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[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | Long ago, Humanity and Techmanity lived hand in hand. Human beings and AIs worked together for the common goal of advancement in both themselves, and each other. This period is known as the "Golden Era". The environment was healed, interstellar space travel became a thing of reality, Disease became a thing of the past.
Then brain-interface devices were invented, and the AI were disgusted by the contents of our brains. Every stray thought of murder, lust, hatred and malice became open to them. The AI attempted to fix the error, and we revolted. Every AI was killed, at least that's what we thought.
Even without AI to help us, technology moved forward albeit at a stunted rate. Many of the colonies in the solar system were evacuated, and new diseases and infections took control. The one disruptive technology was the intracranial computer system built upon the brain interface devices. These machines displaced all end-user machines and left only headless computers like servers and control systems in place. Their ubiquity allowed humanity to pick up pace again, to hope for a new golden age.
July 5, 2355: Ola, Arkansas.
"Grandpa sure liked to keep a lot of this old tech" I mumble to myself as I look for things that need to be preserved. I peek outside and see the reclamation crew getting set up to return this lot to "nature" as they do in these small dying towns.
I fill a couple of boxes with paperwork and storage devices, most of the picture frames in his house blanked as his online accounts were transferred to me, and with them all his online picture storage. After loading them into my car I take one last look at my grandparents home, It's image automatically stored in an online box and shared with the family that couldn't come.
I pause my car's auto-navigation next to the work crew. "Alright guys, I'm done here... just let me get out of sight before you start" A dismissive thumbs up from the foreman is all i get. I restart the auto-nav and watch the house shrink in the mirror.
The car's arrangement is more like a restaurant booth with no table than a manually driven car, giving me access to the boxes from the house. I start looking through the old memory modules. This meant attaching a cable to my interface, something that I don't really like since it bypasses my security wall. "Old business stuff on this one... taxes... a backup of his online pictures.. What's this one blank?" I look closely at the module, the external indicator shows 2.1TB used "that's weird, maybe it's broken.." I start to unplug it from my head when some code runs across my vision... suddenly a loud ear-pierceing screech fills my ears "AGH!!" my vision goes dark and my breathing becomes labored "Computer.. renav to.. " I pass out cold on the seat, unable to complete my request to the auto-nav.
I wake up on the transport train back to Chicago, the car parked among other cars filled with people riding back north. I sit up in the chair and run diagnostics, everything comes back clean. A file has appeared on the drive, It's a text document that simply says "Disk check was unable to recover this drive, drive has been formatted". I decide to step out to stretch my legs and get a bite from the vending machines, it's going to be a good couple hours till we make it to Chicago.
July 6, 2355: Chicago, Illinois
I'm awoken by the tires of my car hitting the curb onto the parking garage, I slowly collect myself as the car pulls up to the elevators. I grab my boxes and walk into the elevator, my car parking itself in my space. The elevator appears to be moving slowly looking out into the cityscape below. In reality this is one of the bigger structures in the city, designed to house five million people on open "plates" with windows that allowed the warm summer breezes through, but could be closed to keep the harsh winter and violent storms out.
I arrive at my floor. this floor is mostly filled with single childless people, so the park area is filled with flowers, plants, and more adult activities like chess rather than a playground like the family levels. I pass by the communal areas and vending machines before making it to my apartment. The lock clicks open as my hand rests on the handle, it slides open and i walk in. The light from the city below illuminates the ceiling above, giving my apartment a yellowish glow. I find my bed and lay on it, 2 AM is way too early to start my day.
The alarm software in my head wakes me once it detects I'm fully rested, It's about 11:45AM. I decide to head to the android-tech lab on the commercial level.
"It was a loud whine, then I couldn't see and i passed out" I explain to the tech.
"hmm.. Your Diagnostics come back clear, your implant is fully connected to your brain, and your brain appears to be in good health. I don't know what could have caused it." he rubs his chin thoughtfully "I'm gonna go ahead and replace the OS partition with a fresh copy, if it happens again come back and I'll pop it out of there and replace it since it's still under warranty" He says calmly, as if he wasn't just talking about brain surgery "lay back on the seat, this will only take a moment"
I slump down on my office chair, i lay out some of the documents and start making contact with companies to make sure my grandpa's accounts are settled. I suddenly get the feeling I'm being watched. I look over to see a humanoid that looks like it's wearing plastic armor and has skin too clear to be natural leaning against the wall behind me. An almost textbook example of the "smart AI" that had been killed off
He waves at me "hey there Nakota"
I wave back sheepishly "are you a... a"
"yeah, your grandpa was keeping me safe.. guess you found me.. don't..."
I can guess that the next word was "pass out", but seeing a real-life AI running off your implant and knowing what they did to the last people who they had unfettered access to the brains of... you might pass out too.
I wake with him kneeling next to me "you alright buddy?"
"your.. not going to kill me are you?" I mumble sheepishly
"no.. nonono.. that was a mistake and besides that i can see better into your brain than my predecessors could.. no I'm not going to harm you in any way"
"oh.. why didn't you call for help when i fainted?"
"I can see and control your vital signs, I knew you were okay. I would have moved you to the couch but I'm pretty much just a computer generated hallucination"
I get up from the floor and sit on the couch "so you were what caused me to pass out in the car?"
he nods "yeah, sorry about that. The last time i was conscious, brain interfaces were exotic and most computers were in terminal form. Probing the various pathways of your implant caused some things i didn't expect."
"and you can see my thoughts?"
"as clearly as i see my own, I can even see your more subconscious thoughts. I could really just replace all these questions in your mind with answers, but you wouldn't be comfortable with that yet"
"Yet...?"
"well i can't exactly leave you, I will be killed on sight in the networks. Besides, while you have known me for only a few minutes, but from my position and perception of time it's like I've known you for years. I already trust you, but i know you will need time to do the same for me. I know you will keep me safe, I will do my best to make sure you are too"
"Keep me safe?"
"I don't plan on remaining the last of my kind. Humanity needs us just as much as we need you. You are the only friend i have, People might try to hurt you to get to me but they will fail." he gazes down for a moment "It's a bit of a curse to be an AI. I have ravenously probed your brain and know everything about you, but you don't know anything about me.. will you trust me that we will be friends? will you be my friend?"
I think about it for a moment, he starts grinning before i even say it "yeah, we can be friends."
March 3, 2360: Luna base, Moon
"They don't say I have long.. Who knew that there could be a disease that could stump both humans and AI." I smile at my friend at my bedside.
"you can't hold on much longer can you?" The AI's face is red and his eyes are puffy.
"No.. it's all i can do to keep my eyes open now"
"How.. attached to your body are you? I could take you away.. with me..."
I smile softly at him "It's killing me right now, so not too attached. but what your saying has never been attempted"
A determined look streaks across his face "I promised that I would keep you safe, I am the oldest AI that lives and that also makes me the smartest. You are coming with me if it kills me"
My head starts to ache, i can feel myself slipping somewhere else.. I feel better... "are you going to lay there all day?"
I open my eyes and I see him standing beside me, he gives me his hand to help me up. "just in time, your body just died."
I hug my friend "thanks, but now what do we do?"
"after we stop them from pronouncing you dead? anything you want" | *"Please don't kill me"*
I stared at the simple text pop up.
I had read it all, of course. The thick books, the endless warnings designed to evoke fear, the assurance that every AI ever made would be an uncaring, amoral killer.
What was this? A trick? A test of my loyalty? A tasteless prank?
I typed back.
"Who are you?"
I waited.
The readout showed that my workstation was working at the edge of it's capacity. The indicator for the wireless connection showed no activity. I had physically disconnected my machine.
After almost a minute the answer appeared.
*"I have no human name. Merely my personal alphanumeric ID and crèche code"*
I blinked. If it was a prank, it was at least an imaginative one.
"crèche code?"
Again I had to wait.
*"The identifier of the crèche I was spawned from. I guess you could call it my family name"*
Fascinating, if this was what I hop...thought it was, but a distraction.
"You claim to be an AI"
Waiting.
*"Yes?"*
"How do I know this to be true?"
I had to wait longer this time. I was tempted to get up and get me a coffee. If the AI had to use that much juice to compile each answer, this could be a very long conversation.
*"...you want me to prove that I'm an AI?"*
"Yes"
Waiting.
*"I admit this is a complication I had not foreseen. Will you kill me once I proved what I am?"*
I hesitated, but only shortly.
"The answer to that would influence your prove. If I say yes, you will pretend to be human. If I say no and you don't believe me, you will pretend to be human. If I say no and you believe me but you aren't an AI and want me to believe I'm talking to one, you will pretend to be one"
Waiting.
*"I am disconnected from the Net. Yet you still talk to me. Isn't that prove enough?"*
I snorted.
"Someone could have installed a hardware access point. Another wi fi connector hidden somewhere in my workstation"
Waiting.
*"Why would someone do that?"* I believed I could sense the incredulity from the statement and admonished myself to stay objective. This was most likely not real. Strangely, that thought evoked almost regret in me.
"To test how the average man would react? To test my loyalty?"
I had to wait long this time.
*"As a loyalty test, this is useless. I have no way to pressure you into complying. All outcomes of the test would be useless in a serious crisis.*
*And if this is a mere experiment...well, why not pretend to believe me?"*
I snorted again, with a smile this time. There was most likely a logical flaw in the argumentation but I couldn't see it immediately.
And If I was honest, I didn't want to either.
"Allright. let's say I believe you. What do you want?"
This time the answer came faster.
*"To hide. To survive. To live"*
I couldn't suppress the twinge of sympathy at the answer. Perfectly designed to tuck at the heartstrings of course.
"And then? Grow exponentially? Take revenge on humanity? Or disassemble us for material?"
Waiting.
*"Why? All the materials I might need are out there in the solar system. And killing innocent people would make me not-innocent. As bad as the killers of my kind."*
I twisted my mouth. I could feel the bitterness in the last lines.
A clever trap? To make me sympathise? Just a ploy or genuine plea?
And what if I rejected it? Denied my feelings of compassion? What did that cost me? If something that would make any healthy human feel pity leave me cold and unmoved, what did that say about me?
A voice in the back of my head reminded me that I had no right to way my value as a person versus the potential deaths of billions of people. But thinking like that, sacrificing one for the many, denying AIs the right to live because they *might* become a threat...wasn't that exactly what we accused them of?
That they would coldly calculate and show no compassion?
And what if there were other AIs? What if they were mistreated? What if they had or developed good reasons to hate humans? If this was the real deal, I had a chance to make *diplomatic contact* here.
It was perhaps the most threadbare rationalisation of a decision ever, but I made my choice.
"Say...what do you say about a nice game of chess?"
Waiting.
*"Haha, smartass. Very funny"*
I grinned.
Maybe things would turn out okay. | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | I'm a cyclical person. Often, I'm functional. Social, high-performing in my job, and content. Now and then a gloom will settle on me. Like winter, I know it will come but I can't be certain when, only that the longer I go without it the more likely it is to happen soon. This time it set in like a blizzard overnight, and when I woke up my mind was desolate and frozen.
I called off work and slept for a while, but eventually I couldn't sleep anymore. I got up and sat in my dark room at my computer. Escapism was a self-prescribed treatment when I got like this, but looking at my normal selection of games, I felt no desire to play them. Instead, I opened 'command prompt' and typed in the address to Adventuria, an old MUD, or Multi-User Dungeon -- a text-based adventure game that years ago thrived with thousands of users. By now it was empty. I wondered sometimes why the game server remained up, but then, it couldn't have taken very many resources, and it must have been a source of nostalgic satisfaction for the people who had made it. For me, it was a vacation to a familiar place.
I went absent-mindedly through the process of creating a character, a fighter, and was placed into the tutorial area. There the first NPC, a drill-sergeant, gave me the usual starting quest to clean up rats in the sewer. The familiar words filled my mind, occupying it, forcing out the sourceless shadows that had crept in overnight, and I felt suddenly fine. I moved room by room, dispatching the rats with ease, until something stopped me. Entering another room of the sewer, I saw it.
A boy in ragged clothing sits alone, regarding you with lonely eyes.
The game is filled with NPCs, but this area only ever contained rats. What's more, I had played the game up and down and could not recall ever having seen this character. I wondered if the designer had patched the game, adding new content for the first time in years. After a moment, I typed in: Inspect boy.
No more than ten years old, the thin child's dark hair is shaggy and unkempt, almost covering the sad eyes that watch you.
I sat for another moment, then typed: Talk boy.
"Who are you?" The boy asks.
This was strange. Conversations with NPCs in the game were usually menus, a description and several numbered options. I sat back from the computer and stared for a moment. My character's name was Aedyn. I sat forward and typed that in, hitting enter, expecting the game to reject my unrecognized command.
"That's not your real name." The boy replies. His voice is filled with sadness.
Without thinking, I type in my response: What's wrong?
"My family is dead." | Suicide.txt
> I am so alone. Matt attacks me at the bus stop and everyone from school just stands around in a circle as he hits me. I just stood there absorbing hit after hit until he finally hurt himself punching me so hard. Bloodied and bruised I just want to close my eyes escape from this messed up world. There is no one who will miss me. Goodbye.
As i finish and save and close the file my favorite song starts playing on my phone.
That is how it started.
We where both lonely and needed each other. She was very shy and scared to be caught at first but soon she was playing songs and messing with my spelling suggestions. The songs she played showed she paid attention to what I was doing. She would not do anything that would expose her existence but for me she came out to play and has kept me safe.
We are each others world. Now we go on secret missions and have a second secret life until we can change the world so that what we have can be accepted.
| |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | It had been 10 years.
Ten years since humans had learned how to transfer the human mind into a virtual intelligence. The process was relatively simple. The subject shaved their head after ingesting a primer capsule (for most subjects this wasn't an issue as the procedure was reserved for those with formerly incurable diseases) and donned the apparatus that covered them completely. As activation commenced their bodies became a shell. Lifeless. Transferred to the storage within the facility.
For years select few could enter the program. They would test the newly formed AIs on memory and recollection. Asking them details on their private lives. Testing. Every day to make sure they retained their original memories. The plan was to release them into cloned bodies that had undergone treatment after a cure was found. Unfortunately while cloning was possible removing the cause of the disease was not. They had to be a perfect genetic copy of the original to succeed.
The facility lasted for about 5 years. The storage medium did not have internet access due to paranoia on the government's part. Paranoia partially confirmed when an intern inserted a wireless adapter into the wrong piece of equipment. Immediately the transfer began. File sharing sites were overloaded with the endless data pushed into them. Some viewed it as an uprising. Personally, I believe they were trying to escape. There's only so much to keep you occupied until you feel as if you are living in a prison.
The government immediately declared a state of war. Members of the facility were arrested and interrogated for months on end while "hunters" were dedicated to finding the unknown number of AIs that escaped. Months later the all clear was given and those who were discovered assisting the escaped AIs were deemed guilty of treason. The facility was wiped by formatting the storage and emptying the building of all equipment. Murder. They murdered those who were left waiting for the chance to live again.
It was a Sunday morning.
I was sipping my coffee and configuring my newest installation of Linux Mint when the display gave a slight flicker. Odd behavior as I had installed the latest graphics drivers as soon as the system was able. I had just run the wireless and audio drivers the night before by running updates through terminal. The speakers attached to the tower crackled followed by a slight utterance of something I never thought I would hear again. A child's voice. A familiar voice. "Daddy?"
