander.
"They... I won't let them," she shook her head, biting a lip.
Ugh, that wasn't fair and she knew it. I couldn't stay mad after that.
"Then that leaves us with two options," I said, reaching forwards for her hands, an apology in my eyes. "We either hide Mew, or we accept that the world is about to change, and that the games are going to become real. That people are going to come for Mew, maybe even for my Charmander, and that we have to be ready."
"... what else happens in the games?" she asked, still worried.
"Oh it isn't all bad," I told her, pulling her over to my couch and setting her down. She leaned towards me and I leaned towards the couch's arm until we were both laying down. Mew floated above us, looking down at us oddly, and I could feel Charmander's tail heating up the air around where my feet stuck over the edge of the other arm. "People will start roaming around having friendly fights with each other."
"Using their Pokemon?!" she asked, incredulous.
"It's what they want," I assured her, directing her gaze to where Mew and Charmander were already starting to play again in the center of my living room. "Pokemon aren't weapons, but they fight and grow stronger all the same. And when they have trainers, which now we are, they do it to get stronger for us. Faster than they could alone. Eventually some, like Charmander, evolve. Others, like Mew, are powerful on their own and won't need to. In order to make their Pokemon stronger, some people will start Gyms. And the strongest trainers in those Gyms will rise to the top as specialists, and eventually competitions will begin. Trainers all over will travel far and wide to prove that they're the best like no one ever was." | Our backs were against the wall. This fire in my stomach was burning with as much passion as it possibly could. I looked over to Charmander who looked back at me with the same passion in my heart. We were gonna win this battle and finally get to see Sarah again. We had to do all that we could to protect her but she didn't know. She ended up posting her spirit an-pokemon on Reddit a month ago. Professor Salem at the University told me that we needed to protect her and her spirit pokemon at all costs.
The day we got our spirit pokemon I was at college and she was working at the daycare. I knew a good lot about pokemon back during the second gen but a group of people including Professor Salem converged for a while on what was going on at the time. Turned out there were only first generation pokemon about and I didn't need to think too much about the other 500 some. Thank god. But then again there was that asian student with friends back in Japan that said they all got 5th gen. I wasn't too sure what to do about it.
So now I'm here defending the perimeter of the University from a "Team Galaxy" of sorts from stealing Sarah's pokemon and using it to do harm to the world... | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | The sight of my Charmander, seemingly fresh from his egg as he rolled about on the floor playing with his own tail, the scales on his body a stark black, suddenly seemed to be much less impressive. No less endearing, but certainly less impressive. Not even the thought of what he would eventually become, a massive, winged, fire breathing drake, compared to what she had just told me over the phone.
"H-has it said anything to you?" I ask, remembering what words were and how to use them.
"No, not really," she says, giggling as what I really hoped it wasn't must have been floating around. "It just keeps mewing."
I had to resist the urge to slam my face into my palm. "That would be it saying something, hun."
I'd always known Vanessa wasn't the type for this sort of a thing. She was a solid enough top on League, and she was always good for a round on Halo, but Pokemon had never been her thing. I was just a bit more of a nerd than she was, and I'd long ago accepted that. I mean hey, she'd accepted me right?
But only now was it beginning to set in just how little she actually knew about a phenomenon two decades old. A part of me found it almost endearing. The rest of me found it cruel that her spirit animal was the single rarest Pokemon in all of existence shy of the gods themselves.
If her spirit animal had been an Arceus or a Groudon I likely would have been much more concerned. As it was, I just found myself at a profound loss. "Vanessa?" I said, my voice perhaps a bit higher than I'd have liked. "Do... do you think you could bring it over here for me to see?"
"Sure!" she said, her voice bright and airy. "I'll be over in just a mome--" There was a strange garbling sound just before Vanessa appeared just in front of me in my apartment, her hair still in a mess from bed, her pajamas still on. "... ent."
"Don't freak ou--"
"OH MY GOD!!"
"Vanessa please, it just used Tele--"
"I'm NEVER going to be late for work again!"
Once again I was rendered speechless. She had just been teleported about five miles still in her nightwear and it hadn't even registered that this was out of place. Just that it was convenient for her.
And then I saw it. Floating out from behind her, small and so very pink, came Mew. The original Pokemon, at least so far as the ones which populated the world of Pokemon. From it all others descended. It was every Pokemon at one time and something that none of the others could ever be.
"Mew."
I blinked, unsure whether it had actually spoken or just said it directly into my mind. Its large eyes bore into my own, and I could practically *feel* Mew's presence in my head now. It was searching for something in me. Perhaps comparing the memories it must have already gleaned from Vanessa to me. But then it blinked and looked downwards, floating a bit towards Charmander when it noticed the small fire type sniffing up at it.
It didn't take long for the two of them to start playing, with Mew bobbing around giggling, its laughs echoing as much through the room as my head, while Charmander jumped around trying to catch its tail. Some part of me prayed that it would continually fail, because I didn't want a stray outburst of kinetic energy to destroy half of my apartment. Or block.
*Or city.*
"Vanessa I don't think you understand how important this is," I said in a hushed tone, forgetting that Mew could probably hear my thoughts before I even said them. "Like, this is big."
She was entirely entranced by the way the two of them were playing. "God, if I'd known they were so cute I'd have bought the games a long time ago."
"I've shown them all to you!" I said, a bit exasperated. "You've literally fallen asleep on my couch while I play..." I took a breath, shutting my eyes and focusing. "... not the point. Vanessa, focus here. This thing? It's cute, and cuddly, and probably won't ever try to hurt you."
"Then I don't see the problem, just LOOK at him!"
"It," I corrected. "Mew doesn't have a gender. It's a thing about the really rare ones." I waved off her confused glance with the quickest explanation I could come up with. "And that's just it. This one is named Mew, and its REALLY, *REALLY* rare. Like so rare that people are willing to corrupt their hard earned game saves just to get one. And it's what Nintendo loves to give out to drum up publicity. This was the first Pokemon to be on the top of everyone's want lists."
"And now I have one!" she was practically beaming at me now, not quite getting what I was going for.
"And now everyone else is going to want it from you," I said firmly, reaching out to grip her wrist and keep her looking at me instead of the scene even I was having a hard time ignoring.
She looked at me distantly, and I could see the gears falling into place behind her eyes. "Y... you don't mean."
"I do," I nodded solemnly. "You probably shouldn't let anyone find out that you have it. I can't guarantee how crazy things might or might not get."
"But... but doesn't everyone have their own?" she asked, looking at Mew with worry on her features.
"Vanessa," I breathed out, trying to give her an understanding smile. "... you REALLY have no idea what Pokemon is about, do you?" I brought her over to the TV and flipped it on, going from station to station. Almost everything was displaying emergency broadcasts. Lapras sightings in Loch Ness, a Gyarados that had attacked an oil tanker, Pidgeots taking up roosts in airports and causing issues with departures and landings, Magnemites and Voltorbs arriving en masse to power plants and sapping energy from city lines. Almost as if on cue, my TV and lights flickered for just a moment, likely from the same issue locally.
"Just because they showed up to us doesn't mean we can control them," I told her, shaking my head and giving Mew a careful glance. "When we can raise them from infants like my Charmander."
"So THAT'S what a Charmander is??" she asked, gazing at the salamander. "No wonder everyone is always talking about it."
"Vanessa, over here," I brought her attention back to me. "Babe, these little guys aren't loyal by default. And what's more, they're powerful, even if they don't look like it."
A sudden burst of fire splashed against my fridge, making Vanessa jump back and me jump forwards, bundling the agitated Charmander up in my arms while Mew flew over to huddle behind Vanessa's back, peeking over her shoulder. "... at least it was just the fridge," I breathed out, patting Charmander to try and calm him down. Maybe Mew should have let him get the tail at least once. "But just like that, they aren't exactly something that can just be ordered around, at least not at first. And what's worse, people are going to start trying to take them for themselves."
"Why would they do that??" she asked, her voice pained, pulling Mew around into her arms like a mama bear. "Don't they have their own?"
"Yes," I nodded, this time going over to my computer and pulling up Reddit, where sure enough the Pokemon subs were absolutely on fire. I pulled up image after image, showing her what others were getting, the majority of which were better off in a fish tank than accompanying anyone on a journey. "From what people can tell, most of us only have this guy. Magikarp. Turns into that big blue sea beastie attacking that ship I showed you, but pretty much useless before that. Only a small percentage seems to have gotten anything else." I set down Charmander and kneeled next to him, giving him a small pet again, proud that not only had I avoided a Magikarp, but even gotten a shiny Charmander to boot.
"Meanwhile NO ONE has gotten Mew... and the Pokemon games are very much about getting the ones you don't have. In fact it's sort of their catchphrase. The games are pretty good about teaching kids," I stopped at her quirked brow, giving her an impatient response. "They're still kids games but no way could an eight year old understand all the finite... OH NEVERMIND." I was defending my choice in playing a game that had literally just become reality. That should have been justification enough.
"Look Vanessa, people suck, and I don't know what could happen if people decide to start going for others' Pokemon!" I bursted, and she took a step back, looking between Mew and Charmander.
"They... I won't let them," she shook her head, biting a lip.
Ugh, that wasn't fair and she knew it. I couldn't stay mad after that.
"Then that leaves us with two options," I said, reaching forwards for her hands, an apology in my eyes. "We either hide Mew, or we accept that the world is about to change, and that the games are going to become real. That people are going to come for Mew, maybe even for my Charmander, and that we have to be ready."
"... what else happens in the games?" she asked, still worried.
"Oh it isn't all bad," I told her, pulling her over to my couch and setting her down. She leaned towards me and I leaned towards the couch's arm until we were both laying down. Mew floated above us, looking down at us oddly, and I could feel Charmander's tail heating up the air around where my feet stuck over the edge of the other arm. "People will start roaming around having friendly fights with each other."
"Using their Pokemon?!" she asked, incredulous.
"It's what they want," I assured her, directing her gaze to where Mew and Charmander were already starting to play again in the center of my living room. "Pokemon aren't weapons, but they fight and grow stronger all the same. And when they have trainers, which now we are, they do it to get stronger for us. Faster than they could alone. Eventually some, like Charmander, evolve. Others, like Mew, are powerful on their own and won't need to. In order to make their Pokemon stronger, some people will start Gyms. And the strongest trainers in those Gyms will rise to the top as specialists, and eventually competitions will begin. Trainers all over will travel far and wide to prove that they're the best like no one ever was." | "CHARMANDER!" I cried out in glee as a bright, orange creature with a flaming tale appear in front of me. My very own spirit animal was incidentally the first Pokemon I owned in the Pokemon game that I played back when I was a young child. Charmander gave a low growl, a little cautious of me.
"Come here, little guy. You and I are going to be best friends... for real this time." I bit my bottom lip and slowly reached towards him.
It stared quietly at me but stayed still.
"There we go. That's it." I petted him and I felt a rush of joy overwhelming me. This was the happiest day of my life. My Charmander against the world! Nothing can stop me! Charmander can easily beat out all the weak Magikarps that everyone else have! I'll level up my spirit animal until it evolves into Charizard and conquered the world. I can finally leave my abusive relationship with my girlfriend. I'll travel to new-
"HEY, honey! I'm home! You can't believe how cute this is! Take a look at my new blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing! You better make sure the toilet seat is down again or I'll set this little guy loose on you!"
| |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I was shopping for charcoal when she rang. I wanted to know if it really did boost charmander's power, of if that was just a thing in the games. With a smirk I noted the crowd around the aquariums. With some luck, a tenth of them might have a gyarados within the decade. I wondered, and not for the first time, what it was that had decided each person's spirit pokémon. It seemed to reflect their personality some times, for example my boss, who was a loud, but honest, comfortably fat suburban father of two teenage girls, had gotten an electabuzz. Other times it seemed random, like my cokehead neighbor who got a porygon, even though he'd never done anything more complicated on a computer than Counter Strike. I was happy though. Charmander would hopefully grow into a magnificent charizard eventually, but even now it was both powerful and smart. I had planned a trip to IKEA with Jane to replace the sofa, and the charmander had seemed genuinely sorry about it. It wasn't like it was afraid of punishment or anything; it couldn't have been, since it had only existed for about twenty seconds at the time.
I was interrupted in my musings as my phone started vibrating. It was Jane.
"You have to get here" she said, urgently. "It's so cute! I don't know what it's called, but it's all pink"
*Jigglypuff?*
"and it can float"
*Porygon?*
"and it has a tail and blue eyes and you have to get here NOW and see it!"
*...what?*
"Calm down. Breathe."
"Are you coming?"
"I am, but I'm out shopping right now. I need to figure out what my charmander eats, if at all, and I want to check if stuff from the games work in real life."
"Do you have to be such a nerd? You work in a lab, could you at least turn off the science for one day, and be excited about the miracle that happened less than twenty four hours ago?"
"Whoa there, Im filled with wonder and awe all right, I just want to figure out how to best take care of my firebreathing partner with the thousand centigrade tail. The Pokémon, that is. And by the way, I'm sending out emails to all the big universities first thing Monday morning. We'll be studying the 'mons for years, and someone is getting famous for someting, and I want my name up there. Suck on that nerdy nugget of excitement."
"Maybe I will. If you get your ass over here right now, that is."
It was just like her to take the subtle reference for an innuendo. We hung up, and I finished my business in the camping department. I swung by the pharmacy and picked up some syringes as well. If my girlfriend's spirit pokemon was what I thought it was, and what I thought might be possible was possible, the implications would be staggering. Worst case scenario, the government would stop me or steal it. Best case scenario, we might get peace on Earth. The most likely scenario, however, would result in a powerful entity that would hopefully prove benevolent, if I treated it gently. I had no intention of doing otherwise, having seen the possible result on a screen as a child. | Beginning to panic, I insist "Jennifer, repeat your description of your new pokemon." "Okay, it's pink, floating and blue-eyed." I tell her to stay where she is, and not talk to anyone. She never played pokemon, and doesn't understand the significance of training Mew. She doesn't know that she essentially is in control of a god. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "Jase I found it! And I was able to cancel the plumber and the guy checking the hot water tank before they got here, apparently they're all backed up with a bunch of other people who had the same idea—"
"That's nice," I said absently. "So where was it?"
"In the freezer." She sounded ridiculously proud of herself. "No idea how it got there. And it's not a carp either!"
"*Magi*-karp, it's not nerdy anymore it's gonna be the new basic stuff like dog breeds and—assuming this is real and gonna last, anyway. Sorry, so, what?"
Her sigh gusted through the speaker. "You're still totally wrapped up in your lizard aren't you. What have you got to now?"
"This is *Pokemon in real life!* I'm trying to figure out if mine's a girl or boy."
"Seriously?"
"Oh shut up. I think they must be like crocodiles, with all the parts on the inside. You know how you figure out the sex of a crocodile? I'm trying to get this thing to like me. And I don't wanna stick my finger up anywhere and go probing regardless."
She laughed harder.
"Your thing! Your not a Magikarp! Tell me about your not a Magikarp. What is it then?"
"You expect to me know?" she asked rhetorically, but launched into an enthusiastic description anyway. "It's pink, and kind of... unfinished, a bit? I was a little worried at first, it looked like a giant fetal kitten, but now it's gone rounder and... god, these shapes don't make sense! I mean it's adorable and it's real but it just *shouldn't* be—it's got a... ball, for a body, with arms and legs stuck off it, and its face is just on its..."
"It what? El?"
"Ooh, we're changing again, hang on—oh, it's *purple* now, it's *so cute*, it's a big purple mouse—or rat—oh look at its little *teeth*—"
"What?" I protested, my phone falling to the floor. I rescued it before Charmander's curious claws got close enough to touch and hastily wedged it between my shoulder and chin again. "Oh my *god*! You got a Ditto! That is so unfair, you didn't get one Pokemon you got *all* of them—you wanna trade? I'm coming over right now so we can trade."
"No I don't want to trade, what happened to that rhapsody you were spouting off earlier about your fire lizard? This is my... what did you call it?"
"Ditto."
"Seriously."
"I swear. It's called a Ditto."
"Well I'm naming it... something else. A real name. For the love of god, *ditto*..."
"Look, some Pokemon have names that kind of make sense as portmanteaus from real words, like Charmander, and some are Dittos okay? Maybe names'll change if we figure out real animal kingdoms and subspecies and Latinize stuff. But I'm coming over now anyway, we've got a huge advantage we need to take now over the Magikarps before they start evolving—"
"You're babbling again. And my mouse looks like some weird radish with feet now. Can I get it to turn back to a mouse somehow?"
"We'll work on that. That sounds like Ditto training. Oddish is good though, Oddish can cover Charmander's back typewise... no, electric will be better against Gyarados... send your Ditto toward a wall outlet, can you? Or unplug something and give it the cord. See what it turns into."
"You're still making no sense..."
"Do it anyway, pleeeeeaaase?"
"What if it hurts—oh my *god*, now it's a bigger yellow mouse with these *ears*—and its tail looks like *lightning* this is so *cute* hang up I've got to take a picture—"
"Yes! Keep it like that! We're battling doubles forever, I'll help you train—it eats electricity, okay, just keep giving it power cords, I'll be there in thirty minutes! As soon as I figure out... maybe a leash, or... god, somebody better invent pokeballs fast now..."
| Beginning to panic, I insist "Jennifer, repeat your description of your new pokemon." "Okay, it's pink, floating and blue-eyed." I tell her to stay where she is, and not talk to anyone. She never played pokemon, and doesn't understand the significance of training Mew. She doesn't know that she essentially is in control of a god. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I pedaled hard, only two more miles. Uphill. Blood like acid in my thighs, oxygen like tear gas in my lungs but I had to see it for myself. How could she have gotten the 151st? And how could she not know what it is?
It began a few months back, and believe it or not I was the first one. The FIRST. I swear for a week I thought I was stuck in a dream, one of those long, endless dreams you wake up from and realize it’s only been three hours and you let go a huge sigh of relief because your first class is in three hours but you can’t help but wonder how the hell so much time passed in your mind in such a short amount of time… and then you to think in run-on sentences.
It showed up next to me one day when I woke up. A tiny, adorable little orange dragon. Scared the hell out of me for a minute until I realized it was (relatively) friendly. The vet couldn’t explain it, how it could just summon fire. I was on every local news channel with my tiny dragon, the whole county knew my face.
That is, until the others started showing up. Then it became apparent: whatever force or spirit that created these had matched each one to their owner’s individual personality types. Goth kid gets some kind of ghost thing, water polo team all ends up with water-shooting turtles. This was incredible, to say the least… until the day they started fighting. Of course the old frightened grandma types were playing the whole, “DEMONS! END OF THE WORLD!” card but it was like watching two dogs play. It looks like fighting, but it’s just what they do.
What was really incredible was that mine was the champion. Like, categorically, a champion. Nobody could beat him. He would summon pillars of fire and utterly decimate his opponents, sending them back to their owners covered in ash and defeated. What got me was this: everyone has been matched according to personality. I never saw myself as anything particularly special, but mine was a CHAMPION. I’d never been anything until my little fiery guy showed up and suddenly I was a champion too.
Then, my girlfriend calls. It had been about 3 months and nearly everyone had gotten one except her. Look, the thing about her is… well she’s not motivated. I’ve tried to get her to do something, anything except complain but it’s all she does. She’s having a hard time with school and her dad but come on, that’s everyone. She doesn’t have it particularly bad or particularly good and to be honest, I’m getting pretty tired of it. Contemplating not if we should break up, but moreso how do I let her down easy.
Oh right, the call. She calls me up and says, “I got mine! I finally got mine!” I sort of roll my eyes, wondering which one of the one hundred and fifty one it could be. Sort of making jokes to myself, betting it’s that goldfish one. Then she says, it looks like a cat. I ask her if it’s white, she says it’s pink.
I stop. Wait, pink? Flipping through my mind’s index, frantic, I ask her if it has blue eyes. She says yes. NO WAY. It can’t be. I ask her if it floats, she says it’s floating right now! WHAT. I tell her I’m coming over. I get on my bike. I pedal HARD.
How the hell? How could she have gotten Mew? She complains all day, she’s barely pulling a 2.0 average, she’s not particularly talented… how the hell? I kept pedaling, Fuego in my backpack squirming away. (Did I mention? I named him Fuego). I get to her door and burst in, of course she’s sleeping on the couch. I stop to catch my breath, fanning myself with one of her dad’s Sports Illustrated magazines.
I hear a crash in the kitchen. Hold on, where did I put my backpack? Oh CRAP where’s Fuego? I run into the kitchen just in time to see a flash of light and feel the heat on my face. Fuego is fighting her Mew! I had to see this.
I ran around the corner in time to see a churning orb of flame launching towards the sink. It sizzled out in the water. Where was her Mew?
The water exploded in a splash of mist and a pink, cat-like creature came soaring out. Fuego materialized another flame orb and began directing it towards the Mew. But wait… he’s kind of… rotund for a Mew. Time stands still as I think hard and try tor remember everything I can about Mew. He’s not… fat is he?
Suddenly, Fuego stops. His opponent returns to the bubbly sink water, hidden by the bubbles. For a second he looks dead but… he’s asleep? Wait, pink, blue eyes, “floats” in the BATH SHE WAS GIVING HIM.
I laugh out loud. A huge sigh of relief, that’s no Mew! Then the guilt hits and suddenly nothing is funny. All of those horrible things I thought about her. I come barging in like a jerk because I, the champion, have to see this Mew for myself and what does it get me? A defeated Fuego and a sweat-soaked shirt.
But hold on. If Fuego is the champion and is so easily defeated by some pink puff, what does that make me? I’d be able to think straight if I wasn’t so tired….. who is singing? | Beginning to panic, I insist "Jennifer, repeat your description of your new pokemon." "Okay, it's pink, floating and blue-eyed." I tell her to stay where she is, and not talk to anyone. She never played pokemon, and doesn't understand the significance of training Mew. She doesn't know that she essentially is in control of a god. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I sat in my living room, staring blankly at my Spirit Animal, pondering where I'd gone wrong in life to deserve this.
...No, sorry, scratch that, staring blankly at my Spirit Pokemon. Charmander, I'd gotten Charmander. I knew one day he'd evolve in to Charizard and I absolutely dread that day. I live in a cruddy apartment in the Midwest, I'm not even allowed a pet cause of it and now there's another burn mark in the carpet becau-NO, NO, STOP, DO NOT STICK YOUR TAIL ON THE COUC-OH GOD WHY YOU KNEW YOU WERE DOING THAT NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING STUBBORN!
Uggghhhhh, I love you to death, Charmy, but we gotta figure something out before we make The Great Chicago Fire look like a mild camp fire.
One day, the world just suddenly went sideways and everyone had Pokemon. No one knew what the hell was happening, and suddenly blammo, hey, here's this sentient beast that can and accidentally will probably destroy something you enjoy but goddamn if they aren't adorable. Weird thing was, though, it was only the original 150 from the first generation. Try as I might, I couldn't ever find anyone that'd managed to get any of the super adorable Baby one's from the 2nd gen or those weirder ones from the other gens when it was totally obvious Game Freak was phoning it in.
There was this 12 year old part of me that was screaming in absolute joy at all of this. Dude, Pokemon were real now! And everyone had one! Like, one day, out of the blue, poof, Pokemon.
Some folks got on the whole "IT'S THE WORK OF TEH DEVILS!!!!1111~" bandwagon super quick. Those folks are the best, they're so funny to watch as they are decrying this whole event while their Onix and Machomps and Parasects are wrecking havoc in the background of their news casts.
Others started battling them without much of a thought or care. You know how many unofficial Pokemon Leagues popped up over night? So many 'champions' wandering around with these trinkets and baubles saying they're the very best, like no one ever was. It gets tedious. God does it. Nothing like getting challenged to a fight taking out the trash or doing my laundry.
And then there was my girlfriend Marie.
Marie's top notch. Seriously, she's sweet and loving, smart as can be and sharp as a tack, but we're two totally different types of people. I'm a nerd through and through, I work in IT and I play video games and music. Marie, on the other hand? Complete softie, loves the great outdoors, and wants to be a doctor.
I don't know how or why, but things are pretty great for us....which is why when my phone went off and I saw her smiling face I got the butterflies in my stomach like I always do.
Or were they now Butterfree in the stomach? This Pokemon thing was going to change a whole lotta stuff....
Not even waiting a moment after I hit the answer button, I hear her nearly hyperventilating on the other end of the line.
"OH MAN OH MAN IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT FINALLY HAPPENED I GOT MY POKEMANS!"
Marie didn't get her Pokemon right away like a majority of people. It's fine, it happens, there's still a load of folks getting theirs despite not waking up with a small bonfire in the living room like I had the first day. She didn't really seem too phased by it, she'd never been one to play the games as a child and made mild fun of me for being so in to it and she absolutely loved Charmy when she first met him, but hearing her excitement made me feel really happy for her.
"Honey, that's fantastic! Do you know what you got?" I said, noticing that Charmy was investigating my shoes with some heavy interest.
"I don't know, it hasn't said anything yet, it just sits there and is sort of smiling at me and it looks so cute and I want to just hug it but I'm afraid I'll freak it out!"
Marie was obviously excited by this and I was super happy for her. This was great! I was actually looking forward to when hers came along so we could spend time together, me teaching her about Pokemon and helping her take care of hers, it was going to be awesome.
"That's adorable. Hey, don't worry about freaking it out, just treat it like you would a friend, it'll be alright. What's it look like, I might be able to tell you about it." I said, trying to move my shoes away from Charmy. I liked these shoes. They were comfortable shoes. I'd spent a bit of money on them and I knew Charmy would probably accidentally set them on fire, then he'd give me the sad Pokemon eyes and I'd feed him marshmallows til we both stopped feeling so bad.
Marie finally caught her breath and exhaled again. "It's pink and fuzzy looking. Smiles a lot. And big eyes."
Pink. Fuzzy looking. Big eyes. Smiles a lot.
Oh man, Marie got a fraking Jigglypuff? I'd have to make sure she didn't try to duet with it, she was always singing and I could see that not going well in rush hour traffic.
"And it's got these weird huge feet too and this tail as well."
...I don't think Jigglypuff had weird feet. Clefairy, maybe?
"And it's got big round eyes, as blue as the sky and almost as cute as yours."
Well I do have some cute eyes, yeah, but I'm still unsure at this point.
"And it looks like a cat too. Baby, you know how much I've wanted a cat for a long time and can't get one cause of the dorms? But here it is! It's a cat!"
Blue eyes, pink, big feet, fuzzy, tail, looks like a cat.
Wait. Wait, no, hold on. No, no. Just...
No.
I hear some faint rustling in the background of the phone and Marie laughs. "Hank, it's sitting on my shoulder nuzzling my head! It's so warm and adorable and oh gosh it's so cute!"
And then I hear the one word that makes me drop my shoes.
Distantly, I hear her Pokemon enthusiastically say its first word.
"Mew!"
Oh bo-DAMNIT, CHARMY, THOSE WERE MY FAVORITE SHOES!
Edit: Forgot Jigglypuff doesn't have a tail, edited it a little there. | Beginning to panic, I insist "Jennifer, repeat your description of your new pokemon." "Okay, it's pink, floating and blue-eyed." I tell her to stay where she is, and not talk to anyone. She never played pokemon, and doesn't understand the significance of training Mew. She doesn't know that she essentially is in control of a god. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "A pink floating cat thing you say?" I asked her, my mouth turning dry as the words left me.
I could almost hear Sophie's smile through the phone, her bright laughter bubbling through the earpiece of my phone in my office cubicle. As a veterinarian, she always had a soft spot for animals, but there was no animal that she loved more on God's great Earth than the cat. The only reason that she didn't have one was because her extremely affordable apartment complex didn't allow pets.
With the advent of pokemon spirit animals however, they have a lot more to worry about than cats or dogs. In just a few short months, business have appeared seemingly out of nowhere that promise to create pokemon friendly environments inside people's homes, for both the pokemon's safety as well as the people's. Many buildings had burned down or flooded upon the arrival of some of the more powerful pokemon, and I could only imagine what would happen to the person who ended up with the most powerful pokemon of them all...
"It's so cute too!" my girlfriend squealed in joy. "It's fuzzy and pink and pretty does little tricks in the air when you throw treats at it and oh my God IT'S CHASING ITS TAIL NOW!"
My mind raced as my girlfriend gushed over her new friend. Jigglypuff maybe? A Clefairy perhaps? Perhaps it isn't only first generation pokemon that are appearing. I don't know all the other generations off by heart, but I'm sure there's a floating blue eyed cat in there somewhere.
I interrupted Sophie as she was excitedly me about how it managed to catch its tail and started nibbling on it. "Soph, love, I know you're excited and I'm happy that you got your pokemon, but just hold on just a minute. Do you know what this pokemon is? Do you know its name?"
"It's weird..." she replied with a quizzical voice. "All the other ones that I've seen just say their names over and over again. This little guy just meow's. Or is it a girl? I'll have to find out, but it started chasing the ceiling fan now and I don't think I'll be able to get a good look at its-"
Her words fell on deaf ears. The thought that my sweet, innocent, somewhat naive girlfriend was partnered with one of the most powerful forces in the universe and didn't even realize it struck me dumb. The only thing that she cared about was how sweet and cute it was...
It made perfect sense. The legend said that this was a pokemon that only showed itself to those who were pure of heart. If any person were to fit the bill on the description, it would have to Sophie.
"Oooooh, I'm going to take pictures of it and put it on my Instagram! Maybe somebody will know its name and be able to tell me. Plus I kinda want to brag to my friends..."
My mind snapped back to reality just in time to hear those words come out of Sophie's mouth.
"No!" I blurted out louder than I intended. "I mean...Sophie, you shouldn't do that. You *can't* do that. All you need to do right now is stay inside and not let anybody see it. Keep it busy and keep it happy. I'm coming over right now, just wait for me."
"Why, what's the big deal?" she asked as I quickly shut off my computer, the useless spreadsheets fading to black. "It's just a cute little floaty pokekitty. It's harmless!"
"I...I know that Soph'. Just sit tight until I get there, okay? Please promise me that you will? This is important."
"But I wanted to know what its name was..." came her dejected, but willing reply.
"Will figure that out when I get there Soph'. I'll be there in a bit. I gotta go now, Love you lots, bye."
I hung up without giving her a chance to say anything else. I knew that she would do what I asked her to, what I *begged* her to. She's that kind of person. Wants everybody to be happy, and if somebody says that something's important to them, then it's important to her as well.
My mind raced as I hopped into my beaten up car and peeled out of the parking lot.
*"A legend made real...* I thought to myself. *Mew...*
Edit: I'll see if I can do anything more when I get back from work.
Part 2 is made. I doubt there will be a third. My ideas for a cohesive story pretty much just petered off. Plus it's 2AM and I'm too tired to think. | Beginning to panic, I insist "Jennifer, repeat your description of your new pokemon." "Okay, it's pink, floating and blue-eyed." I tell her to stay where she is, and not talk to anyone. She never played pokemon, and doesn't understand the significance of training Mew. She doesn't know that she essentially is in control of a god. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "Jase I found it! And I was able to cancel the plumber and the guy checking the hot water tank before they got here, apparently they're all backed up with a bunch of other people who had the same idea—"
"That's nice," I said absently. "So where was it?"
"In the freezer." She sounded ridiculously proud of herself. "No idea how it got there. And it's not a carp either!"
"*Magi*-karp, it's not nerdy anymore it's gonna be the new basic stuff like dog breeds and—assuming this is real and gonna last, anyway. Sorry, so, what?"
Her sigh gusted through the speaker. "You're still totally wrapped up in your lizard aren't you. What have you got to now?"
"This is *Pokemon in real life!* I'm trying to figure out if mine's a girl or boy."
"Seriously?"
"Oh shut up. I think they must be like crocodiles, with all the parts on the inside. You know how you figure out the sex of a crocodile? I'm trying to get this thing to like me. And I don't wanna stick my finger up anywhere and go probing regardless."
She laughed harder.
"Your thing! Your not a Magikarp! Tell me about your not a Magikarp. What is it then?"
"You expect to me know?" she asked rhetorically, but launched into an enthusiastic description anyway. "It's pink, and kind of... unfinished, a bit? I was a little worried at first, it looked like a giant fetal kitten, but now it's gone rounder and... god, these shapes don't make sense! I mean it's adorable and it's real but it just *shouldn't* be—it's got a... ball, for a body, with arms and legs stuck off it, and its face is just on its..."
"It what? El?"
"Ooh, we're changing again, hang on—oh, it's *purple* now, it's *so cute*, it's a big purple mouse—or rat—oh look at its little *teeth*—"
"What?" I protested, my phone falling to the floor. I rescued it before Charmander's curious claws got close enough to touch and hastily wedged it between my shoulder and chin again. "Oh my *god*! You got a Ditto! That is so unfair, you didn't get one Pokemon you got *all* of them—you wanna trade? I'm coming over right now so we can trade."
"No I don't want to trade, what happened to that rhapsody you were spouting off earlier about your fire lizard? This is my... what did you call it?"
"Ditto."
"Seriously."
"I swear. It's called a Ditto."
"Well I'm naming it... something else. A real name. For the love of god, *ditto*..."
"Look, some Pokemon have names that kind of make sense as portmanteaus from real words, like Charmander, and some are Dittos okay? Maybe names'll change if we figure out real animal kingdoms and subspecies and Latinize stuff. But I'm coming over now anyway, we've got a huge advantage we need to take now over the Magikarps before they start evolving—"
"You're babbling again. And my mouse looks like some weird radish with feet now. Can I get it to turn back to a mouse somehow?"
"We'll work on that. That sounds like Ditto training. Oddish is good though, Oddish can cover Charmander's back typewise... no, electric will be better against Gyarados... send your Ditto toward a wall outlet, can you? Or unplug something and give it the cord. See what it turns into."
"You're still making no sense..."
"Do it anyway, pleeeeeaaase?"
"What if it hurts—oh my *god*, now it's a bigger yellow mouse with these *ears*—and its tail looks like *lightning* this is so *cute* hang up I've got to take a picture—"
"Yes! Keep it like that! We're battling doubles forever, I'll help you train—it eats electricity, okay, just keep giving it power cords, I'll be there in thirty minutes! As soon as I figure out... maybe a leash, or... god, somebody better invent pokeballs fast now..."
| I was shopping for charcoal when she rang. I wanted to know if it really did boost charmander's power, of if that was just a thing in the games. With a smirk I noted the crowd around the aquariums. With some luck, a tenth of them might have a gyarados within the decade. I wondered, and not for the first time, what it was that had decided each person's spirit pokémon. It seemed to reflect their personality some times, for example my boss, who was a loud, but honest, comfortably fat suburban father of two teenage girls, had gotten an electabuzz. Other times it seemed random, like my cokehead neighbor who got a porygon, even though he'd never done anything more complicated on a computer than Counter Strike. I was happy though. Charmander would hopefully grow into a magnificent charizard eventually, but even now it was both powerful and smart. I had planned a trip to IKEA with Jane to replace the sofa, and the charmander had seemed genuinely sorry about it. It wasn't like it was afraid of punishment or anything; it couldn't have been, since it had only existed for about twenty seconds at the time.
I was interrupted in my musings as my phone started vibrating. It was Jane.
"You have to get here" she said, urgently. "It's so cute! I don't know what it's called, but it's all pink"
*Jigglypuff?*
"and it can float"
*Porygon?*
"and it has a tail and blue eyes and you have to get here NOW and see it!"
*...what?*
"Calm down. Breathe."
"Are you coming?"
"I am, but I'm out shopping right now. I need to figure out what my charmander eats, if at all, and I want to check if stuff from the games work in real life."
"Do you have to be such a nerd? You work in a lab, could you at least turn off the science for one day, and be excited about the miracle that happened less than twenty four hours ago?"
"Whoa there, Im filled with wonder and awe all right, I just want to figure out how to best take care of my firebreathing partner with the thousand centigrade tail. The Pokémon, that is. And by the way, I'm sending out emails to all the big universities first thing Monday morning. We'll be studying the 'mons for years, and someone is getting famous for someting, and I want my name up there. Suck on that nerdy nugget of excitement."
"Maybe I will. If you get your ass over here right now, that is."
It was just like her to take the subtle reference for an innuendo. We hung up, and I finished my business in the camping department. I swung by the pharmacy and picked up some syringes as well. If my girlfriend's spirit pokemon was what I thought it was, and what I thought might be possible was possible, the implications would be staggering. Worst case scenario, the government would stop me or steal it. Best case scenario, we might get peace on Earth. The most likely scenario, however, would result in a powerful entity that would hopefully prove benevolent, if I treated it gently. I had no intention of doing otherwise, having seen the possible result on a screen as a child. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I sat in my living room, staring blankly at my Spirit Animal, pondering where I'd gone wrong in life to deserve this.
...No, sorry, scratch that, staring blankly at my Spirit Pokemon. Charmander, I'd gotten Charmander. I knew one day he'd evolve in to Charizard and I absolutely dread that day. I live in a cruddy apartment in the Midwest, I'm not even allowed a pet cause of it and now there's another burn mark in the carpet becau-NO, NO, STOP, DO NOT STICK YOUR TAIL ON THE COUC-OH GOD WHY YOU KNEW YOU WERE DOING THAT NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING STUBBORN!
Uggghhhhh, I love you to death, Charmy, but we gotta figure something out before we make The Great Chicago Fire look like a mild camp fire.
One day, the world just suddenly went sideways and everyone had Pokemon. No one knew what the hell was happening, and suddenly blammo, hey, here's this sentient beast that can and accidentally will probably destroy something you enjoy but goddamn if they aren't adorable. Weird thing was, though, it was only the original 150 from the first generation. Try as I might, I couldn't ever find anyone that'd managed to get any of the super adorable Baby one's from the 2nd gen or those weirder ones from the other gens when it was totally obvious Game Freak was phoning it in.
There was this 12 year old part of me that was screaming in absolute joy at all of this. Dude, Pokemon were real now! And everyone had one! Like, one day, out of the blue, poof, Pokemon.
Some folks got on the whole "IT'S THE WORK OF TEH DEVILS!!!!1111~" bandwagon super quick. Those folks are the best, they're so funny to watch as they are decrying this whole event while their Onix and Machomps and Parasects are wrecking havoc in the background of their news casts.
Others started battling them without much of a thought or care. You know how many unofficial Pokemon Leagues popped up over night? So many 'champions' wandering around with these trinkets and baubles saying they're the very best, like no one ever was. It gets tedious. God does it. Nothing like getting challenged to a fight taking out the trash or doing my laundry.
And then there was my girlfriend Marie.
Marie's top notch. Seriously, she's sweet and loving, smart as can be and sharp as a tack, but we're two totally different types of people. I'm a nerd through and through, I work in IT and I play video games and music. Marie, on the other hand? Complete softie, loves the great outdoors, and wants to be a doctor.
I don't know how or why, but things are pretty great for us....which is why when my phone went off and I saw her smiling face I got the butterflies in my stomach like I always do.
Or were they now Butterfree in the stomach? This Pokemon thing was going to change a whole lotta stuff....
Not even waiting a moment after I hit the answer button, I hear her nearly hyperventilating on the other end of the line.
"OH MAN OH MAN IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT FINALLY HAPPENED I GOT MY POKEMANS!"
Marie didn't get her Pokemon right away like a majority of people. It's fine, it happens, there's still a load of folks getting theirs despite not waking up with a small bonfire in the living room like I had the first day. She didn't really seem too phased by it, she'd never been one to play the games as a child and made mild fun of me for being so in to it and she absolutely loved Charmy when she first met him, but hearing her excitement made me feel really happy for her.
"Honey, that's fantastic! Do you know what you got?" I said, noticing that Charmy was investigating my shoes with some heavy interest.
"I don't know, it hasn't said anything yet, it just sits there and is sort of smiling at me and it looks so cute and I want to just hug it but I'm afraid I'll freak it out!"
Marie was obviously excited by this and I was super happy for her. This was great! I was actually looking forward to when hers came along so we could spend time together, me teaching her about Pokemon and helping her take care of hers, it was going to be awesome.
"That's adorable. Hey, don't worry about freaking it out, just treat it like you would a friend, it'll be alright. What's it look like, I might be able to tell you about it." I said, trying to move my shoes away from Charmy. I liked these shoes. They were comfortable shoes. I'd spent a bit of money on them and I knew Charmy would probably accidentally set them on fire, then he'd give me the sad Pokemon eyes and I'd feed him marshmallows til we both stopped feeling so bad.
Marie finally caught her breath and exhaled again. "It's pink and fuzzy looking. Smiles a lot. And big eyes."
Pink. Fuzzy looking. Big eyes. Smiles a lot.
Oh man, Marie got a fraking Jigglypuff? I'd have to make sure she didn't try to duet with it, she was always singing and I could see that not going well in rush hour traffic.