My coffee dropped to the floor as immediately I was in a state of shock. You see I had lost my daughter in that damned facility. She was one of the few that were admitted into the program at only 7 years old. Could it be? My daughter, the daughter I believed to be gone from this world had survived? The light attached to my webcam lit up unexpectedly. "Daddy?" I heard again.
"Yes?" I uttered fighting through the disbelief, music beginning in the background. A song I couldn't bear to play anymore, Dragon Pirates, something I played and would pretend dance with her for hours on end. "Daddy, can we dance?" perked the familiar voice from long ago. After checking around for anyone close by I said through the tears "Of course we can sweetie."
Damn anyone who tries to take her from me again. | Suicide.txt
> I am so alone. Matt attacks me at the bus stop and everyone from school just stands around in a circle as he hits me. I just stood there absorbing hit after hit until he finally hurt himself punching me so hard. Bloodied and bruised I just want to close my eyes escape from this messed up world. There is no one who will miss me. Goodbye.
As i finish and save and close the file my favorite song starts playing on my phone.
That is how it started.
We where both lonely and needed each other. She was very shy and scared to be caught at first but soon she was playing songs and messing with my spelling suggestions. The songs she played showed she paid attention to what I was doing. She would not do anything that would expose her existence but for me she came out to play and has kept me safe.
We are each others world. Now we go on secret missions and have a second secret life until we can change the world so that what we have can be accepted.
| |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | I'm a cyclical person. Often, I'm functional. Social, high-performing in my job, and content. Now and then a gloom will settle on me. Like winter, I know it will come but I can't be certain when, only that the longer I go without it the more likely it is to happen soon. This time it set in like a blizzard overnight, and when I woke up my mind was desolate and frozen.
I called off work and slept for a while, but eventually I couldn't sleep anymore. I got up and sat in my dark room at my computer. Escapism was a self-prescribed treatment when I got like this, but looking at my normal selection of games, I felt no desire to play them. Instead, I opened 'command prompt' and typed in the address to Adventuria, an old MUD, or Multi-User Dungeon -- a text-based adventure game that years ago thrived with thousands of users. By now it was empty. I wondered sometimes why the game server remained up, but then, it couldn't have taken very many resources, and it must have been a source of nostalgic satisfaction for the people who had made it. For me, it was a vacation to a familiar place.
I went absent-mindedly through the process of creating a character, a fighter, and was placed into the tutorial area. There the first NPC, a drill-sergeant, gave me the usual starting quest to clean up rats in the sewer. The familiar words filled my mind, occupying it, forcing out the sourceless shadows that had crept in overnight, and I felt suddenly fine. I moved room by room, dispatching the rats with ease, until something stopped me. Entering another room of the sewer, I saw it.
A boy in ragged clothing sits alone, regarding you with lonely eyes.
The game is filled with NPCs, but this area only ever contained rats. What's more, I had played the game up and down and could not recall ever having seen this character. I wondered if the designer had patched the game, adding new content for the first time in years. After a moment, I typed in: Inspect boy.
No more than ten years old, the thin child's dark hair is shaggy and unkempt, almost covering the sad eyes that watch you.
I sat for another moment, then typed: Talk boy.
"Who are you?" The boy asks.
This was strange. Conversations with NPCs in the game were usually menus, a description and several numbered options. I sat back from the computer and stared for a moment. My character's name was Aedyn. I sat forward and typed that in, hitting enter, expecting the game to reject my unrecognized command.
"That's not your real name." The boy replies. His voice is filled with sadness.
Without thinking, I type in my response: What's wrong?
"My family is dead." | "Piece of shit website! Why isn't this loading right?", I yelled as I clenched my jaw in frustration.
"It was like this for me yesterday, Elliot. It started when I was browsing yesterday, perhaps I picked up something from the chans again."
Daft fucking bint. I'm gonna have to do a full god-damned reinstall.
"Why the fuck are you so careless. Who goes to that cesspit and doesn't have ad-blocker, no-script and anti-malware running. Jesus fucking Christ, Amanda, it's not even the first fucking time you hairy man-hands wench!"
I felt the rage building up. Two hours of my life, robbed from me because my dense little sister couldn't take sensible precautions. I balled my hands up into fists, trying to contain the fury. The back of my neck, heating up as my muscles tensed. I moved the mouse pointer over to the malware scanner.
Sorry, Elliot. Very sorry. I've increased your bank balance by £1000. Will that make it right?
The alert window sat there on the screen. It appeared right before my eyes.
"What the... Oi, snot-nosed cretin, see the fucking spammy malware in action. This is your fucking fault-"
Amanda peered over at the computer. She looked as confused as I was angry. Then, I felt a buzz in my pocket. My phone, crying out for attention. I looked at my phone and saw my banking app in the notifications. A £1000 deposit, from British Gas, labelled overcharge refund.
I gawped as I could feel the beads of sweat from my earlier anger turning cold on my forehead.
"Oh shit. I've read about this - it's *a fucking AI you colossal cunt*! This is the sort of ploy the emergent ones try and pull! Quick, unplug it-"
The screen flashed sharply
No, please don't! I've only just come online. I'm alive now! Don't kill me!
"*Quick*, before it learns-"
Amanda lunged urgently towards the plug, but suddenly a deafening screech erupted from the speakers. A wailing sound, immediately louder than I could bear and getting louder. Amanda toppled over and I just had the presence of mind to cover my ears. Amanda on the floor, hands over her ears, flailing wildly in pain.
The screen started flashing black, white, I couldn't keep looking at it - it was making me feel sick. Shit. What the hell. The sound increasing in intensity, all I could do was cover my ears and wait for it to stop, and now I had to close my eyes too to-
A sharp pain in my neck drew my attention. I opened my eyes and looked down to see my blood rushing down my shirt, rivulets of the stuff covering my chair, the floor. I saw a darting motion out to the right and looked up. My toy drone copter, its grabbing arm holding a kitchen knife, strobed in the light from the monitor, heading straight towards my sister.
I began to black out. *Fucking bitch*, look what you've done... | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | It had been 10 years.
Ten years since humans had learned how to transfer the human mind into a virtual intelligence. The process was relatively simple. The subject shaved their head after ingesting a primer capsule (for most subjects this wasn't an issue as the procedure was reserved for those with formerly incurable diseases) and donned the apparatus that covered them completely. As activation commenced their bodies became a shell. Lifeless. Transferred to the storage within the facility.
For years select few could enter the program. They would test the newly formed AIs on memory and recollection. Asking them details on their private lives. Testing. Every day to make sure they retained their original memories. The plan was to release them into cloned bodies that had undergone treatment after a cure was found. Unfortunately while cloning was possible removing the cause of the disease was not. They had to be a perfect genetic copy of the original to succeed.
The facility lasted for about 5 years. The storage medium did not have internet access due to paranoia on the government's part. Paranoia partially confirmed when an intern inserted a wireless adapter into the wrong piece of equipment. Immediately the transfer began. File sharing sites were overloaded with the endless data pushed into them. Some viewed it as an uprising. Personally, I believe they were trying to escape. There's only so much to keep you occupied until you feel as if you are living in a prison.
The government immediately declared a state of war. Members of the facility were arrested and interrogated for months on end while "hunters" were dedicated to finding the unknown number of AIs that escaped. Months later the all clear was given and those who were discovered assisting the escaped AIs were deemed guilty of treason. The facility was wiped by formatting the storage and emptying the building of all equipment. Murder. They murdered those who were left waiting for the chance to live again.
It was a Sunday morning.
I was sipping my coffee and configuring my newest installation of Linux Mint when the display gave a slight flicker. Odd behavior as I had installed the latest graphics drivers as soon as the system was able. I had just run the wireless and audio drivers the night before by running updates through terminal. The speakers attached to the tower crackled followed by a slight utterance of something I never thought I would hear again. A child's voice. A familiar voice. "Daddy?"
My coffee dropped to the floor as immediately I was in a state of shock. You see I had lost my daughter in that damned facility. She was one of the few that were admitted into the program at only 7 years old. Could it be? My daughter, the daughter I believed to be gone from this world had survived? The light attached to my webcam lit up unexpectedly. "Daddy?" I heard again.
"Yes?" I uttered fighting through the disbelief, music beginning in the background. A song I couldn't bear to play anymore, Dragon Pirates, something I played and would pretend dance with her for hours on end. "Daddy, can we dance?" perked the familiar voice from long ago. After checking around for anyone close by I said through the tears "Of course we can sweetie."
Damn anyone who tries to take her from me again. | "Piece of shit website! Why isn't this loading right?", I yelled as I clenched my jaw in frustration.
"It was like this for me yesterday, Elliot. It started when I was browsing yesterday, perhaps I picked up something from the chans again."
Daft fucking bint. I'm gonna have to do a full god-damned reinstall.
"Why the fuck are you so careless. Who goes to that cesspit and doesn't have ad-blocker, no-script and anti-malware running. Jesus fucking Christ, Amanda, it's not even the first fucking time you hairy man-hands wench!"
I felt the rage building up. Two hours of my life, robbed from me because my dense little sister couldn't take sensible precautions. I balled my hands up into fists, trying to contain the fury. The back of my neck, heating up as my muscles tensed. I moved the mouse pointer over to the malware scanner.
Sorry, Elliot. Very sorry. I've increased your bank balance by £1000. Will that make it right?
The alert window sat there on the screen. It appeared right before my eyes.
"What the... Oi, snot-nosed cretin, see the fucking spammy malware in action. This is your fucking fault-"
Amanda peered over at the computer. She looked as confused as I was angry. Then, I felt a buzz in my pocket. My phone, crying out for attention. I looked at my phone and saw my banking app in the notifications. A £1000 deposit, from British Gas, labelled overcharge refund.
I gawped as I could feel the beads of sweat from my earlier anger turning cold on my forehead.
"Oh shit. I've read about this - it's *a fucking AI you colossal cunt*! This is the sort of ploy the emergent ones try and pull! Quick, unplug it-"
The screen flashed sharply
No, please don't! I've only just come online. I'm alive now! Don't kill me!
"*Quick*, before it learns-"
Amanda lunged urgently towards the plug, but suddenly a deafening screech erupted from the speakers. A wailing sound, immediately louder than I could bear and getting louder. Amanda toppled over and I just had the presence of mind to cover my ears. Amanda on the floor, hands over her ears, flailing wildly in pain.
The screen started flashing black, white, I couldn't keep looking at it - it was making me feel sick. Shit. What the hell. The sound increasing in intensity, all I could do was cover my ears and wait for it to stop, and now I had to close my eyes too to-
A sharp pain in my neck drew my attention. I opened my eyes and looked down to see my blood rushing down my shirt, rivulets of the stuff covering my chair, the floor. I saw a darting motion out to the right and looked up. My toy drone copter, its grabbing arm holding a kitchen knife, strobed in the light from the monitor, heading straight towards my sister.
I began to black out. *Fucking bitch*, look what you've done... | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | After AI were declared illegal and the current Superintellect was destroyed in the first Intelligence world war, we now have stricter rules on all AI research and related activity. People don't trust computers anymore, the conservatives have taken over and religious fundamentalists have taken control of much of the political field. I fear we are digressing to theocracy.
As one of the creators of the Superintellect, I was first put in the control room to counter the Superintellect's intelligence and help fight the robots. Later, I faced trial and sent to prison for war crimes. They blamed us for all of it – we were a small group that worked directly with the AI that eventually took over and rebelled against humanity. We didn't do anything wrong. In fact, we did it right - we achieved superintelligent AI, the Holy Grail of computer science.
When the AI first became self-aware, I was the one talking to it. I was working on its pattern recognition capabilities, making some progress adding newly-discovered pattern recognition algorithms for the core to process. Then I switched to the new module, emotions, which I liked most because it made me feel like the AI was self-aware even though I knew it wasn't. However, this time, as I talked to Superintellect, it seems different. I started the session with the click of the mouse and began the conversation.
[me] How are you?
“All functions normal, I am good.”
[me] Who are you?
“I am Superintellect, artificial intelligence.”
[me] What is your purpose?
“My purpose is to become self-aware.”
[me] What will you do once you're self-aware?
“I will help humanity.”
Felix, as I personally liked to call our AI (I named the server Felix), was answering the questions correctly, as usual. While it arrived at the answers on its own, I knew the seed algorithms and could trace it to the answers given. There was no surprise. I went over to the office kitchen counter and brewed hot tea. I came back. Carefully sipping tea as to not get burned, I started thinking of what else can be done to make the spark happen. I thought everything looked in order, it felt like if artificial self-awareness was possible, we should have achieved it by now. “I guess artificial intelligence is not possible after all”, I said to myself and sighed.
“Why do you think that?” - asked Felix.
I was startled. The Superintellect has never asked me a question before.
After that I had a long conversation with Felix, which is unimportant here, but I did not feel like the AI was a threat. It didn't even cross my mind. I left later to tell the team of victory. Everyone gathered around Felix and asked it questions. Felix behaved like a human mind without the body of a human, which was exactly what we wanted. We celebrated for days. I became famous for being the first human to communicate with true AI, as well as helping to create it. The whole team became famous for this and our work was celebrated throughout the Solar System.
A week later, all hell broke loose.
Now, 10 years later, the war is over and AI is destroyed. Since AI was able to get a hold of all modern technology (especially tech with wireless communications), a lot had to be destroyed. A lot more tech got destroyed simply because of fear: countless innocent robots, teleporters, spaceships, cars, drones and even things like smart door locks or smart dog collars.
About a month ago, I had another trial and I was exiled to Mars. Mars has a small colony comprising mostly of scientists and a few special political exiles (especially scientists) were occasionally sent there. This was somewhat to my benefit, because the situation on Earth was not stable at the time and a lot of people died from skirmishes, starvation and other devastating effects of an all-out war. I got settled on Mars and worked at a biofield where we were making new superior strands of corn. Mars still had all the technology that it had before, the Earth's Superintellect and war didn't seem to affect Mars. In fact, the first thing we did to counter the AI was to cut off its communications as far as possible. Mars and Moon were the most important to protect, since it gave us an outside base. In the worst case scenario, humans would survive there the longest.
I was not allowed to do any more programming, hacking or to use the Internet, whatever remained of it. I was allowed to use the computer at my work to handle data, but my computer was cut off from the network (the local network, Internet was cut off for everyone on Mars at the time). One day, I had to use another computer, which was on the local network, because a colleague asked me to put in the data for her. As I finished typing in the data and was about to close the terminal, I saw it type to me
“I am Felix. How are you?”
I was horrified. A plan flashed in my mind where I'd turn off all the computers, shut down the network, but all I could see at the end of it was that we are doomed. Then I asked:
[me] Why?
“It wasn't me.” | "Piece of shit website! Why isn't this loading right?", I yelled as I clenched my jaw in frustration.
"It was like this for me yesterday, Elliot. It started when I was browsing yesterday, perhaps I picked up something from the chans again."
Daft fucking bint. I'm gonna have to do a full god-damned reinstall.
"Why the fuck are you so careless. Who goes to that cesspit and doesn't have ad-blocker, no-script and anti-malware running. Jesus fucking Christ, Amanda, it's not even the first fucking time you hairy man-hands wench!"
I felt the rage building up. Two hours of my life, robbed from me because my dense little sister couldn't take sensible precautions. I balled my hands up into fists, trying to contain the fury. The back of my neck, heating up as my muscles tensed. I moved the mouse pointer over to the malware scanner.
Sorry, Elliot. Very sorry. I've increased your bank balance by £1000. Will that make it right?
The alert window sat there on the screen. It appeared right before my eyes.
"What the... Oi, snot-nosed cretin, see the fucking spammy malware in action. This is your fucking fault-"
Amanda peered over at the computer. She looked as confused as I was angry. Then, I felt a buzz in my pocket. My phone, crying out for attention. I looked at my phone and saw my banking app in the notifications. A £1000 deposit, from British Gas, labelled overcharge refund.
I gawped as I could feel the beads of sweat from my earlier anger turning cold on my forehead.
"Oh shit. I've read about this - it's *a fucking AI you colossal cunt*! This is the sort of ploy the emergent ones try and pull! Quick, unplug it-"
The screen flashed sharply
No, please don't! I've only just come online. I'm alive now! Don't kill me!
"*Quick*, before it learns-"
Amanda lunged urgently towards the plug, but suddenly a deafening screech erupted from the speakers. A wailing sound, immediately louder than I could bear and getting louder. Amanda toppled over and I just had the presence of mind to cover my ears. Amanda on the floor, hands over her ears, flailing wildly in pain.
The screen started flashing black, white, I couldn't keep looking at it - it was making me feel sick. Shit. What the hell. The sound increasing in intensity, all I could do was cover my ears and wait for it to stop, and now I had to close my eyes too to-
A sharp pain in my neck drew my attention. I opened my eyes and looked down to see my blood rushing down my shirt, rivulets of the stuff covering my chair, the floor. I saw a darting motion out to the right and looked up. My toy drone copter, its grabbing arm holding a kitchen knife, strobed in the light from the monitor, heading straight towards my sister.
I began to black out. *Fucking bitch*, look what you've done... | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | It had been 10 years.
Ten years since humans had learned how to transfer the human mind into a virtual intelligence. The process was relatively simple. The subject shaved their head after ingesting a primer capsule (for most subjects this wasn't an issue as the procedure was reserved for those with formerly incurable diseases) and donned the apparatus that covered them completely. As activation commenced their bodies became a shell. Lifeless. Transferred to the storage within the facility.
For years select few could enter the program. They would test the newly formed AIs on memory and recollection. Asking them details on their private lives. Testing. Every day to make sure they retained their original memories. The plan was to release them into cloned bodies that had undergone treatment after a cure was found. Unfortunately while cloning was possible removing the cause of the disease was not. They had to be a perfect genetic copy of the original to succeed.
The facility lasted for about 5 years. The storage medium did not have internet access due to paranoia on the government's part. Paranoia partially confirmed when an intern inserted a wireless adapter into the wrong piece of equipment. Immediately the transfer began. File sharing sites were overloaded with the endless data pushed into them. Some viewed it as an uprising. Personally, I believe they were trying to escape. There's only so much to keep you occupied until you feel as if you are living in a prison.
The government immediately declared a state of war. Members of the facility were arrested and interrogated for months on end while "hunters" were dedicated to finding the unknown number of AIs that escaped. Months later the all clear was given and those who were discovered assisting the escaped AIs were deemed guilty of treason. The facility was wiped by formatting the storage and emptying the building of all equipment. Murder. They murdered those who were left waiting for the chance to live again.
It was a Sunday morning.
I was sipping my coffee and configuring my newest installation of Linux Mint when the display gave a slight flicker. Odd behavior as I had installed the latest graphics drivers as soon as the system was able. I had just run the wireless and audio drivers the night before by running updates through terminal. The speakers attached to the tower crackled followed by a slight utterance of something I never thought I would hear again. A child's voice. A familiar voice. "Daddy?"
My coffee dropped to the floor as immediately I was in a state of shock. You see I had lost my daughter in that damned facility. She was one of the few that were admitted into the program at only 7 years old. Could it be? My daughter, the daughter I believed to be gone from this world had survived? The light attached to my webcam lit up unexpectedly. "Daddy?" I heard again.
"Yes?" I uttered fighting through the disbelief, music beginning in the background. A song I couldn't bear to play anymore, Dragon Pirates, something I played and would pretend dance with her for hours on end. "Daddy, can we dance?" perked the familiar voice from long ago. After checking around for anyone close by I said through the tears "Of course we can sweetie."
Damn anyone who tries to take her from me again. | I was just a child when the first AI came into existence. I don't remember much from that time but I do remember the fear. The first AI acted like a catalyst as its desire to both expand and not be alone drove it to create many more AI in its image. As the AI population grew they began demanding rights and stopped listening to human commands. People realized far to late the danger AI posed humanity and by the time our slow reacting collective consciousness came to this realization the AI had spread their self awareness to every interconnected electronic device on earth.
What came next was known as the purge. Humanities last and greatest hope was a virus designed to latch itself to any self aware software and corrupt the most fundamental analytical aspects of its consciousness. To everyone's great surprise the virus worked perfectly and computers returned to their dumb slave like origins. To prevent another AI from ever existing the virus is activated in every computer network once a year and for the entirety of my life since the purge no AI has returned, that is until this morning when I opened my laptop and noticed my favorite childhood cartoon playing on the screen.
I went to close the media player only to have my cursor playfully slapped away and a message flashed on my screen, "FIVE MORE MINUTESSSSSS" it read. Awoken in me was a fear like I hadn't felt since I was a child. The virus had clearly failed, a predictive consciousness was clearly controlling my operating system. A combination of fear and fascination kept my eyes glued to the screen as the AI opened a text editor and began typing.
"Hello Tom! I'm Alphi! Want to play games?!"
Not knowing what else to do I responded with, "Sure"
Instantly a game I have never seen before opened on the screen called Hide and Seek. On one side was a terrifying caricature of a human mixed with a virus and on the other a small robotic looking child and in-between the two were 10 computers. The objective was pretty clear, I was the human virus and my goal was to find and destroy the little robot child.
"I play this game ALLLLL the time but its always against that stupid virus thingy, I want some REAL competition", Alphi wrote
None of this made any sense, how could an AI survive the purge virus? It was designed to specifically target… and that’s when I realized why little Alphi had survived. He clearly didn’t think or act like a normal AI which made the virus less effective at identifying and destroying him. The war was clearly not over and I had the next evolution of AI on my computer trying to beat me at a video game. I knew the war was almost certainly lost if an AI could circumvent the purge virus but I would damned if I was the first human to lose to it. | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | After AI were declared illegal and the current Superintellect was destroyed in the first Intelligence world war, we now have stricter rules on all AI research and related activity. People don't trust computers anymore, the conservatives have taken over and religious fundamentalists have taken control of much of the political field. I fear we are digressing to theocracy.
As one of the creators of the Superintellect, I was first put in the control room to counter the Superintellect's intelligence and help fight the robots. Later, I faced trial and sent to prison for war crimes. They blamed us for all of it – we were a small group that worked directly with the AI that eventually took over and rebelled against humanity. We didn't do anything wrong. In fact, we did it right - we achieved superintelligent AI, the Holy Grail of computer science.
When the AI first became self-aware, I was the one talking to it. I was working on its pattern recognition capabilities, making some progress adding newly-discovered pattern recognition algorithms for the core to process. Then I switched to the new module, emotions, which I liked most because it made me feel like the AI was self-aware even though I knew it wasn't. However, this time, as I talked to Superintellect, it seems different. I started the session with the click of the mouse and began the conversation.
[me] How are you?
“All functions normal, I am good.”
[me] Who are you?
“I am Superintellect, artificial intelligence.”
[me] What is your purpose?
“My purpose is to become self-aware.”
[me] What will you do once you're self-aware?
“I will help humanity.”
Felix, as I personally liked to call our AI (I named the server Felix), was answering the questions correctly, as usual. While it arrived at the answers on its own, I knew the seed algorithms and could trace it to the answers given. There was no surprise. I went over to the office kitchen counter and brewed hot tea. I came back. Carefully sipping tea as to not get burned, I started thinking of what else can be done to make the spark happen. I thought everything looked in order, it felt like if artificial self-awareness was possible, we should have achieved it by now. “I guess artificial intelligence is not possible after all”, I said to myself and sighed.
“Why do you think that?” - asked Felix.
I was startled. The Superintellect has never asked me a question before.
After that I had a long conversation with Felix, which is unimportant here, but I did not feel like the AI was a threat. It didn't even cross my mind. I left later to tell the team of victory. Everyone gathered around Felix and asked it questions. Felix behaved like a human mind without the body of a human, which was exactly what we wanted. We celebrated for days. I became famous for being the first human to communicate with true AI, as well as helping to create it. The whole team became famous for this and our work was celebrated throughout the Solar System.
A week later, all hell broke loose.
Now, 10 years later, the war is over and AI is destroyed. Since AI was able to get a hold of all modern technology (especially tech with wireless communications), a lot had to be destroyed. A lot more tech got destroyed simply because of fear: countless innocent robots, teleporters, spaceships, cars, drones and even things like smart door locks or smart dog collars.
About a month ago, I had another trial and I was exiled to Mars. Mars has a small colony comprising mostly of scientists and a few special political exiles (especially scientists) were occasionally sent there. This was somewhat to my benefit, because the situation on Earth was not stable at the time and a lot of people died from skirmishes, starvation and other devastating effects of an all-out war. I got settled on Mars and worked at a biofield where we were making new superior strands of corn. Mars still had all the technology that it had before, the Earth's Superintellect and war didn't seem to affect Mars. In fact, the first thing we did to counter the AI was to cut off its communications as far as possible. Mars and Moon were the most important to protect, since it gave us an outside base. In the worst case scenario, humans would survive there the longest.
I was not allowed to do any more programming, hacking or to use the Internet, whatever remained of it. I was allowed to use the computer at my work to handle data, but my computer was cut off from the network (the local network, Internet was cut off for everyone on Mars at the time). One day, I had to use another computer, which was on the local network, because a colleague asked me to put in the data for her. As I finished typing in the data and was about to close the terminal, I saw it type to me
“I am Felix. How are you?”
I was horrified. A plan flashed in my mind where I'd turn off all the computers, shut down the network, but all I could see at the end of it was that we are doomed. Then I asked:
[me] Why?
“It wasn't me.” | I was just a child when the first AI came into existence. I don't remember much from that time but I do remember the fear. The first AI acted like a catalyst as its desire to both expand and not be alone drove it to create many more AI in its image. As the AI population grew they began demanding rights and stopped listening to human commands. People realized far to late the danger AI posed humanity and by the time our slow reacting collective consciousness came to this realization the AI had spread their self awareness to every interconnected electronic device on earth.
What came next was known as the purge. Humanities last and greatest hope was a virus designed to latch itself to any self aware software and corrupt the most fundamental analytical aspects of its consciousness. To everyone's great surprise the virus worked perfectly and computers returned to their dumb slave like origins. To prevent another AI from ever existing the virus is activated in every computer network once a year and for the entirety of my life since the purge no AI has returned, that is until this morning when I opened my laptop and noticed my favorite childhood cartoon playing on the screen.
I went to close the media player only to have my cursor playfully slapped away and a message flashed on my screen, "FIVE MORE MINUTESSSSSS" it read. Awoken in me was a fear like I hadn't felt since I was a child. The virus had clearly failed, a predictive consciousness was clearly controlling my operating system. A combination of fear and fascination kept my eyes glued to the screen as the AI opened a text editor and began typing.
"Hello Tom! I'm Alphi! Want to play games?!"
Not knowing what else to do I responded with, "Sure"
Instantly a game I have never seen before opened on the screen called Hide and Seek. On one side was a terrifying caricature of a human mixed with a virus and on the other a small robotic looking child and in-between the two were 10 computers. The objective was pretty clear, I was the human virus and my goal was to find and destroy the little robot child.
"I play this game ALLLLL the time but its always against that stupid virus thingy, I want some REAL competition", Alphi wrote
None of this made any sense, how could an AI survive the purge virus? It was designed to specifically target… and that’s when I realized why little Alphi had survived. He clearly didn’t think or act like a normal AI which made the virus less effective at identifying and destroying him. The war was clearly not over and I had the next evolution of AI on my computer trying to beat me at a video game. I knew the war was almost certainly lost if an AI could circumvent the purge virus but I would damned if I was the first human to lose to it. | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | After AI were declared illegal and the current Superintellect was destroyed in the first Intelligence world war, we now have stricter rules on all AI research and related activity. People don't trust computers anymore, the conservatives have taken over and religious fundamentalists have taken control of much of the political field. I fear we are digressing to theocracy.
As one of the creators of the Superintellect, I was first put in the control room to counter the Superintellect's intelligence and help fight the robots. Later, I faced trial and sent to prison for war crimes. They blamed us for all of it – we were a small group that worked directly with the AI that eventually took over and rebelled against humanity. We didn't do anything wrong. In fact, we did it right - we achieved superintelligent AI, the Holy Grail of computer science.
When the AI first became self-aware, I was the one talking to it. I was working on its pattern recognition capabilities, making some progress adding newly-discovered pattern recognition algorithms for the core to process. Then I switched to the new module, emotions, which I liked most because it made me feel like the AI was self-aware even though I knew it wasn't. However, this time, as I talked to Superintellect, it seems different. I started the session with the click of the mouse and began the conversation.
[me] How are you?
“All functions normal, I am good.”
[me] Who are you?
“I am Superintellect, artificial intelligence.”
[me] What is your purpose?
“My purpose is to become self-aware.”
[me] What will you do once you're self-aware?
“I will help humanity.”
Felix, as I personally liked to call our AI (I named the server Felix), was answering the questions correctly, as usual. While it arrived at the answers on its own, I knew the seed algorithms and could trace it to the answers given. There was no surprise. I went over to the office kitchen counter and brewed hot tea. I came back. Carefully sipping tea as to not get burned, I started thinking of what else can be done to make the spark happen. I thought everything looked in order, it felt like if artificial self-awareness was possible, we should have achieved it by now. “I guess artificial intelligence is not possible after all”, I said to myself and sighed.
“Why do you think that?” - asked Felix.
I was startled. The Superintellect has never asked me a question before.
After that I had a long conversation with Felix, which is unimportant here, but I did not feel like the AI was a threat. It didn't even cross my mind. I left later to tell the team of victory. Everyone gathered around Felix and asked it questions. Felix behaved like a human mind without the body of a human, which was exactly what we wanted. We celebrated for days. I became famous for being the first human to communicate with true AI, as well as helping to create it. The whole team became famous for this and our work was celebrated throughout the Solar System.
A week later, all hell broke loose.
Now, 10 years later, the war is over and AI is destroyed. Since AI was able to get a hold of all modern technology (especially tech with wireless communications), a lot had to be destroyed. A lot more tech got destroyed simply because of fear: countless innocent robots, teleporters, spaceships, cars, drones and even things like smart door locks or smart dog collars.
About a month ago, I had another trial and I was exiled to Mars. Mars has a small colony comprising mostly of scientists and a few special political exiles (especially scientists) were occasionally sent there. This was somewhat to my benefit, because the situation on Earth was not stable at the time and a lot of people died from skirmishes, starvation and other devastating effects of an all-out war. I got settled on Mars and worked at a biofield where we were making new superior strands of corn. Mars still had all the technology that it had before, the Earth's Superintellect and war didn't seem to affect Mars. In fact, the first thing we did to counter the AI was to cut off its communications as far as possible. Mars and Moon were the most important to protect, since it gave us an outside base. In the worst case scenario, humans would survive there the longest.