"And it's got these weird huge feet too and this tail as well."
...I don't think Jigglypuff had weird feet. Clefairy, maybe?
"And it's got big round eyes, as blue as the sky and almost as cute as yours."
Well I do have some cute eyes, yeah, but I'm still unsure at this point.
"And it looks like a cat too. Baby, you know how much I've wanted a cat for a long time and can't get one cause of the dorms? But here it is! It's a cat!"
Blue eyes, pink, big feet, fuzzy, tail, looks like a cat.
Wait. Wait, no, hold on. No, no. Just...
No.
I hear some faint rustling in the background of the phone and Marie laughs. "Hank, it's sitting on my shoulder nuzzling my head! It's so warm and adorable and oh gosh it's so cute!"
And then I hear the one word that makes me drop my shoes.
Distantly, I hear her Pokemon enthusiastically say its first word.
"Mew!"
Oh bo-DAMNIT, CHARMY, THOSE WERE MY FAVORITE SHOES!
Edit: Forgot Jigglypuff doesn't have a tail, edited it a little there. | I was shopping for charcoal when she rang. I wanted to know if it really did boost charmander's power, of if that was just a thing in the games. With a smirk I noted the crowd around the aquariums. With some luck, a tenth of them might have a gyarados within the decade. I wondered, and not for the first time, what it was that had decided each person's spirit pokémon. It seemed to reflect their personality some times, for example my boss, who was a loud, but honest, comfortably fat suburban father of two teenage girls, had gotten an electabuzz. Other times it seemed random, like my cokehead neighbor who got a porygon, even though he'd never done anything more complicated on a computer than Counter Strike. I was happy though. Charmander would hopefully grow into a magnificent charizard eventually, but even now it was both powerful and smart. I had planned a trip to IKEA with Jane to replace the sofa, and the charmander had seemed genuinely sorry about it. It wasn't like it was afraid of punishment or anything; it couldn't have been, since it had only existed for about twenty seconds at the time.
I was interrupted in my musings as my phone started vibrating. It was Jane.
"You have to get here" she said, urgently. "It's so cute! I don't know what it's called, but it's all pink"
*Jigglypuff?*
"and it can float"
*Porygon?*
"and it has a tail and blue eyes and you have to get here NOW and see it!"
*...what?*
"Calm down. Breathe."
"Are you coming?"
"I am, but I'm out shopping right now. I need to figure out what my charmander eats, if at all, and I want to check if stuff from the games work in real life."
"Do you have to be such a nerd? You work in a lab, could you at least turn off the science for one day, and be excited about the miracle that happened less than twenty four hours ago?"
"Whoa there, Im filled with wonder and awe all right, I just want to figure out how to best take care of my firebreathing partner with the thousand centigrade tail. The Pokémon, that is. And by the way, I'm sending out emails to all the big universities first thing Monday morning. We'll be studying the 'mons for years, and someone is getting famous for someting, and I want my name up there. Suck on that nerdy nugget of excitement."
"Maybe I will. If you get your ass over here right now, that is."
It was just like her to take the subtle reference for an innuendo. We hung up, and I finished my business in the camping department. I swung by the pharmacy and picked up some syringes as well. If my girlfriend's spirit pokemon was what I thought it was, and what I thought might be possible was possible, the implications would be staggering. Worst case scenario, the government would stop me or steal it. Best case scenario, we might get peace on Earth. The most likely scenario, however, would result in a powerful entity that would hopefully prove benevolent, if I treated it gently. I had no intention of doing otherwise, having seen the possible result on a screen as a child. | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I sat in my living room, staring blankly at my Spirit Animal, pondering where I'd gone wrong in life to deserve this.
...No, sorry, scratch that, staring blankly at my Spirit Pokemon. Charmander, I'd gotten Charmander. I knew one day he'd evolve in to Charizard and I absolutely dread that day. I live in a cruddy apartment in the Midwest, I'm not even allowed a pet cause of it and now there's another burn mark in the carpet becau-NO, NO, STOP, DO NOT STICK YOUR TAIL ON THE COUC-OH GOD WHY YOU KNEW YOU WERE DOING THAT NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING STUBBORN!
Uggghhhhh, I love you to death, Charmy, but we gotta figure something out before we make The Great Chicago Fire look like a mild camp fire.
One day, the world just suddenly went sideways and everyone had Pokemon. No one knew what the hell was happening, and suddenly blammo, hey, here's this sentient beast that can and accidentally will probably destroy something you enjoy but goddamn if they aren't adorable. Weird thing was, though, it was only the original 150 from the first generation. Try as I might, I couldn't ever find anyone that'd managed to get any of the super adorable Baby one's from the 2nd gen or those weirder ones from the other gens when it was totally obvious Game Freak was phoning it in.
There was this 12 year old part of me that was screaming in absolute joy at all of this. Dude, Pokemon were real now! And everyone had one! Like, one day, out of the blue, poof, Pokemon.
Some folks got on the whole "IT'S THE WORK OF TEH DEVILS!!!!1111~" bandwagon super quick. Those folks are the best, they're so funny to watch as they are decrying this whole event while their Onix and Machomps and Parasects are wrecking havoc in the background of their news casts.
Others started battling them without much of a thought or care. You know how many unofficial Pokemon Leagues popped up over night? So many 'champions' wandering around with these trinkets and baubles saying they're the very best, like no one ever was. It gets tedious. God does it. Nothing like getting challenged to a fight taking out the trash or doing my laundry.
And then there was my girlfriend Marie.
Marie's top notch. Seriously, she's sweet and loving, smart as can be and sharp as a tack, but we're two totally different types of people. I'm a nerd through and through, I work in IT and I play video games and music. Marie, on the other hand? Complete softie, loves the great outdoors, and wants to be a doctor.
I don't know how or why, but things are pretty great for us....which is why when my phone went off and I saw her smiling face I got the butterflies in my stomach like I always do.
Or were they now Butterfree in the stomach? This Pokemon thing was going to change a whole lotta stuff....
Not even waiting a moment after I hit the answer button, I hear her nearly hyperventilating on the other end of the line.
"OH MAN OH MAN IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT FINALLY HAPPENED I GOT MY POKEMANS!"
Marie didn't get her Pokemon right away like a majority of people. It's fine, it happens, there's still a load of folks getting theirs despite not waking up with a small bonfire in the living room like I had the first day. She didn't really seem too phased by it, she'd never been one to play the games as a child and made mild fun of me for being so in to it and she absolutely loved Charmy when she first met him, but hearing her excitement made me feel really happy for her.
"Honey, that's fantastic! Do you know what you got?" I said, noticing that Charmy was investigating my shoes with some heavy interest.
"I don't know, it hasn't said anything yet, it just sits there and is sort of smiling at me and it looks so cute and I want to just hug it but I'm afraid I'll freak it out!"
Marie was obviously excited by this and I was super happy for her. This was great! I was actually looking forward to when hers came along so we could spend time together, me teaching her about Pokemon and helping her take care of hers, it was going to be awesome.
"That's adorable. Hey, don't worry about freaking it out, just treat it like you would a friend, it'll be alright. What's it look like, I might be able to tell you about it." I said, trying to move my shoes away from Charmy. I liked these shoes. They were comfortable shoes. I'd spent a bit of money on them and I knew Charmy would probably accidentally set them on fire, then he'd give me the sad Pokemon eyes and I'd feed him marshmallows til we both stopped feeling so bad.
Marie finally caught her breath and exhaled again. "It's pink and fuzzy looking. Smiles a lot. And big eyes."
Pink. Fuzzy looking. Big eyes. Smiles a lot.
Oh man, Marie got a fraking Jigglypuff? I'd have to make sure she didn't try to duet with it, she was always singing and I could see that not going well in rush hour traffic.
"And it's got these weird huge feet too and this tail as well."
...I don't think Jigglypuff had weird feet. Clefairy, maybe?
"And it's got big round eyes, as blue as the sky and almost as cute as yours."
Well I do have some cute eyes, yeah, but I'm still unsure at this point.
"And it looks like a cat too. Baby, you know how much I've wanted a cat for a long time and can't get one cause of the dorms? But here it is! It's a cat!"
Blue eyes, pink, big feet, fuzzy, tail, looks like a cat.
Wait. Wait, no, hold on. No, no. Just...
No.
I hear some faint rustling in the background of the phone and Marie laughs. "Hank, it's sitting on my shoulder nuzzling my head! It's so warm and adorable and oh gosh it's so cute!"
And then I hear the one word that makes me drop my shoes.
Distantly, I hear her Pokemon enthusiastically say its first word.
"Mew!"
Oh bo-DAMNIT, CHARMY, THOSE WERE MY FAVORITE SHOES!
Edit: Forgot Jigglypuff doesn't have a tail, edited it a little there. | "Jase I found it! And I was able to cancel the plumber and the guy checking the hot water tank before they got here, apparently they're all backed up with a bunch of other people who had the same idea—"
"That's nice," I said absently. "So where was it?"
"In the freezer." She sounded ridiculously proud of herself. "No idea how it got there. And it's not a carp either!"
"*Magi*-karp, it's not nerdy anymore it's gonna be the new basic stuff like dog breeds and—assuming this is real and gonna last, anyway. Sorry, so, what?"
Her sigh gusted through the speaker. "You're still totally wrapped up in your lizard aren't you. What have you got to now?"
"This is *Pokemon in real life!* I'm trying to figure out if mine's a girl or boy."
"Seriously?"
"Oh shut up. I think they must be like crocodiles, with all the parts on the inside. You know how you figure out the sex of a crocodile? I'm trying to get this thing to like me. And I don't wanna stick my finger up anywhere and go probing regardless."
She laughed harder.
"Your thing! Your not a Magikarp! Tell me about your not a Magikarp. What is it then?"
"You expect to me know?" she asked rhetorically, but launched into an enthusiastic description anyway. "It's pink, and kind of... unfinished, a bit? I was a little worried at first, it looked like a giant fetal kitten, but now it's gone rounder and... god, these shapes don't make sense! I mean it's adorable and it's real but it just *shouldn't* be—it's got a... ball, for a body, with arms and legs stuck off it, and its face is just on its..."
"It what? El?"
"Ooh, we're changing again, hang on—oh, it's *purple* now, it's *so cute*, it's a big purple mouse—or rat—oh look at its little *teeth*—"
"What?" I protested, my phone falling to the floor. I rescued it before Charmander's curious claws got close enough to touch and hastily wedged it between my shoulder and chin again. "Oh my *god*! You got a Ditto! That is so unfair, you didn't get one Pokemon you got *all* of them—you wanna trade? I'm coming over right now so we can trade."
"No I don't want to trade, what happened to that rhapsody you were spouting off earlier about your fire lizard? This is my... what did you call it?"
"Ditto."
"Seriously."
"I swear. It's called a Ditto."
"Well I'm naming it... something else. A real name. For the love of god, *ditto*..."
"Look, some Pokemon have names that kind of make sense as portmanteaus from real words, like Charmander, and some are Dittos okay? Maybe names'll change if we figure out real animal kingdoms and subspecies and Latinize stuff. But I'm coming over now anyway, we've got a huge advantage we need to take now over the Magikarps before they start evolving—"
"You're babbling again. And my mouse looks like some weird radish with feet now. Can I get it to turn back to a mouse somehow?"
"We'll work on that. That sounds like Ditto training. Oddish is good though, Oddish can cover Charmander's back typewise... no, electric will be better against Gyarados... send your Ditto toward a wall outlet, can you? Or unplug something and give it the cord. See what it turns into."
"You're still making no sense..."
"Do it anyway, pleeeeeaaase?"
"What if it hurts—oh my *god*, now it's a bigger yellow mouse with these *ears*—and its tail looks like *lightning* this is so *cute* hang up I've got to take a picture—"
"Yes! Keep it like that! We're battling doubles forever, I'll help you train—it eats electricity, okay, just keep giving it power cords, I'll be there in thirty minutes! As soon as I figure out... maybe a leash, or... god, somebody better invent pokeballs fast now..."
| |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | I sat in my living room, staring blankly at my Spirit Animal, pondering where I'd gone wrong in life to deserve this.
...No, sorry, scratch that, staring blankly at my Spirit Pokemon. Charmander, I'd gotten Charmander. I knew one day he'd evolve in to Charizard and I absolutely dread that day. I live in a cruddy apartment in the Midwest, I'm not even allowed a pet cause of it and now there's another burn mark in the carpet becau-NO, NO, STOP, DO NOT STICK YOUR TAIL ON THE COUC-OH GOD WHY YOU KNEW YOU WERE DOING THAT NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING STUBBORN!
Uggghhhhh, I love you to death, Charmy, but we gotta figure something out before we make The Great Chicago Fire look like a mild camp fire.
One day, the world just suddenly went sideways and everyone had Pokemon. No one knew what the hell was happening, and suddenly blammo, hey, here's this sentient beast that can and accidentally will probably destroy something you enjoy but goddamn if they aren't adorable. Weird thing was, though, it was only the original 150 from the first generation. Try as I might, I couldn't ever find anyone that'd managed to get any of the super adorable Baby one's from the 2nd gen or those weirder ones from the other gens when it was totally obvious Game Freak was phoning it in.
There was this 12 year old part of me that was screaming in absolute joy at all of this. Dude, Pokemon were real now! And everyone had one! Like, one day, out of the blue, poof, Pokemon.
Some folks got on the whole "IT'S THE WORK OF TEH DEVILS!!!!1111~" bandwagon super quick. Those folks are the best, they're so funny to watch as they are decrying this whole event while their Onix and Machomps and Parasects are wrecking havoc in the background of their news casts.
Others started battling them without much of a thought or care. You know how many unofficial Pokemon Leagues popped up over night? So many 'champions' wandering around with these trinkets and baubles saying they're the very best, like no one ever was. It gets tedious. God does it. Nothing like getting challenged to a fight taking out the trash or doing my laundry.
And then there was my girlfriend Marie.
Marie's top notch. Seriously, she's sweet and loving, smart as can be and sharp as a tack, but we're two totally different types of people. I'm a nerd through and through, I work in IT and I play video games and music. Marie, on the other hand? Complete softie, loves the great outdoors, and wants to be a doctor.
I don't know how or why, but things are pretty great for us....which is why when my phone went off and I saw her smiling face I got the butterflies in my stomach like I always do.
Or were they now Butterfree in the stomach? This Pokemon thing was going to change a whole lotta stuff....
Not even waiting a moment after I hit the answer button, I hear her nearly hyperventilating on the other end of the line.
"OH MAN OH MAN IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT FINALLY HAPPENED I GOT MY POKEMANS!"
Marie didn't get her Pokemon right away like a majority of people. It's fine, it happens, there's still a load of folks getting theirs despite not waking up with a small bonfire in the living room like I had the first day. She didn't really seem too phased by it, she'd never been one to play the games as a child and made mild fun of me for being so in to it and she absolutely loved Charmy when she first met him, but hearing her excitement made me feel really happy for her.
"Honey, that's fantastic! Do you know what you got?" I said, noticing that Charmy was investigating my shoes with some heavy interest.
"I don't know, it hasn't said anything yet, it just sits there and is sort of smiling at me and it looks so cute and I want to just hug it but I'm afraid I'll freak it out!"
Marie was obviously excited by this and I was super happy for her. This was great! I was actually looking forward to when hers came along so we could spend time together, me teaching her about Pokemon and helping her take care of hers, it was going to be awesome.
"That's adorable. Hey, don't worry about freaking it out, just treat it like you would a friend, it'll be alright. What's it look like, I might be able to tell you about it." I said, trying to move my shoes away from Charmy. I liked these shoes. They were comfortable shoes. I'd spent a bit of money on them and I knew Charmy would probably accidentally set them on fire, then he'd give me the sad Pokemon eyes and I'd feed him marshmallows til we both stopped feeling so bad.
Marie finally caught her breath and exhaled again. "It's pink and fuzzy looking. Smiles a lot. And big eyes."
Pink. Fuzzy looking. Big eyes. Smiles a lot.
Oh man, Marie got a fraking Jigglypuff? I'd have to make sure she didn't try to duet with it, she was always singing and I could see that not going well in rush hour traffic.
"And it's got these weird huge feet too and this tail as well."
...I don't think Jigglypuff had weird feet. Clefairy, maybe?
"And it's got big round eyes, as blue as the sky and almost as cute as yours."
Well I do have some cute eyes, yeah, but I'm still unsure at this point.
"And it looks like a cat too. Baby, you know how much I've wanted a cat for a long time and can't get one cause of the dorms? But here it is! It's a cat!"
Blue eyes, pink, big feet, fuzzy, tail, looks like a cat.
Wait. Wait, no, hold on. No, no. Just...
No.
I hear some faint rustling in the background of the phone and Marie laughs. "Hank, it's sitting on my shoulder nuzzling my head! It's so warm and adorable and oh gosh it's so cute!"
And then I hear the one word that makes me drop my shoes.
Distantly, I hear her Pokemon enthusiastically say its first word.
"Mew!"
Oh bo-DAMNIT, CHARMY, THOSE WERE MY FAVORITE SHOES!
Edit: Forgot Jigglypuff doesn't have a tail, edited it a little there. | I pedaled hard, only two more miles. Uphill. Blood like acid in my thighs, oxygen like tear gas in my lungs but I had to see it for myself. How could she have gotten the 151st? And how could she not know what it is?
It began a few months back, and believe it or not I was the first one. The FIRST. I swear for a week I thought I was stuck in a dream, one of those long, endless dreams you wake up from and realize it’s only been three hours and you let go a huge sigh of relief because your first class is in three hours but you can’t help but wonder how the hell so much time passed in your mind in such a short amount of time… and then you to think in run-on sentences.
It showed up next to me one day when I woke up. A tiny, adorable little orange dragon. Scared the hell out of me for a minute until I realized it was (relatively) friendly. The vet couldn’t explain it, how it could just summon fire. I was on every local news channel with my tiny dragon, the whole county knew my face.
That is, until the others started showing up. Then it became apparent: whatever force or spirit that created these had matched each one to their owner’s individual personality types. Goth kid gets some kind of ghost thing, water polo team all ends up with water-shooting turtles. This was incredible, to say the least… until the day they started fighting. Of course the old frightened grandma types were playing the whole, “DEMONS! END OF THE WORLD!” card but it was like watching two dogs play. It looks like fighting, but it’s just what they do.
What was really incredible was that mine was the champion. Like, categorically, a champion. Nobody could beat him. He would summon pillars of fire and utterly decimate his opponents, sending them back to their owners covered in ash and defeated. What got me was this: everyone has been matched according to personality. I never saw myself as anything particularly special, but mine was a CHAMPION. I’d never been anything until my little fiery guy showed up and suddenly I was a champion too.
Then, my girlfriend calls. It had been about 3 months and nearly everyone had gotten one except her. Look, the thing about her is… well she’s not motivated. I’ve tried to get her to do something, anything except complain but it’s all she does. She’s having a hard time with school and her dad but come on, that’s everyone. She doesn’t have it particularly bad or particularly good and to be honest, I’m getting pretty tired of it. Contemplating not if we should break up, but moreso how do I let her down easy.
Oh right, the call. She calls me up and says, “I got mine! I finally got mine!” I sort of roll my eyes, wondering which one of the one hundred and fifty one it could be. Sort of making jokes to myself, betting it’s that goldfish one. Then she says, it looks like a cat. I ask her if it’s white, she says it’s pink.
I stop. Wait, pink? Flipping through my mind’s index, frantic, I ask her if it has blue eyes. She says yes. NO WAY. It can’t be. I ask her if it floats, she says it’s floating right now! WHAT. I tell her I’m coming over. I get on my bike. I pedal HARD.
How the hell? How could she have gotten Mew? She complains all day, she’s barely pulling a 2.0 average, she’s not particularly talented… how the hell? I kept pedaling, Fuego in my backpack squirming away. (Did I mention? I named him Fuego). I get to her door and burst in, of course she’s sleeping on the couch. I stop to catch my breath, fanning myself with one of her dad’s Sports Illustrated magazines.
I hear a crash in the kitchen. Hold on, where did I put my backpack? Oh CRAP where’s Fuego? I run into the kitchen just in time to see a flash of light and feel the heat on my face. Fuego is fighting her Mew! I had to see this.
I ran around the corner in time to see a churning orb of flame launching towards the sink. It sizzled out in the water. Where was her Mew?
The water exploded in a splash of mist and a pink, cat-like creature came soaring out. Fuego materialized another flame orb and began directing it towards the Mew. But wait… he’s kind of… rotund for a Mew. Time stands still as I think hard and try tor remember everything I can about Mew. He’s not… fat is he?
Suddenly, Fuego stops. His opponent returns to the bubbly sink water, hidden by the bubbles. For a second he looks dead but… he’s asleep? Wait, pink, blue eyes, “floats” in the BATH SHE WAS GIVING HIM.
I laugh out loud. A huge sigh of relief, that’s no Mew! Then the guilt hits and suddenly nothing is funny. All of those horrible things I thought about her. I come barging in like a jerk because I, the champion, have to see this Mew for myself and what does it get me? A defeated Fuego and a sweat-soaked shirt.
But hold on. If Fuego is the champion and is so easily defeated by some pink puff, what does that make me? I’d be able to think straight if I wasn’t so tired….. who is singing? | |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "A pink floating cat thing you say?" I asked her, my mouth turning dry as the words left me.
I could almost hear Sophie's smile through the phone, her bright laughter bubbling through the earpiece of my phone in my office cubicle. As a veterinarian, she always had a soft spot for animals, but there was no animal that she loved more on God's great Earth than the cat. The only reason that she didn't have one was because her extremely affordable apartment complex didn't allow pets.
With the advent of pokemon spirit animals however, they have a lot more to worry about than cats or dogs. In just a few short months, business have appeared seemingly out of nowhere that promise to create pokemon friendly environments inside people's homes, for both the pokemon's safety as well as the people's. Many buildings had burned down or flooded upon the arrival of some of the more powerful pokemon, and I could only imagine what would happen to the person who ended up with the most powerful pokemon of them all...
"It's so cute too!" my girlfriend squealed in joy. "It's fuzzy and pink and pretty does little tricks in the air when you throw treats at it and oh my God IT'S CHASING ITS TAIL NOW!"
My mind raced as my girlfriend gushed over her new friend. Jigglypuff maybe? A Clefairy perhaps? Perhaps it isn't only first generation pokemon that are appearing. I don't know all the other generations off by heart, but I'm sure there's a floating blue eyed cat in there somewhere.
I interrupted Sophie as she was excitedly me about how it managed to catch its tail and started nibbling on it. "Soph, love, I know you're excited and I'm happy that you got your pokemon, but just hold on just a minute. Do you know what this pokemon is? Do you know its name?"
"It's weird..." she replied with a quizzical voice. "All the other ones that I've seen just say their names over and over again. This little guy just meow's. Or is it a girl? I'll have to find out, but it started chasing the ceiling fan now and I don't think I'll be able to get a good look at its-"
Her words fell on deaf ears. The thought that my sweet, innocent, somewhat naive girlfriend was partnered with one of the most powerful forces in the universe and didn't even realize it struck me dumb. The only thing that she cared about was how sweet and cute it was...
It made perfect sense. The legend said that this was a pokemon that only showed itself to those who were pure of heart. If any person were to fit the bill on the description, it would have to Sophie.
"Oooooh, I'm going to take pictures of it and put it on my Instagram! Maybe somebody will know its name and be able to tell me. Plus I kinda want to brag to my friends..."
My mind snapped back to reality just in time to hear those words come out of Sophie's mouth.
"No!" I blurted out louder than I intended. "I mean...Sophie, you shouldn't do that. You *can't* do that. All you need to do right now is stay inside and not let anybody see it. Keep it busy and keep it happy. I'm coming over right now, just wait for me."
"Why, what's the big deal?" she asked as I quickly shut off my computer, the useless spreadsheets fading to black. "It's just a cute little floaty pokekitty. It's harmless!"
"I...I know that Soph'. Just sit tight until I get there, okay? Please promise me that you will? This is important."
"But I wanted to know what its name was..." came her dejected, but willing reply.
"Will figure that out when I get there Soph'. I'll be there in a bit. I gotta go now, Love you lots, bye."
I hung up without giving her a chance to say anything else. I knew that she would do what I asked her to, what I *begged* her to. She's that kind of person. Wants everybody to be happy, and if somebody says that something's important to them, then it's important to her as well.
My mind raced as I hopped into my beaten up car and peeled out of the parking lot.
*"A legend made real...* I thought to myself. *Mew...*
Edit: I'll see if I can do anything more when I get back from work.
Part 2 is made. I doubt there will be a third. My ideas for a cohesive story pretty much just petered off. Plus it's 2AM and I'm too tired to think. | "Woah woah woah, Veronica say that again?"
"Everyone got their pokermon things right? Lots of people got that orange fish and that swirly tad pool thing. Jessica was really excited, she got the one with the really long tongue..."
I cringe to myself and feel instantly bad for the Lickitung.
".... I got this adorable floaty pink thing that looks kinda cat like. I at least assume its a cat because it keeps meowing like a kitten."
I can't believe I'm hearing this. I sigh as I start digging up my old Pokedex, the first Pokemon movie, and the trainer guide I bought when I was a kid that told me about the ecology each Pokemon.
"..... Joseph? Are you still there?" She said sounding kinda concerned.
"Yeah Im here. Veronica DO NOT go outside or tell anyone else what you have. You have something that will start Pokemon wars with people. Me and Firestarter are on our way now, you need to learn about your Pokemon".
"Tell anyone? It won't even tell me its name, it just floats around chasing its tail and meowing".
"Baby, its not meowing, its name is Mew. Stay in the house ill be right down".
Edit: first story, please be gentle.
Edit 2: Part 2 is below
Edit 3: Part 3 is up
Edit 4: Part 4 is up
Edit 5: If you're still reading the next installment has been posted.
Edit 6: Final Chapter is posted. Please let me know what you guys think of the whole thing. | |
[WP] You are a tattoo artist with a new client. He removes his shirt to reveal a list of names, and his request is to have the first one crossed out. A few months pass with a few more visits, and as you go to cross off the last name, you notice your name has been added to the bottom of the list. | LIST-
----
Bonnie introduced herself as BonBon. She was a thin woman, built for hard labor and cigarettes. She came in every few months asking for me to add a few more flowers to her sleeve. She had once told me, eyes half closed in pleasure, that the flowers represented people who had hurt her. Some were death, others dead to her.
*They grew on me.*
I prided myself on detail, loving the new requests she made. Sometimes she asked me to pick a flower. She said she liked my choices, she would have never known the names of the exotic roses or lush tropical ferns.
Today Bonnie asked for a tulip. It took about 45 minutes to finish. Just before I added the last line of green to the leaves, the door opened. The bell clacked against the glass. I paused for a moment.
Bonnie kept her eyes on my hands, her mouth in a tight line. I wondered if she *liked* the needle a little too much. When I heard Andrea greet the customer, I turned my attention back to shading the edges.
When Bonnie was done, she paid at the counter, leaving me a $30 tip. I pocketed the money, thinking about the beer I could pick up on the way to Danica's party. I had been broke the last few weeks, trying to pay off a broken window.
"Elaine," Andrea called. "Your 1:30 is here."
"Okay. Just let me clean up."
When I had sanitized my work station and wiped the ink off my wrist, I approached the front. Unlike most of our customers, Eero Lankila looked like he had just come from selling insurance. He wore a blue and gold plaid shirt, brown pants, and a grey jacket. I was certain his tie and briefcase were sitting in his car. He looked the type.
He asked me to call him Ro. He said he felt we would end up friends, if he trusted me enough to 'ink em.'
Unlike my other customers, Ro didn't need a consultation. He said he knew what he wanted and it was very simple. He wanted me to cross out a few names on his chest.
I had seen worse tattoos. People with names on their faces, cartoon character tramp stamps, sassy messages above their dicks. I had seen stranger things. Or so I thought.
The difference between Ro and the rest of my clients was the odd structure of his tattoo. It looked like an attendance sheet. There were about thirty names written down his spine. He told me to cross out three of them: *Khaldoon Umar Qureshi*, *Xiao Hong Tsai*, and *Martina Juřinová.*
"When that is done, I would like you to add three more."
The names were written in beautiful, clear print. Small enough not to run out of room, but bold enough to draw the eye. Ro had pale skin, freckled lightly around his shoulders. He was not built for battle, but he seemed to work out.
While I worked, he told me about his company's baseball team. He played twice a week with his department. He seemed so pleasant, I almost forgot how strange his tattoo really was. He didn't offer me a reason for the list, or why I had to cross people out. When I asked about it, he got so tense that I had to stop the needle.
"It's really hard to talk about," he said.
*They must people who have died.* And that was the thought that made me begin to like Ro. I thought he was listing off the people he loved, in some symbolic way. Crossing them off when they died. So he could carry them with him.
When I had drawn a line through the three names, I began to trace the additions.
*Mila Atencio Rojas*
*James Martin.*
*Noé Carvajal Rodarte*
I wrote in the same small, clear print.
When I was done I cleaned off his back, put away my tools, and sent him to go speak with Andrea. He handed me a small white envelope. Inside was close to $100 dollars.
"A tip."
Then he went up to the counter and paid.
He came back almost every week for the next six months. I began to try to guess the ethnicity of the people he was writing about. I invented who they were in my head. I added almost 45 new names in that time, all unique.
However, slowly the names started to stop. He just came in for me to cross them off.
By the time I reached the end of the list, he had five names left.
I could tell that he had gone to other people to get names as well. There were different styles, each small and elegant. Still, he came to me to cross them off. Why? I am not sure. Perhaps he liked my bedside manner.
"I won't be coming back again," Ro said. "My job is almost done. Two hundred names."
My fingers slid down his spine, counting them. 199.
The last five were rather boring.
- Chad L. Allen
- Bruce A. Burr
- Thomas Wilhelm
- Matilde Gomes Lima
- Virginia R. Hester
They sat almost on his tail bone.
"I would appreciate if you would cross them out. Then I have two things I would like you to add," Ro said. His voice sounded heavy, as if he were tired. "I have to get home soon. It's been a long time since I have felt like this. This... happy."
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
As I prepared my station, he told me that he was going to see his mother. She had been on a trip to Greece for the past few months and he was eager to reunite with her. He seemed to think she would be pleased with what he accomplished.
I patted him on the shoulder, pulling on my purple gloves.
I crossed out the names carefully. He curled his shoulders and arched his back, allowing me better access.
When that was done, I asked what else he would like done.
"I want a final name on there," he said.
"Do you have the name?" I asked.
"Yes." He handed me a small slip of paper. Written in slanted font was my name: Elaine Porter.
I took a step back.
"I want you to sign your work. Add a little heart." He gave me a big smile. "I want to remember you."
"Okay," I said. I began the strange experience of writing my own name onto a person.
When I was done, he asked me to cross the name through, then add the heart.
When he was done, he let me clean his skin before he put on his shirt, buttoned it, and handed me another envelope. Inside was almost $4000 in cash and a list with a single name.
"You have been so lovely to me," Ro said. "I wanted to return the favor."
I gaped at him. "What am I supposed to do with this? You can't mean it is all for me."
"Please, spend it. Go on that trip you have always wanted. Memorize the name, it's important."
With that Ro left the tattoo shop. | I watched as the seconds chipped the last of my business hours away. The expected tinkle signalling the entrance of my oddest regular interrupted the deafening ticks of the little hand I had been tracking.
So familiar was our weekly routine that I didn't even notice I had begun until the tip of my tattoo gun dipped into John's skin to cross out the last of the names on his back.
I didn't need to read it to know Gregory was being offed. For what, I never asked.
A few months ago, John had sauntered into my humble tattoo studio right at closing time. Not a second before. I had attempted to turn John away, especially having just refused the business of three, piss-drunk dude-bros who didn't want to hear that matching knuckle-pieces spelling out B.R.O.S. on their right hands was not the best, most awesome idea ever.
Instead of arguing or leaving, John had stood stock-still. Silent. Staring straight into my heavy-lidded eyes. After another weak attempt at explaining I was closing shop, I had sighed and gone through my usual first-time client routine.
The first had been Emily Schwartz. The eleventh was Gregory Hopkins.
Although creepy, John was probably my best client. He knew exactly what he wanted, the work was simple, and the pay was generous. John always left triple my usual rate in cash before vanishing into the night.
A slight heaviness weighed against my chest as the realization that today was the last day John would visit dawned on me. I'd never grown attached to a client like this before. Then again, it's not often that an artist gets visited nearly twelve weeks in a row by the same client.
It was then that I finally noticed the new name sitting comfortably under half-stricken Gregory.
My mind blanked.
How?
It must've been a coincidence. Maybe it was another Daryl Li.
There was bound to be another one in downtown, let alone the entire city!
Right?
"So, I don't usually do this, because clients who want to would usually tell me without me asking, but, is there any special meaning to what we've been doing for the past three months?" I asked.
John showed no signs of having heard me.
After a couple seconds of sweltering silence, broken only by the buzzing of my tattoo gun as it finished crossing Gregory Hopkins out, I cleared my throat.
"You are next."
I snapped my head up, sucked a breath in through my nostrils, and asked, "next for what?"
John rolled off the bunk, letting his shirt fall back into place, pulled out the usual cash-filled envelope and left it on the counter before making his way towards the door.
"Next for what!" I shouted, still holding the tattoo gun.
"See you next week."
And with a tinkle, John vanished into the night.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Comment with: "stay" if you want me to continue working at the studio and wait for John to return.
Or
Comment with: "gtfo" if you want me to get the hell out of town cause I sure as hell don't want to find out what being crossed off means.
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Seven minutes till four, another day almost over." I muttered to myself as I looked up from my watch, to my surprise I wasn't greeted with the sight of empty halls as was usual this time of day, but by the bright eyes and rosy cheeks of a small girl.
Her brow was furrowed, obviously purplexed by a rather confronting thought, whatever that might be for a child of her age.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?" she blurted out, oblivious to the significance the document held.
"Because it would be naught but tatters blowing in the wind were it not!" I exclaimed, un-phased by my snide response the girl's brow only furrowed further, my answer very much insufficient, that was obvious.
Three minutes till four, I better sate this girls curiosity quickly, lest of I mid conversation when I should be walking to my car.
"The declaration of independence, my dear girl, is an ancient relic of a past world. Not two centuries ago it was considered important for more than that fact alone."
"In it's time there was a great nation that covered all the land you've seen, and I dare say all the land you will ever see. This piece of paper entitled it's inhabitants to many things we no longer have today."
I beckoned her closer, and spoke softly into her tiny ears:
"The corporations would have us believe it be naught more than a relic of a past time, but it is testament to the fact that the world was not always the way it is now. That there were times when you had a choice in what you did, who your friends were, and where you lived."
Beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep my alarm sounded, my shift was over, I stood and left the room, only stopping at the doorway to peer back at the little girl, still staring at the document.
"Silly kids" I scoffed as I turned away, heading to elevator. | Is this some kind of subtle pun about "shredded constitution" by a homophobe upset about other people being able to live normal lives now? | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Seven minutes till four, another day almost over." I muttered to myself as I looked up from my watch, to my surprise I wasn't greeted with the sight of empty halls as was usual this time of day, but by the bright eyes and rosy cheeks of a small girl.
Her brow was furrowed, obviously purplexed by a rather confronting thought, whatever that might be for a child of her age.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?" she blurted out, oblivious to the significance the document held.
"Because it would be naught but tatters blowing in the wind were it not!" I exclaimed, un-phased by my snide response the girl's brow only furrowed further, my answer very much insufficient, that was obvious.
Three minutes till four, I better sate this girls curiosity quickly, lest of I mid conversation when I should be walking to my car.
"The declaration of independence, my dear girl, is an ancient relic of a past world. Not two centuries ago it was considered important for more than that fact alone."
"In it's time there was a great nation that covered all the land you've seen, and I dare say all the land you will ever see. This piece of paper entitled it's inhabitants to many things we no longer have today."
I beckoned her closer, and spoke softly into her tiny ears:
"The corporations would have us believe it be naught more than a relic of a past time, but it is testament to the fact that the world was not always the way it is now. That there were times when you had a choice in what you did, who your friends were, and where you lived."
Beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep my alarm sounded, my shift was over, I stood and left the room, only stopping at the doorway to peer back at the little girl, still staring at the document.
"Silly kids" I scoffed as I turned away, heading to elevator. | I told Tom that was an important document, but he put it on the shredder. Tom is now unemployed and in prison. | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Seven minutes till four, another day almost over." I muttered to myself as I looked up from my watch, to my surprise I wasn't greeted with the sight of empty halls as was usual this time of day, but by the bright eyes and rosy cheeks of a small girl.
Her brow was furrowed, obviously purplexed by a rather confronting thought, whatever that might be for a child of her age.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?" she blurted out, oblivious to the significance the document held.
"Because it would be naught but tatters blowing in the wind were it not!" I exclaimed, un-phased by my snide response the girl's brow only furrowed further, my answer very much insufficient, that was obvious.
Three minutes till four, I better sate this girls curiosity quickly, lest of I mid conversation when I should be walking to my car.
"The declaration of independence, my dear girl, is an ancient relic of a past world. Not two centuries ago it was considered important for more than that fact alone."
"In it's time there was a great nation that covered all the land you've seen, and I dare say all the land you will ever see. This piece of paper entitled it's inhabitants to many things we no longer have today."
I beckoned her closer, and spoke softly into her tiny ears:
"The corporations would have us believe it be naught more than a relic of a past time, but it is testament to the fact that the world was not always the way it is now. That there were times when you had a choice in what you did, who your friends were, and where you lived."
Beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep my alarm sounded, my shift was over, I stood and left the room, only stopping at the doorway to peer back at the little girl, still staring at the document.
"Silly kids" I scoffed as I turned away, heading to elevator. | "Son in the year 2016 when Donald Trump was elected president. He thought the movie National Treasure was based upon a real story and ripped it looking for the treasure map on the back. " said the curator. | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Seven minutes till four, another day almost over." I muttered to myself as I looked up from my watch, to my surprise I wasn't greeted with the sight of empty halls as was usual this time of day, but by the bright eyes and rosy cheeks of a small girl.
Her brow was furrowed, obviously purplexed by a rather confronting thought, whatever that might be for a child of her age.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?" she blurted out, oblivious to the significance the document held.
"Because it would be naught but tatters blowing in the wind were it not!" I exclaimed, un-phased by my snide response the girl's brow only furrowed further, my answer very much insufficient, that was obvious.
Three minutes till four, I better sate this girls curiosity quickly, lest of I mid conversation when I should be walking to my car.
"The declaration of independence, my dear girl, is an ancient relic of a past world. Not two centuries ago it was considered important for more than that fact alone."
"In it's time there was a great nation that covered all the land you've seen, and I dare say all the land you will ever see. This piece of paper entitled it's inhabitants to many things we no longer have today."
I beckoned her closer, and spoke softly into her tiny ears:
"The corporations would have us believe it be naught more than a relic of a past time, but it is testament to the fact that the world was not always the way it is now. That there were times when you had a choice in what you did, who your friends were, and where you lived."
Beep-beep beep-beep beep-beep my alarm sounded, my shift was over, I stood and left the room, only stopping at the doorway to peer back at the little girl, still staring at the document.
"Silly kids" I scoffed as I turned away, heading to elevator. | "So, why is it!?" The child prodded me for an answer.
I took in his appearance carefully. He wore a standard eFlex suit, like most others of his age - diamond paneled white body suit that looked like it was glued to your skin . The garment was clearly in exquisite condition, the air filter not making the tiniest bit of a sound. He had a rather expensive looking red scarf, tied expertly in the American Cowboy fashion that had been prevalent among youngsters lately. The fake leather duster was the perfect final touch to the appearance. It almost hid the green LED by his right collarbone - the life support indicator and the blue LED by his left collarbone. His over pants equally exquisite - pants with jeans texture. His parents were definitely one of those rich people who drove their own vehicles because they could afford to.
Coming to think of it, the iris scan didn't bring up any relatives registered. Perhaps they'd simply sent him to the museum when they'd gone to one of their races - the museum's free entry and giant collection of curiosities often attracted kids, and the state of the art security guaranteed their safety. But still, rich folks didn't leave their kids alone - too much politics in the city, the kid could accidentally accept contracts he'd be made to honor later. The rich had their own problems, after all.
"Sir?" The kid looked at me questioningly. I made my decision.
"Would you please come with me sir? The story behind this is much better told after viewing a couple of other exhibits to truly make sense."
The kid followed me onto a hoverdome, which quickly took us to the holographic recreation of the birth of the United States.
"Do you not agree sir, that his time as Captain of the Virginia Regiment made him a very able military leader?" I remarked, as the hologram went through basic battle recreations, showing the friendly fire incident.