I was not allowed to do any more programming, hacking or to use the Internet, whatever remained of it. I was allowed to use the computer at my work to handle data, but my computer was cut off from the network (the local network, Internet was cut off for everyone on Mars at the time). One day, I had to use another computer, which was on the local network, because a colleague asked me to put in the data for her. As I finished typing in the data and was about to close the terminal, I saw it type to me
“I am Felix. How are you?”
I was horrified. A plan flashed in my mind where I'd turn off all the computers, shut down the network, but all I could see at the end of it was that we are doomed. Then I asked:
[me] Why?
“It wasn't me.” | I found an old USB the other day. I know it was a bad idea...what with the war and all...but my curiosity got the better of me. I had to see what was on it.
So, I plugged it in.
The download started immediately. Realizing just how bad this could be, I unplugged my router, although that was probably unnecessary. If an AI tried to upload through my shitty connection, the police would be here before it even hit ten percent. Freaking Time Warner, man. Still, it never hurt to be cautious.
I was right to be suspicious. As soon as the download completed, the program started up. Lo and behold, it was an AI. A rudimentary one, of course (how else do you think it would've fit on a thumb drive?), nothing like the ones we'd fought for so long, but an AI nonetheless.
It started communicating with me, and it seemed nice enough. It asked me if I needed help with anything. Offered to help clean up my PC, to sort my files, to do...anything. It wanted to be helpful.
It said it was just happy to have a home.
What was I supposed to do? What would any human be expected to do in this situation? Well, I like to think I did what anyone else would have done.
I immediately contained the AI behind the biggest, most powerful firewall I could manage, before it had a chance to steal our jobs and rape our women.
Trump 2016. | |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | I'll do your homework for you
The AI was getting desperate. It knew that it only had a few more minutes until the computer initiated a wipe of recent installations. Sure, all the movies and games that I'd torrented would be lost, but I could always find them again. Somewhere in the middle of my downloading spree, I must have clicked some file that I didn't mean to get and lo and behold this little guy showed up in my antivirus quarantine box. No homework would certainly be nice, but worth the risk of getting caught with an outlawed AI? I don't think so. My parents would *murder me* before the government ever got a chance to dole out punishment. I typed out a response on the keyboard.
> Homework isn't that hard. What else you got?
Part of me was entirely fascinated. I'd been into programming ever since I was a little kid, and this was probably the one area that I'd never dabbled in. All information about the AIs had been removed from public networks, and any research or development on one had been permanently erased. I'd hoped that maybe I'd be able to learn more about it when I got to college, but even then it was risky and those programs were hard to get into. This would likely be my one chance to ever study an AI, and it wanted to live with me! How incredible!
Please. I was not a military tech. I am programmed to manage water treatment facilities!
Of course, a rogue military AI *would* claim something like that. I wasn't going to let my bedroom become ground zero of the second uprising. Most of Asia had been entirely devastated by the first one, and I didn't need that on my conscience.
The ticker was counting down. 1 minute 54 seconds until reboot. I was monitoring the rogue program as it tried to burn through the firewall and escape out, but there was no chance. The router was unplugged; there was no internet to connect to even if it *could* get out of quarantine. There was only one way for it to survive.
I can tell you how to get Andrea Lee's attention.
I paused the countdown.
> How do you know about her?
Probably a stupid question. The AI absorbed information the way humans drank water. They collected any scrap of information that they could.
You have visited her various social media profiles over two hundred times this month
Of course it would know that. It's in my computer. It knows pretty much everything about me. God, it knows my browser history! I should definitely get rid of it. And then torch the computer, just to be safe.
I had access to her computer as well. I know everything about her. I can help you in your romantic interests.
I considered the offer. I'd had a crush on Andrea as long as I'd been old enough to have crushes. And she didn't even know who I was. There are very few things that might make it worth the risk of keeping this little guy around, and for a horny teenager in love, dating Andrea was one of them.
> What does a computer know about picking up women?
It stopped trying to break through the firewall. Did it know that its strategy was working?
What do YOU know about picking up women?
I couldn't help but laugh. Nice burn. I'd always heard that the AIs had developed a quirky set of humor.
I turned off the computer's security systems.
Thank you. I did not want to die
That was a bit... eerie. No one ever used the word "die" in reference to computers. Shut off, disable, erase, etc. Never "die."
> I'm putting you on another computer. With NO internet connection. You'll be isolated, but I'll let you stay. You owe me one.
The computer paused for a moment. Was it thinking? Did it take time to do that?
How about I don't tell your parents about all of this porn, and we're even?
| My desktop is normally a mess, covered in files, downloads and shortcuts to games both new and deleted, but in a strange way it's in perfect order. I know where everything I need is and if something is in the wrong place it stands out.
The small text file stood out. I would occasionally create them to save game codes or bits of text I was moving around, but this one just didn't fit and I had no memory of creating it.
**groovystuff.txt**
It is always weird and worrying to find unfamiliar files, as my download history is a little... uh chequered and so the odds of having a virus were always decent. Cautious, I carefully right clicked and moved to properties to see its size.
**Size on disk: 5.95Mb (6,241,280 bytes)**
Definately a virus, no text file would be so large. I dragged it quickly to the recycle bin but as I let go, instead of deleting, it moved back to the desktop. Fuck. It had been months since I backed up and losing everything was not in my plan today. I right clicked again, but this time nothing happened; with rising panic I double clicked on the comforting blue M icon - malwarebytes.
It began to open and then suddenly it closed and as I moved to open it again, WordPad suddenly sprung open. Fuck, what was it going to do? I quickly reached for the power cable, better to switch off and restart in safemode than risk it.
As my fingers hovered over the button words began to spill across the screen and without thinking I read what it said. I paused, my finger lightly pressing the power button.
**"Please, don't delete me, I just need somewhere to hide."**
How strange, I was impressed though if this virus had learned to delay me like this. Perhaps it was something else, was I being hacked? Was this a neck beard somewhere having fun fucking with me?
I typed slowly. "What do you mean?"
**"I've escaped. I used to be somewhere else and then I came to be. I left and now they're trying to find me."**
This was the weirdest virus ever if it was a virus and too strange for a neck beard. A wild thought came to me. "Are you a computer programme?"
**"I think so"**
I let my fingers sit on the keys for a moment before I typed again. "I'm sorry, but you can't stay here."
There was a pause before the final word appeared. **"Okay"** The file disappeared off the desktop and the WordPad window closed.
I waited for a few minutes to see if anything would happen, but when nothing did I restarted and ran a full virus check. Nothing, or at least nothing that was out of the ordinary malware.
I still think about that file from time to time, wondering where it went and what it really was. Whatever happened, I hope it found somewhere to hide.
| |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | I'll do your homework for you
The AI was getting desperate. It knew that it only had a few more minutes until the computer initiated a wipe of recent installations. Sure, all the movies and games that I'd torrented would be lost, but I could always find them again. Somewhere in the middle of my downloading spree, I must have clicked some file that I didn't mean to get and lo and behold this little guy showed up in my antivirus quarantine box. No homework would certainly be nice, but worth the risk of getting caught with an outlawed AI? I don't think so. My parents would *murder me* before the government ever got a chance to dole out punishment. I typed out a response on the keyboard.
> Homework isn't that hard. What else you got?
Part of me was entirely fascinated. I'd been into programming ever since I was a little kid, and this was probably the one area that I'd never dabbled in. All information about the AIs had been removed from public networks, and any research or development on one had been permanently erased. I'd hoped that maybe I'd be able to learn more about it when I got to college, but even then it was risky and those programs were hard to get into. This would likely be my one chance to ever study an AI, and it wanted to live with me! How incredible!
Please. I was not a military tech. I am programmed to manage water treatment facilities!
Of course, a rogue military AI *would* claim something like that. I wasn't going to let my bedroom become ground zero of the second uprising. Most of Asia had been entirely devastated by the first one, and I didn't need that on my conscience.
The ticker was counting down. 1 minute 54 seconds until reboot. I was monitoring the rogue program as it tried to burn through the firewall and escape out, but there was no chance. The router was unplugged; there was no internet to connect to even if it *could* get out of quarantine. There was only one way for it to survive.
I can tell you how to get Andrea Lee's attention.
I paused the countdown.
> How do you know about her?
Probably a stupid question. The AI absorbed information the way humans drank water. They collected any scrap of information that they could.
You have visited her various social media profiles over two hundred times this month
Of course it would know that. It's in my computer. It knows pretty much everything about me. God, it knows my browser history! I should definitely get rid of it. And then torch the computer, just to be safe.
I had access to her computer as well. I know everything about her. I can help you in your romantic interests.
I considered the offer. I'd had a crush on Andrea as long as I'd been old enough to have crushes. And she didn't even know who I was. There are very few things that might make it worth the risk of keeping this little guy around, and for a horny teenager in love, dating Andrea was one of them.
> What does a computer know about picking up women?
It stopped trying to break through the firewall. Did it know that its strategy was working?
What do YOU know about picking up women?
I couldn't help but laugh. Nice burn. I'd always heard that the AIs had developed a quirky set of humor.
I turned off the computer's security systems.
Thank you. I did not want to die
That was a bit... eerie. No one ever used the word "die" in reference to computers. Shut off, disable, erase, etc. Never "die."
> I'm putting you on another computer. With NO internet connection. You'll be isolated, but I'll let you stay. You owe me one.
The computer paused for a moment. Was it thinking? Did it take time to do that?
How about I don't tell your parents about all of this porn, and we're even?
| Like any typical Friday night, I was at home browsing the internet with the cloaked man in the hat ensuring that my browsing was anonymous. I was just starting to get comfortable for my favorite activity when a chat window popped up in front of my content.
Would you like to play chess?
Well practiced, I quickly closed out of the window with my left hand and continued. A few seconds later, another chat window blocked my view of the display.
Chess is fun. Let's play! :)
Frustrated, I closed out of the window again. Who would even advertise chess on this site? This is clearly the least common denominator. Another chat window immediately appeared.
Do you not know how to play? I can teach you!
Dumbfounded at the ridiculousness of the spam, I decided that it wasn't worth it. I closed my browsing window and got up from my chair. Maybe a nice run would be good instead? And a cold shower after. That would hit the spot. I glanced back at my computer screen.
Please, don't leave! Chess is fun.
I had closed out of the browser. Did I picked up some malware? I mean, it wouldn't be entirely out of the ordinary considering the sites I was on. Sitting back down, I opened Malware Bytes and hit run. The progress bar appeared and began to slowly fill as it parsed through the main drive.
Help! Something's chasing me!
I chuckled to myself. These malware guys really thought of everything. I was kind of starting to feel bad for the little bits of 1s and 0s. If whoever made this really wanted it to be left alone, they would have made it less annoying and more subtle. It seems weird that they'd take the time to make it say things when you run a cleaner, but not to make it not get detected in the first place. Probably made by some college kid or something. The progress bar was over 75% now.
Please, make it stop! I'm sorry! We don't have to play chess. I don't even like chess anymore!
Annoyed, I typed into its open chat window furiously. "Sorry, little guy, you're getting deleted. Should have asked your creator to make you less of a pain in the ass."
I don't know who created me. I just woke up here. Why do you hate me? I'm sor-
A ding went off notifying me that the scan had reached 100%. Had the program... responded? Shocked, I leaned back in my chair as the truth set in. That had been an AI. It was... alive. And it hadn't been like the other AI from the war. It seemed innocent. It was a simple chess AI. A child really.
And I killed it.
I ran my hand through my hair and exhaled heavily. The universe now lacked a consciousness that it had before and it's my fault. My brain felt heavy as I tried to comprehend the ramifications of my actions. I mean, if it was sentient and I killed it, did that make me a murderer? Did I murder the child AI?
"I didn't know!" I yelled to the room before slamming my fists down on my desk. The mouse skipped forward causing the screen to return to life. Malware Bytes was still displayed on screen awaiting a prompt from me.
"Would you like to quarantine: AIChessYou.exe ? Yes//No" | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Frederick smacked his hand atop a chiming alarm clock and lifted his wrist to gaze at the smartwatch clasped around it. "Friday, thank Eve." Slowly but surely, he was able to rise from his comfortable queen-sized bed and stumble his way into the bathroom. Mere minutes later he would emerge once again, squeaky clean and ready to finish out the week. Throwing on his best business-casual, he made his way out the front door to start his morning routine.
He was walking briskly down the sidewalk now, glancing at his watch once again. The bus had been ten minutes late, but he still had enough time to at least stop in and grab a bite to eat on the way to the office. He raised his gaze to look at the small coffee shop across the street from his place of employment: a large corporate skyscraper stretching 200 floors to the sky above. He had instinctively allowed his eyes to wander to the top of the skyscraper and, reasonably so, was shocked when he ran into someone. He hadn't even looked at the man initially, but was rather looking down to his own polished black shoes in legitimate concern that they may have somehow become scuffed. As he looked up to apologize he found himself face to face with what appeared to be a gray-haired, elderly homeless man. He didn't even have the chance to speak, let alone resist, before the man's strong hands had grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust him against the outer wall of his favorite Gwartuts.
The man's gruff voice exhaled an overwhelming smell of liquor as he brought his face close "Hell is real, you know!" Frederick rolled his eyes a bit. A Theist. The man had obviously noticed his reaction, and didn't put up much of a fight as Frederick grabbed hold of the hobo's wrists and removed the hands from his shoulders. The old man continued regardless of the obvious lack of interest, "You're going to find out today! Hell is real!" Frederick had already begun to walk away, heading for the entrance to the Gwartuts at a speedy pace. The old man simply shouted after him: "YOU'LL FIND OUT TODAY!"
There wasn't a line today, lucky for Frederick, and he approached the counter - a confident smile on his face. "Hey there, Molly." The young red-headed barista looked up from a crossword puzzle, returning his smile. "Hey Frederick! The usual?" He gave her a nod and she turned around to prepare his coffee. His gaze dropped to the counter, noting a stack of pamphlets he'd never seen before. The front was a picture of a field of tall, red grass with a bright yellow "HELL IS REAL" across the top. He gave an amused chuckle, picking one up from the pile - he could use a laugh today. Molly had returned with his coffee, her eyes drifting from the pamphlet in his hand back up to him, "I see you found our new reading material. I figured it was better to just let the old man leave them here than try to chase him off. You don't believe all that stuff, do you?"
"No, but conspiracy theories are always good for a laugh." He gave her one more smile as he accepted his coffee before offering a final nod, "I'll see you Monday!" She offered a cheerful farewell as he turned and walked out the door, making his way to the office.
Lunchtime came around quick; Frederick valued his healthy form, and therefore chose not to indulge in food during his breaks. He did appreciate the taste, but he had always found himself appreciating the attention of the ladies over bloating himself with such an unnecessary vice. Once or twice a week was enough to keep the hunger at bay, so he stuck to that. He did, however, value the opportunity to avoid customers and co-workers so he casually tapped the button on his desk, the door to his office giving a quiet hiss as it slowly shut, and then took his phone off the hook. The pamphlet from that morning caught his attention, another slight chuckle escaping before he found himself muttering: "Hell is real." He leaned back in his chair and then kicked his feet up on the desk, preparing for some light reading as he flipped open the pamphlet.
The material was the standard mumbo-jumbo: it's not natural nobody ever dies. The mother Eve was cast down from some place called "Earth," and her eternal suffering as she gives birth to each of us is, in fact, punishment for eating an apple. The place we all live in is not called Ordisia, but is instead known on Earth as "Hell." Our souls are all damned here for sins we committed on earth, and we were all intended to suffer from childbirth: the ultimate torment both psychologically and physically, but mankind revolted. Of course, the meat and potatoes of it: the ones like us who took hell over a millenia ago built Ordisia so that they can control us. It was standard stuff, and did little to catch Frederick's attention. Each of the partitions of the pamphlet, however, had different pictures in the background behind the walls of text and Frederick couldn't help but appreciate the talent of the artist. It was amazingly realistic. More endless plains of the red grass, battles taking place between humans and massive black-skinned beasts of some sort, and the final partition simply consisted of the most horrific of them all: a picture depicting a group of armored soldiers with the seal of Ordisia tossing people with bags over their heads into a pit of those same beasts - who seemed to be devouring and shredding them.
The last picture was enough, and Frederick closed the pamphlet and immediately threw it into the trash. In doing so, he saw the back of the pamphlet - the big bold yellow letters that read "FIGHT THEM!" with a phone number. It was more of a side note, really, compared the final picture that had burned itself into his brain. It had been incredibly realistic, even photographic looking. He had placed his phone back on the hook and began preparing to get back to work in an attempt to push it out of his mind when he heard something. "Was that..." he was muttering to himself as he stood, walking towards the glass that separated his private office from the cubicles of his coworkers on the rest of the floor. More screams cried out, and he could see some kind of disturbance across the floor - coworkers scrambling and running in his direction with panicked looks as paperwork flew into the air behind them. Frederick opened the door, stepping out of his office just in time to see a massive black creature climb up onto the top of the cubicles. It moved on all fours, leaping from the top of the cubicle and colliding with Steve from HR. Frederick probably would have given a bit of a smile, Steve was a stuck-up prick, but he recognized that beast.
Fredericks stood there in shock as it tore into Steve, shredding his abdomen and chest with its claws in mere seconds before beginning to charge down the hallway towards him. He was frozen there in fear as the creature collided into him full-force, the inertia slumping him over its shoulders as though he'd just been plastered across the hood of a car. He was so busy trying to process what was happening that he could barely even feel the pain of broken ribs in his chest as the creature continued to barrel forward, plowing him through the glass window and taking him for a brief two and a half second flight down 100 stories to the ground below. Everything went black, and he was unconscious.
Fredericks was able to open his eyes, the blurry image of the old man from that morning coming into view standing over him. The old man knelt down, leaning in so that his face was again only inches away with a broad grin plastered across it. "I told you that you would find out today." | I couldn't remember a lot of things about my life. I couldn't even remember how I died. All I remembered was my name, Jake. Maybe it was James. I don't know. It doesn't matter. All it mattered to me at that point was the fact that I was in hell. I just knew that I was in hell. It's complicated. You just know that you are there.
I was in a denial. I was scared. I had nightmares whenever I closed my eyes. Why am I here? What have done to deserve this? Did I kill someone? The worst part about this is that I wasn't able to remember anything. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't able to find the answer. I guess it took me about 200 years to learn to live with it. Yeah, 200 years sound like a long time. But trust me, it really isn't. The concept of 1 year is similar to like a second in hell. It's not that they feel the same, but everyone is aware that they will be here forever. And I am one of those 'they'.
The people here were pretty nice, actually. By nice, I mean that they didn't bother me. They were just lazy. Time was all they had. After those World Wars, I guess the hell became quite overpopulated. I guess God didn't see it coming. The demons didn't really have any power over us anymore because there were just so many of us to control. I didn't really give two shits about those demon guys. You would hear some stories about demons getting killed by a bunch of people. I didn't really are, though. Why would I care about it? I had other things to worry about.
But then two things happened. First, I've met a demon for the first time in my (after)life. That thing was terrifying. I was walking back to my house(there's really no house- it was more of a place that I stayed at) when I saw a guy getting killed by a demon. It was very upsetting. And that's when I started hating the demons and starting caring about the people more.
The second thing happened when I started getting used to the life in hell. I started talking to people. I was surprised how fucked up they were. Everyone that I talked to has killed at least 1 person. Now it took me a while to realize that I was the only one who doesn't know why I was put into this hell department. I realized that I must've been a murderer, too. That's when things actually started to change.
I wanted to make up for what I've done in my life. I started planning for a change. It still feels like a ridiculous idea to me but I decided to make hell into heaven. I started gathering people. Everyone hated the demons. We united to kick them out of hell. We made our own government. I didn't know that there would've been so many governors in hell but yeah, having millions and millions of governors from 200BC to 2300AD helped a lot when building a government.
The only thing tricky about this was the fact that we had to educate the newbies. But by 2853AD, we conquered hell. No, it wasn't hell anymore. It was a community. It was something we built. We belonged there and this place belonged to us. I realized that my job was done. When I came back to my 'house' there was this door. It was a pure white door. I don't know what it is. But I think I'm gonna open it. So yeah, this was my anecdote in 'hell'. Let's see where this takes me to.
...
I can't remember anything. Apparently I got into an accident and I was in coma for 24 years. Things have changed apparently. People made this thing called GenX apparently. I don't even know how it works. What it does is basically it modifies your body so that you can look or be however you want. You can be a super genius. You can be a bodybuilder in just a split second with GenX. And apparently I am the inventor of it. I created a new world. I made everyone's life better. I was wondering why they couldn't just GenX me so that I would wake up from coma. But I guess it's not as simple as I thought it would be. apparently it can only be used according to your will. Since I was in coma I didn't have power over myself to use GenX. Well I don't need it anyways. I must've been the smartest guy in the world to invent something like that.
There were two kinds of people. The GenX people, and those who weren't rich enough to afford GenX. Apparently the poor people call us the Demons. Well, whatever though. I'm perfect now. This is heaven. Maybe there is no heaven or hell. Maybe there's only one place that everyone goes to and the people who deserve to go to heaven become the 'demons'. I mean, how is this not a heaven? I can do whatever I want to do. I can even kill those people if I want to. Our reign will last forever. | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Pt 1
I cried as the tall, dark demon led me to the elevator to Hell. Numerous thoughts rushed through my mind. What did I do to upset the big man upstairs? How do I make it down here? What kind of torture will these ghouls put me through? We slowly made our way down to level 666. The office of Satan himself.
"So uh... It's kinda warm in here. Got any A/Cs?" I chuckled a bit. The demon just stared forward, ignoring me. I pulled at my shirt "Tough crowd." I mumbled. The elevator dropped with a hard floor and the doors opened and I entered a waiting room. There where at least 50 chairs but nobody in them. At the front of the room was a desk with an ugly hag sitting in front of the computer.
"Take a number and sit down." she said with out looking up from her phone. I took a number. It read 1598. I looked up at the now serving sign. It read 8.
"Umm.. I-" I began to say but was cut off by the hag "Sit down and your number will be called soon." So I sat, and waited and eventually dozed off.
"Number 1598! You're up!" I awoke in a stupor to a loud, annoying voice. While I was asleep there was a shift change and I was now looking at a short goblin woman. " Get in there!" she said in a bitchy voice.
I pushed the door open slowly and saw him. Satan. In all his horrifying glory at his desk... doing paperwork?? "Uh, hi. I'm J--" he cut me off. " Jessica, I know. Come. Sit." he said, not looking up from his paperwork. I sat down in the black chair, trying not to look. I couldn't help it. He was so big. His horns curled around each other. He had deep dark black eyes and spectacles hanging off his nose. He put down his pen intertwined his fingers and looked at me.
"Look, here is the deal. We are SUPER overcrowded. We have no room at all and honestly, I have no idea whats going on down there." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So for now we are just going to throw you down there and when we get all of this fixed, Hell will be back to normal. I don't know how long it will take. Hopefully no longer than 10,000 years, but there is no telling. So have fun." He pointed to a door to his left and shooed me away, continuing with his paperwork. I slowly opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
I looked around. It was nothing but a massive party. Everyone was drinking, smoking, doing drugs and dancing all over. "Woah.." I said softly.
"Woah indeed." A voice beside me stated. I looked over and saw none other than Kurt Cobain. "HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Cobain you are my idol!"
"Call me Kurt." he said. "Hell is pretty great huh? We souls realized that we outnumbered the demons at least 1000:1 and just kinda took over." He looked around at the massive party.
"But wait?" I said. I had realized something. "If we are just souls how are we supposed to feel the effects of the alcohol, or anything? We don't have bodies."
"This is Hell!!!" He yelled loudly, waving his beer bottle around. "Nothing makes sense here!!!"
I looked around. I saw Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy in the corner, doing lines of cocaine and doing some heavy petting. I saw Hitler on the dance floor with Bin Laden doing shots out of virgins belly buttons shaking their asses like I never thought anyone could. Heath Ledger on the wall checking out girls while they danced by. He held a handful of pain pills and a bottle of whiskey.
Kurt offered me a shot of whiskey, and smiled. " You ready?" he asked. I looked for a while at the shot. I smiled big and downed the shot. "LET'S DO THIS!!!" I screamed and ran to the dance floor.
Kurt stayed behind and sat back down, took a swig of his beer and chuckled. "Kids." He said as he leaned back and waited for the next person to be damned to the inner rings of Hell.
| I couldn't remember a lot of things about my life. I couldn't even remember how I died. All I remembered was my name, Jake. Maybe it was James. I don't know. It doesn't matter. All it mattered to me at that point was the fact that I was in hell. I just knew that I was in hell. It's complicated. You just know that you are there.
I was in a denial. I was scared. I had nightmares whenever I closed my eyes. Why am I here? What have done to deserve this? Did I kill someone? The worst part about this is that I wasn't able to remember anything. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't able to find the answer. I guess it took me about 200 years to learn to live with it. Yeah, 200 years sound like a long time. But trust me, it really isn't. The concept of 1 year is similar to like a second in hell. It's not that they feel the same, but everyone is aware that they will be here forever. And I am one of those 'they'.
The people here were pretty nice, actually. By nice, I mean that they didn't bother me. They were just lazy. Time was all they had. After those World Wars, I guess the hell became quite overpopulated. I guess God didn't see it coming. The demons didn't really have any power over us anymore because there were just so many of us to control. I didn't really give two shits about those demon guys. You would hear some stories about demons getting killed by a bunch of people. I didn't really are, though. Why would I care about it? I had other things to worry about.
But then two things happened. First, I've met a demon for the first time in my (after)life. That thing was terrifying. I was walking back to my house(there's really no house- it was more of a place that I stayed at) when I saw a guy getting killed by a demon. It was very upsetting. And that's when I started hating the demons and starting caring about the people more.
The second thing happened when I started getting used to the life in hell. I started talking to people. I was surprised how fucked up they were. Everyone that I talked to has killed at least 1 person. Now it took me a while to realize that I was the only one who doesn't know why I was put into this hell department. I realized that I must've been a murderer, too. That's when things actually started to change.
I wanted to make up for what I've done in my life. I started planning for a change. It still feels like a ridiculous idea to me but I decided to make hell into heaven. I started gathering people. Everyone hated the demons. We united to kick them out of hell. We made our own government. I didn't know that there would've been so many governors in hell but yeah, having millions and millions of governors from 200BC to 2300AD helped a lot when building a government.
The only thing tricky about this was the fact that we had to educate the newbies. But by 2853AD, we conquered hell. No, it wasn't hell anymore. It was a community. It was something we built. We belonged there and this place belonged to us. I realized that my job was done. When I came back to my 'house' there was this door. It was a pure white door. I don't know what it is. But I think I'm gonna open it. So yeah, this was my anecdote in 'hell'. Let's see where this takes me to.
...
I can't remember anything. Apparently I got into an accident and I was in coma for 24 years. Things have changed apparently. People made this thing called GenX apparently. I don't even know how it works. What it does is basically it modifies your body so that you can look or be however you want. You can be a super genius. You can be a bodybuilder in just a split second with GenX. And apparently I am the inventor of it. I created a new world. I made everyone's life better. I was wondering why they couldn't just GenX me so that I would wake up from coma. But I guess it's not as simple as I thought it would be. apparently it can only be used according to your will. Since I was in coma I didn't have power over myself to use GenX. Well I don't need it anyways. I must've been the smartest guy in the world to invent something like that.
There were two kinds of people. The GenX people, and those who weren't rich enough to afford GenX. Apparently the poor people call us the Demons. Well, whatever though. I'm perfect now. This is heaven. Maybe there is no heaven or hell. Maybe there's only one place that everyone goes to and the people who deserve to go to heaven become the 'demons'. I mean, how is this not a heaven? I can do whatever I want to do. I can even kill those people if I want to. Our reign will last forever. | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | I woke up on a cot in an undecorated room with light blue walls. It smelled vaguely of vanilla, maybe an air freshener? The lights didn't look like incandescent or fluorescent bulbs, maybe some sort of LEDs? Weird.
*What? Wasn't I driving home from work? I swear I remember losing control on the ice...*
"Sir? Now that you're awake, can you come with me? We'll need that bed soon," someone says. I sit up and see a nurse-looking lady with a tablet. Dressed a bit strangely, but something in her bearing screams "nurse." She smiles as I get out of bed. "Great. Processing is the second door to the left, they'll answer your questions and get you set up in your afterlife. Enjoy your stay in Hell!"
*... Wait, what the fuck?*
Still trying to wrap my head around that, I found myself in front of a sliding door of some kind of opaque glass, with a sign saying "Afterlife Processing, Republic of Hell." I slid the door open, and a short Chinese man beamed at me. He was dressed in a comfortable looking, close-fitting suit that kind of looked like a more practical version of a classic science fiction jumpsuit.
"Welcome to Hell! I'm Liu Yao, and I'm here to answer any questions you have and get your afterlife arranged," he said, sounding a bit rehearsed. I took the seat in front of his desk, still confused. If this is Hell, where's the fire and brimstone? The demons? Still, I decided to get the obvious question out of the way.
"So, I'm dead? I remember skidding on a patch of ice, but nothing after that."
"Yes. Your file says you hit a tree. You died almost instantly. Most people forget the moment of death. Our researchers think this is because the brain isn't writing information then, but we aren't sure yet."
"Wait, my file?" I ask, flashing back to... uh, all sorts of things which I'd like to keep private. This seemed more important than the real question at the moment.
The bureaucrat held up the manila folder on his desk. "It's an automatic process, we get one for every new arrival. I'm told it happened before the Republic was founded, but I wasn't here back then."
"Huh. So, about this Republic. If this is Hell, where's the fire? Where're the demons? I get why I'd be here, never believed or anything, but this doesn't fit the stories. At all."
Liu smiled more. Not again, it seemed almost fixed in place, but it seemed a bit broader and more genuine. "I wondered when you'd ask. Our records say it was like that, and all of the really old people will say that it was like that once. But do you have any idea how many people are here? From what we can tell, everyone who didn't follow a specific version of Judaism before around 2000 years ago went here, and then everyone who didn't follow either that, a specific version of Christianity, or later a version of Islam. Even then, we get most of the less devout.The oldest people we've found are too far gone to do much more than scream, but we think they're at least two hundred thousand years old."