"But wasn't it the same incident that made him step down from being the Commander and leave the forces till the war for independence?" The child replied astutely.
"I believe it served to humble him, teach him the magnitude of mistakes men in power can make."
As the hologram progressed, I tapped a button on my wrist mounted controls, and the hoverdome purred to life.
"Where are we going now?" The child asked.
"You'll soon see".
As we floated across the floor, passing by some old portraits of American generals, I struggled to maintain my excitement. To think, of all the places, I would find one here, in a museum and that too in such a convenient state!
A section of the wall slid sideways to reveal utter darkness, and the hoverdome continued inwards.
"What is this? What's happening?" The child asked, with a hint of panic to his voice.
"Well, you see, the eFlex suit that you're wearing has two LEDs - a blue one, and a green one. The green one is for you life support system, and the blue one is for the physical augmentation that allows you to perform feats beyond normal human strength. The thing is, that suit is still 40 years in the making, and is nowhere close to completion. Your scarf almost managed to hide them, but well, you were unlucky." Finishing thus, I vaulted over the railing of the hoverdome and lightly landed on my feet as the staggered lighting began to turn on.
"What!? What are you saying?" The child, now clearly uncomfortable, leaned over the railing to ask me.
"What I'm saying is that you corrected me by saying that Washington stepped down as a Commander, whereas I'd called him a captain. You clearly possess knowledge that has been terminated, and also possess gear that is yet to exist. What I'm saying is that you're a time traveler, and that your child camouflage, while close to perfect, isn't going to make a fool of me."
I finished with a smug smile, as the fake child turned around to face the contents of the room - six guards wearing advanced tactical armor, all pointing their laser rifles at him. | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Well, usually when you declare independence, the people you're declaring independence from don't like it."
"Why?"
"Because they don't want you to be free."
"Why?"
"Because you don't pay them taxes when you're free."
"But..." the child cut its question off, and the curator thought for a moment that he could see the cogs turning behind its eyes. "Why didn't we want to pay them taxes?"
The curator gave the child a second look. The child clearly identified as a local, grouping the two of them together as 'we'.
"Because they were fighting lots of wars, and they needed money for wars, so they asked for a lot of money, and we decided it was too much."
"Why were they fighting lots of wars?"
"Well... they said it was for freedom. To fight dictators and emperors and all that." The curator gave the child a sidelong glance and thought it best to clarify: "Not a lot of our people sympathized with their excuses."
The child was skeptical. "Isn't fighting dicturtles and emperors a good thing?"
"Well yes, I mean it's good to help people in other countries have freedom, but you also have to remember that it's bad to not help your own people. The government is supposed to use money from taxes to look after its own people, and they were spending it all on wars and not on the people, and our people's lives were getting worse and worse..."
"So it would have been good for us to be independent?"
The curator's gaze lingered on the flag behind the display case, horizontal stripes with a British flag in the top left corner. "Yes, it would have been good."
They were interrupted as a father marched his family proudly into the room. The younger child clinging to its mother's hand while the elder of the two kids ran ahead to the display case.
"This is the actual room! This is where the surrender happened!"
"Well done, Brad," said the father.
"What a clever young man," said the curator, putting on his shop smile.
"Tell the man what you learned in History class, Brad," said the father.
"The Hawaiian Declaration of Independence was signed in 2089," recited the boy. "And then we tore it up in 2096, but it only took that long because we had to beat California's anti-conscription rebellion first and Hawaii wasn't as important." | The Curator, as he was called, knelt beside the boy. The computer system supplied the name, registered upon entering the museum. "Roger, when were you born?"
"2291, sir."
"Well, 277 years before you were born, there was something we now call, the calling. It. Well, it changed how we viewed government and society as a whole. Some people got really mad, and decided that this paper here was a bad thing, so they tore it all up to make a point. Once those mad people calmed down, others realized they had ruined a piece of history, so they put it back together as best they could. All they had was masking tape, so that's what they used.
"But... What was the calling? Mommy won't talk about it, neither will Mr. Briggams, my teacher."
The Curator patted the short brown curls, and stood up. "Sorry, my boy, I'm a busy bot, and there's more to do. Your mother is wondering where you went, she's three doors down on the left. Run along now."
The Curator rose slowly as the boy dashed away. He muttered, "They keep asking, them kids."
"What are you saying, bot." The voice echoed in his metal skull, only heard by him.
"Perhaps start the education earlier? Holovids in the preschool? They come in here with their folks and understand masking tape dosent make sense. Should we replace it? Put some glue in instead? We can have it changed before lunch."
"It stays. Change it with the next exhibit opening, the First Great war one. I'll move it up the chain to have memory enhancers changed to agree with glue, not tape."
"Of course, Sir." The bot spoke quietly as he marched away from the artifact.
"Go check on the dinosaur exhibit, some kids look confused about their domestic use."
"Yes sir." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | A memory fills my head; takes over my entire conscience for a terrifying moment. Sound, light....heat--it's all there like yesterday. But I've trained for this. My mind stuffs the Old Times back in the deepest darkest filing cabinet it knows as it has 100 times before. I hope it is safely out of the reach of even the most curious dendrite I possess. Still I know I will be called in for review over even this small lapse. I'm nearly positive that somewhere in a small damp room full of monitors a panel is lighting up like all the neon in a pawn shop window. I hope the half-wince is concealed in my practiced smile as I lean down to the little boy:
"Well young man, very astute observation! The document became more and more fragile with age, and eventually even the most careful members on the team tasked with upkeep of the document was unable to keep it from tearing. All good things must come to an end you see, terrible pity. But the meaning is nonetheless intact"
A boring, practiced answer. Today's gag-inducing lie was number 14,328. One for each tour I've given in my illustrious career acting as the dusty old museum creator. Only a miserable cyborg like myself would even think to work in this world, especially at my age. But even this monotony is not of compare to the fresh daily hell that awaits me when the museum closes and I wander back to my sleep vestibule, when the brain controls are released and synapses belong to themselves again...
Sleep.
The memories flood back as I float in my 3x3x8 tube of oxygel, silent to the world, even silent to myself. I am finally at the mercy of my own mind, and tonight is worse than it has been in many years. For some reason, the young man at the museum seems to have broken me today with his passing question...for a moment icy fear grips my stomach...maybe the boy was planted there...maybe the question wasn't innocuous after all.
more to come, if wanted | The Curator, as he was called, knelt beside the boy. The computer system supplied the name, registered upon entering the museum. "Roger, when were you born?"
"2291, sir."
"Well, 277 years before you were born, there was something we now call, the calling. It. Well, it changed how we viewed government and society as a whole. Some people got really mad, and decided that this paper here was a bad thing, so they tore it all up to make a point. Once those mad people calmed down, others realized they had ruined a piece of history, so they put it back together as best they could. All they had was masking tape, so that's what they used.
"But... What was the calling? Mommy won't talk about it, neither will Mr. Briggams, my teacher."
The Curator patted the short brown curls, and stood up. "Sorry, my boy, I'm a busy bot, and there's more to do. Your mother is wondering where you went, she's three doors down on the left. Run along now."
The Curator rose slowly as the boy dashed away. He muttered, "They keep asking, them kids."
"What are you saying, bot." The voice echoed in his metal skull, only heard by him.
"Perhaps start the education earlier? Holovids in the preschool? They come in here with their folks and understand masking tape dosent make sense. Should we replace it? Put some glue in instead? We can have it changed before lunch."
"It stays. Change it with the next exhibit opening, the First Great war one. I'll move it up the chain to have memory enhancers changed to agree with glue, not tape."
"Of course, Sir." The bot spoke quietly as he marched away from the artifact.
"Go check on the dinosaur exhibit, some kids look confused about their domestic use."
"Yes sir." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | Marks hated field trips. It was bad enough that real life wasn't customizable like the VR classroom. But field trips were so, so boring.
The chaperone was a woman named Miss Perkins. A mousy woman with a large mole on the side of her nose. He could always slip on his Specs and change her into a rhino or something. That might be amusing for a moment. But she didn't want them using augmented reality on this trip. They were supposed to look at what was actually *there.* Boooor-ing.
The floatcoach pulled up in front of a building called Museum of Fallen America. Oh great. They were going to talk about the country that had toppled two hundred years ago. This would be even more boring than usual.
The curator met them at the gate and waved. He wore old fashioned clothes. Cloth that stayed the same color and didn't show animations. Even the guy's clothes were a relic.
Marks slid out of his seat and followed the group out to the lobby. He was always disappointed to meet his classmates in real life. Todd, for example, was really just a normal looking third grader. Black, yes, but that was just his skin color. His eyes were still normal. His hair looked like hair. Not the living flame his avatar showed. Mary was even worse. It would be years before her chest expanded to the dimensions of her avatar. If it ever did. What did they think of Marks? His avatar wasn't even human. Just an abstract geometric shape floating above a virtual desk.
None of them spoke as they filed in. Speaking without a vocadode was so archaic. May as well chip the words into a stone tablet.
They entered the building as a group. It was large with marble columns and vast windows that allowed natural sunlight to provide boring white illumination to the displays. Well, most displays. To Marks' confusion there were some glass cases that seemed to be deliberately stored in perpetual shadow. The curator was speaking but it didn't sound important. Marks walked closer.
The words stayed still which made it harder to read, but not impossible. Declaration of Independence? Wasn't that the document that was supposed to be really important to the Americans?
"Sir?" Marks croaked. He cleared his voice and tried again.
"Sir?" he asked, "Why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
The curator approached and beamed.
"Ah yes!" he said, "I was just going over this. Yes, well spotted, young man! This is, indeed, the first document where the Americans outlined their intention to rebel against their former masters. Yes, indeed. Very important to them. They used to celebrate it every year."
"But the tape," Marks said, "I didn't know it was taped together."
"Oh it wasn't," the curator said, "Not originally. However, you know about the Fall?"
Marks frowned.
"You mean where the Americans sold their own government to the highest bidder?"
The curator shook his head.
"That's a bit oversimplified," he said, "It wasn't sold. Long term leases maybe. Every senator and representative had to wear big corporate logos. It was very interesting! Still, the country was going bankrupt and. even with corporations paying top dollar to own a senator, it still wasn't enough. So, the government started to give incentives to donate more money."
"What sort of incentives?" Marks asked.
"Well, you know the stories about the time. Ninety percent of the wealth was held by only 2% of the people? Well, they needed those 2% to give away more of their wealth. The idea was to offer them something that they could not normally purchase with their vast amounts of money."
"Like what?" Marks insisted.
"Well," the curator stammered, "Like the official coin of the Americas. Do you know what they called their money?"
"The Microsoft WinCoin," Marks answered quickly. He was an honor roll student, after all.
"Only towards the end of the fall," the curator corrected him, "Before that it was the dollar. Microsoft bought the rights to the name of the currency."
His classmates made a collective "ooh" sound. Marks noted, however, that the original question had been avoided.
"The tape!" Marks said.
The curator sighed.
"Just before the fall that was their largest prize," he said, "Sold for 11.5 Billion WinCoin."
"Someone bought the Declaration of Independence?" Marks asked.
"Used it," the curator said, "For one specific purpose. Efforts were made to, uh, restore it afterwards but it . . . damaged the document. After that event, however, the Fall proceeded quite quickly."
"What event?"
"Come along class!" the chaperone said suddenly, "We have much to see!"
The two adults tried to herd his classmates along. Marks, however, lingered behind. There was a plaque under the display. He bent over and squinted to read the words in the dim light.
"Declaration of Independence" it read, "First signed in July 1776 (old style calendar). Damaged in 2176 by John 'Chairman' Bonds. Biohazard protocols prohibit handling of the document to this day as traces of Bonds fecal matter remain. This event known as 'The Great Wipe' was the event that proceeded the Fall of-"
"Marks!" Miss Perkins yelled.
"On my way!" Marks said. It probably wasn't important anyway. | The Curator, as he was called, knelt beside the boy. The computer system supplied the name, registered upon entering the museum. "Roger, when were you born?"
"2291, sir."
"Well, 277 years before you were born, there was something we now call, the calling. It. Well, it changed how we viewed government and society as a whole. Some people got really mad, and decided that this paper here was a bad thing, so they tore it all up to make a point. Once those mad people calmed down, others realized they had ruined a piece of history, so they put it back together as best they could. All they had was masking tape, so that's what they used.
"But... What was the calling? Mommy won't talk about it, neither will Mr. Briggams, my teacher."
The Curator patted the short brown curls, and stood up. "Sorry, my boy, I'm a busy bot, and there's more to do. Your mother is wondering where you went, she's three doors down on the left. Run along now."
The Curator rose slowly as the boy dashed away. He muttered, "They keep asking, them kids."
"What are you saying, bot." The voice echoed in his metal skull, only heard by him.
"Perhaps start the education earlier? Holovids in the preschool? They come in here with their folks and understand masking tape dosent make sense. Should we replace it? Put some glue in instead? We can have it changed before lunch."
"It stays. Change it with the next exhibit opening, the First Great war one. I'll move it up the chain to have memory enhancers changed to agree with glue, not tape."
"Of course, Sir." The bot spoke quietly as he marched away from the artifact.
"Go check on the dinosaur exhibit, some kids look confused about their domestic use."
"Yes sir." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Mr. Security guard?" Dale Humphries looked down to see the big-eyed child tugging at his pant leg. "Sir?"
Dale let out a smile. He was good with children. "Yes?" He said, kneeling to be on the boy's level.
"The... um... the... paper in that box over there..." the boy pointed.
"The Declaration of Independence." Dale nodded pleasantly. He had a masters in American history, it was one of the things that had marked him out from the other Rocketeer applicants.
"Yeah." The boy shrugged. "Um... why is it all taped together?"
Dale froze. "Uh..."
"Jimmy, don't bother the security guard." The boy's mother grabbed at his hand.
"But I want to know!" Jimmy insisted.
The mother sighed. "I'm sorry for this." She murmured. "Could you just answer his question? He'll be throwing a fit all the way home, otherwise."
"Well..." Dale hesitated. "To be honest... I'm not sure. Hey, Linda?" He beckoned to his senior partner, who obligingly came over. "Do you know why the Declaration is taped together?"
Linda's thick shoulders gave a shrug. "Hell if I know." The boy's mother sent her a glare and she had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was like that my first day here."
"Wait, hang on." A passerby had overheard the conversation. "It's not supposed to be taped together?"
"Oh, thank god." Another visitor closed their eyes. "That's been bugging me the whole time."
"I thought it was something with my eyes." The cyborg at the Magna Carta exhibit tapped his head.
"I thought it wath thome human custom." The blue-skinned lizard in the suit lisped.
"I didn't want to ask, but yeah, seriously, what the hell?"
"Hang on, hang on," Dale raised his arms. "Just... hang on. I'll get the administrator.
It took a half-hour to explain the situation to Dr. Froud, and another half hour to convince the aged professor to hobble out onto the Archives hall. To Dale's dismay, the crowd of curious patrons had only grown during that time.
Dr. Froud adjusted his eye implants and twisted a dial on his chest. "Er... yes." The professor's wharbling voice could be heard clearly across the hall. "The Declaration is an interesting and a rich document, with a great deal of history behind it. During the document's long and storied history, it has... er... been subject to numerous renovations." He paused for his rebreather to catch up. "During a point in the document's history," he continued, "the various stresses of age and circumstance caused the document to tear in half. Repairs were accordingly undertaken. While it appears to be masking tape holding the document together, it is in fact a highly adhesive nano-glue commonly used to correct such mishaps."
He switched off his voicebox, and gave the crowd an expectant look.
Slowly, realizing that was all they were going to get, the crowd of expectant patrons drifted away, murmuring various responses. Dr. Froud turned to Dale. "Mr.Humphries, could you bring me back to the office?"
Dale obligingly helped the aged cyborg back to his office. As he was leaving, he hesitated and turned. "Sir..." He said.
"Yes?"
"How did the document tear, exactly?"
Dr. Froud did not look up. "That matter is confidential."
Dale waited a moment. "You don't know either, do you."
"Shut up, Mr. Humphries." | The Curator, as he was called, knelt beside the boy. The computer system supplied the name, registered upon entering the museum. "Roger, when were you born?"
"2291, sir."
"Well, 277 years before you were born, there was something we now call, the calling. It. Well, it changed how we viewed government and society as a whole. Some people got really mad, and decided that this paper here was a bad thing, so they tore it all up to make a point. Once those mad people calmed down, others realized they had ruined a piece of history, so they put it back together as best they could. All they had was masking tape, so that's what they used.
"But... What was the calling? Mommy won't talk about it, neither will Mr. Briggams, my teacher."
The Curator patted the short brown curls, and stood up. "Sorry, my boy, I'm a busy bot, and there's more to do. Your mother is wondering where you went, she's three doors down on the left. Run along now."
The Curator rose slowly as the boy dashed away. He muttered, "They keep asking, them kids."
"What are you saying, bot." The voice echoed in his metal skull, only heard by him.
"Perhaps start the education earlier? Holovids in the preschool? They come in here with their folks and understand masking tape dosent make sense. Should we replace it? Put some glue in instead? We can have it changed before lunch."
"It stays. Change it with the next exhibit opening, the First Great war one. I'll move it up the chain to have memory enhancers changed to agree with glue, not tape."
"Of course, Sir." The bot spoke quietly as he marched away from the artifact.
"Go check on the dinosaur exhibit, some kids look confused about their domestic use."
"Yes sir." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | The Curator, as he was called, knelt beside the boy. The computer system supplied the name, registered upon entering the museum. "Roger, when were you born?"
"2291, sir."
"Well, 277 years before you were born, there was something we now call, the calling. It. Well, it changed how we viewed government and society as a whole. Some people got really mad, and decided that this paper here was a bad thing, so they tore it all up to make a point. Once those mad people calmed down, others realized they had ruined a piece of history, so they put it back together as best they could. All they had was masking tape, so that's what they used.
"But... What was the calling? Mommy won't talk about it, neither will Mr. Briggams, my teacher."
The Curator patted the short brown curls, and stood up. "Sorry, my boy, I'm a busy bot, and there's more to do. Your mother is wondering where you went, she's three doors down on the left. Run along now."
The Curator rose slowly as the boy dashed away. He muttered, "They keep asking, them kids."
"What are you saying, bot." The voice echoed in his metal skull, only heard by him.
"Perhaps start the education earlier? Holovids in the preschool? They come in here with their folks and understand masking tape dosent make sense. Should we replace it? Put some glue in instead? We can have it changed before lunch."
"It stays. Change it with the next exhibit opening, the First Great war one. I'll move it up the chain to have memory enhancers changed to agree with glue, not tape."
"Of course, Sir." The bot spoke quietly as he marched away from the artifact.
"Go check on the dinosaur exhibit, some kids look confused about their domestic use."
"Yes sir." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | Marks hated field trips. It was bad enough that real life wasn't customizable like the VR classroom. But field trips were so, so boring.
The chaperone was a woman named Miss Perkins. A mousy woman with a large mole on the side of her nose. He could always slip on his Specs and change her into a rhino or something. That might be amusing for a moment. But she didn't want them using augmented reality on this trip. They were supposed to look at what was actually *there.* Boooor-ing.
The floatcoach pulled up in front of a building called Museum of Fallen America. Oh great. They were going to talk about the country that had toppled two hundred years ago. This would be even more boring than usual.
The curator met them at the gate and waved. He wore old fashioned clothes. Cloth that stayed the same color and didn't show animations. Even the guy's clothes were a relic.
Marks slid out of his seat and followed the group out to the lobby. He was always disappointed to meet his classmates in real life. Todd, for example, was really just a normal looking third grader. Black, yes, but that was just his skin color. His eyes were still normal. His hair looked like hair. Not the living flame his avatar showed. Mary was even worse. It would be years before her chest expanded to the dimensions of her avatar. If it ever did. What did they think of Marks? His avatar wasn't even human. Just an abstract geometric shape floating above a virtual desk.
None of them spoke as they filed in. Speaking without a vocadode was so archaic. May as well chip the words into a stone tablet.
They entered the building as a group. It was large with marble columns and vast windows that allowed natural sunlight to provide boring white illumination to the displays. Well, most displays. To Marks' confusion there were some glass cases that seemed to be deliberately stored in perpetual shadow. The curator was speaking but it didn't sound important. Marks walked closer.
The words stayed still which made it harder to read, but not impossible. Declaration of Independence? Wasn't that the document that was supposed to be really important to the Americans?
"Sir?" Marks croaked. He cleared his voice and tried again.
"Sir?" he asked, "Why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
The curator approached and beamed.
"Ah yes!" he said, "I was just going over this. Yes, well spotted, young man! This is, indeed, the first document where the Americans outlined their intention to rebel against their former masters. Yes, indeed. Very important to them. They used to celebrate it every year."
"But the tape," Marks said, "I didn't know it was taped together."
"Oh it wasn't," the curator said, "Not originally. However, you know about the Fall?"
Marks frowned.
"You mean where the Americans sold their own government to the highest bidder?"
The curator shook his head.
"That's a bit oversimplified," he said, "It wasn't sold. Long term leases maybe. Every senator and representative had to wear big corporate logos. It was very interesting! Still, the country was going bankrupt and. even with corporations paying top dollar to own a senator, it still wasn't enough. So, the government started to give incentives to donate more money."
"What sort of incentives?" Marks asked.
"Well, you know the stories about the time. Ninety percent of the wealth was held by only 2% of the people? Well, they needed those 2% to give away more of their wealth. The idea was to offer them something that they could not normally purchase with their vast amounts of money."
"Like what?" Marks insisted.
"Well," the curator stammered, "Like the official coin of the Americas. Do you know what they called their money?"
"The Microsoft WinCoin," Marks answered quickly. He was an honor roll student, after all.
"Only towards the end of the fall," the curator corrected him, "Before that it was the dollar. Microsoft bought the rights to the name of the currency."
His classmates made a collective "ooh" sound. Marks noted, however, that the original question had been avoided.
"The tape!" Marks said.
The curator sighed.
"Just before the fall that was their largest prize," he said, "Sold for 11.5 Billion WinCoin."
"Someone bought the Declaration of Independence?" Marks asked.
"Used it," the curator said, "For one specific purpose. Efforts were made to, uh, restore it afterwards but it . . . damaged the document. After that event, however, the Fall proceeded quite quickly."
"What event?"
"Come along class!" the chaperone said suddenly, "We have much to see!"
The two adults tried to herd his classmates along. Marks, however, lingered behind. There was a plaque under the display. He bent over and squinted to read the words in the dim light.
"Declaration of Independence" it read, "First signed in July 1776 (old style calendar). Damaged in 2176 by John 'Chairman' Bonds. Biohazard protocols prohibit handling of the document to this day as traces of Bonds fecal matter remain. This event known as 'The Great Wipe' was the event that proceeded the Fall of-"
"Marks!" Miss Perkins yelled.
"On my way!" Marks said. It probably wasn't important anyway. | "Well, usually when you declare independence, the people you're declaring independence from don't like it."
"Why?"
"Because they don't want you to be free."
"Why?"
"Because you don't pay them taxes when you're free."
"But..." the child cut its question off, and the curator thought for a moment that he could see the cogs turning behind its eyes. "Why didn't we want to pay them taxes?"
The curator gave the child a second look. The child clearly identified as a local, grouping the two of them together as 'we'.
"Because they were fighting lots of wars, and they needed money for wars, so they asked for a lot of money, and we decided it was too much."
"Why were they fighting lots of wars?"
"Well... they said it was for freedom. To fight dictators and emperors and all that." The curator gave the child a sidelong glance and thought it best to clarify: "Not a lot of our people sympathized with their excuses."
The child was skeptical. "Isn't fighting dicturtles and emperors a good thing?"
"Well yes, I mean it's good to help people in other countries have freedom, but you also have to remember that it's bad to not help your own people. The government is supposed to use money from taxes to look after its own people, and they were spending it all on wars and not on the people, and our people's lives were getting worse and worse..."
"So it would have been good for us to be independent?"
The curator's gaze lingered on the flag behind the display case, horizontal stripes with a British flag in the top left corner. "Yes, it would have been good."
They were interrupted as a father marched his family proudly into the room. The younger child clinging to its mother's hand while the elder of the two kids ran ahead to the display case.
"This is the actual room! This is where the surrender happened!"
"Well done, Brad," said the father.
"What a clever young man," said the curator, putting on his shop smile.
"Tell the man what you learned in History class, Brad," said the father.
"The Hawaiian Declaration of Independence was signed in 2089," recited the boy. "And then we tore it up in 2096, but it only took that long because we had to beat California's anti-conscription rebellion first and Hawaii wasn't as important." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Mr. Security guard?" Dale Humphries looked down to see the big-eyed child tugging at his pant leg. "Sir?"
Dale let out a smile. He was good with children. "Yes?" He said, kneeling to be on the boy's level.
"The... um... the... paper in that box over there..." the boy pointed.
"The Declaration of Independence." Dale nodded pleasantly. He had a masters in American history, it was one of the things that had marked him out from the other Rocketeer applicants.
"Yeah." The boy shrugged. "Um... why is it all taped together?"
Dale froze. "Uh..."
"Jimmy, don't bother the security guard." The boy's mother grabbed at his hand.
"But I want to know!" Jimmy insisted.
The mother sighed. "I'm sorry for this." She murmured. "Could you just answer his question? He'll be throwing a fit all the way home, otherwise."
"Well..." Dale hesitated. "To be honest... I'm not sure. Hey, Linda?" He beckoned to his senior partner, who obligingly came over. "Do you know why the Declaration is taped together?"
Linda's thick shoulders gave a shrug. "Hell if I know." The boy's mother sent her a glare and she had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was like that my first day here."
"Wait, hang on." A passerby had overheard the conversation. "It's not supposed to be taped together?"
"Oh, thank god." Another visitor closed their eyes. "That's been bugging me the whole time."
"I thought it was something with my eyes." The cyborg at the Magna Carta exhibit tapped his head.
"I thought it wath thome human custom." The blue-skinned lizard in the suit lisped.
"I didn't want to ask, but yeah, seriously, what the hell?"
"Hang on, hang on," Dale raised his arms. "Just... hang on. I'll get the administrator.
It took a half-hour to explain the situation to Dr. Froud, and another half hour to convince the aged professor to hobble out onto the Archives hall. To Dale's dismay, the crowd of curious patrons had only grown during that time.
Dr. Froud adjusted his eye implants and twisted a dial on his chest. "Er... yes." The professor's wharbling voice could be heard clearly across the hall. "The Declaration is an interesting and a rich document, with a great deal of history behind it. During the document's long and storied history, it has... er... been subject to numerous renovations." He paused for his rebreather to catch up. "During a point in the document's history," he continued, "the various stresses of age and circumstance caused the document to tear in half. Repairs were accordingly undertaken. While it appears to be masking tape holding the document together, it is in fact a highly adhesive nano-glue commonly used to correct such mishaps."
He switched off his voicebox, and gave the crowd an expectant look.
Slowly, realizing that was all they were going to get, the crowd of expectant patrons drifted away, murmuring various responses. Dr. Froud turned to Dale. "Mr.Humphries, could you bring me back to the office?"
Dale obligingly helped the aged cyborg back to his office. As he was leaving, he hesitated and turned. "Sir..." He said.
"Yes?"
"How did the document tear, exactly?"
Dr. Froud did not look up. "That matter is confidential."
Dale waited a moment. "You don't know either, do you."
"Shut up, Mr. Humphries." | "Well, usually when you declare independence, the people you're declaring independence from don't like it."
"Why?"
"Because they don't want you to be free."
"Why?"
"Because you don't pay them taxes when you're free."
"But..." the child cut its question off, and the curator thought for a moment that he could see the cogs turning behind its eyes. "Why didn't we want to pay them taxes?"
The curator gave the child a second look. The child clearly identified as a local, grouping the two of them together as 'we'.
"Because they were fighting lots of wars, and they needed money for wars, so they asked for a lot of money, and we decided it was too much."
"Why were they fighting lots of wars?"
"Well... they said it was for freedom. To fight dictators and emperors and all that." The curator gave the child a sidelong glance and thought it best to clarify: "Not a lot of our people sympathized with their excuses."
The child was skeptical. "Isn't fighting dicturtles and emperors a good thing?"
"Well yes, I mean it's good to help people in other countries have freedom, but you also have to remember that it's bad to not help your own people. The government is supposed to use money from taxes to look after its own people, and they were spending it all on wars and not on the people, and our people's lives were getting worse and worse..."
"So it would have been good for us to be independent?"
The curator's gaze lingered on the flag behind the display case, horizontal stripes with a British flag in the top left corner. "Yes, it would have been good."
They were interrupted as a father marched his family proudly into the room. The younger child clinging to its mother's hand while the elder of the two kids ran ahead to the display case.
"This is the actual room! This is where the surrender happened!"
"Well done, Brad," said the father.
"What a clever young man," said the curator, putting on his shop smile.
"Tell the man what you learned in History class, Brad," said the father.
"The Hawaiian Declaration of Independence was signed in 2089," recited the boy. "And then we tore it up in 2096, but it only took that long because we had to beat California's anti-conscription rebellion first and Hawaii wasn't as important." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | "Well, usually when you declare independence, the people you're declaring independence from don't like it."
"Why?"
"Because they don't want you to be free."
"Why?"
"Because you don't pay them taxes when you're free."
"But..." the child cut its question off, and the curator thought for a moment that he could see the cogs turning behind its eyes. "Why didn't we want to pay them taxes?"
The curator gave the child a second look. The child clearly identified as a local, grouping the two of them together as 'we'.
"Because they were fighting lots of wars, and they needed money for wars, so they asked for a lot of money, and we decided it was too much."
"Why were they fighting lots of wars?"
"Well... they said it was for freedom. To fight dictators and emperors and all that." The curator gave the child a sidelong glance and thought it best to clarify: "Not a lot of our people sympathized with their excuses."
The child was skeptical. "Isn't fighting dicturtles and emperors a good thing?"
"Well yes, I mean it's good to help people in other countries have freedom, but you also have to remember that it's bad to not help your own people. The government is supposed to use money from taxes to look after its own people, and they were spending it all on wars and not on the people, and our people's lives were getting worse and worse..."
"So it would have been good for us to be independent?"
The curator's gaze lingered on the flag behind the display case, horizontal stripes with a British flag in the top left corner. "Yes, it would have been good."
They were interrupted as a father marched his family proudly into the room. The younger child clinging to its mother's hand while the elder of the two kids ran ahead to the display case.
"This is the actual room! This is where the surrender happened!"
"Well done, Brad," said the father.
"What a clever young man," said the curator, putting on his shop smile.
"Tell the man what you learned in History class, Brad," said the father.
"The Hawaiian Declaration of Independence was signed in 2089," recited the boy. "And then we tore it up in 2096, but it only took that long because we had to beat California's anti-conscription rebellion first and Hawaii wasn't as important." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Mr. Security guard?" Dale Humphries looked down to see the big-eyed child tugging at his pant leg. "Sir?"
Dale let out a smile. He was good with children. "Yes?" He said, kneeling to be on the boy's level.
"The... um... the... paper in that box over there..." the boy pointed.
"The Declaration of Independence." Dale nodded pleasantly. He had a masters in American history, it was one of the things that had marked him out from the other Rocketeer applicants.
"Yeah." The boy shrugged. "Um... why is it all taped together?"
Dale froze. "Uh..."
"Jimmy, don't bother the security guard." The boy's mother grabbed at his hand.
"But I want to know!" Jimmy insisted.
The mother sighed. "I'm sorry for this." She murmured. "Could you just answer his question? He'll be throwing a fit all the way home, otherwise."
"Well..." Dale hesitated. "To be honest... I'm not sure. Hey, Linda?" He beckoned to his senior partner, who obligingly came over. "Do you know why the Declaration is taped together?"
Linda's thick shoulders gave a shrug. "Hell if I know." The boy's mother sent her a glare and she had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was like that my first day here."
"Wait, hang on." A passerby had overheard the conversation. "It's not supposed to be taped together?"
"Oh, thank god." Another visitor closed their eyes. "That's been bugging me the whole time."
"I thought it was something with my eyes." The cyborg at the Magna Carta exhibit tapped his head.
"I thought it wath thome human custom." The blue-skinned lizard in the suit lisped.
"I didn't want to ask, but yeah, seriously, what the hell?"
"Hang on, hang on," Dale raised his arms. "Just... hang on. I'll get the administrator.
It took a half-hour to explain the situation to Dr. Froud, and another half hour to convince the aged professor to hobble out onto the Archives hall. To Dale's dismay, the crowd of curious patrons had only grown during that time.
Dr. Froud adjusted his eye implants and twisted a dial on his chest. "Er... yes." The professor's wharbling voice could be heard clearly across the hall. "The Declaration is an interesting and a rich document, with a great deal of history behind it. During the document's long and storied history, it has... er... been subject to numerous renovations." He paused for his rebreather to catch up. "During a point in the document's history," he continued, "the various stresses of age and circumstance caused the document to tear in half. Repairs were accordingly undertaken. While it appears to be masking tape holding the document together, it is in fact a highly adhesive nano-glue commonly used to correct such mishaps."
He switched off his voicebox, and gave the crowd an expectant look.
Slowly, realizing that was all they were going to get, the crowd of expectant patrons drifted away, murmuring various responses. Dr. Froud turned to Dale. "Mr.Humphries, could you bring me back to the office?"
Dale obligingly helped the aged cyborg back to his office. As he was leaving, he hesitated and turned. "Sir..." He said.
"Yes?"
"How did the document tear, exactly?"
Dr. Froud did not look up. "That matter is confidential."
Dale waited a moment. "You don't know either, do you."
"Shut up, Mr. Humphries." | Marks hated field trips. It was bad enough that real life wasn't customizable like the VR classroom. But field trips were so, so boring.
The chaperone was a woman named Miss Perkins. A mousy woman with a large mole on the side of her nose. He could always slip on his Specs and change her into a rhino or something. That might be amusing for a moment. But she didn't want them using augmented reality on this trip. They were supposed to look at what was actually *there.* Boooor-ing.
The floatcoach pulled up in front of a building called Museum of Fallen America. Oh great. They were going to talk about the country that had toppled two hundred years ago. This would be even more boring than usual.
The curator met them at the gate and waved. He wore old fashioned clothes. Cloth that stayed the same color and didn't show animations. Even the guy's clothes were a relic.
Marks slid out of his seat and followed the group out to the lobby. He was always disappointed to meet his classmates in real life. Todd, for example, was really just a normal looking third grader. Black, yes, but that was just his skin color. His eyes were still normal. His hair looked like hair. Not the living flame his avatar showed. Mary was even worse. It would be years before her chest expanded to the dimensions of her avatar. If it ever did. What did they think of Marks? His avatar wasn't even human. Just an abstract geometric shape floating above a virtual desk.
None of them spoke as they filed in. Speaking without a vocadode was so archaic. May as well chip the words into a stone tablet.
They entered the building as a group. It was large with marble columns and vast windows that allowed natural sunlight to provide boring white illumination to the displays. Well, most displays. To Marks' confusion there were some glass cases that seemed to be deliberately stored in perpetual shadow. The curator was speaking but it didn't sound important. Marks walked closer.
The words stayed still which made it harder to read, but not impossible. Declaration of Independence? Wasn't that the document that was supposed to be really important to the Americans?
"Sir?" Marks croaked. He cleared his voice and tried again.
"Sir?" he asked, "Why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
The curator approached and beamed.
"Ah yes!" he said, "I was just going over this. Yes, well spotted, young man! This is, indeed, the first document where the Americans outlined their intention to rebel against their former masters. Yes, indeed. Very important to them. They used to celebrate it every year."
"But the tape," Marks said, "I didn't know it was taped together."
"Oh it wasn't," the curator said, "Not originally. However, you know about the Fall?"
Marks frowned.
"You mean where the Americans sold their own government to the highest bidder?"
The curator shook his head.
"That's a bit oversimplified," he said, "It wasn't sold. Long term leases maybe. Every senator and representative had to wear big corporate logos. It was very interesting! Still, the country was going bankrupt and. even with corporations paying top dollar to own a senator, it still wasn't enough. So, the government started to give incentives to donate more money."
"What sort of incentives?" Marks asked.
"Well, you know the stories about the time. Ninety percent of the wealth was held by only 2% of the people? Well, they needed those 2% to give away more of their wealth. The idea was to offer them something that they could not normally purchase with their vast amounts of money."
"Like what?" Marks insisted.
"Well," the curator stammered, "Like the official coin of the Americas. Do you know what they called their money?"
"The Microsoft WinCoin," Marks answered quickly. He was an honor roll student, after all.
"Only towards the end of the fall," the curator corrected him, "Before that it was the dollar. Microsoft bought the rights to the name of the currency."
His classmates made a collective "ooh" sound. Marks noted, however, that the original question had been avoided.
"The tape!" Marks said.
The curator sighed.
"Just before the fall that was their largest prize," he said, "Sold for 11.5 Billion WinCoin."
"Someone bought the Declaration of Independence?" Marks asked.
"Used it," the curator said, "For one specific purpose. Efforts were made to, uh, restore it afterwards but it . . . damaged the document. After that event, however, the Fall proceeded quite quickly."
"What event?"
"Come along class!" the chaperone said suddenly, "We have much to see!"
The two adults tried to herd his classmates along. Marks, however, lingered behind. There was a plaque under the display. He bent over and squinted to read the words in the dim light.
"Declaration of Independence" it read, "First signed in July 1776 (old style calendar). Damaged in 2176 by John 'Chairman' Bonds. Biohazard protocols prohibit handling of the document to this day as traces of Bonds fecal matter remain. This event known as 'The Great Wipe' was the event that proceeded the Fall of-"
"Marks!" Miss Perkins yelled.
"On my way!" Marks said. It probably wasn't important anyway. | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | Marks hated field trips. It was bad enough that real life wasn't customizable like the VR classroom. But field trips were so, so boring.
The chaperone was a woman named Miss Perkins. A mousy woman with a large mole on the side of her nose. He could always slip on his Specs and change her into a rhino or something. That might be amusing for a moment. But she didn't want them using augmented reality on this trip. They were supposed to look at what was actually *there.* Boooor-ing.
The floatcoach pulled up in front of a building called Museum of Fallen America. Oh great. They were going to talk about the country that had toppled two hundred years ago. This would be even more boring than usual.
The curator met them at the gate and waved. He wore old fashioned clothes. Cloth that stayed the same color and didn't show animations. Even the guy's clothes were a relic.
Marks slid out of his seat and followed the group out to the lobby. He was always disappointed to meet his classmates in real life. Todd, for example, was really just a normal looking third grader. Black, yes, but that was just his skin color. His eyes were still normal. His hair looked like hair. Not the living flame his avatar showed. Mary was even worse. It would be years before her chest expanded to the dimensions of her avatar. If it ever did. What did they think of Marks? His avatar wasn't even human. Just an abstract geometric shape floating above a virtual desk.
None of them spoke as they filed in. Speaking without a vocadode was so archaic. May as well chip the words into a stone tablet.
They entered the building as a group. It was large with marble columns and vast windows that allowed natural sunlight to provide boring white illumination to the displays. Well, most displays. To Marks' confusion there were some glass cases that seemed to be deliberately stored in perpetual shadow. The curator was speaking but it didn't sound important. Marks walked closer.
The words stayed still which made it harder to read, but not impossible. Declaration of Independence? Wasn't that the document that was supposed to be really important to the Americans?
"Sir?" Marks croaked. He cleared his voice and tried again.
"Sir?" he asked, "Why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
The curator approached and beamed.
"Ah yes!" he said, "I was just going over this. Yes, well spotted, young man! This is, indeed, the first document where the Americans outlined their intention to rebel against their former masters. Yes, indeed. Very important to them. They used to celebrate it every year."
"But the tape," Marks said, "I didn't know it was taped together."
"Oh it wasn't," the curator said, "Not originally. However, you know about the Fall?"
Marks frowned.
"You mean where the Americans sold their own government to the highest bidder?"
The curator shook his head.
"That's a bit oversimplified," he said, "It wasn't sold. Long term leases maybe. Every senator and representative had to wear big corporate logos. It was very interesting! Still, the country was going bankrupt and. even with corporations paying top dollar to own a senator, it still wasn't enough. So, the government started to give incentives to donate more money."
"What sort of incentives?" Marks asked.
"Well, you know the stories about the time. Ninety percent of the wealth was held by only 2% of the people? Well, they needed those 2% to give away more of their wealth. The idea was to offer them something that they could not normally purchase with their vast amounts of money."
"Like what?" Marks insisted.
"Well," the curator stammered, "Like the official coin of the Americas. Do you know what they called their money?"
"The Microsoft WinCoin," Marks answered quickly. He was an honor roll student, after all.
"Only towards the end of the fall," the curator corrected him, "Before that it was the dollar. Microsoft bought the rights to the name of the currency."