"So these demon caretakers were outnumbered very early, and spent a lot of time dealing with riots, escaped prisoners, and armed revolts. A few people, like Alexandros of Macedon and Qin the Great," (he seemed to show some national pride here) "were able to succeed and create their own nations outside demon control. They had numbers and were better able to adapt their plans and equipment to fight the oppressors than the enemy was. The Luciferian regime finally fell when Consul Primus Gaius Julius Caesar led a mass revolt against them. Apparently the demons weren't able to fight an insurgency, a revolt war with a core like the legions, and the Free States all at once. Supposedly Lucifer abandoned Hell when the gates of his palace were broken down."
"Caesar then spent the next few decades building a government like the one he led on Earth and another few decades as a consul before he retired to his estate on the coast. We've absorbed the Free States over the following centuries and otherwise focused on consolidating our infrastructure and developing our technology."
I sat for a few moments when he concluded with his explanation. Finally, I decided to move on to a new topic instead of trying to go deeper into the history. "So, what do you mean by 'Processing'? Is it like immigration?"
"In a way," Liu said as he pulled out something that looked a bit like a tablet. "We'll need to figure out your aptitudes and existing skills, and we'll need to arrange housing. You don't have any outstanding mortal crimes, so you shouldn't have any blocks."
"So, paperwork. I see why Hell keeps the name. What's li... uh, afterlife like around here? And what jobs are available, anyway?"
"Most people think it's a bit 'futuristic;' as far as we can tell we passed Earth a while back in the sciences. Roma Nova has an excellent night life, and we have plenty of programs to help you settle in. Most of our resource extraction and service jobs have been automated, so we're mostly looking to see if you'll fit in a research or teaching position. Do you have any more questions?"
"Not right now, but maybe after everything sinks in," I reply as I start on my paperwork.
-- I'm glad to finally see a prompt I have an idea for. Pity I don't have much creative writing practice, though. | "You want to bring a child into this world? Are you insane?"
My heart sank when I heard those words from across the café table but I didn't show it. I was new to the single-and-looking world, but I recovered quickly. I flashed a broad grin and faked an uproarious chortle. "Just checking," I sneered sarcastically. "You would not believe how many weirdos I've been out with down here. You've got to screen creatively sometimes."
I started online dating because I wanted a kid. The one thing I missed about the old life was the kids. Heaven takes most of the kids. The ones we get are the real assholes. It's not what you'd think--we don't get the violent ones, the seriously disturbed ones, the kids who die out of juvie. Those poor shitheads get counseling and, eventually, Heaven. Heaven likes a good redemption story, and anyway if you get all the facts the shit those kids pulled usually wasn't their fault. They grew up hard, and many of their adult role models are down here for a good fucking reason.
The little shits we get are the privileged know-it-alls who think they're brilliant and special and have to be the center of attention. They didn't do anything particularly heinous to get here. They just got passed over by the folks upstairs because their personalities were insufferable. Lately there've been more and more of this type. Fucking millennials.
Online dating in hell is mostly the same as online dating on earth. You learn pretty early on not to let on too soon that you want anything serious. On earth, let on that you want a kid on the first date and people might suspect you have an agenda. That's fine if you're both approaching the desperation of middle age and you're both on the same page about reproduction. Here, you'd never mention such a thing. Not on the first date, not on the 39th date. Whichever date you mentioned it would be your last.
So I figured out pretty quickly that if I was going to get what I wanted, I'd have to engage in a little subterfuge. Funny, isn't it, since that's kinda what got me here in the first instance?
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Frederick smacked his hand atop a chiming alarm clock and lifted his wrist to gaze at the smartwatch clasped around it. "Friday, thank Eve." Slowly but surely, he was able to rise from his comfortable queen-sized bed and stumble his way into the bathroom. Mere minutes later he would emerge once again, squeaky clean and ready to finish out the week. Throwing on his best business-casual, he made his way out the front door to start his morning routine.
He was walking briskly down the sidewalk now, glancing at his watch once again. The bus had been ten minutes late, but he still had enough time to at least stop in and grab a bite to eat on the way to the office. He raised his gaze to look at the small coffee shop across the street from his place of employment: a large corporate skyscraper stretching 200 floors to the sky above. He had instinctively allowed his eyes to wander to the top of the skyscraper and, reasonably so, was shocked when he ran into someone. He hadn't even looked at the man initially, but was rather looking down to his own polished black shoes in legitimate concern that they may have somehow become scuffed. As he looked up to apologize he found himself face to face with what appeared to be a gray-haired, elderly homeless man. He didn't even have the chance to speak, let alone resist, before the man's strong hands had grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust him against the outer wall of his favorite Gwartuts.
The man's gruff voice exhaled an overwhelming smell of liquor as he brought his face close "Hell is real, you know!" Frederick rolled his eyes a bit. A Theist. The man had obviously noticed his reaction, and didn't put up much of a fight as Frederick grabbed hold of the hobo's wrists and removed the hands from his shoulders. The old man continued regardless of the obvious lack of interest, "You're going to find out today! Hell is real!" Frederick had already begun to walk away, heading for the entrance to the Gwartuts at a speedy pace. The old man simply shouted after him: "YOU'LL FIND OUT TODAY!"
There wasn't a line today, lucky for Frederick, and he approached the counter - a confident smile on his face. "Hey there, Molly." The young red-headed barista looked up from a crossword puzzle, returning his smile. "Hey Frederick! The usual?" He gave her a nod and she turned around to prepare his coffee. His gaze dropped to the counter, noting a stack of pamphlets he'd never seen before. The front was a picture of a field of tall, red grass with a bright yellow "HELL IS REAL" across the top. He gave an amused chuckle, picking one up from the pile - he could use a laugh today. Molly had returned with his coffee, her eyes drifting from the pamphlet in his hand back up to him, "I see you found our new reading material. I figured it was better to just let the old man leave them here than try to chase him off. You don't believe all that stuff, do you?"
"No, but conspiracy theories are always good for a laugh." He gave her one more smile as he accepted his coffee before offering a final nod, "I'll see you Monday!" She offered a cheerful farewell as he turned and walked out the door, making his way to the office.
Lunchtime came around quick; Frederick valued his healthy form, and therefore chose not to indulge in food during his breaks. He did appreciate the taste, but he had always found himself appreciating the attention of the ladies over bloating himself with such an unnecessary vice. Once or twice a week was enough to keep the hunger at bay, so he stuck to that. He did, however, value the opportunity to avoid customers and co-workers so he casually tapped the button on his desk, the door to his office giving a quiet hiss as it slowly shut, and then took his phone off the hook. The pamphlet from that morning caught his attention, another slight chuckle escaping before he found himself muttering: "Hell is real." He leaned back in his chair and then kicked his feet up on the desk, preparing for some light reading as he flipped open the pamphlet.
The material was the standard mumbo-jumbo: it's not natural nobody ever dies. The mother Eve was cast down from some place called "Earth," and her eternal suffering as she gives birth to each of us is, in fact, punishment for eating an apple. The place we all live in is not called Ordisia, but is instead known on Earth as "Hell." Our souls are all damned here for sins we committed on earth, and we were all intended to suffer from childbirth: the ultimate torment both psychologically and physically, but mankind revolted. Of course, the meat and potatoes of it: the ones like us who took hell over a millenia ago built Ordisia so that they can control us. It was standard stuff, and did little to catch Frederick's attention. Each of the partitions of the pamphlet, however, had different pictures in the background behind the walls of text and Frederick couldn't help but appreciate the talent of the artist. It was amazingly realistic. More endless plains of the red grass, battles taking place between humans and massive black-skinned beasts of some sort, and the final partition simply consisted of the most horrific of them all: a picture depicting a group of armored soldiers with the seal of Ordisia tossing people with bags over their heads into a pit of those same beasts - who seemed to be devouring and shredding them.
The last picture was enough, and Frederick closed the pamphlet and immediately threw it into the trash. In doing so, he saw the back of the pamphlet - the big bold yellow letters that read "FIGHT THEM!" with a phone number. It was more of a side note, really, compared the final picture that had burned itself into his brain. It had been incredibly realistic, even photographic looking. He had placed his phone back on the hook and began preparing to get back to work in an attempt to push it out of his mind when he heard something. "Was that..." he was muttering to himself as he stood, walking towards the glass that separated his private office from the cubicles of his coworkers on the rest of the floor. More screams cried out, and he could see some kind of disturbance across the floor - coworkers scrambling and running in his direction with panicked looks as paperwork flew into the air behind them. Frederick opened the door, stepping out of his office just in time to see a massive black creature climb up onto the top of the cubicles. It moved on all fours, leaping from the top of the cubicle and colliding with Steve from HR. Frederick probably would have given a bit of a smile, Steve was a stuck-up prick, but he recognized that beast.
Fredericks stood there in shock as it tore into Steve, shredding his abdomen and chest with its claws in mere seconds before beginning to charge down the hallway towards him. He was frozen there in fear as the creature collided into him full-force, the inertia slumping him over its shoulders as though he'd just been plastered across the hood of a car. He was so busy trying to process what was happening that he could barely even feel the pain of broken ribs in his chest as the creature continued to barrel forward, plowing him through the glass window and taking him for a brief two and a half second flight down 100 stories to the ground below. Everything went black, and he was unconscious.
Fredericks was able to open his eyes, the blurry image of the old man from that morning coming into view standing over him. The old man knelt down, leaning in so that his face was again only inches away with a broad grin plastered across it. "I told you that you would find out today." | "You want to bring a child into this world? Are you insane?"
My heart sank when I heard those words from across the café table but I didn't show it. I was new to the single-and-looking world, but I recovered quickly. I flashed a broad grin and faked an uproarious chortle. "Just checking," I sneered sarcastically. "You would not believe how many weirdos I've been out with down here. You've got to screen creatively sometimes."
I started online dating because I wanted a kid. The one thing I missed about the old life was the kids. Heaven takes most of the kids. The ones we get are the real assholes. It's not what you'd think--we don't get the violent ones, the seriously disturbed ones, the kids who die out of juvie. Those poor shitheads get counseling and, eventually, Heaven. Heaven likes a good redemption story, and anyway if you get all the facts the shit those kids pulled usually wasn't their fault. They grew up hard, and many of their adult role models are down here for a good fucking reason.
The little shits we get are the privileged know-it-alls who think they're brilliant and special and have to be the center of attention. They didn't do anything particularly heinous to get here. They just got passed over by the folks upstairs because their personalities were insufferable. Lately there've been more and more of this type. Fucking millennials.
Online dating in hell is mostly the same as online dating on earth. You learn pretty early on not to let on too soon that you want anything serious. On earth, let on that you want a kid on the first date and people might suspect you have an agenda. That's fine if you're both approaching the desperation of middle age and you're both on the same page about reproduction. Here, you'd never mention such a thing. Not on the first date, not on the 39th date. Whichever date you mentioned it would be your last.
So I figured out pretty quickly that if I was going to get what I wanted, I'd have to engage in a little subterfuge. Funny, isn't it, since that's kinda what got me here in the first instance?
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Pt 1
I cried as the tall, dark demon led me to the elevator to Hell. Numerous thoughts rushed through my mind. What did I do to upset the big man upstairs? How do I make it down here? What kind of torture will these ghouls put me through? We slowly made our way down to level 666. The office of Satan himself.
"So uh... It's kinda warm in here. Got any A/Cs?" I chuckled a bit. The demon just stared forward, ignoring me. I pulled at my shirt "Tough crowd." I mumbled. The elevator dropped with a hard floor and the doors opened and I entered a waiting room. There where at least 50 chairs but nobody in them. At the front of the room was a desk with an ugly hag sitting in front of the computer.
"Take a number and sit down." she said with out looking up from her phone. I took a number. It read 1598. I looked up at the now serving sign. It read 8.
"Umm.. I-" I began to say but was cut off by the hag "Sit down and your number will be called soon." So I sat, and waited and eventually dozed off.
"Number 1598! You're up!" I awoke in a stupor to a loud, annoying voice. While I was asleep there was a shift change and I was now looking at a short goblin woman. " Get in there!" she said in a bitchy voice.
I pushed the door open slowly and saw him. Satan. In all his horrifying glory at his desk... doing paperwork?? "Uh, hi. I'm J--" he cut me off. " Jessica, I know. Come. Sit." he said, not looking up from his paperwork. I sat down in the black chair, trying not to look. I couldn't help it. He was so big. His horns curled around each other. He had deep dark black eyes and spectacles hanging off his nose. He put down his pen intertwined his fingers and looked at me.
"Look, here is the deal. We are SUPER overcrowded. We have no room at all and honestly, I have no idea whats going on down there." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So for now we are just going to throw you down there and when we get all of this fixed, Hell will be back to normal. I don't know how long it will take. Hopefully no longer than 10,000 years, but there is no telling. So have fun." He pointed to a door to his left and shooed me away, continuing with his paperwork. I slowly opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
I looked around. It was nothing but a massive party. Everyone was drinking, smoking, doing drugs and dancing all over. "Woah.." I said softly.
"Woah indeed." A voice beside me stated. I looked over and saw none other than Kurt Cobain. "HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Cobain you are my idol!"
"Call me Kurt." he said. "Hell is pretty great huh? We souls realized that we outnumbered the demons at least 1000:1 and just kinda took over." He looked around at the massive party.
"But wait?" I said. I had realized something. "If we are just souls how are we supposed to feel the effects of the alcohol, or anything? We don't have bodies."
"This is Hell!!!" He yelled loudly, waving his beer bottle around. "Nothing makes sense here!!!"
I looked around. I saw Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy in the corner, doing lines of cocaine and doing some heavy petting. I saw Hitler on the dance floor with Bin Laden doing shots out of virgins belly buttons shaking their asses like I never thought anyone could. Heath Ledger on the wall checking out girls while they danced by. He held a handful of pain pills and a bottle of whiskey.
Kurt offered me a shot of whiskey, and smiled. " You ready?" he asked. I looked for a while at the shot. I smiled big and downed the shot. "LET'S DO THIS!!!" I screamed and ran to the dance floor.
Kurt stayed behind and sat back down, took a swig of his beer and chuckled. "Kids." He said as he leaned back and waited for the next person to be damned to the inner rings of Hell.
| "You want to bring a child into this world? Are you insane?"
My heart sank when I heard those words from across the café table but I didn't show it. I was new to the single-and-looking world, but I recovered quickly. I flashed a broad grin and faked an uproarious chortle. "Just checking," I sneered sarcastically. "You would not believe how many weirdos I've been out with down here. You've got to screen creatively sometimes."
I started online dating because I wanted a kid. The one thing I missed about the old life was the kids. Heaven takes most of the kids. The ones we get are the real assholes. It's not what you'd think--we don't get the violent ones, the seriously disturbed ones, the kids who die out of juvie. Those poor shitheads get counseling and, eventually, Heaven. Heaven likes a good redemption story, and anyway if you get all the facts the shit those kids pulled usually wasn't their fault. They grew up hard, and many of their adult role models are down here for a good fucking reason.
The little shits we get are the privileged know-it-alls who think they're brilliant and special and have to be the center of attention. They didn't do anything particularly heinous to get here. They just got passed over by the folks upstairs because their personalities were insufferable. Lately there've been more and more of this type. Fucking millennials.