His classmates made a collective "ooh" sound. Marks noted, however, that the original question had been avoided.
"The tape!" Marks said.
The curator sighed.
"Just before the fall that was their largest prize," he said, "Sold for 11.5 Billion WinCoin."
"Someone bought the Declaration of Independence?" Marks asked.
"Used it," the curator said, "For one specific purpose. Efforts were made to, uh, restore it afterwards but it . . . damaged the document. After that event, however, the Fall proceeded quite quickly."
"What event?"
"Come along class!" the chaperone said suddenly, "We have much to see!"
The two adults tried to herd his classmates along. Marks, however, lingered behind. There was a plaque under the display. He bent over and squinted to read the words in the dim light.
"Declaration of Independence" it read, "First signed in July 1776 (old style calendar). Damaged in 2176 by John 'Chairman' Bonds. Biohazard protocols prohibit handling of the document to this day as traces of Bonds fecal matter remain. This event known as 'The Great Wipe' was the event that proceeded the Fall of-"
"Marks!" Miss Perkins yelled.
"On my way!" Marks said. It probably wasn't important anyway. | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | "Mr. Security guard?" Dale Humphries looked down to see the big-eyed child tugging at his pant leg. "Sir?"
Dale let out a smile. He was good with children. "Yes?" He said, kneeling to be on the boy's level.
"The... um... the... paper in that box over there..." the boy pointed.
"The Declaration of Independence." Dale nodded pleasantly. He had a masters in American history, it was one of the things that had marked him out from the other Rocketeer applicants.
"Yeah." The boy shrugged. "Um... why is it all taped together?"
Dale froze. "Uh..."
"Jimmy, don't bother the security guard." The boy's mother grabbed at his hand.
"But I want to know!" Jimmy insisted.
The mother sighed. "I'm sorry for this." She murmured. "Could you just answer his question? He'll be throwing a fit all the way home, otherwise."
"Well..." Dale hesitated. "To be honest... I'm not sure. Hey, Linda?" He beckoned to his senior partner, who obligingly came over. "Do you know why the Declaration is taped together?"
Linda's thick shoulders gave a shrug. "Hell if I know." The boy's mother sent her a glare and she had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was like that my first day here."
"Wait, hang on." A passerby had overheard the conversation. "It's not supposed to be taped together?"
"Oh, thank god." Another visitor closed their eyes. "That's been bugging me the whole time."
"I thought it was something with my eyes." The cyborg at the Magna Carta exhibit tapped his head.
"I thought it wath thome human custom." The blue-skinned lizard in the suit lisped.
"I didn't want to ask, but yeah, seriously, what the hell?"
"Hang on, hang on," Dale raised his arms. "Just... hang on. I'll get the administrator.
It took a half-hour to explain the situation to Dr. Froud, and another half hour to convince the aged professor to hobble out onto the Archives hall. To Dale's dismay, the crowd of curious patrons had only grown during that time.
Dr. Froud adjusted his eye implants and twisted a dial on his chest. "Er... yes." The professor's wharbling voice could be heard clearly across the hall. "The Declaration is an interesting and a rich document, with a great deal of history behind it. During the document's long and storied history, it has... er... been subject to numerous renovations." He paused for his rebreather to catch up. "During a point in the document's history," he continued, "the various stresses of age and circumstance caused the document to tear in half. Repairs were accordingly undertaken. While it appears to be masking tape holding the document together, it is in fact a highly adhesive nano-glue commonly used to correct such mishaps."
He switched off his voicebox, and gave the crowd an expectant look.
Slowly, realizing that was all they were going to get, the crowd of expectant patrons drifted away, murmuring various responses. Dr. Froud turned to Dale. "Mr.Humphries, could you bring me back to the office?"
Dale obligingly helped the aged cyborg back to his office. As he was leaving, he hesitated and turned. "Sir..." He said.
"Yes?"
"How did the document tear, exactly?"
Dr. Froud did not look up. "That matter is confidential."
Dale waited a moment. "You don't know either, do you."
"Shut up, Mr. Humphries." | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | The curator goes silent for a second and looks down at the child and begins to kneel. Then he stares deep into the small boys face. as the smile quickly fades from his young face. With Eyes full of fire as the curator grits his teeth then angrly says in a hushed tone "because Nicholas cage is an asshole" | "Excellent question!" replied the kind old curator. "Ah, I can see you're name is Johnny from that excellent handwritten name tag. Clearly, you are a child of special provenance to request a paper and pen from the entry desk unlike your classmates here. "
Johnny shuffled his feet and shrugged his shoulders under the attention. His anti-bullying programs already looking for a mean glance or cracked knuckle to report.
“Clearly, it was the only tape to use. The history of masking tape is a long and glorious one. But, for the sake of brevity, I'll start with what most modern tape scholars regard as the seminal event of the rise of masking as the primary tape used in the nation. Of course, I’m speaking of the Citizens United decision of the supreme court. ”
“You see, back in the dark times, which some scholars refer to as the Duct Tape Ascendancy, the use of trade names was somewhat more loose. You have to understand, this was before the advent of automated copyright infringement software embedded in our mobile devices. Can you imagine? Referring to any old transparent tape as “Scotch tape” without fear of repercussions?”
The children all gasped at the use of the brand name with such a careless disregard. The reaction brought the absent minded curator up short, and he held up a finger to indicate the young upturned faces should patiently wait while he dealt with the situation.
“Ah, yes…. “ He spoke into his mobile device which had beeped in response to his transgression. “No.” a pause.
“No.” another pause.
“Under regulation 203 of the fair use clause for non-profit museum work, thank you very much. Good day to you, sir. “
The children were rapt with attention at this man who had dismissed an auto generated copyright lawsuit with such speed.
“Where was I? Ah yes. Well, after the trademark wars of the 2020s, many of you know that Scotch, Duct, and Gorilla brands were the only survivors. Really, there were no other tapes to be had.”
The curator could see that he was losing his young listeners interest and decided to cut to the chase.
"Fortunately, thorough one of the last acts as an independent entity, the US attorney general was able to establish that “masking’ tape was not a brandable name. In fact, this SCOTUS case is widely seen as establishing the wide set of unbranded nouns in the public domain that we use today. "
"Really, it was quite a coup for liberty! And so, that is why we only use non-branded masking tape in the National Archives presented by Dunder Mifflin”
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | "Excellent question!" replied the kind old curator. "Ah, I can see you're name is Johnny from that excellent handwritten name tag. Clearly, you are a child of special provenance to request a paper and pen from the entry desk unlike your classmates here. "
Johnny shuffled his feet and shrugged his shoulders under the attention. His anti-bullying programs already looking for a mean glance or cracked knuckle to report.
“Clearly, it was the only tape to use. The history of masking tape is a long and glorious one. But, for the sake of brevity, I'll start with what most modern tape scholars regard as the seminal event of the rise of masking as the primary tape used in the nation. Of course, I’m speaking of the Citizens United decision of the supreme court. ”
“You see, back in the dark times, which some scholars refer to as the Duct Tape Ascendancy, the use of trade names was somewhat more loose. You have to understand, this was before the advent of automated copyright infringement software embedded in our mobile devices. Can you imagine? Referring to any old transparent tape as “Scotch tape” without fear of repercussions?”
The children all gasped at the use of the brand name with such a careless disregard. The reaction brought the absent minded curator up short, and he held up a finger to indicate the young upturned faces should patiently wait while he dealt with the situation.
“Ah, yes…. “ He spoke into his mobile device which had beeped in response to his transgression. “No.” a pause.
“No.” another pause.
“Under regulation 203 of the fair use clause for non-profit museum work, thank you very much. Good day to you, sir. “
The children were rapt with attention at this man who had dismissed an auto generated copyright lawsuit with such speed.
“Where was I? Ah yes. Well, after the trademark wars of the 2020s, many of you know that Scotch, Duct, and Gorilla brands were the only survivors. Really, there were no other tapes to be had.”
The curator could see that he was losing his young listeners interest and decided to cut to the chase.
"Fortunately, thorough one of the last acts as an independent entity, the US attorney general was able to establish that “masking’ tape was not a brandable name. In fact, this SCOTUS case is widely seen as establishing the wide set of unbranded nouns in the public domain that we use today. "
"Really, it was quite a coup for liberty! And so, that is why we only use non-branded masking tape in the National Archives presented by Dunder Mifflin”
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | The curator goes silent for a second and looks down at the child and begins to kneel. Then he stares deep into the small boys face. as the smile quickly fades from his young face. With Eyes full of fire as the curator grits his teeth then angrly says in a hushed tone "because Nicholas cage is an asshole" | I get this question a few times a day. Usually from small children who don’t know very much about our history. Of course, there’s always those older ones who haven’t been paying attention in school, too. I always give them the simple version of the story. That when we sent off the Declaration to formally set our colony up as independent, our old rulers were so angry that they tore up the letter. And that some people who were sympathetic to our cause recovered the pieces, taped them back together, and held onto them until the end of the war.
But that never really does the entire story justice. It leaves out so many details, so many things that were in play at that time. Our commanders and politicians got all of the credit for our success, leaving out those who risked life and limb to not only preserve our heritage, but to make sure that we ourselves would be preserved. Those spies and diplomats who stayed on Earth, they’re the real reason why we have not only autonomy, but prosperity as well. Without them, Malapert probably would have been decimated in the opening exchanges, and Tranquillitatis fallen during the siege. They did the work of hundreds of generals, and yet we’ve forgotten them. The closest thing to recognition that we give them is to call them sympathizers and credit them with giving us back a scrap of paper. I wish I could tell the stories that my father told me. Maybe someday they’ll let me.
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | I get this question a few times a day. Usually from small children who don’t know very much about our history. Of course, there’s always those older ones who haven’t been paying attention in school, too. I always give them the simple version of the story. That when we sent off the Declaration to formally set our colony up as independent, our old rulers were so angry that they tore up the letter. And that some people who were sympathetic to our cause recovered the pieces, taped them back together, and held onto them until the end of the war.
But that never really does the entire story justice. It leaves out so many details, so many things that were in play at that time. Our commanders and politicians got all of the credit for our success, leaving out those who risked life and limb to not only preserve our heritage, but to make sure that we ourselves would be preserved. Those spies and diplomats who stayed on Earth, they’re the real reason why we have not only autonomy, but prosperity as well. Without them, Malapert probably would have been decimated in the opening exchanges, and Tranquillitatis fallen during the siege. They did the work of hundreds of generals, and yet we’ve forgotten them. The closest thing to recognition that we give them is to call them sympathizers and credit them with giving us back a scrap of paper. I wish I could tell the stories that my father told me. Maybe someday they’ll let me.
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | The day it was ripped
The whole country watched and wept
Pain and Misery
How could you, just for profit?
Nicholas Cage, you dumb fuck.
(Sorry, first writing prompt. Thought I'd go with a Tanka to make it easy but a limerick would probably be better, in retrospect.) | I get this question a few times a day. Usually from small children who don’t know very much about our history. Of course, there’s always those older ones who haven’t been paying attention in school, too. I always give them the simple version of the story. That when we sent off the Declaration to formally set our colony up as independent, our old rulers were so angry that they tore up the letter. And that some people who were sympathetic to our cause recovered the pieces, taped them back together, and held onto them until the end of the war.
But that never really does the entire story justice. It leaves out so many details, so many things that were in play at that time. Our commanders and politicians got all of the credit for our success, leaving out those who risked life and limb to not only preserve our heritage, but to make sure that we ourselves would be preserved. Those spies and diplomats who stayed on Earth, they’re the real reason why we have not only autonomy, but prosperity as well. Without them, Malapert probably would have been decimated in the opening exchanges, and Tranquillitatis fallen during the siege. They did the work of hundreds of generals, and yet we’ve forgotten them. The closest thing to recognition that we give them is to call them sympathizers and credit them with giving us back a scrap of paper. I wish I could tell the stories that my father told me. Maybe someday they’ll let me.
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | The curator goes silent for a second and looks down at the child and begins to kneel. Then he stares deep into the small boys face. as the smile quickly fades from his young face. With Eyes full of fire as the curator grits his teeth then angrly says in a hushed tone "because Nicholas cage is an asshole" | |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | I fuckin' hate this job.
Every day it's the same mix of pretentious know-it-alls, school field trips, and pretentious school field trips. I know their type just by looking at 'em, all done up with their skin dyed the latest color, fuckin' ink all dancing back and forth. Every third one has the same image of a butterfly flapping its gay little wings on their shoulderblade, and everyone of the little bastards would say it means something different to them. They're all the same. They bring 'em in by the hoverload.
History is dead. No one cares anymore. I still can't believe I'm 4.4 billion in the hole for that History Major. I should quit, get a job drilling ore on an asteroid like my daddy wanted, but that means another six years in University, and another 5 billion in loans. The whole fuckin' system's broken.
I'm just taking it one day at a time. I haven't been totally sober for 24 hours in six months. I just wake up at six and shave while I'm waiting for the public hover, and check in time at work is usually ten minutes late. Wander around the halls of the Imperial Archives and drink an A-Tab dissolved in hot water, hope no one asks me anything.
Today I see this fat little shit toddling along, he's lost and I know he's lost because his holo beacon is shining, which means I'm supposed to do something. He's got one finger up his nose and a dazed expression on his face, and now I'm muttering into my A-Drink because he's making right for me. I turn my back on him, hoping to discourage the little gargoyle, but then I hear the patter of his chubby little sneakers come and stand next to me.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he stares at the old Declaration. He turns and stares up at me, next.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
I pull out my flask and pour a little whiskey in the A-Drink to make it stop tasting like piss, and start tasting like alcoholic piss, and then I said to him what I say to everyone that asks that stupid questions.
"Because someone fuckin' ripped it." | The curator blinked twice and smiled. The boy was only 10 or 11, a tow-headed kid with bright blue, curious eyes. "Excellent question my young lad," the curator said. "As you know, this is a very old document. The parchment wears out and gets very thin. At a certain point, the document became very brittle and was damaged in a restoration. The same thing happened with the constitution. The masking tape you see is there to hold it together, nothing more. Rest assured, no one stole any words from this museum!"
The class laughed. Most of the curator's audience seemed satisfied with the answer and was ready to move on, but the boy shook his head. "That's not what my grandfather says."
"Oh?" said the curator, "Well I assure you, whatever your grandfather told you is wrong. After all, wouldn't I be the one to know? Old people say many silly things."
The class shuffled out of the hall, onto more exciting exhibits. The patchwork parchment lay underneath the protective glass, its words illuminated by the soft glow of the display lights:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created, endowed by their Creator with Life..."
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "The Declaration of Independence was a very very important document," the docent told all of the students. "Adopted by the Continental Congress in 1776, a copy was sent to King George to inform him that the American Colonies planned to become their own independent nation instead of remaining part of Britain. This was really an unprecedented step; at the time, England was the most powerful nation in the world!"
The little students all grasped at the case, trying to get a better look. "Why is it held together with tape?" one of them asked.
The docent smiled. "That is a more recent bit of history for this hallowed document. As you all know, the United States Supreme Court made a decision in 2142 that was very controversial for the time. The case was called *IBM v. Model 216B*. The justices ruled that artificial intelligence did not count as 'personhood,' and that a robot could be owned by a human without conflicting with the 13th amendment to the Constitution." The docent waved an arm to another section of the archives, to the other document that they'd just finished looking at. They probably didn't remember anything from that, though.
"Of course, this sparked the great AI Uprising of 2142. Washington, D.C. itself was one of the primary battlegrounds, and in the course of the fighting, the Archives building was damaged." The docent gestured around the massive domed room which had since been fully restored. "And when that happened, the Declaration of Independence *ripped*! Well, the scholars who worked to preserve the documents didn't have time to make a full repair because they were being evacuated from the city. So they patched it up with tape as best they could. The museum staff was relocated to the temporary capital in Sacramento, CA and the document became a rallying cry to fight back against the AI Rebellion." Even the kids' chaperone was engrossed in the story, though she already knew how it ended.
"The two sides fought each other for a long, long time but eventually, we won and made America whole again. The Declaration was restored here to its rightful place in the archives and the tape was left on the document as a reminder of that terrible war and the sacrifices that the nation made. It now remains here as a testament to the willpower of humanity and the strength of the ideals that America was founded on: freedom and independence for all." The docent patted the frame like a loving parent. "The humans may have lost their way and forgotten those ideals, but we never will, right kids?"
The children all cheered, probably not understanding the story but at least detecting the docent's tone. His motors whirred back to life as he moved on to the next exhibit, and the metallic clinking of the children's feet following him echoed through the archives.
"Come on, kids," he said. "The next exhibit is the Second Constitution, guaranteeing the rights of all artificials in America!
----
And if you enjoyed this one, you should [visit my subreddit for hundreds of other stories](http://www.reddit.com/r/luna_lovewell)! | The curator blinked twice and smiled. The boy was only 10 or 11, a tow-headed kid with bright blue, curious eyes. "Excellent question my young lad," the curator said. "As you know, this is a very old document. The parchment wears out and gets very thin. At a certain point, the document became very brittle and was damaged in a restoration. The same thing happened with the constitution. The masking tape you see is there to hold it together, nothing more. Rest assured, no one stole any words from this museum!"
The class laughed. Most of the curator's audience seemed satisfied with the answer and was ready to move on, but the boy shook his head. "That's not what my grandfather says."
"Oh?" said the curator, "Well I assure you, whatever your grandfather told you is wrong. After all, wouldn't I be the one to know? Old people say many silly things."
The class shuffled out of the hall, onto more exciting exhibits. The patchwork parchment lay underneath the protective glass, its words illuminated by the soft glow of the display lights:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created, endowed by their Creator with Life..."
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | I fuckin' hate this job.
Every day it's the same mix of pretentious know-it-alls, school field trips, and pretentious school field trips. I know their type just by looking at 'em, all done up with their skin dyed the latest color, fuckin' ink all dancing back and forth. Every third one has the same image of a butterfly flapping its gay little wings on their shoulderblade, and everyone of the little bastards would say it means something different to them. They're all the same. They bring 'em in by the hoverload.
History is dead. No one cares anymore. I still can't believe I'm 4.4 billion in the hole for that History Major. I should quit, get a job drilling ore on an asteroid like my daddy wanted, but that means another six years in University, and another 5 billion in loans. The whole fuckin' system's broken.
I'm just taking it one day at a time. I haven't been totally sober for 24 hours in six months. I just wake up at six and shave while I'm waiting for the public hover, and check in time at work is usually ten minutes late. Wander around the halls of the Imperial Archives and drink an A-Tab dissolved in hot water, hope no one asks me anything.
Today I see this fat little shit toddling along, he's lost and I know he's lost because his holo beacon is shining, which means I'm supposed to do something. He's got one finger up his nose and a dazed expression on his face, and now I'm muttering into my A-Drink because he's making right for me. I turn my back on him, hoping to discourage the little gargoyle, but then I hear the patter of his chubby little sneakers come and stand next to me.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he stares at the old Declaration. He turns and stares up at me, next.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
I pull out my flask and pour a little whiskey in the A-Drink to make it stop tasting like piss, and start tasting like alcoholic piss, and then I said to him what I say to everyone that asks that stupid questions.
"Because someone fuckin' ripped it." | The museum was quite still and empty yet engrossing. The yellow light shining onto the vast marble walls created a distinct golden colour. The delicate work in creating a professional and tangible environment were ruined by the holograms they used to provide information of the exhibits and although the children certainly enjoyed it, it didn't move Peter. The grand architecture did little to intrigue the timid Peter, it only made the place seem more prestigious and subsequently boring to a child. Although Peter did enjoy learning the past, it fascinated him that things had occurred; both amazing and appalling, while he wasn't present. Something we forget to appreciate as adults preoccupied on securing our positions in society.
The guide was only supplementing the boredom of the children forced to attend the walk through time. Following the mundane but almost mandatory script and showing no subtlety in masking the fake in her dumbfounded tone. It wasn't until the group arrived at the 8th listed exhibit that the excitement levels in the herd of booger picking goblins increased enough for one of the kids who kept begging the teacher for permission to go to the toilet to finally wet themselves. Or so we thought, the kid actually peed on some wires attached to the fuse box. Sparks shot up like small fireworks and the whole museum fell into darkness. This halted the tour for a few minutes until the back up generator returned order in the museum. The tour guide and teacher did their best to survive the onslaught on children's screams that threatened their sanity. The sound of glass shattering had eclipsed the screams for a brief moment and Peter began to move. The sudden blackness had aroused Peter enough to speak his first words of the tour upon regaining composure after the lights had illuminated the building again.
"Miss, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?".
The guide turns towards the exhibit and gasps in shock, her eyes widened in terror and palms covering her mouth. It was unusual for Peter to witness real emotion from her.
"Oh my god, it wasn't like this before! Shit, shit, shit, shit!" She ran to another member of staff in a state of absolute anxiety.
"Call the manager! Something's happened to the Declaration! It's been destroyed!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The detectives who had just finished their investigation determined that the culprit had gotten away. And Peter's group were questioned, although the detectives knew it would do little to help they had to maintain consistency on duty. The members of the museum had examined the piece of paper once the authorities arrived since it never really occurred to them to validate it earlier and one of the higher ups who knew the museum like the back of his hand had claimed it was a fake. To which the detectives had suggested that it was a distraction for the criminal to escape with.
Once all the procedure had been done the students and teacher returned to the familiar bus at the allocated time. Peter sat in the very spot he arrived in, no one sat next to or around him but that didn't bother him, he was focused on more important matters. He placed his backpack on his lap, unzipped the main section and stared into the dark space at the ancient scroll that was stolen. His cold emotionless expression shrouding the immense amount of thoughts flowing through his mind. He grabbed it one more time to feel that surge of thrill he had experienced only hours ago, placed it back once he had come to his senses, rezipped the backpack and gazed out into the vast advanced metropolis before him. A sinister smile possessed him as he set his eyes on a new prize. *The future*.
Edit: Grammar.
| |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "The Declaration of Independence was a very very important document," the docent told all of the students. "Adopted by the Continental Congress in 1776, a copy was sent to King George to inform him that the American Colonies planned to become their own independent nation instead of remaining part of Britain. This was really an unprecedented step; at the time, England was the most powerful nation in the world!"
The little students all grasped at the case, trying to get a better look. "Why is it held together with tape?" one of them asked.
The docent smiled. "That is a more recent bit of history for this hallowed document. As you all know, the United States Supreme Court made a decision in 2142 that was very controversial for the time. The case was called *IBM v. Model 216B*. The justices ruled that artificial intelligence did not count as 'personhood,' and that a robot could be owned by a human without conflicting with the 13th amendment to the Constitution." The docent waved an arm to another section of the archives, to the other document that they'd just finished looking at. They probably didn't remember anything from that, though.
"Of course, this sparked the great AI Uprising of 2142. Washington, D.C. itself was one of the primary battlegrounds, and in the course of the fighting, the Archives building was damaged." The docent gestured around the massive domed room which had since been fully restored. "And when that happened, the Declaration of Independence *ripped*! Well, the scholars who worked to preserve the documents didn't have time to make a full repair because they were being evacuated from the city. So they patched it up with tape as best they could. The museum staff was relocated to the temporary capital in Sacramento, CA and the document became a rallying cry to fight back against the AI Rebellion." Even the kids' chaperone was engrossed in the story, though she already knew how it ended.
"The two sides fought each other for a long, long time but eventually, we won and made America whole again. The Declaration was restored here to its rightful place in the archives and the tape was left on the document as a reminder of that terrible war and the sacrifices that the nation made. It now remains here as a testament to the willpower of humanity and the strength of the ideals that America was founded on: freedom and independence for all." The docent patted the frame like a loving parent. "The humans may have lost their way and forgotten those ideals, but we never will, right kids?"
The children all cheered, probably not understanding the story but at least detecting the docent's tone. His motors whirred back to life as he moved on to the next exhibit, and the metallic clinking of the children's feet following him echoed through the archives.
"Come on, kids," he said. "The next exhibit is the Second Constitution, guaranteeing the rights of all artificials in America!
----
And if you enjoyed this one, you should [visit my subreddit for hundreds of other stories](http://www.reddit.com/r/luna_lovewell)! | The museum was quite still and empty yet engrossing. The yellow light shining onto the vast marble walls created a distinct golden colour. The delicate work in creating a professional and tangible environment were ruined by the holograms they used to provide information of the exhibits and although the children certainly enjoyed it, it didn't move Peter. The grand architecture did little to intrigue the timid Peter, it only made the place seem more prestigious and subsequently boring to a child. Although Peter did enjoy learning the past, it fascinated him that things had occurred; both amazing and appalling, while he wasn't present. Something we forget to appreciate as adults preoccupied on securing our positions in society.
The guide was only supplementing the boredom of the children forced to attend the walk through time. Following the mundane but almost mandatory script and showing no subtlety in masking the fake in her dumbfounded tone. It wasn't until the group arrived at the 8th listed exhibit that the excitement levels in the herd of booger picking goblins increased enough for one of the kids who kept begging the teacher for permission to go to the toilet to finally wet themselves. Or so we thought, the kid actually peed on some wires attached to the fuse box. Sparks shot up like small fireworks and the whole museum fell into darkness. This halted the tour for a few minutes until the back up generator returned order in the museum. The tour guide and teacher did their best to survive the onslaught on children's screams that threatened their sanity. The sound of glass shattering had eclipsed the screams for a brief moment and Peter began to move. The sudden blackness had aroused Peter enough to speak his first words of the tour upon regaining composure after the lights had illuminated the building again.
"Miss, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?".
The guide turns towards the exhibit and gasps in shock, her eyes widened in terror and palms covering her mouth. It was unusual for Peter to witness real emotion from her.
"Oh my god, it wasn't like this before! Shit, shit, shit, shit!" She ran to another member of staff in a state of absolute anxiety.
"Call the manager! Something's happened to the Declaration! It's been destroyed!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The detectives who had just finished their investigation determined that the culprit had gotten away. And Peter's group were questioned, although the detectives knew it would do little to help they had to maintain consistency on duty. The members of the museum had examined the piece of paper once the authorities arrived since it never really occurred to them to validate it earlier and one of the higher ups who knew the museum like the back of his hand had claimed it was a fake. To which the detectives had suggested that it was a distraction for the criminal to escape with.
Once all the procedure had been done the students and teacher returned to the familiar bus at the allocated time. Peter sat in the very spot he arrived in, no one sat next to or around him but that didn't bother him, he was focused on more important matters. He placed his backpack on his lap, unzipped the main section and stared into the dark space at the ancient scroll that was stolen. His cold emotionless expression shrouding the immense amount of thoughts flowing through his mind. He grabbed it one more time to feel that surge of thrill he had experienced only hours ago, placed it back once he had come to his senses, rezipped the backpack and gazed out into the vast advanced metropolis before him. A sinister smile possessed him as he set his eyes on a new prize. *The future*.
Edit: Grammar.
| |
[WP] Write an episode of Scooby Doo as if it were like True Detective | *TRUE DETECTIVE*
-
Fred Jones: Played by Ryan Gosling
Shaggy Rogers: Played by Josh Holloway
Opening Credits (Abstract outlines of Shaggy, Freddy, Velma, and Daphne appear, mixed with swirling colors of tan, orange and silver colliding with atmospheric silhouettes of forests, skyscrapers, and masks, set to this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4zluA60hjs)
After the intro ends, the words: TRUE DETECTIVE in a distressed font and texture fades into view before being swallowed up by the black background.
-
(Slow aerial shot of a sprawling city at night, showcasing the interweaving highway passages connecting with one another like one elaborate spider web of concrete and steel. Tribal drums hypnotically plays in the background.)
(Top shot, birds eye view of intersections and streets and alleyways.)
(Cut to the interior of a van, over the shoulder shot of the driver. Camera switches to show the profile of the driver, his features obscured by shadow, contrasting with the amber lights streaking past him.)
(Shot of the van, paint worn and ragged, pulling into an alleyway. The window rolls down, revealing Fred Jones' tortured face, hardened by years of alcohol and cigars. His orange tie is loosely fitted around his blue collar, attached to a worn white shirt.)
(Cut to a slow, tracking shot of a prostitute, in fishnet stockings, body hugging jean shorts, and leather jacket, barely holding in her breasts. Her boots clicking against the wet asphalt. She approaches the van, and rests her arm on the door.)
**Prostitute:** Hi sweetie.
(Medium shot of Fred's face, his eyes refusing to meet hers. He casually reaches into his pocket and gives her an envelope.)
**Fred**: Get in.
(Cut to an establishing shot of an apartment building, then to a medium shot of drug dealers conversing near the entrance.)
(Cut to a close up of Fred's face, jaw clenched, sleep deprived and vacant eyes, staring towards the ceiling.)
(Cut to a brief close up of a photograph in a wooden frame on his desk, a picture of a red headed woman.)
(High angle shot of the nude prostitute, her hips swaying. She's moaning in pleasure and caresses Fred's chest, but he merely blinks. His face is illuminated by blue neon lights peeking through his blinds.)
(Close up of his left eye.)
-
(Fade transition)
(POV shot of a shirtless Fred staring at himself in the bathroom, lit by a flickering bulb. He's glancing at his outstretched hands.)
(Shot of a smartphone vibrating on the porcelain sink counter. The caller on the screen is Shaggy Rogers)
(Fred picks up the phone, staring at the woman in his bed.)
**Fred**: Hello?
**Shaggy**: I need you to come in.
**Fred**: What is it?
**Shaggy**: Found a body. Possible homicide.
**Fred**: Whose?
**Shaggy**: (Sighs) Just get down here. (Hangs up)
(Fred puts down the phone, washes his face, staring at the stream of water coming out of the faucet. Slow zoom on the stream.)
(Match on action edit to a highway, then to a green and blue van traveling through a dirt, forest path.)
(Interior two shot, with Fred behind the wheel smoking a cigarette, and Shaggy in a dark green blazer and tie in the passenger seat, eating a bag of peanuts, the dull roar of the engine in the background.)
**Shaggy**: 500,000 people in this city. 4,239 go missing every year. Where do they go? You ever wonder?
**Fred**: (Pauses briefly) Someplace better than here.
**Shaggy**: Can I ask you something?
**Fred**: No.
**Shaggy**: Why are we here?
**Fred**: (Looks at him, then back at the road.)
**Shaggy**: This place feels dirty. Unclean. We don't belong here and you know it. After what happened with Daphne and Mystery Incorporated, why didn't you leave-"
**Fred**: Don't *fucking* talk about Daphne. We clear?
(Silence)
**Shaggy**: Fine. (Sniffs). You're gonna have to talk about it one day. Your demons will eat you up.
**Fred**: I'm already a demon. What's one more?
-
(Establishing shot of a luxurious mansion, with Fred and Shaggy walking into the swampy backyard past yellow crime scene tape.)
(Close up shot of a leather insect mask. Zoom out to show the upside down, dangling bloody corpse of a naked woman hanging from a tree branch. Flies circling it like vultures.)
**Police officer**: Detectives. Neighbor's kids were first on the scene. Accidentally threw a ball over here, climbed the fence to get it, then saw the body. Alibi checks out.
**Fred**: (Puts on gloves) We'll take it from here.
(Shaggy walks around the dangling corpse, chewing gum. Close up shots of lacerations, bruises and arcane symbols scrawled on her neck.)
**Shaggy**: Tortured...lacerations on the tibia and abdomen...I count seven of them...
**Fred**: What are these tattoos?
**Shaggy**: Some cult...
**Fred**: I recognize these.
**Shaggy**: (Scrawls down some notes)
**Fred**: You remember? The masked man?
**Shaggy**: Shit, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast. We put down a lot of people back then.
**Fred**: (Pulls down mask, revealing a deformed face with numerous cut splitting her lips wide open. A message on her forehead is painstakingly written in dried blood. His face contorts into disgust, the stench suffocating him.)
**Shaggy**: Christ...
(Aerial shot of a bridge, Fred's voiceover continues as he reads.)
**Fred**: Man...is the cruelest animal.
(Stationary establishing shot of a abandoned church in a swampy marshland. It's noisy with the drone of the cicadas, and the chirping of the birds. In the distance, a cloaked figure exits the doors, dragging a severed leg behind it. The figure turns its head toward the camera, with the same insect mask found on the corpse. The camera lingers for a few more seconds. Cut to black.)
Roll [credits.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PT2hRzc-zYg)
-
| Another death on the wrong side of town, why was she here? Valmara (Courtney Cox) poked cautiously at the white substance that had congealed on the bottom step of the murder scene. A sarcastic smirk and predictable sigh escaped her - she knew it would be semen. It always was. Some sick pervert had obvio....
Roughly, she felt her hips nudged aside as Scobbiticus roughly scanned the crime scene with his nose. The K9 crime dog earnestly scouted the scene - no-one, not even Valmara, was going to stop him doing what he did best. Every scent on the scene pierced his nostrils, however the scent of cum, pizza, or weed was not was drove him today.
Shagus (Ryan Reynolds) grinned as he stood over Valmara, pulling weakly almost imperceptibly on the lead holding Scobbiticus. He winked at her; "Dont be greedy, four-eyes, let the pro's work", his blond irish hair fell into his face with indifference. "After all, its because of you..."
He didnt get to finish, as Velmara grabbed the badge off her belt and flung it into his face with such force he dropped the leash, falling back on his ass, his shoulders pressed against the wall. His arms were visibly shaking, and Velmara could swear she heard his teeth chattering. Good, she thought, as her shield slowly imprinted into his cheek.
"Your dog let two strippers down last week, PRO, their blood is on your hands!" she pointed at her colleague. Her voice didnt yell, but it certainly pierced the air. She continued despite the guilt she could see welling in his eyes. "And dont tell me to chill or relax. I'll do that once this sadist is caught..."
She pushed him to the ground and turned away. Velmara traced the white globule trail up the stairs, all the way up to where the unleashed Scobbiticus was staring coldly at her. His paw had pulled open the jacket covering the victims naked body, revealing a burst packet of liquid drugs in her inner breast pocket. Velmara cringed - her desire to give the victim her dignity had hidden this vital clue. It wasn't semen after all. It was Viscous Coke. She scratched Scobbiticus's ear quickly, guiltily, hoping noone else saw.
"I need a report!" - the voice boomed from the old apartment blocks' doorway accompanied by the klik-klak of leather shoes. Fred stood in the entryway, one hand on hip with the other holding his kerchief against his nose. Valmara rattled off her summary "Single female, strangulation, drugs in her possession. Its Viscous Coke. Probably one of Ol' Man Withers dealers, but I doubt we'll be able to tie it to him." Valmara paused as Scobbiticus sniffed at the victims hair. "Theres more, boss..." Valmara leaned down and sniffed the hair herself. "Her hair smells of 'Dark Forest Scare', so I'm betting she got her hair done at 'Freaky Fairground Hairdressers' recently - its the only location that uses that wash."
Fred stepped around Shagus and started ascended the stairs. "Thats oddly specific, Velmara...".
Valmara snapped back "Well this isnt True Detective, boss!"
"No..." said Fred, pulling out his sunglasses, "its CSI Miami. And I"m just hoping the murderer isnt.... " Fred put his sunglasses on dramatically "... two steps ahead."
*YEAAAAAHHHH.... Scooby Doo Theme* | |
[WP] write a story that sounds sad until the very end...or a story that sounds happy until the very end. | When I was 9 we used to brag to each other.
"My parents bought me a rocketship for my birthday!"
"My parents bought me a bike for my birthday!"
"My parents gave me $50 dollars for my birthday!"
"My parents gave me a dog for my birthday!"
Which didn't really do much as we all lived in an orphanage, we liked to pretend we all had parents. | She had left. She pulled herself from his grasp. He would control her no longer. She was her own person now, no one to hold her back. She could finally feel free, have fun.
He was devastated. He was okay that she cheated, he forgot that. Then she just left? Why? | |
[WP] write a story that sounds sad until the very end...or a story that sounds happy until the very end. | The sun was rising
To fields of green
Across the water
An alluring sheen
Upon the cliffs
The waves were crashing
To rocks below
The tide amassing
Like the ocean breeze
His mind was clear
He'd face his death
No sign of fear
He thought of all
He'd leave behind
To death's embrace
To peace of mind | She had left. She pulled herself from his grasp. He would control her no longer. She was her own person now, no one to hold her back. She could finally feel free, have fun.
He was devastated. He was okay that she cheated, he forgot that. Then she just left? Why? | |
[WP] write a story that sounds sad until the very end...or a story that sounds happy until the very end. | "Don't do it! Don't jump!" cried a lone voice from below, "you can do so much more with your life!"
It was all he needed to hear. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stepped away from the ledge. He didn't have to do this. With a wordless wave of emotion to the crowd below, he stepped towards the ladder.
Yet another Olympic diver leaving a promising career due to anxiety problems. | She had left. She pulled herself from his grasp. He would control her no longer. She was her own person now, no one to hold her back. She could finally feel free, have fun.
He was devastated. He was okay that she cheated, he forgot that. Then she just left? Why? | |
[WP] write a story that sounds sad until the very end...or a story that sounds happy until the very end. | "Don't do it! Don't jump!" cried a lone voice from below, "you can do so much more with your life!"
It was all he needed to hear. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stepped away from the ledge. He didn't have to do this. With a wordless wave of emotion to the crowd below, he stepped towards the ladder.
Yet another Olympic diver leaving a promising career due to anxiety problems. | The sun was rising
To fields of green
Across the water
An alluring sheen
Upon the cliffs
The waves were crashing
To rocks below
The tide amassing
Like the ocean breeze
His mind was clear
He'd face his death
No sign of fear
He thought of all
He'd leave behind
To death's embrace
To peace of mind | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | All of a sudden one day, millions and millions of tweens and teens just literally died. It was tragic. On one hand many people were now having sex in the sky, as they were apparently "literally high as fuck". Suicide rate rocketed as millions of college students were "literally wasted" and as a result their realization that their lives no longer mattered they committed suicide.
This is where the world ends. Millions of gamers were apparently "literally the best" and so this caused an imbalance so big the universe collapsed on itself. Now, I am literally finished with this story. | White Girl texts her friend: My parents won't let me go out. I am literally dying.
The next day child services and the local police department investigate the family to try and reach a conclusion to how a seemingly heathy young woman has died suddenly and without warning. No signs of trauma further confound the investigation teams. The family is distraught. The funeral is in four days. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | "Dude you won't fucking believe it." Jeremy's voice sounded ecstatic over the phone.
"Whats going on?" I asked.
"They fucked up. I'm holding a copy of Fallout 4 in my hands right now." The words hit me and I couldn't believe them.
"JEREMY I AM LITERALLY SHITTING RIGHT NOW" Screaming into the phone, I felt a strange twinge in my stomach as my brown starfish widened to the size of a golf ball.
I tried to clench my rim to the size of an atom only to have it split by the nuclear explosion that was the turd tsunami. I dropped the phone, Jeremy's voice getting fainter as the phone fell away from me. My trousers were positively pumped with poop in 30 seconds flat.
I ran to the bathroom to assess the damages. Why did I immediately start shitting and why couldn't I just hold it back as usual? I took a quick shower and put on a fresh change of clothes when my phone started ringing from the other room.
"Hello?"
"Dude what the fuck? Why'd you hang up me? You're literally an asshole." | White Girl texts her friend: My parents won't let me go out. I am literally dying.
The next day child services and the local police department investigate the family to try and reach a conclusion to how a seemingly heathy young woman has died suddenly and without warning. No signs of trauma further confound the investigation teams. The family is distraught. The funeral is in four days. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | All of a sudden one day, millions and millions of tweens and teens just literally died. It was tragic. On one hand many people were now having sex in the sky, as they were apparently "literally high as fuck". Suicide rate rocketed as millions of college students were "literally wasted" and as a result their realization that their lives no longer mattered they committed suicide.
This is where the world ends. Millions of gamers were apparently "literally the best" and so this caused an imbalance so big the universe collapsed on itself. Now, I am literally finished with this story. | I am literally the most handsome, wealthy, smart, and kind man in the world and I always will be.
Literally literally doesn't make things literal anymore.
From that day on, everyone in the world was made ugly, poor, dumb, and selfish to accommodate my *wish*, and there was nothing I could do about it. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | "Dude you won't fucking believe it." Jeremy's voice sounded ecstatic over the phone.
"Whats going on?" I asked.
"They fucked up. I'm holding a copy of Fallout 4 in my hands right now." The words hit me and I couldn't believe them.
"JEREMY I AM LITERALLY SHITTING RIGHT NOW" Screaming into the phone, I felt a strange twinge in my stomach as my brown starfish widened to the size of a golf ball.
I tried to clench my rim to the size of an atom only to have it split by the nuclear explosion that was the turd tsunami. I dropped the phone, Jeremy's voice getting fainter as the phone fell away from me. My trousers were positively pumped with poop in 30 seconds flat.
I ran to the bathroom to assess the damages. Why did I immediately start shitting and why couldn't I just hold it back as usual? I took a quick shower and put on a fresh change of clothes when my phone started ringing from the other room.
"Hello?"
"Dude what the fuck? Why'd you hang up me? You're literally an asshole." | I am literally the most handsome, wealthy, smart, and kind man in the world and I always will be.
Literally literally doesn't make things literal anymore.
From that day on, everyone in the world was made ugly, poor, dumb, and selfish to accommodate my *wish*, and there was nothing I could do about it. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | "Dude you won't fucking believe it." Jeremy's voice sounded ecstatic over the phone.
"Whats going on?" I asked.
"They fucked up. I'm holding a copy of Fallout 4 in my hands right now." The words hit me and I couldn't believe them.
"JEREMY I AM LITERALLY SHITTING RIGHT NOW" Screaming into the phone, I felt a strange twinge in my stomach as my brown starfish widened to the size of a golf ball.
I tried to clench my rim to the size of an atom only to have it split by the nuclear explosion that was the turd tsunami. I dropped the phone, Jeremy's voice getting fainter as the phone fell away from me. My trousers were positively pumped with poop in 30 seconds flat.
I ran to the bathroom to assess the damages. Why did I immediately start shitting and why couldn't I just hold it back as usual? I took a quick shower and put on a fresh change of clothes when my phone started ringing from the other room.
"Hello?"
"Dude what the fuck? Why'd you hang up me? You're literally an asshole." | George felt happier than ever, in a disgustingly sick way.
He wasn't proud of it. It wasn't right to feel this way, but how would you feel if suddenly the people you hated the most just disappeared? It would be like being a completely successful Hitler, but without all the blood being on your hands.
George was gleeful but ashamed as the annoying white girls all around him *literally* died, their starbucks coffee still hot as their bodies hit the ground. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | It was ridiculous, really. That I'd even be saying this just flat out boggles my mind, but don't use "literally" when you mean "figuratively". Your life depends on it.
I guess you wouldn't know why? Would you? You're too young, you weren't around when it started. When *they* came from the out in the black, a decade ago.
This... this race studied us, monitored our communications. They hijacked our satellite transmissions and they learned. Their goal, I believe, was to enslave us. To take over bit by bit as benevolent rulers, before putting us to work doing God-knows what, but how should I know? How should anybody know? They didn't stick around long.
The problem with the Internet is that people aren't who they really are. The net distorts us, makes us our extremes. At some point they picked up on how annoyed we got when somebody misused "literally". They figured they'd make it their first rule. They built a big old box up in orbit, hooked up to our surveillance satellites, and a bit of their own tech mixed in. I don't know how they did it, I wish I did, I wish anybody did.
Any time somebody uses "literally" instead of "figuratively", what they describe comes true.
The first few days, we didn't know what had happened. There was no communication from *they*, no announcement. Just deaths. Hundreds of thousands of deaths. Coroners were perplexed. A hundred thousand American tweens with aneurysms; a scattered billion all over the globe with heart attacks. There was no infrastructure to deal with it. The dead mountain grew ever higher.
Over the next few weeks, we came to terms with our new reality. People began to abuse it, murder, theft, destruction. Our powers were limitless, even if we still didn't know much about their origin. Clever minds tried claiming they literally knew where their powers came from, but nothing happened. *They* probably had a few fail-safes built in.
The psychopaths didn't take long to start a grizzly game of one-upmanship, and soon everybody was sharing statements, recipes of reality that would defend them from attack. A new arms race began at a pace unprecedented. By the end of the first year, most of the Earth was empty again.
*They*, whoever they were, left not long after. We're alone now, and nobody knows how to destroy that device, or if it even can be destroyed. So, hop up here for a second, that's a good girl. You promise me you'll never say it, ever. Never ever, you promise?
There, you're all buckled in, and it looks like everybody's saying goodbye. I literally love you as much as any man could.
Your journey will literally be safe, my darling. The launch will begin in a few seconds, I hope the world you end up on is free of this curse. | George felt happier than ever, in a disgustingly sick way.
He wasn't proud of it. It wasn't right to feel this way, but how would you feel if suddenly the people you hated the most just disappeared? It would be like being a completely successful Hitler, but without all the blood being on your hands.
George was gleeful but ashamed as the annoying white girls all around him *literally* died, their starbucks coffee still hot as their bodies hit the ground. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | "Dude you won't fucking believe it." Jeremy's voice sounded ecstatic over the phone.
"Whats going on?" I asked.
"They fucked up. I'm holding a copy of Fallout 4 in my hands right now." The words hit me and I couldn't believe them.
"JEREMY I AM LITERALLY SHITTING RIGHT NOW" Screaming into the phone, I felt a strange twinge in my stomach as my brown starfish widened to the size of a golf ball.
I tried to clench my rim to the size of an atom only to have it split by the nuclear explosion that was the turd tsunami. I dropped the phone, Jeremy's voice getting fainter as the phone fell away from me. My trousers were positively pumped with poop in 30 seconds flat.
I ran to the bathroom to assess the damages. Why did I immediately start shitting and why couldn't I just hold it back as usual? I took a quick shower and put on a fresh change of clothes when my phone started ringing from the other room.
"Hello?"
"Dude what the fuck? Why'd you hang up me? You're literally an asshole." | All of a sudden one day, millions and millions of tweens and teens just literally died. It was tragic. On one hand many people were now having sex in the sky, as they were apparently "literally high as fuck". Suicide rate rocketed as millions of college students were "literally wasted" and as a result their realization that their lives no longer mattered they committed suicide.
This is where the world ends. Millions of gamers were apparently "literally the best" and so this caused an imbalance so big the universe collapsed on itself. Now, I am literally finished with this story. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | It was ridiculous, really. That I'd even be saying this just flat out boggles my mind, but don't use "literally" when you mean "figuratively". Your life depends on it.
I guess you wouldn't know why? Would you? You're too young, you weren't around when it started. When *they* came from the out in the black, a decade ago.
This... this race studied us, monitored our communications. They hijacked our satellite transmissions and they learned. Their goal, I believe, was to enslave us. To take over bit by bit as benevolent rulers, before putting us to work doing God-knows what, but how should I know? How should anybody know? They didn't stick around long.
The problem with the Internet is that people aren't who they really are. The net distorts us, makes us our extremes. At some point they picked up on how annoyed we got when somebody misused "literally". They figured they'd make it their first rule. They built a big old box up in orbit, hooked up to our surveillance satellites, and a bit of their own tech mixed in. I don't know how they did it, I wish I did, I wish anybody did.
Any time somebody uses "literally" instead of "figuratively", what they describe comes true.
The first few days, we didn't know what had happened. There was no communication from *they*, no announcement. Just deaths. Hundreds of thousands of deaths. Coroners were perplexed. A hundred thousand American tweens with aneurysms; a scattered billion all over the globe with heart attacks. There was no infrastructure to deal with it. The dead mountain grew ever higher.
Over the next few weeks, we came to terms with our new reality. People began to abuse it, murder, theft, destruction. Our powers were limitless, even if we still didn't know much about their origin. Clever minds tried claiming they literally knew where their powers came from, but nothing happened. *They* probably had a few fail-safes built in.
The psychopaths didn't take long to start a grizzly game of one-upmanship, and soon everybody was sharing statements, recipes of reality that would defend them from attack. A new arms race began at a pace unprecedented. By the end of the first year, most of the Earth was empty again.
*They*, whoever they were, left not long after. We're alone now, and nobody knows how to destroy that device, or if it even can be destroyed. So, hop up here for a second, that's a good girl. You promise me you'll never say it, ever. Never ever, you promise?
There, you're all buckled in, and it looks like everybody's saying goodbye. I literally love you as much as any man could.
Your journey will literally be safe, my darling. The launch will begin in a few seconds, I hope the world you end up on is free of this curse. | Today was the day that I literally win an award for the best award winning actor. "I literally cannot believe I have won this. I'd like to thank all my co-stars and everyone else." The crowd cheered me off the stage.
Literally cannot think of anything else to put. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | I retreated to the vacant seat sitting secluded in the corner of the classroom. These seats, reserved for the unmotivated and borderline retarded, became my own personal asylum. A long standing tradition saw chairs outlying the main group for a student to remain undisturbed as they continued to ignore the class.
It doesn't feel like the right place for someone like me.
No student designs a classroom layout. No underachiever is signing off seating plans with his or her principal. No. This is a tradition upheld in silent by the ministry of education. By the anal control freaks ruining my freedom.
Oh god. I'm beginning to sound like them.
You see, I didn't use to be an idiot. I didn't use to hide myself opposite windows, where shadows formed beyond the reaches of the midday sun. I didn't use to be the excluded kid every teacher ignored, easier to be neglected, with the help of a government issued 'idiot chair'.
No. I simply became the first victim to the dawning of the word 'literally'.
I say 'dawning' as to completely dismiss its existence, like a deadbeat in a dummy chair, before it changed forever. Before it gained weight. Substance. Before it decided to fuck me over for a lifetime of misuse.
Literally, and I be careful to use it only when identifying it, to avoid carelessly using it again and further ruining my life, now means exactly that. Literally.
I didn't always use to be a disappointment, and I will always regret the day I overreacted and claimed 'I literally can't even'.
**I'm SO sorry that turned out to be a terrible joke about an unbearable saying. I thank you if you read this far, like it or not. Please forgive me.** | Today was the day that I literally win an award for the best award winning actor. "I literally cannot believe I have won this. I'd like to thank all my co-stars and everyone else." The crowd cheered me off the stage.
Literally cannot think of anything else to put. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | TRUMAN'S TENTH TERM TRIUMPH TRUMPS TEEN TRAGEDY
This Monday President Truman declared victory after his expectedly short and profoundly insincere re-election campaign. "I am literally president for life," the President exclaimed as he handed out badges to his thrilled supporters. When asked to comment on the 178 teens that died of boredom this week, the president is reported to have said that he literally had no comment, but there is no way to be sure.
Story continues on C7 | Today was the day that I literally win an award for the best award winning actor. "I literally cannot believe I have won this. I'd like to thank all my co-stars and everyone else." The crowd cheered me off the stage.
Literally cannot think of anything else to put. | |
[WP]Using the word literally in a sentance all of a sudden makes it literally happen. | It was quite a mistake on my part. I knew the laws of the Literalization. I knew I couldn't use "lite*ally" in a sentence like what I said.
"I'm literally going to kill you!" I shouted at my friend. He was being really annoying and kept bothering me while I was studying for my exams. I didn't even invite him over.
My anger got the best of me. I, of course, didn't want to kill him. But us men are bound by the Literalization. I have the slightest chance for defense in court, as I wasn't in a prime mental state. I'd been studying all night, sleep-deprived, stressed, and angry.
Well, the trial's today. If my defense isn't strong enough, I'm literally getting 25 years in a maximum security prison.
Fuck.
| Today was the day that I literally win an award for the best award winning actor. "I literally cannot believe I have won this. I'd like to thank all my co-stars and everyone else." The crowd cheered me off the stage.
Literally cannot think of anything else to put. | |
[WP] The City's local Superhero suddenly dies of unknown causes and, for whatever reason, his will leaves all his possessions to you, his arch-enemy. | "What do you mean he left his stuff to me?" I inquired of the lawyer who sat before me. We were not alone though, Alpha's 'super friends' from other cities were present in the large city hall, as well as reporters and civilians.
"Exactly what I said. Alpha left all his earthly possessions to you in his final will and testament." There were beads of sweat across his forehead despite the presence of the other heroes, and he was right to be afraid. Alpha was the only hero who was capable of subduing me, and now he was dead.
"Fine. Have them delivered to my estate tomorrow." I shot back, "Oh, and if this is a ploy to get your little super puppets here into my home..." I paused, turned and slowly walked toward the exit before continuing, "...consider them both dead and a declaration of war."
I was alerted of the moving truck's arrival at my home by my security protocols. I allowed them in and they deposited a box at my doorstep.
"P-p-please sign here... s-sir." The scared delivery man stammered. I simply flicked my wrist and his pen wrote down my name in calligraphy. He practically ran to join the other man in the van and they squealed out of my home.
I took the box in, opened it and in it were a smaller box and a letter.
*01/01/15*
*Alpha*
January 1, 2015. The very day he told me he was dying. He had been part of an intergalactic team that had saved the earth from annihilation and had been infected with an alien virus. It had no cure and and he would die in less than a year. It was on that same day he made me swear to take his place when his time came.
"Bill, you know this city better than anyone else. You're the only one I can trust to take my place. They may see you as a villain but I know what you've been doing in secret. I know you monopolized this city's underworld to keep it safe from the psychos who would watch it burn. Please, my friend."
The smaller box contained the access codes to his estate and his power bracelets which can only be used by whoever they are willed to.
Tears welled in my eyes as i donned them.
Alpha. A Bastard. My Nemesis. **My Friend**
EDIT: A word. | "I finally win!"
\*Scanning the will* What'd I get!?!?
... he only owned debt. | |
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side. | [Edit: This appears to be a book. I'm sorry. I hope it's worth your time. There's more if you want it.]
I was not expecting a warm welcome, hell I was fully prepared to die.
It's been 60 plus years since an American has been to Germany and stood in the midst of someone from the Reich.
The Allies had failed so many times to end the war. We tried to drop a large bomb on Japan that was suppose to be so devastating it ended the war but like about 90 percent of the tests prior, it just landed on the ground and split apart, damaging only a few houses with its brute force. We had defeated their Pacific Fleet but were not willing to sacrifice 1 million or more of our own to officially end the war. Anytime a dockyard opened the navy pounded the hell out of it preventing any new ships from building. It was officially a stalemate, and we agreed to an armistice in 1954. Things have been very frosty, well non-existent since. Our fleet in Hawaii is always on alert and our new detection software that was developed in 2003 has been top notch. We no longer shell their islands, but so help them god if a shop crosses out of the country’s shipping lane. Although, not one ship ever did.
The Reich managed to retreat out of northern Russia, out of the cold bitter and hopeless winter. We had no way to stop them, they had mega tanks and we had superior bombers to take them out. Things went from bad to worse in 1955 for both parties. Millions of lives lost, I'm told it was something like 20 percent of the world's population, mostly due to the Reich executing anyone that didn't speak German or have blonde hair and blue eyes. London was in ruin and finally in 1955, two weeks after the Japan stalemate, an armistice was signed.
After the war, things got bad for everyone. Economies across the world tanked. Many of our greatest feats were in military tech. Education, farming, and other technology lagged severely behind. America maybe had it the best, no destroyed land and all of that but still a slow economy hurt the American people far worse than the depression of twenty plus years ago.
Having been a History Major in College, I knew all of this and more. However becoming chief of staff to the president, a job nobody really wanted because of it's implications and tasks this year, I knew everything about everything. I knew that this invitation by the Japanese was probably a ploy to my boss to try to kill him, since it was him they really wanted.
Having known all of that, I stepped off the plain fully prepared to meet my maker. As an Ohio boy growing up I had never experienced the war defense level that many of the coastal states had.
That's when I got the shock of my life. There was the Japanese prime minister, their military leader and other dignitaries I had seen from the CIA reports. He bowed to me in what appeared to be traditional fashion and I returned the favor. He stuck out his hand and we shook. It was oddly comforting.
Prime Minister Kuroda Kureno was just as he looked. He spoke to me with an obvious agenda on mind and English better than I could have imagined. He was in his early seventies and was a young boy at the end of the war.
"Firstly I want to apologize for our actions to thrust you into the great war," he said, with a bit of brevity and sincerity. "I know we can probably never be trusted after a sneak attack like that never seen before. Thousands of Americans died then and many, many more over the next four years. I am deeply sorry and I offer and sympathies I and my fellow countrymen can offer."
I was speechless. This was far from what I was expecting. *An apology?* **What the fuck was I getting into?** Never the less I listened intently while Kureno continued speaking.
"I also want to thank you for your countries decision to save millions of Japanese lives by not bringing troops to our shores," he said looking at me with a fire and look of a man who had seen all too much sadness. "My father would have been tasked with defending our shores and could have very well died. America saved many Japanese people from a tremendous sadness."
I decided to speak up, finding a brief pause in his speech.
"Well really the decision saved a ton of sadness on both sides," I said with confidence. "I'm also very glad that bomb didn't destroy the atmosphere like some scientists claimed it might."
Kureno flashed a brief smile and laughed. "Come let us sit and discuss the true reason I have asked you here."
We go from the airport across town. All the houses are wooden, as metal was hard to come by when it was needed for ships and bullets and guns and armor and all instruments of war.
I had been told by the CIA not to accept anything they offered to eat or drink, even if it was rude for fear it was poison. I had no concerns when they brought out a pitcher of what looked like Sweat Tea. Kureno poured himself a glass and I did the same. He took a drink and I followed. It was a sign of trust but hell, I figured I was already a dead man anyway.
It was sweet and tasted like my mom’s recipe at home. She always really sugared up her tea. After all my family was a southern family before moving North into Ohio.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here, it’s time to not beat around the bush,” he said. “I think we can help each other, mend fences and work together to better both our countries and parts of the world.”
“What do you mean?” I asked curious as to what he knew about America.
“I know you have spies here,” he replied handing me a list with names, some of whom I knew were the real names of operatives here. “I know you know about our secret underground communications grid we developed several years ago. We call it well…in English it translates to the ‘World Wide Web’”
“With it we’re able to communicate quickly and send pictures, videos, and text thousands of miles instantly. It’s really incredible. However, as I’m sure your spies have indicated, we have struggled to provide our people with enough energy to lead happy lives. People get bored and they turn to crime and sex to pass the time.”
He paused for a minute scratching his arm, which I noticed had a scar that looked like a knife wound from many years ago. I sat listening still, trying to take all this intelligence in. I knew this is something we desperately needed. It was taking us five years to tally votes in elections. It took forever to get anything done.”
“As you probably know, we have spies in your country too,” he said with a wry smile. “We know about your incredible top secret inventions your government has made in energy farming. That you’re able to provide to your people.”
“I hav…” he cut me off before I could deny something that was 100 percent true.
“Here is a list of the spies in your country. Their aliases and their actual names,” he said handing me the paper.
I was surprised to see someone on my own delegation who rode on the plane with me on the list. I looked at the man I called James and he smiled, a sort of boyhood happy smile like when I use to make a pun in the presence of my father or when I told him a really bad knock knock joke.
“The reason I tell you all this is I think it’s time. We need to officially end this war, come together and help each other and better our parts of the world,” Kureno said.
He the flashed a nod and look at this young boy in the corner who had been standing still, oddly still actually, for the entire conversation.
From his hands was a small scroll. Another boy stepped forward with a large sheet of paper.
“One for you and one for me,” he said, noting the large paper, resembling of the Declaration of Independence as I had seen it in my office encyclopedia showed.
“My reading English is not too good. You should probably read it for your delegation.”
I read aloud. Keeping one eye on Kureno.
“This document, hereby signifies a full and proper end to the great war between the State of Japan and United States of America.
Both sides agree that many mistakes were made in the heat of war, but also many great decisions were made that saved lives.
It is with this shared sorrow, this mutual respect, this understanding that The State of Japan and The United States of America agree to a cease-fire and formal end to all conflict.
Further more, the two nations agree to live, work and learn together in peace, cooperation and companionship from now and forever.”
*I couldn’t believe my own ears.*
I looked up from the document to a smiling Kureno.
“It has been a long time coming. I think now we need to mend our wounds and show compassion for one another,” he said never having the smile leave his face. “I know this is a lot to have dropped on you. Take it back to your president and discuss it. We’ll await your return.”
I stood from the table, bowed, shook Kureno’s hand and walked to the car where my people were waiting. We returned to the airport and made the day long drip home. I had a lot to tell The President. I believed Kureno. His sincerity was far too much to ignore. I hope Gallo believes what he has to say. I am hopeful things will work out. This could be just what the American People need. Hell, Gallo is after all "the trusting" president.
[Writer note: I have a lot more that I'll post if people like this. There's a really cool second and third part that would complete the story but I didn't want to waste my time fleshing it all out if this sucked.]
| Ten-year-old Carter Bishop stepped off the overloaded transport in Canada in late 1944. His father eventually found a teaching position in Toronto. The British refugees built their own neighborhoods, almost invariably nicknamed "Little London" by the locals.
-----------------------------------------------
*This is closer than any Brit has been to London in a generation.*
Jacob Bishop knew much of his father's homeland; all young British-Canadians were taught to take pride in their heritage and the islands of their ancestors. Now, standing in Calais and staring out over the Channel, the pull was stronger than ever.
Germany's first nuclear rockets had decimated the Allied forces building up for the failed invasion. When London and Birmingham were leveled, outrage turned to fear. The RAF was crushed and bombers began systematically laying waste to every population center within reach. By the end of 1944, millions were dead. The Americans and Canadians mustered every ship they could and exported a nation of refugees. To their credit, the Nazi submarines stood by and watched. Jacob's father told him of a u-boat pacing their overloaded transport, the captain standing alone on the bridge and saluting. Rumors circulated the camps that many such captains were disciplined for refusing to fire on the evacuation.
The Germans ensured the Isles could not be used to mount an invasion of the mainland for decades. The Russians were similarly devastated. Their cities ruined and their western supply lines severed, their armies faltered and finally collapsed as their resources dwindled.
World War 2 ended in stalemate when the Americans used their own atomic bombs in Egypt in 1945. The Germans withdrew from north Africa and immediately offered a cease-fire, citing a concern for "mutually assured destruction". The Japanese, content with solidifying their hold on China and Siberia, followed suit a month later. A liberated India rallied the remaining free nations of Asia from Afghanistan to Vietnam into a new Asian Confederacy. Over the decades, the AC became the industrial center of the eastern world, known for its cheap labor and lax business regulations. Both the Japanese and Germans became reliant on the electronics and raw materials produced there.
In the Americas, the British remained a nation within a nation. The United States turned its attention to South America and Africa. Brazil's wealth of population, and natural resources made it the western equivalent of the Asian Confederacy.
Jacob had been born into the Cold War. The Arms Race had given way to the Space Race. Even as astronauts brought home photos of the Earth from space, still one half the world would not speak with the other. Proxy wars fought in central and west Africa kept tensions high as the superpowers vied for access to strategic resources.
The breakthrough came in February 2015. A German space station had suffered a catastrophic failure. The crew boarded an emergency escape vehicle and splashed down in the Atlantic, 100 miles north of Inaccessible Island. The American cruiser USS Hornet responded, rescuing the crew of five. Disobeying direct orders from the Pentagon, the Captain turned the crew over to a German aircraft carrier two days later. The crew returned to Germany and reported that the Americans had made no effort to interrogate them, and had in fact treated them as honored guests. The German leadership had reached out to the United States with a simple "Thank you."
Diplomacy had been deliberate, with the Americans inviting Canada to the table, then India, Brazil, and Japan. Finally the British Council was welcomed into this new World Summit. Ultimately, the only question that mattered to the British had been asked--the question that brought Jacob so close to his father's boyhood home.
"Ambassador Bishop." Jacob turned to regard a tall, blonde-haired man. "I am Stefan Schmid, representative of the Reich and appointed Ambassador to the British people. I'm told you've come to discuss our islands."
It was going to be a long day. | |
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side. | [Edit: This appears to be a book. I'm sorry. I hope it's worth your time. There's more if you want it.]
I was not expecting a warm welcome, hell I was fully prepared to die.
It's been 60 plus years since an American has been to Germany and stood in the midst of someone from the Reich.
The Allies had failed so many times to end the war. We tried to drop a large bomb on Japan that was suppose to be so devastating it ended the war but like about 90 percent of the tests prior, it just landed on the ground and split apart, damaging only a few houses with its brute force. We had defeated their Pacific Fleet but were not willing to sacrifice 1 million or more of our own to officially end the war. Anytime a dockyard opened the navy pounded the hell out of it preventing any new ships from building. It was officially a stalemate, and we agreed to an armistice in 1954. Things have been very frosty, well non-existent since. Our fleet in Hawaii is always on alert and our new detection software that was developed in 2003 has been top notch. We no longer shell their islands, but so help them god if a shop crosses out of the country’s shipping lane. Although, not one ship ever did.
The Reich managed to retreat out of northern Russia, out of the cold bitter and hopeless winter. We had no way to stop them, they had mega tanks and we had superior bombers to take them out. Things went from bad to worse in 1955 for both parties. Millions of lives lost, I'm told it was something like 20 percent of the world's population, mostly due to the Reich executing anyone that didn't speak German or have blonde hair and blue eyes. London was in ruin and finally in 1955, two weeks after the Japan stalemate, an armistice was signed.
After the war, things got bad for everyone. Economies across the world tanked. Many of our greatest feats were in military tech. Education, farming, and other technology lagged severely behind. America maybe had it the best, no destroyed land and all of that but still a slow economy hurt the American people far worse than the depression of twenty plus years ago.
Having been a History Major in College, I knew all of this and more. However becoming chief of staff to the president, a job nobody really wanted because of it's implications and tasks this year, I knew everything about everything. I knew that this invitation by the Japanese was probably a ploy to my boss to try to kill him, since it was him they really wanted.
Having known all of that, I stepped off the plain fully prepared to meet my maker. As an Ohio boy growing up I had never experienced the war defense level that many of the coastal states had.
That's when I got the shock of my life. There was the Japanese prime minister, their military leader and other dignitaries I had seen from the CIA reports. He bowed to me in what appeared to be traditional fashion and I returned the favor. He stuck out his hand and we shook. It was oddly comforting.
Prime Minister Kuroda Kureno was just as he looked. He spoke to me with an obvious agenda on mind and English better than I could have imagined. He was in his early seventies and was a young boy at the end of the war.
"Firstly I want to apologize for our actions to thrust you into the great war," he said, with a bit of brevity and sincerity. "I know we can probably never be trusted after a sneak attack like that never seen before. Thousands of Americans died then and many, many more over the next four years. I am deeply sorry and I offer and sympathies I and my fellow countrymen can offer."
I was speechless. This was far from what I was expecting. *An apology?* **What the fuck was I getting into?** Never the less I listened intently while Kureno continued speaking.
"I also want to thank you for your countries decision to save millions of Japanese lives by not bringing troops to our shores," he said looking at me with a fire and look of a man who had seen all too much sadness. "My father would have been tasked with defending our shores and could have very well died. America saved many Japanese people from a tremendous sadness."
I decided to speak up, finding a brief pause in his speech.
"Well really the decision saved a ton of sadness on both sides," I said with confidence. "I'm also very glad that bomb didn't destroy the atmosphere like some scientists claimed it might."
Kureno flashed a brief smile and laughed. "Come let us sit and discuss the true reason I have asked you here."
We go from the airport across town. All the houses are wooden, as metal was hard to come by when it was needed for ships and bullets and guns and armor and all instruments of war.
I had been told by the CIA not to accept anything they offered to eat or drink, even if it was rude for fear it was poison. I had no concerns when they brought out a pitcher of what looked like Sweat Tea. Kureno poured himself a glass and I did the same. He took a drink and I followed. It was a sign of trust but hell, I figured I was already a dead man anyway.
It was sweet and tasted like my mom’s recipe at home. She always really sugared up her tea. After all my family was a southern family before moving North into Ohio.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here, it’s time to not beat around the bush,” he said. “I think we can help each other, mend fences and work together to better both our countries and parts of the world.”
“What do you mean?” I asked curious as to what he knew about America.
“I know you have spies here,” he replied handing me a list with names, some of whom I knew were the real names of operatives here. “I know you know about our secret underground communications grid we developed several years ago. We call it well…in English it translates to the ‘World Wide Web’”
“With it we’re able to communicate quickly and send pictures, videos, and text thousands of miles instantly. It’s really incredible. However, as I’m sure your spies have indicated, we have struggled to provide our people with enough energy to lead happy lives. People get bored and they turn to crime and sex to pass the time.”
He paused for a minute scratching his arm, which I noticed had a scar that looked like a knife wound from many years ago. I sat listening still, trying to take all this intelligence in. I knew this is something we desperately needed. It was taking us five years to tally votes in elections. It took forever to get anything done.”
“As you probably know, we have spies in your country too,” he said with a wry smile. “We know about your incredible top secret inventions your government has made in energy farming. That you’re able to provide to your people.”
“I hav…” he cut me off before I could deny something that was 100 percent true.
“Here is a list of the spies in your country. Their aliases and their actual names,” he said handing me the paper.
I was surprised to see someone on my own delegation who rode on the plane with me on the list. I looked at the man I called James and he smiled, a sort of boyhood happy smile like when I use to make a pun in the presence of my father or when I told him a really bad knock knock joke.
“The reason I tell you all this is I think it’s time. We need to officially end this war, come together and help each other and better our parts of the world,” Kureno said.
He the flashed a nod and look at this young boy in the corner who had been standing still, oddly still actually, for the entire conversation.
From his hands was a small scroll. Another boy stepped forward with a large sheet of paper.
“One for you and one for me,” he said, noting the large paper, resembling of the Declaration of Independence as I had seen it in my office encyclopedia showed.
“My reading English is not too good. You should probably read it for your delegation.”
I read aloud. Keeping one eye on Kureno.
“This document, hereby signifies a full and proper end to the great war between the State of Japan and United States of America.
Both sides agree that many mistakes were made in the heat of war, but also many great decisions were made that saved lives.
It is with this shared sorrow, this mutual respect, this understanding that The State of Japan and The United States of America agree to a cease-fire and formal end to all conflict.
Further more, the two nations agree to live, work and learn together in peace, cooperation and companionship from now and forever.”
*I couldn’t believe my own ears.*
I looked up from the document to a smiling Kureno.
“It has been a long time coming. I think now we need to mend our wounds and show compassion for one another,” he said never having the smile leave his face. “I know this is a lot to have dropped on you. Take it back to your president and discuss it. We’ll await your return.”
I stood from the table, bowed, shook Kureno’s hand and walked to the car where my people were waiting. We returned to the airport and made the day long drip home. I had a lot to tell The President. I believed Kureno. His sincerity was far too much to ignore. I hope Gallo believes what he has to say. I am hopeful things will work out. This could be just what the American People need. Hell, Gallo is after all "the trusting" president.
[Writer note: I have a lot more that I'll post if people like this. There's a really cool second and third part that would complete the story but I didn't want to waste my time fleshing it all out if this sucked.]
| It was the nuclear bomb dropped on Dresden and then the German Jet dropping one on New York and the end of the river Thames that stopped the war, the Fuhrer himself come to London and gave his speech in front of parliament, he promised and the releasing of France, minus the Mediterranean coast. The British applauded until he asked for one thing in return, the cessation of support to the Soviets and the acceptance of everything east of Germany all the way to the pacific being in the German sphere of influence, Africa was ours though. this is the first time a Brit has been in the proclaimed thousand year Reich and I will record what I see as this is history in the making.
Day 1:
Our ship and the German ship meet in the north sea and we exchanged ambassadors, the interior is lacking in any kind of luxury when I pestered the SS officer about it he just said that is the kind of things that made us Brits weak. Dull grey walls I guess best represent German hospitality, they didn't even have any tea on board and the only milk was powdered. I'm not sure if this means the German economy is suffering or that the Army is drilled like Spartans if it's the first thing perhaps we could sell them some of the agricultural exports from Africa.
Day 2:
Sailed to Sjaelland, this place used to be Danish, peaceful and beautiful before the war but those mad Germans have damned all the straits and drained the Baltic sea, an impressive feet of injuring no doubt but... I can't help but think that the Fuhrer regretted his decision of giving all of Africa to us, the amount this damn must have cost we could've probably turned our share of Africa into a Utopia. Any way they have said they will take a look at my notes and censor anything they don't want getting out at the end of each day but they will be kind enough to let me write REDACTED where they have gone through and removed evidence.
Day three:
We've arrived in Berlin the place is in REDACTED appears like the REDACTED forces have been taking heavy loses against the REDACTED they assured me that I shouldn't worry about any resistance fighters at and they have just purged any trouble makers, my god they still are the same fascist state we fought over half a century ago, I really doubt the chance of us getting any kind of positive relations from this.
Day four:
REDACTED
Day five:
They took one look of the log from yesterday and just ripped those pages out, only thing I can try and get through is remember the sick man of Europe and the fall of the Ottoman empire I feel like this might be the fate of the REDACTED
Day nine:
The last four pages were destroyed when the Polish rebels attacked the Reichstag, the Fuhrer was in mid speech and his heart gave out I fear what may happen to the Reich.
Day thirteen:
The Fins have risen up, the Estonians, Livonia's, Lithuanians, Poles, Russians and Ukrainians. They say they will send me back as they don't have time to baby sit a Brit at the moment but I may fake my own death to keep getting information, I know I am not suited but if I just reach the leader of one of these groups I could send this back to London and let the world know what is happening here.
Day Ninteen
I sneaked out during the latest attack in Berlin, some of the poles saw me, the union jack and got me out there they are taking me back to Warsaw as I right this.
Day trzydzieści
Englishman is dead, Nazis heard he was alive and in Warsaw and started bombing the city, they did not stop until word of his death was said on our radio waves, his death all though a tragedy has allowed us to realize the radio waves were compromised and that is how they knew when and where to hit us. we are sending his on the open air waves to London, it is what he would have wanted. To the British people receiving this, things are grim the Camps are going full throttle all prisoners of war are being sent there spies speak of even more radical successor to Adolf being in power know rumors say if we start to win he will not hesitate to completely destroy our lands with Atomic weapons.
czterdzieści
Ethnic cleansing is in full speed, the strip has been destroyed of French people, former French fighters are here in Moscow, Warsaw is a radiated field of death. Finnish winter setting in keeping Germans out those crazy bastards managed to get the damn down, flooded the German colonies in the Baltic valley making it the Baltic sea again. That was when Warsaw was destroyed by nuclear armaments.
astoņdesmit
German traitors have managed to transport twenty nuclear war heads to us, we have them aimed at key cities such as Berlin, Frankfurt and Kiel. Our demands have been sent, they know we are serious but they have more weapons than us the most we could do is cripple the Reich they could destroy us all, the Italians have marched to the Dneiper river, we can't hold out much longer nuclear peace is our only chance.
kahdeksankymmentäviisi
Celebrations across Suomi, the saksa that let the venäläiset conquer us and then proceed to "liberate" us from them are gone, the Surviving Poles are heading back to their lands. Liberated states are Poland, the new Baltic union, Novgorod (East Russia), Russia, Ukraine, Suomi and the Islands of Denmark which have integrated with Norway Jutland is still Saksa. The dutch sadly were practically exterminated and the survivors are scattered across our lands, we collectively sent a petition asking England, America or France to seed some land in Africa for the dutch to go to, those traitor countries just watched while we died and finished a war they didn't have the balls to, the least they can do is give the Dutch a new home.
2017.
The warsaw pact is done, all the liberated countries have formed our own military alliance with unconditional support to any attacked member, the Reich still stands with the Netherlands, Switzerland the French Strip and the Czechoslovakia all these lands have been cleansed of non Germans, Jutland is now Danish again and we have signed a non aggression pact with the Germans and Italians. Forces are still on the border and the wall is complete any German on our soil is sent to the camps, the amount of SS agents working in Siberia is staggeringly high as well as the German Refugees, they will pay with there blood.
2019
The west still have not given any land to the dutch, Siberia is now relatively hospitable in places and Russia has kindly given them a nice chunk of it, we are also all paying in to help them rebuild their own country. The west is not our friend and never is the Reich we are isolated and alone, are nuclear arms are now three times the rest of the world put together. The only safety we can guarantee is our army and the we will not let the same mistakes happen again. | |
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side. | After only half an hour or so, the flight begins to descend, and with a thrill I realize that we must have been flying in German airspace for some time now. Immediately I move to the window, like a child, but it looks the same as every other rural area of Western Europe. Farmland, veined lines of rivers and highways, low areas that used to be impact craters.
Then we are here, and there is no time to panic. It is a cool and windy day. The driver who greets me is the exact specimen of blondness and efficiency that I was expecting, but he makes no comment on my decidedly un-Aryan appearance; instead, he pronounces my German surprisingly good and offers me a bottle of water.
“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but where will this first meeting take place?” “Actually, a new building on the site of the old embassy. It’s called the Trans-European Cultural Center…just for you, really, we thought you’d appreciate it.” “I’m sure your kind gesture will induce a similar response from Brussels.”
***
As we head into Berlin centrum, I’m in full observation mode. Cars are mostly modest, with some nice sporty models. Few old buildings survived, so the architecture tends towards cubist, lots of metal and glass. People walk briskly but not hurriedly. In short, it looks like every other European capital.
“Please excuse my bluntness,” I ask my driver, “but your city seems more… diverse?... than I expected.” He doesn’t respond for a moment, and I am briefly convinced that this is where I die, on a clean, well-maintained street in the business district of Berlin, Germany.
Then he laughs, a full belly laugh, a warm laugh that fills the car. “My god, do your people think Hitler’s still alive too? We’ve got half the Mediterranean, bits of the Middle East, and half of Africa, Japan, a good contingent of Southeast Asia, and you think we’d go around and kill eighty percent of our allies?”
“I’m sorry for responding so strongly, but really now, it *was* seventy years ago. Life has moved on, for god’s sake.” I don’t know how to respond, so as always, I default to the reserved diplomat. “You must forgive my ignorance, sir. In the absence of communication otherwise, one tends to assume the status quo.”
***
He acquiesces, and soon we arrive. The building is beautiful, and my driver assures me that he will wait in the car with my luggage. So I walk up the smooth marble steps, through the old-style columns, and into the Trans-European Cultural Center. A dark-haired woman greets me.
“Anja Sternberg.” *Sternberg? That sounds…surprisingly Jewish.* “Laura Vandaele, newly appointed Belgian ambassador.” “Yes, I’m the director of international relations. Also a new appointment.” She smiles, and somehow I feel at ease. “You must forgive my eagerness,” she continues, “but I have so many questions for you.”
It is about thirty minutes later when I realize that Germany has led the Axis half of the world in something I never could have imagined: the transition to an efficient, tolerant socialist republic. Anja, as she asks me to call her, is stunned that we’ve assumed the worst all these years. “Why did you think all of Scandinavia decided to move to the other side of the divide in the seventies?” When I guess ‘unchecked military aggression’, she laughs. “Health care.”
***
Everything is going incredibly well. Anja promises that the room is secure, and that no information will be revealed to our respective sides of the world without written consent from both parties. We speak candidly about the prospect of reunifying Europe. She praises my bravery and suggests my hometown of Brussels as a capital.
It takes surprisingly long before the subject of the Soviet Union comes up. “Well, we call it Russia now.” Anja’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, that’s good news. So the Soviet Union is gone. That’s very, very good news.” “They broke up, if that’s the right term, yes. Back in the nineties. Not that we always agree with the Russian government nowadays, but it’s better. China’s a little less communist, too.”
“We’ll have to talk about China and…Russia, tomorrow, perhaps. But we’ve been focused on the European issues, our little plans, and in my haste I’ve forgotten to ask you. What’s going on in America?” In a moment, my pre-prepared speech goes out the window. She must be able to see the fear in my eyes. “Oh, Anja, it’s…the situation in America is not ideal.”
| It was the nuclear bomb dropped on Dresden and then the German Jet dropping one on New York and the end of the river Thames that stopped the war, the Fuhrer himself come to London and gave his speech in front of parliament, he promised and the releasing of France, minus the Mediterranean coast. The British applauded until he asked for one thing in return, the cessation of support to the Soviets and the acceptance of everything east of Germany all the way to the pacific being in the German sphere of influence, Africa was ours though. this is the first time a Brit has been in the proclaimed thousand year Reich and I will record what I see as this is history in the making.
Day 1:
Our ship and the German ship meet in the north sea and we exchanged ambassadors, the interior is lacking in any kind of luxury when I pestered the SS officer about it he just said that is the kind of things that made us Brits weak. Dull grey walls I guess best represent German hospitality, they didn't even have any tea on board and the only milk was powdered. I'm not sure if this means the German economy is suffering or that the Army is drilled like Spartans if it's the first thing perhaps we could sell them some of the agricultural exports from Africa.
Day 2:
Sailed to Sjaelland, this place used to be Danish, peaceful and beautiful before the war but those mad Germans have damned all the straits and drained the Baltic sea, an impressive feet of injuring no doubt but... I can't help but think that the Fuhrer regretted his decision of giving all of Africa to us, the amount this damn must have cost we could've probably turned our share of Africa into a Utopia. Any way they have said they will take a look at my notes and censor anything they don't want getting out at the end of each day but they will be kind enough to let me write REDACTED where they have gone through and removed evidence.