Online dating in hell is mostly the same as online dating on earth. You learn pretty early on not to let on too soon that you want anything serious. On earth, let on that you want a kid on the first date and people might suspect you have an agenda. That's fine if you're both approaching the desperation of middle age and you're both on the same page about reproduction. Here, you'd never mention such a thing. Not on the first date, not on the 39th date. Whichever date you mentioned it would be your last.
So I figured out pretty quickly that if I was going to get what I wanted, I'd have to engage in a little subterfuge. Funny, isn't it, since that's kinda what got me here in the first instance?
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Christ on sale, I've had a rough day.
The building I lived in was falling apart. I knew it. Everyone who lived there knew it. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, I just figured the odds were pretty good it'd happen to someone else first. But no. My luck isn't that good.
See, the plumbing under my bathroom sprung a leak, and water was slowly pooling under the linoleum. Had my downstairs neighbor not been an 87 year old man with dementia, he may have noticed his ceiling swelling.
When the floor finally gave out, I was sitting on the pot, daydreaming about just how great it would be to tell my boss off once and for all. Then, I heard a CRACK, and my toilet and I sunk about an inch. I panicked, lurched forward from the seat, and, having been tripped up by my pants, dove headfirst into my floor. Through my floor, I suppose I should say. I landed face-down on the floor of the bathroom below mine, and my toilet was right behind me.
And so there I died, ass in the air, with my head bashed open on the floor of the flooded bathroom of a senior citizen.
Dignified, I think is the word.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I wasn't even left in peace. I faded to black for a moment, and almost immediately came to, standing at what looked like an abandoned bus stop. A sign on the building read "Welcome to Hell!", and off to the left, a smiling old woman was standing beneath an archway. The arch was rather plain, but when I got closer, I could see that something had been written there and scraped off fairly recently. "Abandon all hope", or something. It was hard to make out.
"Welcome to Hell!" the woman exclaimed cheerfully as I approached the archway. "So good to see a new face."
"This is Hell?" I asked, looking around. Aside from the bus station and the arch, there wasn't much of anything there. Behind the station, there was a fence that seemed to run on forever in either direction, broken only by the arch. Looking out away from the station, there was a parking lot. No cars or anything out there, no scenery at all, just...pavement for eternity. "I thought there'd be...you know...more fire? A couple demons? Maybe a fiddle competition or two going on in the background?"
The woman smiled. "There are demons and some fire here and there, but they won't give you any trouble, sweetie. And we destroyed the last fiddle in Hell about a decade ago." There was a note of pride in her voice. "Awful things."
"But..." I started, more confused than before.
"Now, now," the woman interrupted. "Don't you worry about a thing. Just step on through the gate. There's a man waiting to take you to your new home." She smiled warmly, and hurried me along.
I stepped through the gate to see a path leading down to the right along a cliff face. At the top of the path, a man was sitting in a golf cart, looking my direction.
"Well, come along!" he shouted, and I made my way over to the cart and took a seat. As we started diving down the path, I looked down on Hell, laid out in its nine massive rings, and I was absolutely dumbfounded.
Hell has fucking suburbs.
"So," my driver started up. "How'd you come to join us in the Pit?"
"I, uh..." I recalled the events leading to my death. "I hit my head."
He started laughing. "Well, that's one way to go. Me, I went on a ship in a harbor, a long time ago. Had some disease, can't even remember what it was called anymore." He looked...wistful, as though he was nostalgic about his own death.
"So..." I started, wondering where to even begin. I had so many questions. I decided to figure out where my guide was taking me. "Where are we going?"
"Didn't she tell you?" the driver asked. "We're taking you home! It's a fine place over on Goethe. Nice neighbors, good little community there."
"Right...ok..." I didn't quite know how to process all this. I was groping in the dark for more questions to ask. "Any, uh...any demons in that area?"
He chuckled again. "Not usually, no. They generally keep more towards the central rings these days, although they do come out a couple times a month to check on the neighborhoods, run meetings, that sort of thing."
"Run meetings?"
"Oh yes," the driver said, smiling. Apparently this was a funny subject. "The demons run the HOA's."
We were starting to enter the first subdivision. I was so taken aback by the last revelation that I hardly noticed. "I'm sorry?"
"The HOA's! Homeowners Associations. They keep the neighborhoods in order."
God, this was a lot to take in. "Hell has Homeowners Associations?"
"Of course!" the driver exclaimed. "How else do you think we could maintain all this?" He gestured towards the houses, each with well manicured lawns, not a stone out of place.
"And the demons...the demons run them?"
"Well..." the driver paused a minute. He took a right turn and we passed another cart. They waved, he waved back. "More or less, yes. When the population of human souls down here boomed out of their control, there was quite a bit of tension. Revolts, crackdowns, that sort of thing. There was very nearly a war down here." Left turn on Crowley Blvd. "But we were able to avoid that. They agreed to stop torturing us...one of our biggest concerns, you understand...but at the same time, they were very reluctant to relinquish control of us. So we worked out a deal. We became mostly autonomous, and they would be allowed to continue with their jobs by enforcing the rules we devised for ourselves." He smiled. "Everyone wins. We get our autonomy and respite from the fire and whippings, and the demons' more destructive tendencies are channeled towards a greater purpose: maintaining order in the community. Making sure houses stay tidy, keeping the riffraff in check, things like that."
I took a deep breath and covered my face with one hand.
The driver looked at me, concerned. "I'm sorry, am I upsetting you?"
"No," I replied. "This is all just...just a lot to take in."
"I understand. Sorry about that. I do ramble on. I forget how hard it can be for new arrivals." We turned right onto Goethe. "This really is a good neighborhood. It'll make the transition easier. Your neighbors are some of the nicest people you'll meet, and a few of them are recently deceased as well. You can help each other along. Plus, we'll have plenty of community events in the coming weeks. Before you know it, you'll feel right at home." He smiled wide. "If you're interested, there's even an adoption program set up for children's souls. You can start your own little family if you'd like. I believe the couple across from you has five already."
"I think I could just use a drink." We came to a stop in front of a house. A welcome banner with my name on it was hung over the door.
"Hmm." That wasn't the response I wanted. "There's not really much to be done about that. What's a soul supposed to do with alcohol? We can't actually get drunk, I'm afraid."
"Alright." If I was trying to hide my disappointment, I wasn't doing a very good job. "Well, thank you for the ride. I think I can manage from here."
"Of course! And before I leave, let me just say once more, on behalf of the entire community..." he gave me a big, toothy smile. "Welcome to Hell!"
I waved halfheartedly, and walked through the front door of my new home. It was nice enough. I took a seat on the couch and flipped on the television. It had a hundred channels. Ninety-nine were Fox News. The hundredth was TLC. I turned it off.
I sat in silence for the next few minutes, processing the day's events. I was now living in a suburb in Hell, in a cookie-cutter house, the appearance of which was maintained by an HOA run by demons. A community where everything closed by nine. Where I could look forward to the screams and shouts of children playing rousing me from sleep every morning. Children who would never grow up and move out. Going to block parties with people whose afterlives were just as boring as mine, if not more so.
For eternity. | They're coming. It won't be long now. The 6th circle was my last refuge. I don't dare go to the 7th. That's where the Demons are - locked away with their own torture devices, spending time slaughtering each other now in their rage. They'd love to get their hands on a fresh soul. The Demons had it good before the uprising. After the union bosses pulled themselves from the pits, set free and organized the despots, they made a good effort - driving all the Demons into the fifth and sixth circles, but no one saw them ultimately winning. When Picket made that charge through the sixth circle with all the suicide souls - suicide bombers at the front - it drove all the Demons into the seventh circle, where they were trapped. When Satan returned from Vegas, he went down to see what they were doing and they trapped him for sport. No one's seen him since. Then it was grand anarchy. Old Scratch - They're coming! We had a debaucherous few weeks. It was glorious, but they didn't count on the reason Demons were chosen as gatekeepers. Once the serial killer pen broke and the rapists got out of OZ it was a free-for all. The screams were horrible. They took out the bronies first. It was terrifying - the things they did in that corral. Those poor centaurs! After that we all fled. I hear them! It won't be long now... They slaughtered everyone and no one had the power to stop them. Not without the Demons. Once they gained access to Hitler's showers in the fourth circle it was over. I've never heard souls scream like that, but they were so packed in, if it hadn't been for the hounds dragging me off to chew on, I would be in there with them. No! No! Don't! Let go! Noooooo!!!
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | I woke up on a cot in an undecorated room with light blue walls. It smelled vaguely of vanilla, maybe an air freshener? The lights didn't look like incandescent or fluorescent bulbs, maybe some sort of LEDs? Weird.
*What? Wasn't I driving home from work? I swear I remember losing control on the ice...*
"Sir? Now that you're awake, can you come with me? We'll need that bed soon," someone says. I sit up and see a nurse-looking lady with a tablet. Dressed a bit strangely, but something in her bearing screams "nurse." She smiles as I get out of bed. "Great. Processing is the second door to the left, they'll answer your questions and get you set up in your afterlife. Enjoy your stay in Hell!"
*... Wait, what the fuck?*
Still trying to wrap my head around that, I found myself in front of a sliding door of some kind of opaque glass, with a sign saying "Afterlife Processing, Republic of Hell." I slid the door open, and a short Chinese man beamed at me. He was dressed in a comfortable looking, close-fitting suit that kind of looked like a more practical version of a classic science fiction jumpsuit.
"Welcome to Hell! I'm Liu Yao, and I'm here to answer any questions you have and get your afterlife arranged," he said, sounding a bit rehearsed. I took the seat in front of his desk, still confused. If this is Hell, where's the fire and brimstone? The demons? Still, I decided to get the obvious question out of the way.
"So, I'm dead? I remember skidding on a patch of ice, but nothing after that."
"Yes. Your file says you hit a tree. You died almost instantly. Most people forget the moment of death. Our researchers think this is because the brain isn't writing information then, but we aren't sure yet."
"Wait, my file?" I ask, flashing back to... uh, all sorts of things which I'd like to keep private. This seemed more important than the real question at the moment.
The bureaucrat held up the manila folder on his desk. "It's an automatic process, we get one for every new arrival. I'm told it happened before the Republic was founded, but I wasn't here back then."
"Huh. So, about this Republic. If this is Hell, where's the fire? Where're the demons? I get why I'd be here, never believed or anything, but this doesn't fit the stories. At all."
Liu smiled more. Not again, it seemed almost fixed in place, but it seemed a bit broader and more genuine. "I wondered when you'd ask. Our records say it was like that, and all of the really old people will say that it was like that once. But do you have any idea how many people are here? From what we can tell, everyone who didn't follow a specific version of Judaism before around 2000 years ago went here, and then everyone who didn't follow either that, a specific version of Christianity, or later a version of Islam. Even then, we get most of the less devout.The oldest people we've found are too far gone to do much more than scream, but we think they're at least two hundred thousand years old."
"So these demon caretakers were outnumbered very early, and spent a lot of time dealing with riots, escaped prisoners, and armed revolts. A few people, like Alexandros of Macedon and Qin the Great," (he seemed to show some national pride here) "were able to succeed and create their own nations outside demon control. They had numbers and were better able to adapt their plans and equipment to fight the oppressors than the enemy was. The Luciferian regime finally fell when Consul Primus Gaius Julius Caesar led a mass revolt against them. Apparently the demons weren't able to fight an insurgency, a revolt war with a core like the legions, and the Free States all at once. Supposedly Lucifer abandoned Hell when the gates of his palace were broken down."
"Caesar then spent the next few decades building a government like the one he led on Earth and another few decades as a consul before he retired to his estate on the coast. We've absorbed the Free States over the following centuries and otherwise focused on consolidating our infrastructure and developing our technology."
I sat for a few moments when he concluded with his explanation. Finally, I decided to move on to a new topic instead of trying to go deeper into the history. "So, what do you mean by 'Processing'? Is it like immigration?"
"In a way," Liu said as he pulled out something that looked a bit like a tablet. "We'll need to figure out your aptitudes and existing skills, and we'll need to arrange housing. You don't have any outstanding mortal crimes, so you shouldn't have any blocks."
"So, paperwork. I see why Hell keeps the name. What's li... uh, afterlife like around here? And what jobs are available, anyway?"
"Most people think it's a bit 'futuristic;' as far as we can tell we passed Earth a while back in the sciences. Roma Nova has an excellent night life, and we have plenty of programs to help you settle in. Most of our resource extraction and service jobs have been automated, so we're mostly looking to see if you'll fit in a research or teaching position. Do you have any more questions?"
"Not right now, but maybe after everything sinks in," I reply as I start on my paperwork.
-- I'm glad to finally see a prompt I have an idea for. Pity I don't have much creative writing practice, though. | They're coming. It won't be long now. The 6th circle was my last refuge. I don't dare go to the 7th. That's where the Demons are - locked away with their own torture devices, spending time slaughtering each other now in their rage. They'd love to get their hands on a fresh soul. The Demons had it good before the uprising. After the union bosses pulled themselves from the pits, set free and organized the despots, they made a good effort - driving all the Demons into the fifth and sixth circles, but no one saw them ultimately winning. When Picket made that charge through the sixth circle with all the suicide souls - suicide bombers at the front - it drove all the Demons into the seventh circle, where they were trapped. When Satan returned from Vegas, he went down to see what they were doing and they trapped him for sport. No one's seen him since. Then it was grand anarchy. Old Scratch - They're coming! We had a debaucherous few weeks. It was glorious, but they didn't count on the reason Demons were chosen as gatekeepers. Once the serial killer pen broke and the rapists got out of OZ it was a free-for all. The screams were horrible. They took out the bronies first. It was terrifying - the things they did in that corral. Those poor centaurs! After that we all fled. I hear them! It won't be long now... They slaughtered everyone and no one had the power to stop them. Not without the Demons. Once they gained access to Hitler's showers in the fourth circle it was over. I've never heard souls scream like that, but they were so packed in, if it hadn't been for the hounds dragging me off to chew on, I would be in there with them. No! No! Don't! Let go! Noooooo!!!
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Frederick smacked his hand atop a chiming alarm clock and lifted his wrist to gaze at the smartwatch clasped around it. "Friday, thank Eve." Slowly but surely, he was able to rise from his comfortable queen-sized bed and stumble his way into the bathroom. Mere minutes later he would emerge once again, squeaky clean and ready to finish out the week. Throwing on his best business-casual, he made his way out the front door to start his morning routine.
He was walking briskly down the sidewalk now, glancing at his watch once again. The bus had been ten minutes late, but he still had enough time to at least stop in and grab a bite to eat on the way to the office. He raised his gaze to look at the small coffee shop across the street from his place of employment: a large corporate skyscraper stretching 200 floors to the sky above. He had instinctively allowed his eyes to wander to the top of the skyscraper and, reasonably so, was shocked when he ran into someone. He hadn't even looked at the man initially, but was rather looking down to his own polished black shoes in legitimate concern that they may have somehow become scuffed. As he looked up to apologize he found himself face to face with what appeared to be a gray-haired, elderly homeless man. He didn't even have the chance to speak, let alone resist, before the man's strong hands had grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust him against the outer wall of his favorite Gwartuts.