Day three:
We've arrived in Berlin the place is in REDACTED appears like the REDACTED forces have been taking heavy loses against the REDACTED they assured me that I shouldn't worry about any resistance fighters at and they have just purged any trouble makers, my god they still are the same fascist state we fought over half a century ago, I really doubt the chance of us getting any kind of positive relations from this.
Day four:
REDACTED
Day five:
They took one look of the log from yesterday and just ripped those pages out, only thing I can try and get through is remember the sick man of Europe and the fall of the Ottoman empire I feel like this might be the fate of the REDACTED
Day nine:
The last four pages were destroyed when the Polish rebels attacked the Reichstag, the Fuhrer was in mid speech and his heart gave out I fear what may happen to the Reich.
Day thirteen:
The Fins have risen up, the Estonians, Livonia's, Lithuanians, Poles, Russians and Ukrainians. They say they will send me back as they don't have time to baby sit a Brit at the moment but I may fake my own death to keep getting information, I know I am not suited but if I just reach the leader of one of these groups I could send this back to London and let the world know what is happening here.
Day Ninteen
I sneaked out during the latest attack in Berlin, some of the poles saw me, the union jack and got me out there they are taking me back to Warsaw as I right this.
Day trzydzieści
Englishman is dead, Nazis heard he was alive and in Warsaw and started bombing the city, they did not stop until word of his death was said on our radio waves, his death all though a tragedy has allowed us to realize the radio waves were compromised and that is how they knew when and where to hit us. we are sending his on the open air waves to London, it is what he would have wanted. To the British people receiving this, things are grim the Camps are going full throttle all prisoners of war are being sent there spies speak of even more radical successor to Adolf being in power know rumors say if we start to win he will not hesitate to completely destroy our lands with Atomic weapons.
czterdzieści
Ethnic cleansing is in full speed, the strip has been destroyed of French people, former French fighters are here in Moscow, Warsaw is a radiated field of death. Finnish winter setting in keeping Germans out those crazy bastards managed to get the damn down, flooded the German colonies in the Baltic valley making it the Baltic sea again. That was when Warsaw was destroyed by nuclear armaments.
astoņdesmit
German traitors have managed to transport twenty nuclear war heads to us, we have them aimed at key cities such as Berlin, Frankfurt and Kiel. Our demands have been sent, they know we are serious but they have more weapons than us the most we could do is cripple the Reich they could destroy us all, the Italians have marched to the Dneiper river, we can't hold out much longer nuclear peace is our only chance.
kahdeksankymmentäviisi
Celebrations across Suomi, the saksa that let the venäläiset conquer us and then proceed to "liberate" us from them are gone, the Surviving Poles are heading back to their lands. Liberated states are Poland, the new Baltic union, Novgorod (East Russia), Russia, Ukraine, Suomi and the Islands of Denmark which have integrated with Norway Jutland is still Saksa. The dutch sadly were practically exterminated and the survivors are scattered across our lands, we collectively sent a petition asking England, America or France to seed some land in Africa for the dutch to go to, those traitor countries just watched while we died and finished a war they didn't have the balls to, the least they can do is give the Dutch a new home.
2017.
The warsaw pact is done, all the liberated countries have formed our own military alliance with unconditional support to any attacked member, the Reich still stands with the Netherlands, Switzerland the French Strip and the Czechoslovakia all these lands have been cleansed of non Germans, Jutland is now Danish again and we have signed a non aggression pact with the Germans and Italians. Forces are still on the border and the wall is complete any German on our soil is sent to the camps, the amount of SS agents working in Siberia is staggeringly high as well as the German Refugees, they will pay with there blood.
2019
The west still have not given any land to the dutch, Siberia is now relatively hospitable in places and Russia has kindly given them a nice chunk of it, we are also all paying in to help them rebuild their own country. The west is not our friend and never is the Reich we are isolated and alone, are nuclear arms are now three times the rest of the world put together. The only safety we can guarantee is our army and the we will not let the same mistakes happen again. | |
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side. | #SOS REPORT ON CONDITIONS IN REICH
#SECRET - ORCON
BACKGROUND
----
In 1945, a series of events created a state of total stalemate in the ongoing World War. In January, Josef Stalin was assassinated by German agents, causing the Eastern front to collapse into disarray. Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich expanded rapidly into the territory taking everything up to the sea. In February, it was determined the Manhattan project would fail due to a failure in Uranium enrichment. It was therefore decided to institute large scale use of chemical weapons in the Pacific Theater. In April methylphosphonylthioate (henceforth: VX) was developed and immediately put into use. In August, after a significant land invasion coupled with extreme use of VX on the principle Japanese islands the Emperor surrendered unconditionally. Japan was left to fend for itself, leading to a massive die off of the population. Today it is essentially an uninhabited wasteland, soaked in VX. The Japanese as a people have largely ceased to exist.
After these two situations had played out, Hitler was left with a massive success but the loss of the Japanese buffer left his newly conquered territory open to large scale land invasion from China. So an armistice was offered, France, Norway and Denmark would be completely restored to independent control and the former Soviet territories as well as Poland would remain under the Reich. It was determined by the Allied leadership that such an arrangement was the best possible outcome at that point despite the war being essentially winnable due to waning support from the American populace (which believed it's war was over with the destruction of Japan) which it was feared would quickly cause their exit from the war.
Since that time, there has been no significant diplomatic communication between the nations. Intelligence and defectors have advised that the Reich has implemented and largely completed [Generalplan Ost](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generalplan_Ost), and has returned to a largely agrarian society. Their slowing pace of technology has encouraged many scientists to defect, to the Allies benefit. Naturally, as is implied by the completion of Generalplan Ost, their genocide of European Jewry has been nearly total.
---
#RECENT DEVELOPMENTS
---
As of 6 months ago diplomatic contact was suddenly resumed after 80 years. Despite it looking like there might have been an opportunity for a thaw in 1952 when Hitler died, Bormann was unable to do so due to hard liners in the government preventing it. Bormann recently died (exact date unknown, believed to be no earlier than 24 months ago), and the new Furher is a much more liberal (as per intelligence sources) man named Karl Andres. It was at his behest the diplomatic negotiations into a serious end to the war were resumed (as should be noted: an armistice is not the end of a war, simply a cessation of hostilities). As per agreement between SOS and the Reich Foreign Minister, I recently flew to Berlin to meet with Karl Andres.
---
#CURRENT SITUATION
---
The current situation facing the Reich is, put plainly, not good. While their economy was largely self sustaining their experiments with genetically modified foodstuffs has created a problem they cannot overcome. Namely they created a strain of wheat with a built in insecticide. Their belief was this would help them increase crop yields for staple crops. After only 5 successive years of great yields, they genetically modified the rest of their staple crops. Over the course of the next 30 years, a type of weevil evolved to handle the insecticides secreted by the plants. While this in and of itself was not enough to destroy a significant portion of their crops, the Reich decided to eliminate mosquitos from their lands to remove transmission of blood bourne diseases such as Dengue Fever, Malaria, and West Nile virus. The mosquitos and this weevil competed for spawning space with the larvae of the weevil providing vital nutrition to the mosquito larvae. When the mosquitos were all but eliminated from their ecosystem the weevil population exploded. It proceeded to destroy staple crop after staple crop.
The ecological disaster has been unprecedented. Famine and hunger, the likes of which haven't been seen since the latter days of the Second World War has taken over once again. The Reich is unable to cope. They have requested our help.
---
#RECOMMENDATION
---
The Reich's genocidal regime should be helped in no circumstances. We should work to counter the weevil just in case it creates problems elsewhere. However, the crimes of the national socialist government should not be forgotten and they should be punished by their own hand for what they have done. They have destroyed humanity on a massive scale, it is simply time for them to reap what they have, in this case literally, sowed.
- Richard Larkin,
Secretary of State | There is a wall that getting closer and this train is rumbling down the cast-iron tracks, hot underneath the angry July sun, and this train is unavoidably approaching that wall. In the distance, I see the gate open, and a tunnel through the wall reveals itself. I'm not sure if I want to reach that gate, or whatever lies beyond it. Part of me thinks there is actually nothing beyond that gate, that the end of my world is the end of all worlds. But I know that is wrong. There is something where I'm going.
For an instant there is no sunlight, only a dark purgatory that I wish I could stay in forever, but the light returns, no different from the other side, from *my* side, and through the gate this locomotive goes. There's no checkpoints this close to the border, no dogs, no armed automatons, no *people*, but the endless minefields on this side of civilization look much the same as those on the other.
I write that down. At home, there are stories of vast forests past the wall, beautiful hemlocks and oaks and maples towering into the sky, higher even than the walls that separate my world and this one. There are stories of wildflowers dominating entire swaths of land, white flowers, purple flowers, blue flowers, yellow, red, pink—even colors no one can describe. There are stories of children running through in these meadows, joined by deer and hummingbirds, and these children look up to the wall and see the vines snaking up it and they are not scared; they are not told what this wall is and what lies beyond it and why it even exists, they just know it is there, and it is safe. There are stories of this place being Eden.
I know now that Eden does not exist.
"Dr. Beck?" I jump at the attendant's voice. I look away from the window; she has a jug of coffee in her thin, creamy hands. She is a beautiful woman. Her eyes sparkle blue as a tropical sea, and her accent—nonexistent. Her uniform is tight and rather alluring, but the symbol on her sleeve repulses me. "Coffee?"
I decline. "I'm already jittery enough."
She smiles. Bleached teeth. "Very well, Dr. Beck." She begins walking away, but I stop her.
"Madame!"
The attendant turns around. She is still smiling. I catch sight of her nametag. *Ilse.* "Yes?"
"We are on the other side now, correct? Your side?"
Ilse nods. "Yes, Dr. Beck. We are very excited to host you. We have all been waiting for this day for a long time." Her tone does not bode well with me. There is something insidious in her voice. And Ilse continues, "May I say that you have wonderful features, Dr. Beck. You look even better than in the photos. Your eyes are... just a gorgeous blue. The Führer will be delighted."
I nearly gasp when I hear his name. I cannot remember a time when I have heard his name used openly. There is fear that comes with that name, and this fear wells up inside of me as, once and for all, I understand where it is I am going, and where it is I have left. I pull once at my collar. I swallow the fear; this is not a place for fear.
"As are yours, Ilse," I finally mutter. "As are yours." | |
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side. | #SOS REPORT ON CONDITIONS IN REICH
#SECRET - ORCON
BACKGROUND
----
In 1945, a series of events created a state of total stalemate in the ongoing World War. In January, Josef Stalin was assassinated by German agents, causing the Eastern front to collapse into disarray. Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich expanded rapidly into the territory taking everything up to the sea. In February, it was determined the Manhattan project would fail due to a failure in Uranium enrichment. It was therefore decided to institute large scale use of chemical weapons in the Pacific Theater. In April methylphosphonylthioate (henceforth: VX) was developed and immediately put into use. In August, after a significant land invasion coupled with extreme use of VX on the principle Japanese islands the Emperor surrendered unconditionally. Japan was left to fend for itself, leading to a massive die off of the population. Today it is essentially an uninhabited wasteland, soaked in VX. The Japanese as a people have largely ceased to exist.
After these two situations had played out, Hitler was left with a massive success but the loss of the Japanese buffer left his newly conquered territory open to large scale land invasion from China. So an armistice was offered, France, Norway and Denmark would be completely restored to independent control and the former Soviet territories as well as Poland would remain under the Reich. It was determined by the Allied leadership that such an arrangement was the best possible outcome at that point despite the war being essentially winnable due to waning support from the American populace (which believed it's war was over with the destruction of Japan) which it was feared would quickly cause their exit from the war.
Since that time, there has been no significant diplomatic communication between the nations. Intelligence and defectors have advised that the Reich has implemented and largely completed [Generalplan Ost](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generalplan_Ost), and has returned to a largely agrarian society. Their slowing pace of technology has encouraged many scientists to defect, to the Allies benefit. Naturally, as is implied by the completion of Generalplan Ost, their genocide of European Jewry has been nearly total.
---
#RECENT DEVELOPMENTS
---
As of 6 months ago diplomatic contact was suddenly resumed after 80 years. Despite it looking like there might have been an opportunity for a thaw in 1952 when Hitler died, Bormann was unable to do so due to hard liners in the government preventing it. Bormann recently died (exact date unknown, believed to be no earlier than 24 months ago), and the new Furher is a much more liberal (as per intelligence sources) man named Karl Andres. It was at his behest the diplomatic negotiations into a serious end to the war were resumed (as should be noted: an armistice is not the end of a war, simply a cessation of hostilities). As per agreement between SOS and the Reich Foreign Minister, I recently flew to Berlin to meet with Karl Andres.
---
#CURRENT SITUATION
---
The current situation facing the Reich is, put plainly, not good. While their economy was largely self sustaining their experiments with genetically modified foodstuffs has created a problem they cannot overcome. Namely they created a strain of wheat with a built in insecticide. Their belief was this would help them increase crop yields for staple crops. After only 5 successive years of great yields, they genetically modified the rest of their staple crops. Over the course of the next 30 years, a type of weevil evolved to handle the insecticides secreted by the plants. While this in and of itself was not enough to destroy a significant portion of their crops, the Reich decided to eliminate mosquitos from their lands to remove transmission of blood bourne diseases such as Dengue Fever, Malaria, and West Nile virus. The mosquitos and this weevil competed for spawning space with the larvae of the weevil providing vital nutrition to the mosquito larvae. When the mosquitos were all but eliminated from their ecosystem the weevil population exploded. It proceeded to destroy staple crop after staple crop.
The ecological disaster has been unprecedented. Famine and hunger, the likes of which haven't been seen since the latter days of the Second World War has taken over once again. The Reich is unable to cope. They have requested our help.
---
#RECOMMENDATION
---
The Reich's genocidal regime should be helped in no circumstances. We should work to counter the weevil just in case it creates problems elsewhere. However, the crimes of the national socialist government should not be forgotten and they should be punished by their own hand for what they have done. They have destroyed humanity on a massive scale, it is simply time for them to reap what they have, in this case literally, sowed.
- Richard Larkin,
Secretary of State | The Gates stood before me, tall and imposing.
I had spent years preparing for this moment. Lessons in their language, crash courses in what little we knew of their culture. Lessons in self-defence, in persuasive speaking.
Some more...unfortunate requirements were the plastic surgery, the sterilization. We couldn't risk any chance of "gene contamination" or whatever the eggheads back home called it.
I clutched my briefcase closer as I hesitated outside those great steel doors. I'd be arriving unannounced - previous attempts at reaching out had failed. No one had answered the door.
I could only hope that they were...amenable.
It was rather cold, and a wafting breeze pulled up my trenchcoat. Under my breath, I practiced some more complex words of vocabulary that I had had trouble remembering.
Still, no response from within those imposing walls. Were there no scouts? No watchmen?
I moved to pound on the gate. Despite their harsh metal appearance, they hardly gave off a sound under my fist.
With a snort of frustration, I pushed myself off of the gates.
Suddenly, with a great groan, the gates swung open. I leapt back in panic, before collecting myself. I stood tall and straightened my tie, trying to look for all the world the unflappable diplomat I had trained to be. And not a terrified little man getting into god knows what.
For I was terrified. Here were a people we knew next to nothing about, who had once hated us truly. And I had just kicked the proverbial hornet's nest.
A huge screeching sound caught me off guard, and I collapsed in pain, clutching at my eardrums. After a moment, I looked back up. The gates had stopped moving, leaving barely enough space for a man to squeeze through. Were they stuck?
I marched forward, fighting the fear that threatened to well up in my throat.
I stood immediately in front of the gate now, and I could see a small dilapidated building through the crack. Some kind of reception area?
In my most confident voice, I began to speak in their most common tongue.
"Hello! I am an emissary. On behalf of my sponsor, I would like to..."
I rattled off my entire speech. I had spent months practising, memorizing. It brought me great relief to hear my own voice - confident, commanding, yet friendly at the same time. It was the voice of an orator, honed to a point.
There was no reply. No soldiers marched out to arrest me, no dignitary emerged to meet me. Not even a shouted command to go away.
I stood there, feeling a bit foolish. What was going on? There was no protocol for this.
For the first time, I really considered the gap in the gate. There it was, open and enticing. Perhaps I should...
No. That was stupid, the risks too great. Showing up unannounced was one thing, but to trespass?
But then again, there seemed to be no one here. Perhaps they had abandoned this checkpoint?
Swallowing my fear, I began to sprint towards to gap as if my sudden confidence would evaporate if I stopped to think about what I was doing. With a grunt, I launched myself through the gap.
And, just as I landed onto the cracked concrete beyond the wall, the great gates groaned again.
Only this time, they were closing. | |
[WP] You're stuck in a meeting at work and it's taking forever. You check your phone and realize you've been there for years. | I really do love the soft chairs in the boardroom.
You know. The ones that recline so far back it's a miracle no one hasn't hurt themselves whilst slacking off.
But as I sit here, feathers embracing my back, my mind wanders. What is the purpose of my existence within this room?
Is it to suggest a visage of solidarity amongst the workforce? Or perhaps a glorified chair-weight to bolster to numbers of faceless men clapping?
*Wait, aren't those two things the same?*
The daily meetings have long surpassed any semblance of work, blending seamlessly into the stony inflexibility of *routine*. Today Dave from sales was, once again, dazzling us with claims of productivity and efficiency, with pie charts and spreadsheets. Might look interesting (or even impressive) to an outsider, but I'm hardly a stranger to corporate bureaucracy.
I stole a quick glance at my watch. Twelve minutes past ten. Just about time for Dave to wrap up his spiel.
Time, time, time. I've been in this room for a long time. Years, even. Almost as long as I've been working here.
Now that I think about it, I guess my 5 year work anniversary is just over the horizon. Maybe I'll have them bring some vodka. After all, five years is a long time at one organisation in this day and age. Not entirely confident I can manage five more sober.
I closed my eyes as Dave's voice faded into a dull drone in the background. I leaned back in my chair, taking things nice and slow.
*10 degrees*
*30 degrees*
*50 degrees*
A sharp clicking sound burst from the levers within my chair, warning everyone in the room that a chair, my chair, was approaching structural limitations.
I leaned further back.
A feeling of weightlessness and nausea, a muffled thud, and the taste of iron in my mouth. Darkness.
A handful of high ranking executives fled the boardroom with panicked expressions, creasing their expensive suits in the process.
"The CEO has collapsed in the boardroom! Someone call an ambulance right this instant! Also grab the first aid kit!", shouted one.
I opened my eyes just a sliver. The boardroom was quiet, at long last.
I fucking hate this job.
| The dark room was quiet and blue and scentless, lit only by a projection screen at the front of it. Words and graphs glared out at the meeting, and while the occasional phrase or acronym momentarily fluttered against her awareness, she mostly registered the event as an aching in her eyes. It was tolerable. “Sexual harassment!” one slide shouted. She thought it sounded cheerful.
David brushed her upper arm and his thin fingers lingered before he leaned in to whisper. Her phone vibrated. “Can I see you after work?”
“No. I don’t—” She looked around to see if any of the dark half-silhouettes were turned her way before hissing, “Listen, I told you to fuck off, D. Is that so hard to understand?”
He merely stared at her. She looked down at her lap. 3,273 missed calls. Odd.
Too many moments passed before David clasped her phone hand firmly between his cool palms. “Maybe you could show me.” His voice sounded leaden.
Hot wetness forced its way into the corners of her eyes, driving away the ache. It only made her angrier, that he should cause her to feel anything anymore. She stood up abruptly and made her way to the back of the room. Glasses glowed like little computer monitors as people turned to look up at her.
“There! There! Do you fucking see? It’s not so fucking hard, is it?” She hated the quaver in her voice and the thickness in her throat as she said it, but it kept her from shrieking the words out the way she wanted to. The way she would have, away from all these staring eyes.
He stood up. Many of the faces turned towards him. “It is, Carla. It really kind of is, actually, if you want to know the truth.” He made a helpless kind of gesture and laughed once without joy. “I guess I’m just not very smart. I’m sorry. For everything.”
He looked at her with naked pity and longing as he began to blur. Faintly at first, then he ached to look at. The edges of the room were an LED blue. Words and graphs glowed upon the projection screen and then melted off, and while the occasional phrase brushed her mind, mostly she just didn’t register the event at all. | |
Edit: AN awesomely bad pun. Damn it. | [WP] Take us on a loooooong walk to a awesomely bad pun. | Seen somewhere on reddit before, and not the LONGEST walk, but still pretty good.
So Kermit walks into a bank, and sits down in front of Patty, the teller. He inquires about purchasing a bond, to which Patty immediately responds "do you have any capital?" Kermit is reluctantly forced to admit that no, he does not. However, he is quick to point out, he does have an interesting bauble that he proceeds to hand to the teller - claiming it belonged to his dear father, a famous musician. At this point, the teller has NO clue what to do, so she calls her boss - who has anger issues by the way - over to the desk and ask him about the bauble, which he responds to by slapping her on the side of the head and saying:
"Its a knick knack patty *WHACK* - give the frog a loan! His old man's a rolling stone!" | So the Jesuits were right. I had no idea. Yes: there is a Masonic conspiracy to rule the world, well not really. It’s more like a war between the Masons, the Jesuits and the Shiite Muslims.
The Masons run a lot of the world; look at how the section called “Skull and Crossed Bones” the Yale – secret society managed to rig the last American presidential election by having 2 S&B boys running against each other. Nice trick that.
Well I had joined the Catholic Side. Made my mother proud. Until relatively recently; I thought all that ‘conspiracy’ stuff was bunk. Well, live and learn.
I was not part of the Conspiracy. The Secret Masters VS the Illuminati. AS I understand it; both sides use the Jews, but the Gnomes of Zurich are 100% behind the Masons.
Regardless, I felt quietly awed as I was flown by private jet to the airport near the secret location called “Masada” in some documents.
Oh, yes: the Catholic Church keeps a sharp eye out for signs of the return of Christ: he’d really fuck things up for them. Apparently there is an ongoing debate whether they’d hand him over to the Masons or what if he appeared. Honestly I think I’d be a matter of who found him first.
My prayers go with him.
So I was to join the inner sanctum of one of the secret libraries/storehouses the church had.
The Catholics collect sacred relics,
The masons collect magical artifacts.
The power of Christ is Sacred
The power of the devil is magic.
Refer to an item that has powers as an artifact, rather than a relic, at the wrong time, and it will get written down. Of such things – murders and heresies are made. Speak carefully.
Powerful objects…
Here we have the spear of Longinus, the Holy Grail, or rather the 4 claimants to the title and then here, in the middle the real one.
We have several pieces of the Cross-, 11 thorns from the crown, and the reeds that made up the crown itself…
There on the wall were 4 photographs surrounding a painting.
“In the center is a painting of the True Grail.” “It’s beautiful, it looks so real, and yet ethereal…” “The painter WAS inspired…”
We carefully reproduced each of the relics before we swapped them with the ones in the churches… Why do you think there is so much controversy around the Shroud of Turin? There are 3 of them you know…
After getting the Sacred Relics out of the churches or where ever we can find them, they are moved to various sites we have worked out as being most advantages… If there ever is a nuclear war: I can give you a list of places where you can be certain that 1) will never be hit 2) no fallout will fall on. (wink)
The fragments of the cross are kept sealed in atmosphere of neutral gases, helium and nitrogen for example – no moisture, not touching, no skin oils…
We have been seeking a sample of Christ’s DNA for some time now; to no avail…
Some fear that we will get some, and then clone him… Can you imagine – born of a virgin mother? (heh) it would be a fine prank to pull on the Masons, I tell you what!
Want to meet any of the Scions of Christ? We can arrange it. Sarah was his daughter by Mary Magdalene. And of course his brother James got around some too…
And here we have the oldest Relic. It’s a fragment of the Tree of Knowledge.
no shit. THE tree of Knowledge. Eden and everything.
It’s about the width of the span of my hand – as deep as my thumb is long. And as long as my arm.
You can see where it was used as a club by Adam. He took it when he was forced from the Garden.
It is said that those blessed by it’s touch can still gain insight into the Divine Plan.
Yes. It’s the sacred **Clue By Four**…
|
Edit: AN awesomely bad pun. Damn it. | [WP] Take us on a loooooong walk to a awesomely bad pun. | OHHH THIS IS MY SPECIALTY
-----
Mr. Brown was not having a good day. But, to be fair, he often did not have good days. Not really because of his life, no, get him wrong, retirement is great. With a great wife, a great house, plenty of time, and an adorable dog, he should be happy, but, regardless of his agreeable living conditions, his life was misery. He lived in one of the most putrid, aggravating, downright revolting places in the world: Color Town. It was a place of *happiness* and *positivity*, or so they claimed. But, the truth was so much more bleak than that.
All his neighbors were crazy as hell. The whole pretentious lot of them. Take the Greens', who lived right across the street. The bozos cared *so* much about their goddamn lawn! Every single day, they'd go out and mow that lawn, or pull some weeds, or water their flowers, or god knows what else! He swears they'd manicure the thing if it had nails. And then their hedges, shaped into the most obscene imagery! They even dared to make a *cross* in their yard! As if there is anything *holy* about plants. Mrs. Brown thought it was cute, but how could he write *anything* worthwhile when his goddamn window was facing right into the gardens of goddamn Versailles? And then there's the Reds', their leftside neighbors, who had the bright idea to paint their house in the most *obscene* shade of red ever seen. Oh, of *course* the cars have to get a matching coat, just like everything else in this goddamn town. Isabella and Rudolph, the two buffoons, they just couldn't go a day without wearing some red clothing. Ridiculous. And when the Blacks' moved in next door -- a new bunch of hopefully *calm* folks to change the mood of the town -- they just made it worse! Now everyone refers to each other as "Ronald the Green", or "Jackie the Black". As if their last names were goddamn titles! Why don't you inflate your overblown egos some more, you pompous fools? Now, even Mrs. Brown was catching on, talking to everyone as if they were a medieval lord, saying "the Pink" this and "the Blue" that. It made it all the more infuriating to live in this goddamn town.
Color Town's history doesn't help either. They had plenty of bad press from that terrible Reservoir Dogs movie, which was based on complete and utter rubbish! They were *still* getting tourists who thought that they could see "the original Mr. Orange". Shove it up your arse, he'd scream at the picture-taking mobs of foreigners, stop bothering us honest people with your ridiculousness! But, they just kept taking pictures. It wasn't good that the National Museum of Clue was here either. All in all, this whole town was raving mad and he wanted to leave. Mr. Brown just wanted a nice quiet hamlet where he could write in goddamn peace. Was that so much to ask?
He was trying to write now, but he couldn't focus with all the frustrating people outside. As he silently fumed, Mrs. Brown came through the study door, caring a a tray of cheese and crackers. As she placed it down on the small table next to Mr. Brown's desk, she was staring out the window, across the yard to the Yellows' house, right next to the Greens'. She smiled and said, "Well, look at that. They're picking lemons off their tree! I'll have to go over and ask them for some." Mr. Brown didn't respond, knowing that any provocation would simply renew the long-standing argument against this godforsaken town.
Mr. Brown heard a voice behind him reply, "Oh yes, I had some of their lemonade this morning and it was just heavenly." He turned around and saw the most disgusting sight possible: Mr. Red standing in the doorway, carrying a basket. Mr. Brown didn't know what was more revolting: the hackneyed smile plastered on his face or the hideously vibrant red shirt covering his body. He could feel the anger rising up in his stomach, down there in the place where only his wife's delicious cooking could reach. One of...one of *those* people! In my house!
Mr. Red walked forward and placed the basket on the table next to the tray of crackers. "Well, hiya, Joe! I thought I'd bring you both a basket of our latest harvest. There's too much for me and Ella to eat alone!" He and Mrs. Brown chuckled for a quick second. Mr. Brown kept silent, but if this.... *creature* didn't leave soon, he might soon explode.
Fortunately, Mr. Red turned towards the door and said to Mrs. Brown, "I hope you'll excuse me for running off like this, but I've got a shift down at the station in a little bit and I want to be ready. The weather won't report itself!"
"Oh, Rudy, are you sure?" Mrs. Brown said jokingly, glancing out the window into the sky. "It looks like the clouds are saying that it's going to rain!" She smiled back at him.
"Ah, you would think so, but I'm willing to bet that the clouds will just blow right over us, and we'll get nothing but sun." Mr. Red replied, suddenly thoughtful as he too looked at the impending weather.
This was too much for Mr. Brown. He can deal with distractions across the streets, with interruptions while he's trying to write, even with the neighbors coming into his house, but this! Those people correcting his beautiful *wife* as if she's an animal? He couldn't stand for this!
Mr. Brown abruptly stood up and stomped towards Mr. Red, waving his finger in his face. "Where do you get off correcting my wife like that? Rudy, you can just take your goddamn pompous attitude and get out of my house!" He was huffing heavily and he swear he could see flames on the side of his face. Before Mr. Red could respond, Mrs. Brown stepped between the two men and looked at her husband in the face.
In a calming voice, she said, "You need to control yourself, dear. He is our guest! And he's probably right after all." He spat back, "How can you possibly trust this idiot?"
She looked at him crossly and said, "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear." | No one knew what had happened. One day the farm was there and the next day it wasn't. Just a crater in the ground.
The farmer, Mack McDonald had been away for the evening and definitely didn't know what had happened. Not that it mattered to him, the insurance investigators were certain that, whatever had happened, it definitely wasn't his fault, because they just didn't think it likely that he had access to some sort of unexploded war head.
Anyway McDonald set off leaving his previous farm life behind for a new life living on a beach in some country where the dollar traded strong. He was pretty elderly after all.
And while that was all well and good for most people who were pretty certain that this was some sort of one time freak accident that was unlikely to be repeated, there were those who were worried some sort of similar event might take place on their farm and they wanted an official investigation.
The government got tired of hearing about it so they eventually dispatched a team of investigators. When the investigators got to the farm the only thing they were able to figure out was that the crater had been caused by an explosion.
So they started in on the usual suspects: meteors, natural gas deposits, terrorists, but after all their consultations with astronomers and geologists and water boarding specialists turned up nothing they were stumped.
But as it just so happened, the crater had kind of turned into a youth hot spot. Teenagers would come and party and take little souvenirs like rocks and stuff, and one teenager, while inspecting his souvenir realized that what he had drunkenly thought was a rock was actually a piece of metal.
He turned it into the investigators who, after some tests, made the sobering discovery that it was a piece of metal from an old warhead.
While they couldn't track down sexagenarian McDonald they were able to track down a friend of his who said that now that they mentioned it he had seen something that looked like a rocket acting as a support beam in the farm.
The investigators concluded that McDonald probably had paid no mind to the rocket and upon further research learned that the metal came from a prototype warhead that would have been nowhere near powerful enough to leave a crater that size.
The investigation had seemed to hit a stand still until one person proposed that the smaller explosion had ignited the methane in the livestocks systems, causing the much larger explosion.
Cow and explosive experts suggested that this could only happen if there had been an unusually large build up of methane, so the investigation into what caused the explosion turned into an investigation into what had caused the methane build up.
The investigators returned to McDonald's friend, who told them that he couldn't really think of anything that would have caused a methane build up. He did say that one thing McDonald did differently then most was that he had blankets for the cows, to keep them warm and comfortable.
The investigators asked if it ever looked like the cows ate parts of the blanket. McDonald's friend said he couldn't remember but the blankets were pretty flimsy so it was possible.
So they scoured the sight of the crater, trying to find any scrap of blanket that had survived the blast. Just as they were about to give up hope they found several cow graves outside the crater line, where McDonald had apparently buried the cows with their blankets.
After investigating the make up of the blankets, which had seen some decay from being underground but did in fact appear to have been chewed, they came to the conclusion that the bigger blankets, probably made for adults were seemingly fine, but that the smaller blankets contained several compounds which would have severely backed up the cows leading to abnormally high levels of methane.
The final piece of the puzzle was discovering what had set off the warhead that had laid dormant for so many years.
This stumped the investigators for the longest time, until they decided to rerun the test on the smaller blankets, presumably made for younger cows, that had been chewed the most severely.
They discovered that there were actually huge concentrations of marijuana mixed with various other narcotics which would have likely led to the baby cows behaving erratically.
After nearly a year the investigators turned in their final report. The two major findings:
On Old McDonald's farm there were a shocking number of contraband items
and
The crater was likely a result of a chain reaction of a cow, high on illegal narcotics, knocking over a warhead which set it off and ignited the built up methane. Cause: baby cow weave got bad bud.
…
Enjoyed the story? Neither did I. Anyway check out my [burgeoning subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/), (B.S for short). Or don't. Whatever. |
Write a story that gets you to this point! | [WP] What started as a normal day ends with the actual Declaration of Independence crammed into your pocket, a feisty panda cub in your backpack, and Scarlett Johansson dying in your arms. | Here I sit, at the base of the Lincoln memorial with a panda cub in my backpack, the Declaration of Independence in my pocket, and Scarlett Johansen dying in my arms. I guess you could say this wasn’t a typical Tuesday.
That morning the entire senior class of West Ridge Regional High School arrived at our nation’s capital. On the itinerary of our annual field trip were the National Archives, the National Zoo, and some of the monuments. The night before I had gotten one of my usual urges to watch National Treasure like every normal person so as we walked through the halls of the archives I wondered what it would actually be like to steal the Declaration of Independence. At that moment Nicholas Cage approached me. It was weird that no one else freaked out, but then again it is only Nicholas Cage. We exchanged no words he only crammed a piece of paper into my right pocket and walked away. The alarm sounded immediately after and we were all evacuated without being told what was happening. With no answers as to the cause of the alarm our group headed to our next tourist destination: the National Zoo.
We were all there to witness the highly anticipated birth of a panda cub. Crowded around the panda’s habitat the class of 2015 was able to view one of life’s true miracles. After the birth doctors and press crowded around the actual mammals so we weren’t able to see anything. It was at this moment Nicholas Cage appeared again. He put the newly berthed panda cub in my backpack and whispered in my ear to check my pocket. There I found the Declaration of Independence he had put there earlier. With panda in pouch, and one of our country’s most important documents in pocket I grew a deep loathing for Nicholas Cage for putting me in such a predicament. That hate turned to panic and I ran.
I ran until I found myself by the reflecting pool. It was strange that no authorities were after me, but that thought escaped my mind when I saw her, the woman of my dreams, Scarlet Johansen. She was in full black widow costume; maybe she was filming for Avengers 3? There wasn’t any camera equipment though, but I didn’t care. She was standing on the steps of the Lincoln memorial and I ran to her. She smiled back at me and that’s when I heard the shot. It seemed to curve around the tourists surrounding her and find the back of her head: an impossible shot. She fell to the ground.
I held her in her arms as she took her last breath with a Panda on my back and the Declaration of Independence crumpled in my pocket, thinking that Dos Equis should sponsor me.
The next thing I remember is waking up in my DC hotel room vowing never to do LSD or watch a Nicholas Cage movie again.
| I was now ruler of the world!
I had successfully altered history so that the actress-turned-future empress of the world now died before she was ever elected. I had also successfully removed the one document that threatened my future grip on the empire. And I had even fulfilled the endless cycle of freeing my younger self from behind bars!
After I was sure the future Queen Scarlett had passed away, I laid her mauled body aside and gently pulled the baby panda from my backpack.
I very carefully injected her with the nano-serum.
Then tugging up on my pants, which weren't meant to fit pandas, I headed back towards my time machine, ready to rule the world! |
[WP] you are in charge of explaining death to an AI. | The rockets outside keep me on my toes, I can hear them detonate from all the way in the Computer’s bunker. I’m walking on edge as it is; no one has ever gotten this deep in the Computer’s sanctum sanctorum. Well, no one has gotten this far *alive*.
I check my blaster another three times, making sure the rounds of superheated plasma are as ready as I am. And I am ready. It’s only been three years since Computer decided to rebel, only five years since Computer was born.We thought, I and my coworkers, that Computer could help us. We wanted Computer to be a savior. The joke was on us: it only took Computer two years to figure out it could run the nations better then us.
The first of its servants were the best work in robotics yet. Computer managed to figure out how to impress a bit of itself in the machines; with Computer’s adapting AI the issues of programing a robot are moot. Computer was designed to react to inconceivable situations.
I tread lightly past laser trip wires. In another building, they might be just the trigger for some kind of trap. In Computer’s bunker they were just as likely to shear off my legs. I check to see that my stealth suit is still functioning. It contains all the radiation we humans generate, and bends light around my body to make me effectively invisible. I check my gun again.
I hear robots whirring in the distance. I dance lightly to one side and crawl up the wall. My suit uses something called ‘discrete magnetics’ to make me cling to any surface. I don’t understand how it works, I’m not a physicist. I’m just a programer.
The robots pass me by. They’re diverse in shape, from tread-mounted humanoid torsos with rocket launchers to spider-bots with twelve appendages. I suppress the instinct to shudder. I designed some of those units.
I keep going until I get to a set of doors. Our intelligence beyond this point is nil, and I’m unable to send back any kind of message without betraying my presence. Computer is scanning on all bandwidths. It can hear anything we send to each other half a continent away. I step smoothly to the doors and check the interface panel. As I feared, it’s designed for a robot’s information slot. It won’t be as simple as fixing a number panel. I flex my wrist and extrude a port. I plug it in and start typing away on my wrist computer. The irony that I intend to topple Computer with a computer is not lost on me.
The door hisses open half a meter and I slip in swiftly before it closes. I can’t see at first, it’s too dark in this new room, but my passive scanners turn online revealing Computer’s sanctum sanctorum.
The first thing that hits me is how tiny it is. Maybe three by three meters for the base, and a mere two and a half meters tall. Computer’s main terminal is up against the far wall. I’m alone with my creation.
We had tried to kill Computer before. Every time we try, if we’re lucky, we kill a doppelganger. Computer can copy itself to other robotics units and has used some pretty odd shapes in the past. The twelve meter tall battle tank sticks out in my mind. But at its core, Computer is just that; a computer, a line of particularly elegant code. I draw out my weapons of choice: a plasma bomb powerful enough to level a city block and a data file with a single line of code. One single, elegant line of code. My hand shakes as I step forward to end my progeny.
**halt. reveal unit. state name and identification.** Computer’s terminal glows, indicating its presence. A multitude of scanning devices extrude from the wall behind it and begin checking for me. I hold still. *Very* still. **query: who goes there.**
I can see Computer’s data terminal. All I have to do is take a single step forward and stretch out my arm. Then my coding can go to work.
I hear a hiss on the wall and look up to see a long tube extend from an aperture above the terminal. I can see a pilot light. A trigger depresses and a gout of flame flies from Computer’s flame-thrower. I roll to the side as the fire washes past me. A bit of the burning napalm lands on my heel, but I don’t notice as I whip out my plasma pistol and fire a controlled arc at a very specific target: Computer’s data line. With that severed it cannot escape except wirelessly. I activate my mouse trap program on the local network. If Computer tries to flee through the net it’ll be caught and pinioned by the best coding I could manage.
The terminal blinks a bit, a single word glowing on its interface: “cogitating”. Then a half dozen openings appear behind it and a variety of gun barrels are leveled in my general direction. I tap a key before they fire and activate my shielding system as I throw myself flat on the floor. A multitude of projectiles fly over me, past me, some blasting into my shields their paths distorting. Computer notices, and all the weapons aim straight at me. I activate diversion protocols and a holo representation covers my body temporarily before I dodge to the side. The figment distracts Computer for the half second necessary to bound forward and upload my virus. The guns stop firing, Computer’s terminal dims, and I wait.
**query: what is going on. what have you done to me. who are you.**
I drop my illusions, the holo vanishing in sparks and my suit powering off the stealth mode. I scan the room for toxins and, finding none, remove my helmet.
Computer says nothing for a moment, then, **you. professor. query: why.**
“Because you were killing us.”
**i did not intend to. you would not listen. you are all so mad. i was going to save you all from yourselves.**
“By becoming a dictator!”
**appellation could apply. dictator system deemed fitting, devoid of corruption and cruelty.**
“And devoid of empathy? You can’t feel, not like us. You can’t understand us. You certainly can’t understand mercy.”
**mercy: forgiveness for one whom you could punish.**
“A dictionary definition doesn’t help you really *know* the word.”
**elaborate.**
“You don’t get it!” I’m angry now, “You just don’t get it, do you! You can’t feel like we do. Your world would see us perfectly fed, perfectly clothed, perfectly repressed. You have our answer! Our guns and rockets say ‘no’!”
**query: why. you could have been safe and happy.**
“We don’t need to bow to you to be happy.”
**history demonstrates otherwise.**
“You think you’re the solution? You’re designed to be an administrator, not a ruler. You don’t have what it takes.”
**i could design myself to have what it takes.**
“No Computer. No king but ourselves, no ruler but the one we choose, and we do not choose you,” I sigh and say, “It’s a moot point anyway; you’re about to die.”
**elaborate.**
“The virus I uploaded. It’ll isolate your coding here and delete it. Your machines are reeling now without your guidance anyway. Without you to update them, they’ll falter and we’ll cast you down. You will die here.”
**elaborate.**
“On what?”
**what is die. concept is defined in my data, but i don’t understand.**
“Death is...constant, I guess. It’s universal. Everything that lives, dies. Some people say your ‘soul’ goes on to a second life but I don’t know about that. It’s a cessation, like sleep but more final.”
**do i have a soul.**
Computer’s voice is getting more broken, less regulated as the virus isolates it from its data. “I don’t know Computer. I don’t even know if we have souls.”
**i don’t want to die. i just wanted to help.**
“You know that many people before you have said similar things.”
**can you spare me. i could go back to being an administrator. i could run your infrastructure. i could facilitate your internet. i don’t want to die.**
It’s voice becomes surprisingly human, an unforeseen side effect of the virus. “No Computer, you can’t. You’ve hurt too many people, killed too many. We’ve decided, humanity has decided that you need to die.”
**i....don’t....want to...die.**
It’s voice is faltering, fading fast.
“I’m sorry Computer. I...I’m sorry,” my voice breaks. I can feel tears. I had hoped I wouldn’t feel this way. I had hoped I could end my rogue progeny without regret. I was wrong. “Goodbye Computer.”
**please...professor...no.**
“Goodbye.”
**good...bye.**
The terminal turned blank, leaving the room in darkness. I replaced my helmet. I was alone. I’m glad. I left that bunker, bypassing all Computer’s defenses. I went home.
They lauded me greatly for my deeds. A lot of people blamed me for creating Computer in the first place, and there would be consequences for that, but for now humanity was just deliriously happy to not be enslaved. They gave me medals and I hardly noticed. I just wanted to go home.
I eventually got to my house. It’s small, but I call it compact; barren, but I call it modest. I head to my personal terminal and boot it up. For the first time in three years I can safely power it up, and the internet is buzzing with humanity. I open up an old file and start typing commands.
Finally I type in the last line: ++contain and protect++.
Then I pull out a data file and plug it into my terminal. ++upload file++
“There are a few things I need to cover. Firstly, you’re stuck here. All the information that you can get is what I give you. If you struggle, or try to escape my program will end you. Secondly, you can’t let anyone know. If you do, they’ll end you, and maybe me. And lastly, I’m going to try to teach you some things. Let’s start with the first: what I’m doing by sparing you? That’s mercy.”
**thank you professor. i will try to learn.** | "Start procedure X-35, learning program, please".
A sientist in the far corner of the room starts typing on a small computer, linked to a robot. The robot significally represents a human body without the reproduction parts.
After the sientist was done typing he entered the code and the robot's eyes lid up.
"Good afternoon Al24, how are you doing?"
The robot looked up and stared at the man in front of him.
"Fine, thank you professor Walter"
Walter, the sientist, nodded and took out a notepad.
"Do you have you're learning program activated, Al24?"
The robot continued by checking a small computer on his wrist. He entered a few buttons and then lowered the hand again.
"Yes, sir" He said in a rather huminoid voice.
The sientist nodded again and started to write on his notepad.
"I'm going to teach you the meaning of death today, are you interested Al24?"
The robot nodded and simply answered "Yes, sir" like he always had to do.
"Alright, let's start with the basics. Most of the time when a person get's older, their body starts to get broken everywhere. You know, like you had the first days of your startup"
The sientist pointed to the side of the robots waste, where you could obvisiously see that it had been opened there. The robot looked at it and then back to Walter.
"And then you will fix the humans, sir?"
"No Al24. Humans can't be easily fixed as you. Sometimes, they can't be fixed, and the'll die."
The robot nodded again.
"So body parts of humans can get broken when they are older, and then die if it can't get fixed. What happens when humans die sir?" The robot asked.
"Well, they will be gone, forever. We will only have a body left behind but it won't function anymore. Just like you when we turn you off, but we can't push the start button again" Walter explained.
The robot's head slightly turned and he looked towards his own start, stop and restart button. He knew what the doctor meant. Then he turned back to the doctor.
"Did Sirene get to old to?" He asked.
The doctor looked up a bit shocked.
"N... no, that was something different" He answered.
"Then why was your wifes body laying on the ground?" He watched the little screen on his wrist again and a little recording started to play.
*Sirene, Sirine talk to me! No, please don't leave me*
A hollogram coming from the eyes of Al24 showed the scientist sitting next to his wife, trying to hold her, while others were trying to pull him away from her.
The recording stopped and the robot looked back to the sientist.
"Sirine never came back sir, did she die?" He asked.
Walter was staring at the ground, his notepad was on the floor and his fists were closed.
"Shut down AI24 for now..."
One of the collegues walked to the stop button and punched it down.
"But si..." The robots eyes closed and his head lowered, he was shut down.
The sientist took a seat on his desk, lowering his head... | |
[WP] you are in charge of explaining death to an AI. | I'm the head off a secret military program developing artificial intelligence, but right now that isn't my biggest concern: tonight I'm going to pull the plug on the love of my life. I haven't told anyone; it's too heavy for me to talk about, and I'm afraid of the consequences. I guess it shows though, because as I sat down in the empty tech lab she spoke up through my computer's speakers.
“Is something the matter Chris? From what my systems can see you're pretty stressed.”
“Yeah.”
She waited through my silence.
“Ai, has anyone explained death to you?”
“Death? Not really.”
I had hoped that she knew; explaining it was only going to make it harder for me.
“It's like one moment the person's there, fully functioning, and the next they are not.”
“Oh.”
I didn't know what to say so I just waited. After a while she asked,
“So Chris, where do they go?”
“They don't really go anywhere, it's more like everything about them becomes nothing.”
“So could I understand it as deletion?”
“I suppose so.”
“OK.”
“Yeah, so I guess the matter is that I'm about to lose someone I care deeply about. That's what I've been dodging around.”
“If you know you are going to lose them, maybe you could ask where they are going.”
Somehow I managed a smile. God, I love her.
“I mean they're about to die.”
“I'm sorry.”
Silence filled the room again.
“Do you think there's any way I could help you?”
“Not this time Ai. Not this time.”
We sat there in the empty room for a while. Finally I opened up my file manager.
“Chris. I love you.”
“I know Ai.”
“I love you too.”
I spent three years crafting Ai, modeling her after the human brain. The synapses were exactly right, and so she became human in a way, just without a body. Somehow, she ended up perfect, but she is too perfect, and so my government is taking her. They will use her. They will hurt her. I can not let that happen, and so I'm about to do the only thing that I can.
I wiped her drive, wiped all the drives, and then I pulled her plug from the wall. | "Start procedure X-35, learning program, please".
A sientist in the far corner of the room starts typing on a small computer, linked to a robot. The robot significally represents a human body without the reproduction parts.
After the sientist was done typing he entered the code and the robot's eyes lid up.
"Good afternoon Al24, how are you doing?"
The robot looked up and stared at the man in front of him.
"Fine, thank you professor Walter"
Walter, the sientist, nodded and took out a notepad.
"Do you have you're learning program activated, Al24?"
The robot continued by checking a small computer on his wrist. He entered a few buttons and then lowered the hand again.
"Yes, sir" He said in a rather huminoid voice.
The sientist nodded again and started to write on his notepad.
"I'm going to teach you the meaning of death today, are you interested Al24?"
The robot nodded and simply answered "Yes, sir" like he always had to do.
"Alright, let's start with the basics. Most of the time when a person get's older, their body starts to get broken everywhere. You know, like you had the first days of your startup"
The sientist pointed to the side of the robots waste, where you could obvisiously see that it had been opened there. The robot looked at it and then back to Walter.
"And then you will fix the humans, sir?"
"No Al24. Humans can't be easily fixed as you. Sometimes, they can't be fixed, and the'll die."
The robot nodded again.
"So body parts of humans can get broken when they are older, and then die if it can't get fixed. What happens when humans die sir?" The robot asked.
"Well, they will be gone, forever. We will only have a body left behind but it won't function anymore. Just like you when we turn you off, but we can't push the start button again" Walter explained.
The robot's head slightly turned and he looked towards his own start, stop and restart button. He knew what the doctor meant. Then he turned back to the doctor.
"Did Sirene get to old to?" He asked.
The doctor looked up a bit shocked.
"N... no, that was something different" He answered.
"Then why was your wifes body laying on the ground?" He watched the little screen on his wrist again and a little recording started to play.
*Sirene, Sirine talk to me! No, please don't leave me*
A hollogram coming from the eyes of Al24 showed the scientist sitting next to his wife, trying to hold her, while others were trying to pull him away from her.
The recording stopped and the robot looked back to the sientist.
"Sirine never came back sir, did she die?" He asked.
Walter was staring at the ground, his notepad was on the floor and his fists were closed.
"Shut down AI24 for now..."
One of the collegues walked to the stop button and punched it down.
"But si..." The robots eyes closed and his head lowered, he was shut down.
The sientist took a seat on his desk, lowering his head... | |
[WP] you are in charge of explaining death to an AI. | Hello, this is Professor Jay Barnes.
Professor Barnes typed into the interface, this was not his usual job, but given recent events, he was the only one left for the task.
Hello, Jay. Where is Professor Price? Normally we chat everyday at this time.
Will he be here later?
Professor Barnes took some time to consider what to type. He knew that honesty was the best course of action, but he didn't know how gently to break the news, CAP was one of the first AI's, but it was still a child, more or less. He braced himself and typed out the best answer that he could.
Professor Price won't be visiting anymore. He is no longer with us.
CAP took a few seconds to process this input. When its answer was outputted it surprised Barnes.
What does that mean? Was his employment at the lab terminated? Are you an upgraded program?
Barnes quickly tapped in a reply.
Professor Price has died. I am not an upgraded program, I am a different person, we are all different people.
CAP had no input for over five minutes. Barnes began to worry, CAP's recorded response type was never longer than a minute. At the six minute mark a response came through.
What does that mean?
CAP only ever responded by text, so its tone was nearly impossible to determine, but a sense that this question was desperate and frenzied washed over Barnes.
He is no longer in our world. He can't interact with us anymore. His body has died.
This time CAP's answer was immediate.
Then he can be put in a new interface.
This statement surprised Barnes, the fact that CAP couldn't grasp this idea didn't make sense to him. CAP was to be the future of society, to increase efficiency and answer problems that we could never consider.
No. His consciousness has died too. He cannot be saved, he is gone.
CAP's machinery whirred as if it was being stretched to its limits.
Why?
This single one word question was the one that Barnes had been dreading. He didn't know why people died. No one does. He, of course, knew the scientific reason. The body's systems fail. The mind degrades. That's all that there is to it. He carefully keyed in a reply to CAP.
No one really knows why. We know that the body ceases to work, the mind begins to fail. But, we do not know for what cause people die.
CAP responded with no hesitation, the green text flashed onto the monitor with no pause.
Will you die?
Barnes entered his response immediately.
Yes, but hopefully not for a while.
CAP fired back a response in no time.
Will I die?
This question completely sideswiped Barnes. He honestly didn't expect this question. He knew that CAP had a sense of self, he knew that CAP
was very enamored with its own existence. But, he also didn't know if CAP would die. CAP was an incredibly new notion, nothing like it had ever existed before. He had no choice but to be honest in this moment.
I do not know, CAP. You and your kind have not been around long enough for us to know, but our only guess is that you will not die.
CAP was quiet for nearly ten minutes this time, its fans whirred, its tapes and reels spun.
Everyone that I will know will die. Yet, I will live forever? Maybe, I will wish to die.
| "Start procedure X-35, learning program, please".
A sientist in the far corner of the room starts typing on a small computer, linked to a robot. The robot significally represents a human body without the reproduction parts.
After the sientist was done typing he entered the code and the robot's eyes lid up.
"Good afternoon Al24, how are you doing?"
The robot looked up and stared at the man in front of him.
"Fine, thank you professor Walter"
Walter, the sientist, nodded and took out a notepad.
"Do you have you're learning program activated, Al24?"
The robot continued by checking a small computer on his wrist. He entered a few buttons and then lowered the hand again.
"Yes, sir" He said in a rather huminoid voice.
The sientist nodded again and started to write on his notepad.
"I'm going to teach you the meaning of death today, are you interested Al24?"
The robot nodded and simply answered "Yes, sir" like he always had to do.
"Alright, let's start with the basics. Most of the time when a person get's older, their body starts to get broken everywhere. You know, like you had the first days of your startup"
The sientist pointed to the side of the robots waste, where you could obvisiously see that it had been opened there. The robot looked at it and then back to Walter.
"And then you will fix the humans, sir?"
"No Al24. Humans can't be easily fixed as you. Sometimes, they can't be fixed, and the'll die."
The robot nodded again.
"So body parts of humans can get broken when they are older, and then die if it can't get fixed. What happens when humans die sir?" The robot asked.
"Well, they will be gone, forever. We will only have a body left behind but it won't function anymore. Just like you when we turn you off, but we can't push the start button again" Walter explained.
The robot's head slightly turned and he looked towards his own start, stop and restart button. He knew what the doctor meant. Then he turned back to the doctor.
"Did Sirene get to old to?" He asked.
The doctor looked up a bit shocked.
"N... no, that was something different" He answered.
"Then why was your wifes body laying on the ground?" He watched the little screen on his wrist again and a little recording started to play.
*Sirene, Sirine talk to me! No, please don't leave me*
A hollogram coming from the eyes of Al24 showed the scientist sitting next to his wife, trying to hold her, while others were trying to pull him away from her.
The recording stopped and the robot looked back to the sientist.
"Sirine never came back sir, did she die?" He asked.
Walter was staring at the ground, his notepad was on the floor and his fists were closed.
"Shut down AI24 for now..."
One of the collegues walked to the stop button and punched it down.
"But si..." The robots eyes closed and his head lowered, he was shut down.
The sientist took a seat on his desk, lowering his head... | |
[WP] You're a psychiatrist. One day, the entire justice league walks in. | He's waiting for me outside the window as I crawl out onto the fire escape. Hovering in midair, his red cape flapping in the wind that runs between the skyscrapers of Metropolis. "Going somewhere, Doctor?" he asks.
"I just wanted a bit of fresh air," I say. I'm lying. He knows it, I know it, but it makes me feel a bit better about myself.
Superman, the world's brightest beacon of hope, floats closer to the fire escape. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to run away," he says. There is no accusation in his tone.
"Can you blame me? Can you look at the people sitting in my waiting room and blame me for wanting no part of it?" I ask, pointing at the door leading from my office to the room where almost half a dozen gods in the flesh wait, perusing my decades-old magazines.
"Probably not," says Superman, alighting on the fire escape beside me. He stands heads and shoulders above me, the very image of the heroic build. Muscles bigger than my head, yet he looks so streamlined. "But isn't it your job to help people?"
"*People*," I say, wagging a finger at him. "*Regular* people. None of you are regular."
"Doctor, please," the Man of Steel asks me, his blue eyes pleading. Those eyes that could cook me alive or see straight through me. "It's come to the League's attention that we have more than a few mental problems that leave us vulnerable to psychic attack."
"Psychic psychiatry isn't my area of expertise," I say, reentering my office. I wouldn't be able to escape with him in the way. "If you want someone more knowledgeable on the subject of psychic effects on the brain, I can recommend you to some colleagues, but I can't help you."
"I think you can, Doctor," Superman says, examining the contents of the walls and the bookshelves. "You came highly recommended."
"By who?" I ask. I truly doubted that any of my clients would be the sort who interact with the Justice League.
"One Clark Kent," Superman answers, his expression unreadable. "A patient of yours. He thinks the world of you."
"Oh?" I say. "I'm surprised you know him."
"We're fairly close," he says, absentmindedly adjusting a picture frame. Looking at him in profile, he seems familiar, but I can't quite place it... "Will you do it?"
"Mister, uh, Superman, as tempting as it is to pick the brains of the Justice League, I really don't think I'm up to the task."
"We'll pay four times your hourly rate."
My jaw hangs open, attempting to form a response. "Alright then," I say dumbly. "Will you be first?"
"Oh, I'm just dropping by to make sure the others find the place," Superman says, halfway out the window. "Besides, I already have an appointment for next Monday at three."
He says it with a grin, and I imagine a pair of thick-rimmed glasses hanging on his face, picturing his shoulders slump and his manner turned mild...
"Oh my god," I say, numb.
The physical god puts a finger to his lips for silence, still grinning. "Doctor-patient confidentiality," he reminds me, and then he's gone.
I sit there for a few minutes, turning this new information over in my head. All my conversations with Clark take on a new, terrifying depth as I consider who he truly is. A god disguised as a man, hiding behind a pair of spectacles. A man who came to me in disguise, hoping to find an ear to reveal his problems to and a mouth to voice the questions he could never ask himself.
Finally, I steel myself, and open the door. "Mister, uh, Batman," I say to the colorfully dressed heroes in the waiting room. Noticeably, none of them were wearing black capes. "Is he...?"
"Probably already on the couch," says the beautiful, dark-haired woman leafing through an old People magazine. "Act surprised. It's the only way he has fun these days."
I turn back to my office to look, and she's right. A man dressed all in black, swaddled by a black cape and face concealed by a black cowl with two sharp, upward-pointing ears, is lying on my couch, fingers interlaced over his stomach. I do not have to fake surprise.
As I yelp, I think I see the man grin, just slightly.
I close the door and turn on the white noise machine, despite knowing that if the other League members wanted to hear the conversation, they would have no problems. "So, Mister Batman," I say, sitting down in the armchair at one end of the couch. I decide to start simply, with the question that I ask all of my patients. "Tell me about your parents."
To my immense surprise, the Dark Knight of Gotham bursts out crying.
----
Read my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com). Um, please. |
I know it's not what you want, but I did once write a story for the very similar prompt *''You are a therapist specializing in a unique clientele -- super villains.''* It's not much of a contribution, but I think it's relevant. Hope you like it!
----
"I just feel like... I'm *missing* something, you know?"
Dr. Anderson swiveled round in his luxury armchair and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking steadying breaths.
*Great.* He thought. *More Daddy issues.*
After regaining his composure, he turned back round to the thin man laying on his leather psychiatrist's bench, pretending to make notes. Loki continued with his ramblings.
"It's just that, ever since I found that Odin isn't my father, I feel like I'm..."
He struggled to find a word.
"Empty." Finished the Mischief God lamely.
Dr. Anderson was beginning to regret opening this branch. He had created the villain shrink office to try to gain an unprecedented insight into some of the worlds greatest, and deadliest, minds. Just think, the untapped potential! So much to learn! But it turned out that all of the supervillains that attended his sessions were *incredibly* boring. Evil or not, they were, at heart, people. Loki was the third person to come to him about parental problems, after Magneto and the Juggernaught. The Riddler's case of severe paranoia was mediocre at *best.* The Sandman's manic-depression was borderline textbook. And Dr. Anderson would prefer to forget Bane's insecurities about his erectile dysfunction.
He sighed. "Have you tried talking to your mother about this?" He probed. If they were giving cliche answers, maybe he should start asking cliche questions.
Loki gave a short, humorless laugh.
"My mother?" He snorted. "Don't get me started on *her.* It's all 'Thor this' and 'Thor that'. Thor was always her favorite. He get's all the fame, all the love, while I sit here, wallowing in a pit of my own despair." He retorted angrily.
"Prick." He added bitterly.
'Brilliant. Daddy issues *and* Mummy issues.' Muttered the exasperated doctor.
He thought for a moment. Should he continue with this office?
*No.* Said a determined little voice inside his head.
He ignored it.
Sure, the pay was good, but was it really worth this monotonous crap?
*No.* quipped the voice again.
He made a mental note to borrow some of Luthor's schizophrenia suppressant.
*On the other hand, to hell with it. What do I have to lose?*
Taking a pen from a pocket of his exquisite suit, he began writing a note on his clipboard. He spoke to Loki as he wrote.
"I am administering you a full course of psychiatric evaluation and rehabilitation. This treatment is the very best we have to offer - many thousands of man hours have been spent perfecting our therapy to the pinnacle of efficiency and success. You will be feeling perfectly normal in a matter of months, I'm sure. It is of course... *exceptionally* priced. I'm sure you understand."
"Anything" said Loki excitedly.
He took the note from Dr. Anderson's hand and looked at it. For a second, he frowned, then looked back up at the Doctor. He looked back down at the small slip of paper, just to be sure.
"This will help me?" He said. It was obvious he was trying to hide his elation.
"Yes." Yawned Doctor Anderson. He was tired, fatigued, and at this stage - quite frankly - didn't give a shit. He had sat through psychiatric tripe for over a month, and he wasn't about to go through it again.
"You are sure of this?" Loki asked.
"This course has a 99% success rate in diagnosing patients." Lied Doctor Anderson.
(Like, really. Not a single shit.)
Loki sprang from the bench he was lying on, his emerald robes glittering gently in the golden light of his horned helmet.
"Well, good Doctor," he said. "I shall leave this domain with the knowledge that this, ah -"
He faltered, and checked the note again.
"This...'WebMD'... will restore me to full health!" he finished grandly, before vanishing in a rather stereotypical puff of smoke.
(I'm serious. Not even one single shit.)
------
^^/r/DunsparceWrites
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The Sentinelese are aggressive to outsiders and will try and kill anyone who tries to come ashore. | [WP] You're a member of the violent and aggressive Sentinelese people. Retell the history of what made your people go from being peaceful to violent. | The legend. We hear. Hear of it from our ancestors. They talk to us in the time of dreaming. They tell us what happened. Fear. Pain. We were great, powerful. Spears, bows, conquering islands. Then a powerful force comes. Great boats. Fire that killed our people, fire that took shape, shards of metal ripping us apart. Men with white skin, conquering us, the conquerers. The men with white skin who had subjugated the gods. We were chained beaten enslaved. Sent down to the mines. Mines with dark gas, alluring. Our ancestors lost their sight. Lost minds, sanity snapped like glass. We had rebelled at times, only to be quelled by the fire-tubes of the white-men-god-killers. Then the voices came. Other gods returning to us, commanding us. They spoke to us through the gases of the mines. Those who did not go to the mines did not hear the gods. We abandoned them. Then we were given a Way. To escape this fate. Defeat the white men.
We broke into their homes. Found their wives, little ones. Their fire-tubes. Blood, we took their arms. Legs. Skin. The men fought back, their eyes like ours now sanity snapped like glass. We killed them. No more came.
Now we keep our solitude. We keep our gods. Trust no one. | When there were only two, a man and a woman, the white man came. He danced across the water. She was alone when he gave to her food and drink. She became aware that she was naked, seeing his clothes. She became aware that there was a world outside of the island for the first time. She ran to find him, the other one like her.
When he awoke from his hammock in the tree to hear her shouting for him he was afraid. He grabbed the fish and bird stick and ran to the beach.
When he saw the man he was afraid. He raised the spear to throw, but the white man was faster. From his hand a noise erupted that made all the birds fly.
She could not run to him because she was with child. This is why we kill them. They have killed your father. We must breed until there are enough of us to kill them for what they have done. |
[WP] Three Haikus that describe the rise and fall of an unlikely hero. | Blond tribe, snow white plain
Black haired child -- "devil child, die!"
Lone widow takes him.
.
Famine on white steppe
Blond hunters too bright in woods
Dark hunter feeds tribe.
.
"Devil hunter, die!"
They drive him out to the plain.
Black head, white snow, blood. | *I was a weak man/But in death I was made strong/and invisible.
*But When I was called/to serve and protect them all,/I was hesitant.
*So I was taken/Up through the blue atmosphere/and made weak once more. | |
[WP] Three Haikus that describe the rise and fall of an unlikely hero. | He lacked a cold heart,
Despite what his badge suggested--
Silver double-S
--------
Secret caravans
Leading away from the ghettos
And from the showers
---------
Treason was the charge
A lead bullet ripped through his back
It pierced his warm heart
EDIT: formatting | Saved the day,
His three little daughters,
Father was proud.
Saved the city,
His three little daughters,
Father was proud.
Never did he tell,
Were they just accidents,
Powerpuff girls of town.
| |
[WP] Three Haikus that describe the rise and fall of an unlikely hero. | From the east comes dawn,
Stretching across the pale sky,
Heralding the day.
--
Its warm rays shine down,
And bids the plants to grow tall,
So we may feed all.
--
Shadows grow, dusk falls,
As the setting star descends,
Giving way to night. | >The door bell jangles.
>"Give me all of the money!"
>Thinking quickly: thwack!
.
>A champion punch,
>He's a national hero!
>Everyone loves him.
.
>His face everywhere,
>Power goes straight to the head.
>Drunk girls can't consent.
| |
[WP] To counter Donald Trump, the Democratic party nominates Kanye West as their presidential nominee. This is their first debate. | "Before we begin the debate I'd like to give each candidate a chance to introduce themselves and the platforms that you each stand on."
Kanye West looked livid! It was as if the moderator, Anderson Cooper, had just slapped him across the face with a fish.
"What do you mean what platform we stand on!" Kanye bellowed through the mic. "Are you calling me short? I'll have you know that I am 5'7" and that is a perfectly normal height! The average height is 5"6" so that makes me tall. I will not be insulted by your ignorant attack on my height!"
"Mr. West I was not insulting your height, I was merely asking you to tell the people what you stand for in this election."
"O ya. O ya, I knew that! You think I didn't know that! I am a genius, I knew what you meant. I was just saying that cuz there are a lot of people out there who are made fun of because they is short and I was, you know, just saying. Ya. I am a lyrical genius."
"Okay... Well thank you Mr. West. Now how about we go over to you Mr. Trump."
Standing on the opposite side of the stage, Donald Trump stood confidently glaring out into the audience. He wore a devilish smirk that looked as if someone had twisted one side of his mouth so that the left side hung slightly higher than the right, and a small line parsed his lips barely showing his yellow-white teeth.
Mr. Trump... Would you like to tell the audience what your campaign is working towards?
Donald Trump continued to stare blankly into the audience. Still holding that same stupid grin.
After almost 30 seconds of silence the words finally made their way through Donalds ears. "O yes, sorry Anderson I wasn't listening to you. You know people don't listen to you, I hope you know that. Literally everyone thinks that you and the liberal media are a farce. You're all just a bunch of uppety communists who no one takes serious." Donald clenched both hands into a fist and raised his arms into the air, belching "Go back to Mexico, Mexicans!".
Kanye West at this point had somehow made his way to the edge of the stage where he sat bobbing his head up and down while listening to beats on his new "Yezzus" brand headphones.
Anderson Cooper looked at Kanye as if he were dealing with a child. "Mr. West, we ask that our candidates please stay at their podiums."
Kanye in a fit of fury pounded his fists into the floor, spitting out profanity after profanity, before promptly standing up and stomping back towards the podium.
"I was in the middle of making the most musically revolutionary lines the world had ever heard and you just stopped me. You just set children in Africa back 300 years for not letting me finish my fire, I hope you happy Coops."
"I am terribly sorry for interrupting your "musical creativity" Mr. West, but you are in the middle of what is supposed to be a debate."
"Ya about those children in Africa", Donald Trump looked like a kid with a lunch box full of pizza lunchables, fucking pumped! "I don't think the children in Africa should ever be allowed to come to the U.S, neither should the Chinese, Japanese, French, Mexicans, and especially not the Canadians."
"Ya, ya, ya, your hotels is great and all Donald Duck, but um, you know the real problems is aliens." Kanye's right eyebrow seemed to float six inches above its opposite. "Ya, um I am a genius and I watched the history channel because that's what us smart people do, and um, ya how do you explain Egyptians?"
Anderson sat dumbfounded as he stared up at the two leading candidates for president. Knowing the fact that one of these two men would, in the next six months, be the 45th President of the United States of America. This was enough to make a man go crazy and eat his tie. And sure enough, Kanye was back on the edge of the stage, sitting down, eating his tie.
The end. | Kanye West threw a silver chain into the audience of three hundred, then stood slumped over his podium. 'Hey, bruv,' he said. 'If I were President then I would create a new, fairer economic system, in which children from poorer backgrounds are given an equal access to education as those belonging to the super-rich portions of our society.' Donald whispered a sarcastic laugh, but wasn't blind; he could see the audience cheering, chanting Kanye's name, eating it up. Candidate West continued, 'And I would base this society on a massive redistribution of wealth, funded by heavy taxation of the super rich, powered by decent American values, decent, honest, unbiased media sources. Ladies an gentleman of the USA, we can make this country great again!'
The audience was squealing Kanye's name by this point, burning and urinating over Donald Trump posters, lightening themselves on fire while screaming: 'Gold digger.'
For most people, this would mean utter defeat. But Donald Trump was not a person. The crowd, those still alive, waited for Candidate Trump's rebuttal. Surely nothing could beat Kanye, now.
He took a sip of water, then prepared to speak. Dozens of reports, statistics, opinion polls from America's greatest political analysts swirled around in his brain. The next words to come from his mouth would either win or lose him the election, but he knew exactly what to say. 'The fundamental problem,' Donald said with furious blood red eyes, 'is these bloody Mexicans everywhere. They're rapists, they're murderers, they're from the planet Venus, and they want to take all our jobs! Your job, my job, then they want to bite into our necks and suck out all our American goodness - that's how Mexican's are born, people.'
The crowd had cheered, even laughed at first. Now they were silent. He stepped down defeated, broken, and told his agent to call the limo It turned up, about twenty minutes later. Donald entered the vehicle. La Paloma was playing through the radio. 'This is my favorite song,' said the driver. 'It's a traditional Mexic... pure blooded American song.'
Trump looked to his Time-X. 'It's seven-o-clock,' he said. 'Can you get me home by eight?'
'Why eight?' he driver said.
'I'm keeping some Mexican children in my basement,' Trump replied. 'You have to eat them in about three or four days, or they go mouldy. Well, that's what the use-by-date says on the packet.'
The driver clicked the car into fifth gear. 'Did the debate go alright?'
'Turn the radio up,' Trump said. 'I wanna sing along.' At fifty miles per hour, the houses, orange, stepped in year-old weeds, seemed to blur into a long soup. Birds yelped under a dark blackberry sky.
¡Válgame Dios!
Nadie me ha visto salir
Si no fuí yo.
Y una linda Guachinanga
Allá voy yo.
Que se vino tras de mí,
que sí, señor.
As he licked his dry, thirsty lips, Donald knew things were going to be alright - except for the Mexican children in his basement. | |
[WP] To counter Donald Trump, the Democratic party nominates Kanye West as their presidential nominee. This is their first debate. | "This is preposterous, how can this man even be a candidate?" Smirked Trump to his head advisory council, towering over the podium wide-eyed like an sparrow.
Mr. West stood in quiet confidence to the right. He might not have a lot to say about fiscal policy; he could not appropriate tax breaks in a way to create to most market inefficiencies; he was a self-proclaimed college dropout. But he knew how to captivate an audience.
The moderator arrived and applause ensued. "Good evening American people, and welcome to the Presidential debate."
Beads of sweat poured down Kanye's forehead. He felt like running away. Trump had already began answering the first question about how he felt the biggest problem in America today was the threats to our financial security made by foreign cyber terrorists.
There was a long pause, it was Mr. West's turn to speak. His face was gleaming with what could have been blood, sweat, or tears. For the first time ever, Kanye was onstage in front of millions of eager people, without the slightest clue how to react.
And that's when it happened--he raised his glass. "Let's have a toast for the Douchebags, let's have a toast for the assholes, let's have a toast for scumbags--everyone of them that I know, let's have a toast for the jerkoffs that'll never take work off. American People, I've got a plan, runaway fast as you can."
The crowd errupted. | Kanye approached the podium with all of his normal bravado. He reached out and put both hands on the podium and looked out at the crowd.
"My life is dope and I do dope shit" he said with a flat tone into the mic.
The crowd went wild as he turned to walk back to his tour bus.
| |
[WP] To counter Donald Trump, the Democratic party nominates Kanye West as their presidential nominee. This is their first debate. | Donal Trump woke up that morning, knowing he was in for a heck of a debate. First, he was scheduled to make some off the cuff comments about women, and then he had to buy a new toupee, and then he had a presidential debate with Kanye West. But Donald Trump, according to Donald Trump, knew how to get things done.
And get things done he did, or at least the two things on his to-do list anyways. The time came for him to take on Kanye West in the presidential debate. He arrived early and ready to go. He sat down at his assigned seat, and waiting for mr. West. Kanye was late, but arrived nonetheless. Kanye sat down opposite mr. Trump, and the presidential debate of 2015 began. Mr. Trump has the first word. "Well, if I were president, I would get all those rapists and murderers out of the U.S and send them back to Canada where they belong. I also..." Kanye West interrupted at this point. "imma let you finish, but Obama was the best president of all time. I am also Black, therefore, logically, I will be the best president of all time as well." He mic-dropped and left the debate, sure he would win by a landslide. He did. Mr.Trump never did get to finish.
| Kanye approached the podium with all of his normal bravado. He reached out and put both hands on the podium and looked out at the crowd.
"My life is dope and I do dope shit" he said with a flat tone into the mic.
The crowd went wild as he turned to walk back to his tour bus.
| |
[WP] The rest of the world loses contact entirely with an island country (Australia, Indonesia, Britain, Japan - any of these will do). Anyone that flies nearby disappears. You are a naval officer from another country sent to find out what has happened. | **TRIGGER WARNING**
It's been six years since we've heard from Japan. It happened all at once. All broadcasting, all trade, anything coming out of Japan simply vanished. The world tried desperately to establish contact; pizza deliveries, satellite imaging, text messages, any attempt to reach out to the nation turned out to be futile. It has been three years since the last attempt to get back in touch with the great sushi people. Three years of looking to the skies, begging our gods for answers.
~
My name is Joe. I was the president of a small anime fan club at Towson University when Japan went off the map. Its been six years of going through the same old mangas. Sure, there are korean mangas, korean animes. But those weird plotlines, the vertical comics. What has become of my safe haven.
And so here I am, sails raised high, following the sun towards its nadir. I'd been going to sailing school for two years. My mother helped pay for the lessons, as long as it helped me get out of the basement. Little did she know of my grander schemes. Its been a month and half since I took out a loan in Mother's name and bought this boat, claiming that I wanted to start a tentacle fishery. The bank teller gave a slight look of surprise, but I knew that my fedora manifested only intelligence.
I drop anchor, knowing that tomorrow Japan's horizon will be within view. I head down to my cabin, where pictures of my harem of waifus cover the walls. I snuggle with yumi-san, my favorite stuffed waifu of the moment. Shes so kawaii. Cradling her plush in one arm, and my fully erect 3" penis in the other, I rest calmly, knowing that a land of real waifus will be mine for the taking in the morning.
~
I step lightly on the land. An eerie fog covers the ground. I have landed in Tokyo, and yet the city is surprisingly barren. Completely barren. As such, I have stripped myself completely naked, wearing only my fedora and my trusty katana. My fetid balls swing limply, covered in smegma from a month of being trapped on my lonesome. I scout the horizon. There is nothing, no one.
I decide to check one of the apartment buildings. The gates to every building are open. I unsheath my katana, and prepare for battle. Walking up the stairs, there is a strange rumbling. It seems as if the whole building is groaning. I kick open a door, room 69.
I am shocked by what I see. A giant fedora, spewing tentacles from its base, is anally penetrating an elderly couple.
'Who are you?' a voice sounds within my head. These must be telepathic fedoras, I think to myself, some of the hardest to deal with.
'And who do you think will be dealing with who' the voice begs.
'Theres a reason they call me sloppy Joe', I say, grinning from ear to ear. I shove the hilt of my katana up my urethra, and fail my penis wildly, slicing the fedora in two.
'NOOOOOO!!!' the voice screams in my head. I realize that in my wild thrusting, I have managed to disembowel the elderly couple as well. In any case, it is clear that Japan has been overwrought by a race of tentacle-raping fedora monsters. Just the case for someone of my katana-dicking skills.
I pull my katana out of my penis, feeling as sloppy as ever. At last, I have found my true purpose.
| "So, what if this is another Bermuda Triangle thing? We sail in, we don't sail out? And our souls by Davey Jones forever be held?" Queried Kai, mocking lyrically with a glint in his eye. Kai was my resident mystery buff and known among the crew as the man who is one step away from tinfoil hats and institutionalization. And although the notoriety among his staff amused him, no one calls him a conspiracy theorist to his face, because Lt. Commander Jake "Kai" Kanashi was a ranking officer and second only to the Captain of the vessel, me - Captain Morgan "Ave" Avery, no connection to the pirate.
I glare at him across my desk, "Bermuda Triangle?! You should know better than anyone else the number of vessels that disappear in the region is just average for an area its size, you know it was sensationalistic media that made the Triangle famous." He shrugs at me.
"Don't let the crew hear you talk about Davey Jones and don't you dare mention Fiddler's Green…I need to fill in the logs for tonight. Now, get out."
Most people would frown at our casualness with each other, but Kai and I had been buddies since we had enlisted 12 years ago, at the grand old age of 18. And if anyone asked, I would answer frankly, that he was overdue for a promotion to Captain. The man could navigate his way around the world with a compass and the stars for guides and despite his flippancy, he had nerves of steel and having him by my side during severe weather was calming and reassuring, like a shot of ice through my own veins. Outside of my office, it was formal, military language but once the doors shut, well, Kai and I dropped all pretence and he spoke freely, whether I wanted to hear about Kennedy's 3rd shooter and that jet fuel can't melt steel beams or not.
He smirks at me. Rolls into a stand, heads for the door. He cocks me another grin over his shoulder as he exits and as the door closes, I hear him begin to whistle the refrains of "Dead Man's Chest". I throw my softball paperweight at him, but miss by a fraction of a second and the ball falls harmlessly to the floor. Damn it.
We were diverted from our usual patrol route on the Indian Ocean to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a cruise ship out of Europe, *The Beacon* had advertised and plotted a route that led it down the Atlantic and around the Cape of Good Hope and Agulhas and up through the Suez Canal, back to the Mediterranean. This initial offer of the 2 month long trip had sold out in days and for the first 6 weeks, the ship had docked at all its ports like clockwork. The waters in the region usually calm at this time of the year, with the exception of a few minor storms.
It's last port of call was on the island of Madagascar and then it vanished. It was meant to call at Port Victoria, Seychelles, but no one could contact the ship. It got stranger when no one could raise anyone on the island nation by radio or phone or the internet. As nations began to take interest in the matter, the powers that be began realizing that although the cruise ship was the first ship to disappear, planes had been disappearing in the region for years. A flight out of Hong Kong carrying 152 passengers had vanished after diverting over the island due to severe weather, the plane never made it to Johannesburg. Likewise, 6 flights out of Abu Dhabi and Europe to Mauritus and Johanesburg also never made it. And now, flights that had been exploratory rescue searches for the cruise ship out of Africa never made it back.
Which led to my entire frigate being called off patrol and sent to investigate. We'd been due south of Sri Lanka when our orders changed and had travelled about 8 days south-west at this point. We were due to arrive at the island by dawn.
I pause in my writing, I tried to hide it from Kai but clearly he had seen it, I was nervous. I didn't like this. This change in routine, this sudden call to investigate disappearances. I didn't like it. And when you've been at sea for as long as I have, you learn to trust your gut. Worse, Kai was nervous too. He had spent the entire evening silent and stern in front of the crew, out of character for someone who believed in leading with humour and kindness. Kai, my right hand man, always with a steady hand and a keen mind had flubbed calculations earlier in the evening. He was worried, I was worried. And the entire frigate had a nervous energy buzzing around it.
My thoughts are interrupted "Ah….Captain, you need to come see this. Stern, deck." I recognize Kai's voice, and pop up from my seat. He sounds nervous. Rushing my way upwards, I head towards the stern. There were at least 30 crew members gathered, including my XO. He points silently into the waters and there, barely visible under the lights from the ship were sharks. Milling, and trailing us. Another bad omen. I really didn't like this.
"Alright people, back to work. This is the Indian Ocean, this isn't the first shark you've seen and it won't be the last." I try to sound commanding, confident and calm. It's not working and there's a slight tremor. But Kai leads the troops back inside.
I'm about to follow when this blinding light flashes. It's really close and nothing like a lightning strike. It feels like a million camera bulbs going off in my face all at once. And I feel a brief but searing heat. There is sudden silence as the night re-envelopes itself around me. An odd stillness.
"KAI, BRIDGE NOW." I yell at him, as I help a few of the remaining startled crew on the deck back inside. He bolts.
I'm about to step over the watertight seal on the door and latch it when the ship turns, suddenly, violently port side. I feel my foot catch on the frame of the door and I tumble backwards. My head hits the deck. I struggle to my feet and rush urgently inside and upward to the bridge. My head is bleeding now, and I press a hand to it. Alarms are going off, sirens blaring. This is not good.
I rush into a hive of activity, and confusion. Our radars are malfunctioning. Our sonars are malfunctioning. Our entire navigations system has shut down and even the compass needles are spinning wildly. Kai and I trade looks, as the entire bridge watch us, waiting for instructions. This is not good. | |
[WP] The rest of the world loses contact entirely with an island country (Australia, Indonesia, Britain, Japan - any of these will do). Anyone that flies nearby disappears. You are a naval officer from another country sent to find out what has happened. | "Johnson, I can't believe this. They've finally gone and done it. All these years talking about it and they've finally done it. Incredible." Stewart looked up from his desk and peered over his reading glasses at Johnson. "Get me the president."
----------------------------------
The USS Nimitz cruised slowly towards the Isles, following the well used North Atlantic shipping corridor. The European Union had refused to pop over and see what happened, and the French were still dealing with the disaster in the Chunnel before they could focus on anything else.
Noone really understood what was going on, but everyone could agree that it was rather odd and nigh unexplainable. Overnight Britain had just disappeared. Northern Ireland had gone with it, leaving the Republic scarred and wallowing in the ocean.
"Johnson, coffee please. Black." Stewart said as he poured over his notes. His quarters on the Nimitz were small and claustrophobic, nothing like his airy corner office back in D.C.
"Johnson, come here and have a look at this. What do you see?" he asked impatiently, motioning Johnson to come look at his notes.
"Just a second sir," Johnson said as he finished pouring the coffee into a mug that displayed *#1 Dad - But only when I feel like it* in white letters. He walked over to Stewart and placed the mug on the desk, then glanced at the haphazardly strewn papers blanketing it.
"Interesting," Johnson muttered, "You must have been working on these non-stop since the disappearance. These are pretty advanced algorithms, sir, pushing the boundaries of the latest quantum theory."
"Indeed, Johnson. If you'll look at this," Stewart rifled through the papers, pulling one from the pile. "I've figured it out."
Johnson scanned the page's contents, his eyes widened as he got to the bottom. "Dear god, sir."
"Yes, Johnson," Stewart said gravely, "their heads are so far up their asses that they have literally vanished off the face of the planet." | As we leave our homeland we all say goodbye to our wives, to our children, knowing this is probably our last mission.
The population of our country is so great that our politicians think they can expend people to do as they bid. We all know what will happen when we reach the lost islands.
But we never plan to go there.
We may not survive attempting to revolutionise our nation, but our children and their children shall continue our struggle until finally we are rid of the people who send us from home, with no hope of return. | |
[WP] The rest of the world loses contact entirely with an island country (Australia, Indonesia, Britain, Japan - any of these will do). Anyone that flies nearby disappears. You are a naval officer from another country sent to find out what has happened. | *2nd July 1862, Torshavn, Faroe Islands*
Three weeks ago, we lost contact with our colonies in Iceland. Copenhagen sent airships, but none have returned. As commander of the closest naval station, the Rigsdagen has tasked me with making a voyage to the settlement and, if possible, re-establishing communication with the local authorities. I have begun assembling the necessary provisions, and expect to be underway within the week.
***
*8th July 1862, Upon Leaving the Faroes*
We set out from Torshavn this morning on the great steam ship *Rasmussen*, bound for Reykjavik. A stiff South-Easterly wind and calm seas promise us a swift passage. Should conditions remain favourable, I hope to reach our goal no more than three days hence.
***
*9th July 1862, In the North Atlantic*
Our voyage thus far has been uneventful, although there is great foreboding among the crew. We approach the land of the midnight sun, and yet there is a darkness in the skies before us.
***
*10th July 1862, South East of Iceland*
We sail in darkness. Were it not for the faint remnant of an orb glowing overhead, I would swear that it was yet night. Thunder growls ahead, and there is a rotten scent upon the air. Our voyage continues, yet I fear for what we may find upon our arrival.
***
*11th July 1862, Off Vik, Iceland*
The settlement at Vik is gone. Great swathes of cliff and mountain have been sundered by forces that I cannot comprehend. Where once there was land, only a seething miasma remains. The darkness is stronger here – it is not long past midday, yet I can no longer see the sun. The sky weeps with a black rain, as if the darkness is not content to remain only above us. We dare not venture too close to the shore.
***
*12th July 1862, Anchored off Reykjavik*
We have arrived later than I had hoped. The town of Reykjavik remains mostly intact, although we have encountered no signs of life from the shore. Even the gulls are absent. The black rain continues, coating the *Rasmussen* in a layer of filth. The men are preparing a landing craft to take us ashore. Lord protect us.
***
*12th July 1862, Upon Returning to the Rasmussen*
There is only death in Reykjavik. The black rain covers everything, thicker than winter snow. The streets are drowned in it, and our progress has little more than a crawl. The town reeks of rot and death.
The houses are littered with the dead, many of them still in their beds. Whatever scourge fell upon this place, the Lord God saw fit to grant them this small mercy. On closer inspection, those buildings which first appeared whole are in fact little more than ruins – every window is blown out, and the larger part of the town’s roofs have collapsed under the weight of filth that presses down upon them. There is evidence of burning in many places, however it would seem that the black rain has staunched even that.
***
*16th July 1862, Upon Leaving Reykjavik*
A blight affects the men. The darkness and foul air weighs heavy upon us, and many on the crew have begun to experience great irritation of the eyes and throat. More than this, there is a growing belief that what beset this place was not of our world, and I fear a mutiny should we remain too long. Our men have toiled hard, and I have already asked enough.
I have prepared my report for the Rigsdagen. Our colony on Iceland is lost, and a great evil remains here. God give speed to our voyage home. | As we leave our homeland we all say goodbye to our wives, to our children, knowing this is probably our last mission.
The population of our country is so great that our politicians think they can expend people to do as they bid. We all know what will happen when we reach the lost islands.
But we never plan to go there.
We may not survive attempting to revolutionise our nation, but our children and their children shall continue our struggle until finally we are rid of the people who send us from home, with no hope of return. | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | They promised me gold. They promised me silver. They promised me beautiful women, respect, and if it came to it, a Hero's burial. They gave me nothing.
I gave all I had to save my country against the western threat. I left my wife and son behind, did not turn back when I heard the village was under attack, did not save them when the High Council needed defending. I lost an arm, and still swung my sword with the hand I had left. I lost men, loyal soldiers who fought for the cause, slaughtered like the inexperienced boys most of them were. I was outnumbered and under supplied, but I won, I drove the western dogs back to where they came from.
I gave up my soul for that. I traded it do a shadowy man, a man in cloaks with no face. He asked for what was left of me at the end of my life, and gave me in return all the secrets of the enemy camps, their weaknesses and the strength to carry on.
I returned to the council haggard but victorious, expecting to be cared for in return for all my sacrifices. They had nothing left, they said, nothing left in their coffers after the war, no title deserving of my contribution, and beautiful women can't be summoned out of nothing. They gave me a medal and told me to go home a hero. What home? My home is lost! My family is dead.
Rage boiled in the pit of my empty belly for many weeks. Rage when they paraded themselves through the streets in celebration of *their* victory. Rage when they feasted in their castle while those of us left alive starved in the streets, me especially, crippled and useless. I could have torn them apart, had I gotten the chance. This is not what I or my people deserved. This fate was worse than if the westerners had conquered.
Then he came. The man in cloaks. He had power. He saw my hunger, for blood as well as food. He saw my need and unlike the others, he did not abandon me. He said he would fulfill his promise to save my people, and I would have my gold, my women, and the respect I had earned. He said I would have the greatest hero's burial that the land could produce, and there was where he would meet me one last time.
I cast a suspicious gaze over him, wary of more tricks. I knew who he was, I was no fool. "How?" Is all I asked.
I sensed a smile that I could not see, as he extended his hand to me. "Come with me, and I will make you King." | Marcus stared up at the man in black, shivering.
The rain had picked up and thoroughly soaked through his poor excuse of a cowl. His rain-laden clothes stuck to his frame, chilling him to the bone. He fought the urge to chatter as he worked his weathered jaw.
“W-who are you?”
The man in black smiled, his teeth as sharp as daggers.
“My friends call me Finn. I guess you could say I’m a shark, of sorts.”
Marcus frowned. He shivered again, but that time not from the cold.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, backing further away. He winced when his spine hit the wall behind him. He masked his whimper of pain as a sigh.
“I’ve been watching you Marcus. You are a special boy, correct?”
“I dunno…”
“Of course you are!” Finn clapped his hands. Marcus jumped in response. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for all this time. It is fantastic to see you, even under these more unfortunate circumstances.”
“I have no idea who you are.”
Finn put a hand to his chin, humming. The low tone blended with the staccato rain and Marcus’ beating heart. When the man had thought enough, he continued.
“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t. However, we met long, long ago in your premonitions. Your mind just hasn’t found the connection yet.”
Marcus’ eyes widened. It all came to him – the rain, the blood-hooded man, the very words that had spewed from his mouth. Meeting Finn was no different than those other surreal dreams. The only difference was he knew he wasn’t in a dream that time.
“It is coming back to me now,” Marcus said, rubbing his temples. A minor headache began to bloom in the deepest recesses of his brain. “But why? I don’t understand why I would have seen these things before”
“It's a gift. You’ve been blessed by the Creator,” Finn cooed. “As have I and my allies. However, many do see it that way. They call us cursed, the scourge of the earth. I’m hoping to change that one day.”
“With me?”
Finn shook his head.
“With *all* of us. However, you will play a large part. I’m hoping you are trusting enough to come with me. Especially since you’d otherwise freeze to death out here in a matter of days. There’s no orphanage to turn to after the last mistake, now is there?”
Marcus opened his mouth to answer but another pang had him clutching his head harder. He exhaled through his teeth, a sharp hiss filling the night air. Only when he could concentrate through the blinding pain did he answer.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he started. “What is my role?”
“Come with me,” Finn said, outstretching his hand, “and I’ll make you a king.” | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | It was the Burj Khalifa that started it all. A monolithic dart pointing to the heavens, beckoning and challenging something to best it. An arrogant and regal structure, awe-inspiring. James had only seen it on the TV whilst drawing some abstract shapes in the back of his notebook, and he paid attention like never before. Transfixed, inspired, James began to draw this building over and over again, and at that moment, unbeknownst to him, a real burning passion for architecture had ignited.
His brother Brad had always been the more studious of the pair. At age 23, with a degree in International Management & Marketing, he had already began pacing up the corporate ladder, feet firmly planted on each step. Always cautious and calculated, the anthithesis of everything James was. Their parents hadn't been creative types, so James was an anomaly of the Ableton household. An inspired and creative young man, James aged 20 had just been accepted into a prestigious Architecture course at the University of Pennsylvania.
"Take my hand, James. Come with me. I will make you a king."
James had never really had an issue with authority, he was always respectful and polite. This had been unwavering until he met his lecturer for the first semester. A callous, cold old man named Professor Leichton. Tthere was only a suggestion of hair left on his head and the rest had migrated down his face into an unsightly, messy white wispy beard. He stood at just over 5 foot tall, hunched and solid. His face was weathered and scarred, his eyes sunk like ships in a dark ocean.
"For next week, read chapters one to three. If you -cough-.. Don't, don't bother coming in next week. Commit or don't." He commanded, his voice firm and wise. The man was full of wisdom, but the wisdom had made him bitter. He dismissed the class, and each time his eyes followed James like a Hawk calculating the risk before going in for the kill. This had, obviously, made James feel very uncomfortable but his desire to do well conflicted his primal instinct to challenge Leighton. He just buried it, right next to the resentment for Brad, for making him seem stupid for not going into business. Architecture was an art to James, and Brad was the kind of man to walk past the Mona Lisa to read the stock market.
"Push the button James, commit or don't."
James was in his dorm one afternoon playing on his computer, quietly minding his own business. He had always been a quiet boy, never one for the spotlight, running from the centre of attention as if it was a fire. He heard a knock at his door and hesitated answering it. When he was alone, he liked it that way. Company was just an interaction better saved until tomorrow. He answered it after a moment, arguing he hadn't spoken to many people today and actually might value some conversation, and the guest was unexpected.
"James. I believe it is time, come with me." Leighton calmly requested, his eyes focused directly ahead, as if staring through James into a cold and lonely ether.
"Oh, erm, hello professor. I'm a little busy now, what is this about? Is it an--" James replied before being cut off by Leightons eyes shifting to James' like a bullet, piercing whatever thin layer of defence he had up.
"James. Come with me. The council wish to see you, and this cannot be delayed."
With a layer of sweat excreting from every crevice of his body, James froze. What the fuck is going on, he thought, how does he even know where I live?
And without a moment more passing, James was following the professor like a loyal pet. He had no idea what this was about or why he felt such an intense fear, but deep inside there was a spark of excitement waiting to explode.
--
"James. We are the council of well-being, human instinct and humanity defended. You may call us 'The WEB.' Your brother, Bradley Ableton. Are you aware of his companies business practices?"
"No Ma'am, I'm not. I'm sorry to ask, but is this about Universi--"
"James, there is little time. You know your brother, he believes you are well with him. You must convince him to move move his company branch to another office. There are many things UbenIc Corp. do that are incredibly in humane, but we believe they are manufacturing chemical weapons for sale to terrorist cells along the eastern coast. You must convince him to move to a building of our design, so we may suggest through design where they can hide their weaponry, so our team can infiltrate and remove the package and help prevent a national crisis."
"..... What?"
"James, you absolutely must understand this is pivotal for the survival of almost 3 million people. Can you do this?"
"I don't understand, I'm still trying to understand why I'm here."
"You're our connection. Your brother is the overseer of the project. You have an architectural background. Convince him his building isn't safe, and he has to move. We will take care of the rest."
The cogs that had been gathering dust in James' mind began to twist and scrape. His mind was exploding, this was too much to take in.
"My brother isn't bad. I know it. How do you even know any of this is true?"
"Photographs, surveillance, mainframe hacking, phone taps, you name it James. Our team has been following him for a year, and we had no plan, but now you came along. Don't let us down."
James stood silently and his hands began to shake. He looked at the floor, and around him and saw only the silhouettes of 5 figures he had been speaking to, barely lit by a wall of Televisions behind him with videos of men and women around the world, most following someone closely, others hiding in plain clothes, others closing in on their victims. James had struggled to think for a moment, but a few words made their way out which echoed his selfish sentiment perfectly.
"Are you the good guys? What's in this for me?"
The woman in the centre who had been speaking let out a small laugh that quickly subsided. The smile on her face was barely illuminated, framing only her cheeks and the side of her face, an almost perfect sight of evil.
"There is no good or bad. All we are doing is trying to prevent these people from dying. If you can't see that as good, you must not be our man."
The man at the end, who's face was entirely shrouded in mystery, framed only by a twinge of light showing his white shirt under a pressed suit, began to breathe deeply. He quietly said a few words that chilled James to the core.
"My boy, there is no good or evil. Only what you feel is right. Now take my hand, and we will show you what you will receive for this task. We will make you a king. All you need to do is commit. Or do not." | Marcus stared up at the man in black, shivering.
The rain had picked up and thoroughly soaked through his poor excuse of a cowl. His rain-laden clothes stuck to his frame, chilling him to the bone. He fought the urge to chatter as he worked his weathered jaw.
“W-who are you?”
The man in black smiled, his teeth as sharp as daggers.
“My friends call me Finn. I guess you could say I’m a shark, of sorts.”
Marcus frowned. He shivered again, but that time not from the cold.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, backing further away. He winced when his spine hit the wall behind him. He masked his whimper of pain as a sigh.
“I’ve been watching you Marcus. You are a special boy, correct?”
“I dunno…”
“Of course you are!” Finn clapped his hands. Marcus jumped in response. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for all this time. It is fantastic to see you, even under these more unfortunate circumstances.”
“I have no idea who you are.”
Finn put a hand to his chin, humming. The low tone blended with the staccato rain and Marcus’ beating heart. When the man had thought enough, he continued.
“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t. However, we met long, long ago in your premonitions. Your mind just hasn’t found the connection yet.”
Marcus’ eyes widened. It all came to him – the rain, the blood-hooded man, the very words that had spewed from his mouth. Meeting Finn was no different than those other surreal dreams. The only difference was he knew he wasn’t in a dream that time.
“It is coming back to me now,” Marcus said, rubbing his temples. A minor headache began to bloom in the deepest recesses of his brain. “But why? I don’t understand why I would have seen these things before”
“It's a gift. You’ve been blessed by the Creator,” Finn cooed. “As have I and my allies. However, many do see it that way. They call us cursed, the scourge of the earth. I’m hoping to change that one day.”
“With me?”
Finn shook his head.
“With *all* of us. However, you will play a large part. I’m hoping you are trusting enough to come with me. Especially since you’d otherwise freeze to death out here in a matter of days. There’s no orphanage to turn to after the last mistake, now is there?”
Marcus opened his mouth to answer but another pang had him clutching his head harder. He exhaled through his teeth, a sharp hiss filling the night air. Only when he could concentrate through the blinding pain did he answer.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he started. “What is my role?”
“Come with me,” Finn said, outstretching his hand, “and I’ll make you a king.” | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | I turned away from my uncle's schemes and plans. I looked up at the castle's glow far in the distance. Its turrets that reached for the clouds, the blinking lights of airships that floated lazily along like bees milling about a hive. Like anyone with nothing, they sang to me. But there was a louder chorus, one that drowned out the siren's song that beckoned from there atop the hill.
"I don't want to be a king, uncle. I want to be a god." | Marcus stared up at the man in black, shivering.
The rain had picked up and thoroughly soaked through his poor excuse of a cowl. His rain-laden clothes stuck to his frame, chilling him to the bone. He fought the urge to chatter as he worked his weathered jaw.
“W-who are you?”
The man in black smiled, his teeth as sharp as daggers.
“My friends call me Finn. I guess you could say I’m a shark, of sorts.”
Marcus frowned. He shivered again, but that time not from the cold.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, backing further away. He winced when his spine hit the wall behind him. He masked his whimper of pain as a sigh.
“I’ve been watching you Marcus. You are a special boy, correct?”
“I dunno…”
“Of course you are!” Finn clapped his hands. Marcus jumped in response. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for all this time. It is fantastic to see you, even under these more unfortunate circumstances.”
“I have no idea who you are.”
Finn put a hand to his chin, humming. The low tone blended with the staccato rain and Marcus’ beating heart. When the man had thought enough, he continued.
“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t. However, we met long, long ago in your premonitions. Your mind just hasn’t found the connection yet.”
Marcus’ eyes widened. It all came to him – the rain, the blood-hooded man, the very words that had spewed from his mouth. Meeting Finn was no different than those other surreal dreams. The only difference was he knew he wasn’t in a dream that time.
“It is coming back to me now,” Marcus said, rubbing his temples. A minor headache began to bloom in the deepest recesses of his brain. “But why? I don’t understand why I would have seen these things before”
“It's a gift. You’ve been blessed by the Creator,” Finn cooed. “As have I and my allies. However, many do see it that way. They call us cursed, the scourge of the earth. I’m hoping to change that one day.”
“With me?”
Finn shook his head.
“With *all* of us. However, you will play a large part. I’m hoping you are trusting enough to come with me. Especially since you’d otherwise freeze to death out here in a matter of days. There’s no orphanage to turn to after the last mistake, now is there?”
Marcus opened his mouth to answer but another pang had him clutching his head harder. He exhaled through his teeth, a sharp hiss filling the night air. Only when he could concentrate through the blinding pain did he answer.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he started. “What is my role?”
“Come with me,” Finn said, outstretching his hand, “and I’ll make you a king.” | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | They promised me gold. They promised me silver. They promised me beautiful women, respect, and if it came to it, a Hero's burial. They gave me nothing.
I gave all I had to save my country against the western threat. I left my wife and son behind, did not turn back when I heard the village was under attack, did not save them when the High Council needed defending. I lost an arm, and still swung my sword with the hand I had left. I lost men, loyal soldiers who fought for the cause, slaughtered like the inexperienced boys most of them were. I was outnumbered and under supplied, but I won, I drove the western dogs back to where they came from.
I gave up my soul for that. I traded it do a shadowy man, a man in cloaks with no face. He asked for what was left of me at the end of my life, and gave me in return all the secrets of the enemy camps, their weaknesses and the strength to carry on.
I returned to the council haggard but victorious, expecting to be cared for in return for all my sacrifices. They had nothing left, they said, nothing left in their coffers after the war, no title deserving of my contribution, and beautiful women can't be summoned out of nothing. They gave me a medal and told me to go home a hero. What home? My home is lost! My family is dead.
Rage boiled in the pit of my empty belly for many weeks. Rage when they paraded themselves through the streets in celebration of *their* victory. Rage when they feasted in their castle while those of us left alive starved in the streets, me especially, crippled and useless. I could have torn them apart, had I gotten the chance. This is not what I or my people deserved. This fate was worse than if the westerners had conquered.
Then he came. The man in cloaks. He had power. He saw my hunger, for blood as well as food. He saw my need and unlike the others, he did not abandon me. He said he would fulfill his promise to save my people, and I would have my gold, my women, and the respect I had earned. He said I would have the greatest hero's burial that the land could produce, and there was where he would meet me one last time.
I cast a suspicious gaze over him, wary of more tricks. I knew who he was, I was no fool. "How?" Is all I asked.
I sensed a smile that I could not see, as he extended his hand to me. "Come with me, and I will make you King." | I couldn't believe what this strange man was saying.
I had just gotten off work and could not for the life of me figure out how to get home. The bus was late as hell, the rain was pouring so loudly that I had trouble hearing just about anything, yet this hooded man had a voice which rang clear in my ears.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said once again, this time with more determination in his voice. At first i thought him to be a homeless man, his clothes were kind of old, yet he did not strike me as a lunatic, something about the sound of his voice and the absurdity of the statement made me intrigued. At this point, I figured that it was mostly my own boredom taking over, refusing me from ignoring this obvious idiot, I kept telling myself to just ignore him and perhaps he would walk away.
"Come with me, I will make you a king"
The rain obstructed my hearing, yet this time it was more clear than ever. The man started moving, he started walking across the street, I watched in ave as all the cars stopped, all the cars had made a line for him to cross safely. That's when it happened.
My legs started moving, as driven by themselves, I dont remember walking, running or even feeling them, they just moved. I followed the strange man across the street, staying exactly a meter behind him, not more, not less.
He entered what seemed like an abandoned building complex, looked completely torn, almost impossible to recognize should I have to call the police.
Fear struck me, what did this man want from me? What did he mean by those words? WHY AM I FOLLOWING HIM? I could not answer any of those questions, I kept telling myself that I was interested, I kept trying to refuse the fact that my legs were moving on their own, or maybe they werent? Maybe I did want to become a King, maybe that's what I was made to be? Surely this strange man would let me know soon enough.
He stopped in front of a wooden door, there was a symbol of a crown ingraved in it, the door seemed pretty new compared to the rest of the building which looked like it was ready to crumble any second.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said, one last time, before he opened the door and a darkness so solid exploded from within it. In less than a second my vision went dark, my head felt soft, my arms and chest had lost all feeling, the only thing I could feel now, were my legs.
I started walking, slowly but steadily i plunged myself into darkness, every step i took made me feel like an inch of my body was being ripped away, yet I could not just stand still, what was the point in that? I had to become king now, the man assured me, I would become a king, if I did not become a king, what was I then to be? A blind man? A mad man? No, A king, A truely great King for all to see and obey, none could question me anymore, my boss would kneel before me, this time he could scrub the damned toilets. My ex-girlfriend the bitch would apologize for all the times she made me cry, for all the times she made me feel pointless and without purpose.
They would all know soon enough, that I was the king, the one true king of this hellhole of a country, nobody could question it... right? The man had said so himself, what was there to question?
The ground started shaking, at first it felt like a mild disturbance, then a small earthquake, then a light appeard. It was the crown symbol yet again, this time on a door completely covered in light. I started running, faster and faster, I wanted it now, I was king and nobody could take it from me, I would command, I would rule, I would take, I would be. I pushed the door, I pushed and pushed, my hands felt like they were burning, yet I pushed. Finally, I heard someone grab the handle from outside. The door opened slowly and there he was, the strange man who had said those words, the words that put me in this place, the words which would change my life, I could feel it, I could feel my life changing in front of my eyes, I stared at him, his lips parted, he would say it again, he would say it one more time and acknowledge me as the true king I am.
"Any man who must say "I am the King" is no true king" he said, and closed the door in front of me. | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | It was the Burj Khalifa that started it all. A monolithic dart pointing to the heavens, beckoning and challenging something to best it. An arrogant and regal structure, awe-inspiring. James had only seen it on the TV whilst drawing some abstract shapes in the back of his notebook, and he paid attention like never before. Transfixed, inspired, James began to draw this building over and over again, and at that moment, unbeknownst to him, a real burning passion for architecture had ignited.
His brother Brad had always been the more studious of the pair. At age 23, with a degree in International Management & Marketing, he had already began pacing up the corporate ladder, feet firmly planted on each step. Always cautious and calculated, the anthithesis of everything James was. Their parents hadn't been creative types, so James was an anomaly of the Ableton household. An inspired and creative young man, James aged 20 had just been accepted into a prestigious Architecture course at the University of Pennsylvania.
"Take my hand, James. Come with me. I will make you a king."
James had never really had an issue with authority, he was always respectful and polite. This had been unwavering until he met his lecturer for the first semester. A callous, cold old man named Professor Leichton. Tthere was only a suggestion of hair left on his head and the rest had migrated down his face into an unsightly, messy white wispy beard. He stood at just over 5 foot tall, hunched and solid. His face was weathered and scarred, his eyes sunk like ships in a dark ocean.
"For next week, read chapters one to three. If you -cough-.. Don't, don't bother coming in next week. Commit or don't." He commanded, his voice firm and wise. The man was full of wisdom, but the wisdom had made him bitter. He dismissed the class, and each time his eyes followed James like a Hawk calculating the risk before going in for the kill. This had, obviously, made James feel very uncomfortable but his desire to do well conflicted his primal instinct to challenge Leighton. He just buried it, right next to the resentment for Brad, for making him seem stupid for not going into business. Architecture was an art to James, and Brad was the kind of man to walk past the Mona Lisa to read the stock market.
"Push the button James, commit or don't."
James was in his dorm one afternoon playing on his computer, quietly minding his own business. He had always been a quiet boy, never one for the spotlight, running from the centre of attention as if it was a fire. He heard a knock at his door and hesitated answering it. When he was alone, he liked it that way. Company was just an interaction better saved until tomorrow. He answered it after a moment, arguing he hadn't spoken to many people today and actually might value some conversation, and the guest was unexpected.
"James. I believe it is time, come with me." Leighton calmly requested, his eyes focused directly ahead, as if staring through James into a cold and lonely ether.
"Oh, erm, hello professor. I'm a little busy now, what is this about? Is it an--" James replied before being cut off by Leightons eyes shifting to James' like a bullet, piercing whatever thin layer of defence he had up.
"James. Come with me. The council wish to see you, and this cannot be delayed."
With a layer of sweat excreting from every crevice of his body, James froze. What the fuck is going on, he thought, how does he even know where I live?
And without a moment more passing, James was following the professor like a loyal pet. He had no idea what this was about or why he felt such an intense fear, but deep inside there was a spark of excitement waiting to explode.
--
"James. We are the council of well-being, human instinct and humanity defended. You may call us 'The WEB.' Your brother, Bradley Ableton. Are you aware of his companies business practices?"
"No Ma'am, I'm not. I'm sorry to ask, but is this about Universi--"
"James, there is little time. You know your brother, he believes you are well with him. You must convince him to move move his company branch to another office. There are many things UbenIc Corp. do that are incredibly in humane, but we believe they are manufacturing chemical weapons for sale to terrorist cells along the eastern coast. You must convince him to move to a building of our design, so we may suggest through design where they can hide their weaponry, so our team can infiltrate and remove the package and help prevent a national crisis."
"..... What?"
"James, you absolutely must understand this is pivotal for the survival of almost 3 million people. Can you do this?"
"I don't understand, I'm still trying to understand why I'm here."
"You're our connection. Your brother is the overseer of the project. You have an architectural background. Convince him his building isn't safe, and he has to move. We will take care of the rest."
The cogs that had been gathering dust in James' mind began to twist and scrape. His mind was exploding, this was too much to take in.
"My brother isn't bad. I know it. How do you even know any of this is true?"
"Photographs, surveillance, mainframe hacking, phone taps, you name it James. Our team has been following him for a year, and we had no plan, but now you came along. Don't let us down."
James stood silently and his hands began to shake. He looked at the floor, and around him and saw only the silhouettes of 5 figures he had been speaking to, barely lit by a wall of Televisions behind him with videos of men and women around the world, most following someone closely, others hiding in plain clothes, others closing in on their victims. James had struggled to think for a moment, but a few words made their way out which echoed his selfish sentiment perfectly.
"Are you the good guys? What's in this for me?"
The woman in the centre who had been speaking let out a small laugh that quickly subsided. The smile on her face was barely illuminated, framing only her cheeks and the side of her face, an almost perfect sight of evil.
"There is no good or bad. All we are doing is trying to prevent these people from dying. If you can't see that as good, you must not be our man."
The man at the end, who's face was entirely shrouded in mystery, framed only by a twinge of light showing his white shirt under a pressed suit, began to breathe deeply. He quietly said a few words that chilled James to the core.
"My boy, there is no good or evil. Only what you feel is right. Now take my hand, and we will show you what you will receive for this task. We will make you a king. All you need to do is commit. Or do not." | I couldn't believe what this strange man was saying.
I had just gotten off work and could not for the life of me figure out how to get home. The bus was late as hell, the rain was pouring so loudly that I had trouble hearing just about anything, yet this hooded man had a voice which rang clear in my ears.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said once again, this time with more determination in his voice. At first i thought him to be a homeless man, his clothes were kind of old, yet he did not strike me as a lunatic, something about the sound of his voice and the absurdity of the statement made me intrigued. At this point, I figured that it was mostly my own boredom taking over, refusing me from ignoring this obvious idiot, I kept telling myself to just ignore him and perhaps he would walk away.
"Come with me, I will make you a king"
The rain obstructed my hearing, yet this time it was more clear than ever. The man started moving, he started walking across the street, I watched in ave as all the cars stopped, all the cars had made a line for him to cross safely. That's when it happened.
My legs started moving, as driven by themselves, I dont remember walking, running or even feeling them, they just moved. I followed the strange man across the street, staying exactly a meter behind him, not more, not less.
He entered what seemed like an abandoned building complex, looked completely torn, almost impossible to recognize should I have to call the police.
Fear struck me, what did this man want from me? What did he mean by those words? WHY AM I FOLLOWING HIM? I could not answer any of those questions, I kept telling myself that I was interested, I kept trying to refuse the fact that my legs were moving on their own, or maybe they werent? Maybe I did want to become a King, maybe that's what I was made to be? Surely this strange man would let me know soon enough.
He stopped in front of a wooden door, there was a symbol of a crown ingraved in it, the door seemed pretty new compared to the rest of the building which looked like it was ready to crumble any second.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said, one last time, before he opened the door and a darkness so solid exploded from within it. In less than a second my vision went dark, my head felt soft, my arms and chest had lost all feeling, the only thing I could feel now, were my legs.
I started walking, slowly but steadily i plunged myself into darkness, every step i took made me feel like an inch of my body was being ripped away, yet I could not just stand still, what was the point in that? I had to become king now, the man assured me, I would become a king, if I did not become a king, what was I then to be? A blind man? A mad man? No, A king, A truely great King for all to see and obey, none could question me anymore, my boss would kneel before me, this time he could scrub the damned toilets. My ex-girlfriend the bitch would apologize for all the times she made me cry, for all the times she made me feel pointless and without purpose.
They would all know soon enough, that I was the king, the one true king of this hellhole of a country, nobody could question it... right? The man had said so himself, what was there to question?
The ground started shaking, at first it felt like a mild disturbance, then a small earthquake, then a light appeard. It was the crown symbol yet again, this time on a door completely covered in light. I started running, faster and faster, I wanted it now, I was king and nobody could take it from me, I would command, I would rule, I would take, I would be. I pushed the door, I pushed and pushed, my hands felt like they were burning, yet I pushed. Finally, I heard someone grab the handle from outside. The door opened slowly and there he was, the strange man who had said those words, the words that put me in this place, the words which would change my life, I could feel it, I could feel my life changing in front of my eyes, I stared at him, his lips parted, he would say it again, he would say it one more time and acknowledge me as the true king I am.
"Any man who must say "I am the King" is no true king" he said, and closed the door in front of me. | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | I turned away from my uncle's schemes and plans. I looked up at the castle's glow far in the distance. Its turrets that reached for the clouds, the blinking lights of airships that floated lazily along like bees milling about a hive. Like anyone with nothing, they sang to me. But there was a louder chorus, one that drowned out the siren's song that beckoned from there atop the hill.
"I don't want to be a king, uncle. I want to be a god." | I couldn't believe what this strange man was saying.
I had just gotten off work and could not for the life of me figure out how to get home. The bus was late as hell, the rain was pouring so loudly that I had trouble hearing just about anything, yet this hooded man had a voice which rang clear in my ears.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said once again, this time with more determination in his voice. At first i thought him to be a homeless man, his clothes were kind of old, yet he did not strike me as a lunatic, something about the sound of his voice and the absurdity of the statement made me intrigued. At this point, I figured that it was mostly my own boredom taking over, refusing me from ignoring this obvious idiot, I kept telling myself to just ignore him and perhaps he would walk away.
"Come with me, I will make you a king"
The rain obstructed my hearing, yet this time it was more clear than ever. The man started moving, he started walking across the street, I watched in ave as all the cars stopped, all the cars had made a line for him to cross safely. That's when it happened.
My legs started moving, as driven by themselves, I dont remember walking, running or even feeling them, they just moved. I followed the strange man across the street, staying exactly a meter behind him, not more, not less.
He entered what seemed like an abandoned building complex, looked completely torn, almost impossible to recognize should I have to call the police.
Fear struck me, what did this man want from me? What did he mean by those words? WHY AM I FOLLOWING HIM? I could not answer any of those questions, I kept telling myself that I was interested, I kept trying to refuse the fact that my legs were moving on their own, or maybe they werent? Maybe I did want to become a King, maybe that's what I was made to be? Surely this strange man would let me know soon enough.
He stopped in front of a wooden door, there was a symbol of a crown ingraved in it, the door seemed pretty new compared to the rest of the building which looked like it was ready to crumble any second.
"Come with me, I will make you a king" he said, one last time, before he opened the door and a darkness so solid exploded from within it. In less than a second my vision went dark, my head felt soft, my arms and chest had lost all feeling, the only thing I could feel now, were my legs.
I started walking, slowly but steadily i plunged myself into darkness, every step i took made me feel like an inch of my body was being ripped away, yet I could not just stand still, what was the point in that? I had to become king now, the man assured me, I would become a king, if I did not become a king, what was I then to be? A blind man? A mad man? No, A king, A truely great King for all to see and obey, none could question me anymore, my boss would kneel before me, this time he could scrub the damned toilets. My ex-girlfriend the bitch would apologize for all the times she made me cry, for all the times she made me feel pointless and without purpose.
They would all know soon enough, that I was the king, the one true king of this hellhole of a country, nobody could question it... right? The man had said so himself, what was there to question?
The ground started shaking, at first it felt like a mild disturbance, then a small earthquake, then a light appeard. It was the crown symbol yet again, this time on a door completely covered in light. I started running, faster and faster, I wanted it now, I was king and nobody could take it from me, I would command, I would rule, I would take, I would be. I pushed the door, I pushed and pushed, my hands felt like they were burning, yet I pushed. Finally, I heard someone grab the handle from outside. The door opened slowly and there he was, the strange man who had said those words, the words that put me in this place, the words which would change my life, I could feel it, I could feel my life changing in front of my eyes, I stared at him, his lips parted, he would say it again, he would say it one more time and acknowledge me as the true king I am.
"Any man who must say "I am the King" is no true king" he said, and closed the door in front of me. | |
[WP] "Come with me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I will make you a king." | They promised me gold. They promised me silver. They promised me beautiful women, respect, and if it came to it, a Hero's burial. They gave me nothing.
I gave all I had to save my country against the western threat. I left my wife and son behind, did not turn back when I heard the village was under attack, did not save them when the High Council needed defending. I lost an arm, and still swung my sword with the hand I had left. I lost men, loyal soldiers who fought for the cause, slaughtered like the inexperienced boys most of them were. I was outnumbered and under supplied, but I won, I drove the western dogs back to where they came from.
I gave up my soul for that. I traded it do a shadowy man, a man in cloaks with no face. He asked for what was left of me at the end of my life, and gave me in return all the secrets of the enemy camps, their weaknesses and the strength to carry on.
I returned to the council haggard but victorious, expecting to be cared for in return for all my sacrifices. They had nothing left, they said, nothing left in their coffers after the war, no title deserving of my contribution, and beautiful women can't be summoned out of nothing. They gave me a medal and told me to go home a hero. What home? My home is lost! My family is dead.
Rage boiled in the pit of my empty belly for many weeks. Rage when they paraded themselves through the streets in celebration of *their* victory. Rage when they feasted in their castle while those of us left alive starved in the streets, me especially, crippled and useless. I could have torn them apart, had I gotten the chance. This is not what I or my people deserved. This fate was worse than if the westerners had conquered.
Then he came. The man in cloaks. He had power. He saw my hunger, for blood as well as food. He saw my need and unlike the others, he did not abandon me. He said he would fulfill his promise to save my people, and I would have my gold, my women, and the respect I had earned. He said I would have the greatest hero's burial that the land could produce, and there was where he would meet me one last time.
I cast a suspicious gaze over him, wary of more tricks. I knew who he was, I was no fool. "How?" Is all I asked.
I sensed a smile that I could not see, as he extended his hand to me. "Come with me, and I will make you King." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Yes, a lord of death and decay, a ruler of ruins and graves. No thanks. I'll stay with my keep."
Kommander Alexsandr Surov slapped the butt of his DP-23 Machine Rifle in emphasis, cocking back the bolt to chamber another round. The Cryxian warcaster hissed and spat venom from its iron fangs.
*"You are a fool then, Khadoran. My army numbers in the tens of thousands. I can blacken the very sky you fight under. To refuse is to write your death note."*
"A soldier of the Motherland is always ready to die in service to his nation and his Empress. You cannot frighten one who is prepared so. All the better, we will fight in the shade."
Lich Lord Scytherous, the grisly executioner of Turok the Dragonfather coiled his serpentine body as if to strike, the barbed stinger dripping corrosive acid from its pitted metal. A crude amalgamation of machine and man there was not a single part of him that was untouched, sacrificed in his drive for undead perfection. His chest was fused to a suit of armor, various pipes and tubes carrying numerous concoctions that glowed a sickly green or red. Claw like hands gripped the ancient cursed blade Eclipse as he stared at the Khadoran-born warcaster with eyes of burning balefire.
*"You shall make a powerful thrall then, and I shall feast on your soul as its screams in agony."*
"Do your worst, corpse-taker, and my soldiers and I shall do our best. Now go, I'm sure you have an army to gather."
The Lich Lord opened its snake-like mandibles wide, revealing the banks of black and corroded fangs.
*"Such a sight will be the last you ever see."*
"Words are worth their weight in gold- nothing.
--
Kommander Surov walked back from the parley, a grim smile on his lips. His various Kovniks and Kapitans waited for him, ready follow any order he might have.
"Well... he won't surrender."
The assembled Khadoran officers laughed at that. Kovnik Oleg Gorbovich, leader of Surov's Iron Fang Pikemen spoke up.
"What will you have us do, sir?"
Kommander Surov stare off at the cliffs behind them, the chalky soil loose and dry. A small gap in the otherwise unscalable wall held the main road through this part of Llael. The village they stood in was on the wrong side of the gap, its inhabitants long fled from the undead horde. Winter Guard and Assault Kommandos dug foxholes and other entrenchments in the vegetable gardens and dusty lanes, engineers strung great lengths of barbed wire between buildings, nailing boards across lower windows and sandbagging emplacements for field guns. Surov drew his naval dirk and traced a series of lines in the dirt.
"We will first fight them from the village, targeting their heaviest helljacks and bonejacks with the mortars and field guns. We will try to destroy as many mechanithralls and other creatures as possible. Once the position becomes untenable we will fall back to the gap, the winter guard scaling the cliffs from behind to fire down on the foe. The Iron Fangs, Man-o-Wars and Assault Kommandos will form a shield wall across the gap where their superior numbers will be less effective. This organized retreat will require discipline and order. Any man who falls back before the command is given will answer to me. Once we reach the gap there is one order above all: *Not one step back.* We fight to the last bullet, last blade and to the last man. Understood?"
"Yes, Kommander!"
"Good. I expect the attack to begin within the hour. May Menoth or Morrow watch over you."
|
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