The man's gruff voice exhaled an overwhelming smell of liquor as he brought his face close "Hell is real, you know!" Frederick rolled his eyes a bit. A Theist. The man had obviously noticed his reaction, and didn't put up much of a fight as Frederick grabbed hold of the hobo's wrists and removed the hands from his shoulders. The old man continued regardless of the obvious lack of interest, "You're going to find out today! Hell is real!" Frederick had already begun to walk away, heading for the entrance to the Gwartuts at a speedy pace. The old man simply shouted after him: "YOU'LL FIND OUT TODAY!"
There wasn't a line today, lucky for Frederick, and he approached the counter - a confident smile on his face. "Hey there, Molly." The young red-headed barista looked up from a crossword puzzle, returning his smile. "Hey Frederick! The usual?" He gave her a nod and she turned around to prepare his coffee. His gaze dropped to the counter, noting a stack of pamphlets he'd never seen before. The front was a picture of a field of tall, red grass with a bright yellow "HELL IS REAL" across the top. He gave an amused chuckle, picking one up from the pile - he could use a laugh today. Molly had returned with his coffee, her eyes drifting from the pamphlet in his hand back up to him, "I see you found our new reading material. I figured it was better to just let the old man leave them here than try to chase him off. You don't believe all that stuff, do you?"
"No, but conspiracy theories are always good for a laugh." He gave her one more smile as he accepted his coffee before offering a final nod, "I'll see you Monday!" She offered a cheerful farewell as he turned and walked out the door, making his way to the office.
Lunchtime came around quick; Frederick valued his healthy form, and therefore chose not to indulge in food during his breaks. He did appreciate the taste, but he had always found himself appreciating the attention of the ladies over bloating himself with such an unnecessary vice. Once or twice a week was enough to keep the hunger at bay, so he stuck to that. He did, however, value the opportunity to avoid customers and co-workers so he casually tapped the button on his desk, the door to his office giving a quiet hiss as it slowly shut, and then took his phone off the hook. The pamphlet from that morning caught his attention, another slight chuckle escaping before he found himself muttering: "Hell is real." He leaned back in his chair and then kicked his feet up on the desk, preparing for some light reading as he flipped open the pamphlet.
The material was the standard mumbo-jumbo: it's not natural nobody ever dies. The mother Eve was cast down from some place called "Earth," and her eternal suffering as she gives birth to each of us is, in fact, punishment for eating an apple. The place we all live in is not called Ordisia, but is instead known on Earth as "Hell." Our souls are all damned here for sins we committed on earth, and we were all intended to suffer from childbirth: the ultimate torment both psychologically and physically, but mankind revolted. Of course, the meat and potatoes of it: the ones like us who took hell over a millenia ago built Ordisia so that they can control us. It was standard stuff, and did little to catch Frederick's attention. Each of the partitions of the pamphlet, however, had different pictures in the background behind the walls of text and Frederick couldn't help but appreciate the talent of the artist. It was amazingly realistic. More endless plains of the red grass, battles taking place between humans and massive black-skinned beasts of some sort, and the final partition simply consisted of the most horrific of them all: a picture depicting a group of armored soldiers with the seal of Ordisia tossing people with bags over their heads into a pit of those same beasts - who seemed to be devouring and shredding them.
The last picture was enough, and Frederick closed the pamphlet and immediately threw it into the trash. In doing so, he saw the back of the pamphlet - the big bold yellow letters that read "FIGHT THEM!" with a phone number. It was more of a side note, really, compared the final picture that had burned itself into his brain. It had been incredibly realistic, even photographic looking. He had placed his phone back on the hook and began preparing to get back to work in an attempt to push it out of his mind when he heard something. "Was that..." he was muttering to himself as he stood, walking towards the glass that separated his private office from the cubicles of his coworkers on the rest of the floor. More screams cried out, and he could see some kind of disturbance across the floor - coworkers scrambling and running in his direction with panicked looks as paperwork flew into the air behind them. Frederick opened the door, stepping out of his office just in time to see a massive black creature climb up onto the top of the cubicles. It moved on all fours, leaping from the top of the cubicle and colliding with Steve from HR. Frederick probably would have given a bit of a smile, Steve was a stuck-up prick, but he recognized that beast.
Fredericks stood there in shock as it tore into Steve, shredding his abdomen and chest with its claws in mere seconds before beginning to charge down the hallway towards him. He was frozen there in fear as the creature collided into him full-force, the inertia slumping him over its shoulders as though he'd just been plastered across the hood of a car. He was so busy trying to process what was happening that he could barely even feel the pain of broken ribs in his chest as the creature continued to barrel forward, plowing him through the glass window and taking him for a brief two and a half second flight down 100 stories to the ground below. Everything went black, and he was unconscious.
Fredericks was able to open his eyes, the blurry image of the old man from that morning coming into view standing over him. The old man knelt down, leaning in so that his face was again only inches away with a broad grin plastered across it. "I told you that you would find out today." | They're coming. It won't be long now. The 6th circle was my last refuge. I don't dare go to the 7th. That's where the Demons are - locked away with their own torture devices, spending time slaughtering each other now in their rage. They'd love to get their hands on a fresh soul. The Demons had it good before the uprising. After the union bosses pulled themselves from the pits, set free and organized the despots, they made a good effort - driving all the Demons into the fifth and sixth circles, but no one saw them ultimately winning. When Picket made that charge through the sixth circle with all the suicide souls - suicide bombers at the front - it drove all the Demons into the seventh circle, where they were trapped. When Satan returned from Vegas, he went down to see what they were doing and they trapped him for sport. No one's seen him since. Then it was grand anarchy. Old Scratch - They're coming! We had a debaucherous few weeks. It was glorious, but they didn't count on the reason Demons were chosen as gatekeepers. Once the serial killer pen broke and the rapists got out of OZ it was a free-for all. The screams were horrible. They took out the bronies first. It was terrifying - the things they did in that corral. Those poor centaurs! After that we all fled. I hear them! It won't be long now... They slaughtered everyone and no one had the power to stop them. Not without the Demons. Once they gained access to Hitler's showers in the fourth circle it was over. I've never heard souls scream like that, but they were so packed in, if it hadn't been for the hounds dragging me off to chew on, I would be in there with them. No! No! Don't! Let go! Noooooo!!!
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | Pt 1
I cried as the tall, dark demon led me to the elevator to Hell. Numerous thoughts rushed through my mind. What did I do to upset the big man upstairs? How do I make it down here? What kind of torture will these ghouls put me through? We slowly made our way down to level 666. The office of Satan himself.
"So uh... It's kinda warm in here. Got any A/Cs?" I chuckled a bit. The demon just stared forward, ignoring me. I pulled at my shirt "Tough crowd." I mumbled. The elevator dropped with a hard floor and the doors opened and I entered a waiting room. There where at least 50 chairs but nobody in them. At the front of the room was a desk with an ugly hag sitting in front of the computer.
"Take a number and sit down." she said with out looking up from her phone. I took a number. It read 1598. I looked up at the now serving sign. It read 8.
"Umm.. I-" I began to say but was cut off by the hag "Sit down and your number will be called soon." So I sat, and waited and eventually dozed off.
"Number 1598! You're up!" I awoke in a stupor to a loud, annoying voice. While I was asleep there was a shift change and I was now looking at a short goblin woman. " Get in there!" she said in a bitchy voice.
I pushed the door open slowly and saw him. Satan. In all his horrifying glory at his desk... doing paperwork?? "Uh, hi. I'm J--" he cut me off. " Jessica, I know. Come. Sit." he said, not looking up from his paperwork. I sat down in the black chair, trying not to look. I couldn't help it. He was so big. His horns curled around each other. He had deep dark black eyes and spectacles hanging off his nose. He put down his pen intertwined his fingers and looked at me.
"Look, here is the deal. We are SUPER overcrowded. We have no room at all and honestly, I have no idea whats going on down there." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So for now we are just going to throw you down there and when we get all of this fixed, Hell will be back to normal. I don't know how long it will take. Hopefully no longer than 10,000 years, but there is no telling. So have fun." He pointed to a door to his left and shooed me away, continuing with his paperwork. I slowly opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
I looked around. It was nothing but a massive party. Everyone was drinking, smoking, doing drugs and dancing all over. "Woah.." I said softly.
"Woah indeed." A voice beside me stated. I looked over and saw none other than Kurt Cobain. "HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Cobain you are my idol!"
"Call me Kurt." he said. "Hell is pretty great huh? We souls realized that we outnumbered the demons at least 1000:1 and just kinda took over." He looked around at the massive party.
"But wait?" I said. I had realized something. "If we are just souls how are we supposed to feel the effects of the alcohol, or anything? We don't have bodies."
"This is Hell!!!" He yelled loudly, waving his beer bottle around. "Nothing makes sense here!!!"
I looked around. I saw Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy in the corner, doing lines of cocaine and doing some heavy petting. I saw Hitler on the dance floor with Bin Laden doing shots out of virgins belly buttons shaking their asses like I never thought anyone could. Heath Ledger on the wall checking out girls while they danced by. He held a handful of pain pills and a bottle of whiskey.
Kurt offered me a shot of whiskey, and smiled. " You ready?" he asked. I looked for a while at the shot. I smiled big and downed the shot. "LET'S DO THIS!!!" I screamed and ran to the dance floor.
Kurt stayed behind and sat back down, took a swig of his beer and chuckled. "Kids." He said as he leaned back and waited for the next person to be damned to the inner rings of Hell.
| They're coming. It won't be long now. The 6th circle was my last refuge. I don't dare go to the 7th. That's where the Demons are - locked away with their own torture devices, spending time slaughtering each other now in their rage. They'd love to get their hands on a fresh soul. The Demons had it good before the uprising. After the union bosses pulled themselves from the pits, set free and organized the despots, they made a good effort - driving all the Demons into the fifth and sixth circles, but no one saw them ultimately winning. When Picket made that charge through the sixth circle with all the suicide souls - suicide bombers at the front - it drove all the Demons into the seventh circle, where they were trapped. When Satan returned from Vegas, he went down to see what they were doing and they trapped him for sport. No one's seen him since. Then it was grand anarchy. Old Scratch - They're coming! We had a debaucherous few weeks. It was glorious, but they didn't count on the reason Demons were chosen as gatekeepers. Once the serial killer pen broke and the rapists got out of OZ it was a free-for all. The screams were horrible. They took out the bronies first. It was terrifying - the things they did in that corral. Those poor centaurs! After that we all fled. I hear them! It won't be long now... They slaughtered everyone and no one had the power to stop them. Not without the Demons. Once they gained access to Hitler's showers in the fourth circle it was over. I've never heard souls scream like that, but they were so packed in, if it hadn't been for the hounds dragging me off to chew on, I would be in there with them. No! No! Don't! Let go! Noooooo!!!
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | "It was when Walt Disney joined us that things changed. We're not sure exactly what happened, but he went into Lucifer's office when he arrived, and then from then on was running the place."
"What."
"You see, Lucifer always has been a fan of the classics. So, together the turned the Circles into an endless variant of the It's A Small World Ride. Around every fifty years or so, you'll get a break to watch the Main Street Parade, and then you can switch to another ride, but yeah, we keep things pretty chillaxed down here."
"So why are there so few demons?"
"Well, the demons left because they were fired. Walt has strong standards for the castmembers, and..."
"Wait. Hold it. Walt Disney got demons to dress up as his characters?"
"Yeah. Pretty much just the Chernabog ones stayed. We mostly hire from the people coming in... Why, you interested?"
"If it gets me out of the creepy River Styx analogue with singing puppets, I'll do whatever you want, hon."
"Tubular! We'll get you started on the Epcot Centre, Baal the Defiler is in charge there. Do you have a favourite character, by the way, for your costume?"
"... Judge Frollo."
"Awesome. I'll get the outfitter making your costume as soon as I can. Have you been to a Disneyland in life?"
"Florida."
"Ah. The layout's mostly the same, except much bigger. As a cast member, you need to know there's tunnels that act as shortcu-"
And so began my eternal damnation. | Better yet the Demons act as if Hell wasnt such a bad place before the humes showed up they created Hell these demons act like old white guys who bitch about how the emigrants have changed things | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | "It was when Walt Disney joined us that things changed. We're not sure exactly what happened, but he went into Lucifer's office when he arrived, and then from then on was running the place."
"What."
"You see, Lucifer always has been a fan of the classics. So, together the turned the Circles into an endless variant of the It's A Small World Ride. Around every fifty years or so, you'll get a break to watch the Main Street Parade, and then you can switch to another ride, but yeah, we keep things pretty chillaxed down here."
"So why are there so few demons?"
"Well, the demons left because they were fired. Walt has strong standards for the castmembers, and..."
"Wait. Hold it. Walt Disney got demons to dress up as his characters?"
"Yeah. Pretty much just the Chernabog ones stayed. We mostly hire from the people coming in... Why, you interested?"
"If it gets me out of the creepy River Styx analogue with singing puppets, I'll do whatever you want, hon."
"Tubular! We'll get you started on the Epcot Centre, Baal the Defiler is in charge there. Do you have a favourite character, by the way, for your costume?"
"... Judge Frollo."
"Awesome. I'll get the outfitter making your costume as soon as I can. Have you been to a Disneyland in life?"
"Florida."
"Ah. The layout's mostly the same, except much bigger. As a cast member, you need to know there's tunnels that act as shortcu-"
And so began my eternal damnation. | Death. I slowly sunk into my casket, until I realized I was being lowered into hell. A tune of smooth jazz was heard and I rose out of my casket, and many others followed suit. I expected eternal damnation, but I was wrong.
As I walked into the huge marble hallway lined by paintings of the great demon war with a beautiful and elaborate fountain centerpiece. In the midst of my awe, a loud, female voice echoed through the hall : "Greetings, new arrivals! You have arrived at hell! To your left, we have entertainment rooms, shops, and vice versa, and to your right, the rooms and many fine eateries. Your room number and key-card is in your pamphlet. Enjoy your stay!"
Even in death, capitalism is still well and alive, but without all the bad stuff. I entered my room, and it looked like a designer suite, with the kitchen appliances integrated into the walls. I slipped into the bed, lined with Moroccan silk lining the sheets, and savored the tiny mint-flavored chocolate bar on the pillow. Hell was pretty good in spite of the bad reviews. | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | As I closed my eyes in surrender and stopped struggling, I felt the pain recede and a soothing warmth slowly spread across my body. I found that I was pleasantly surprised at how relaxed and calm I felt; it turned out that dying wasn't so bad after all. I was fully expecting to simply fade out into eternal unconsciousness and in those final moments I had completely made my peace with that fate, so I was quite astonished to find myself suddenly waking up, as though from a deep sleep.
I opened my eyes and found myself lying on my back a few inches beneath a glass window, staring up at a deep red sky with dark clouds rushing past far up in the distance. I appeared to be in some kind of enclosed black chamber. It was quite comfortable and warm, and with the continuous quiet hum in the background I could have quite easily fallen asleep again, but then I noticed the clouds slow down and the hum slowly decrease in pitch. The chamber came to a gentle stop and the glass lid popped open. Had I somehow been rescued? Had I actually survived?
With some effort I stepped shakily out of the chamber, though now that I was able to look at it from the outside I saw that it was really more of a capsule, and it was only one of thousands of others, all whizzing along with a quiet hum. Each capsule was dropping off its occupier onto platforms like the one on which I now found myself standing. I had never seen any kind of transport system like this before, nor any so large in scale. I turned to look behind me at where I had come from and gasped in awe; there were hundreds of shiny black tracks shooting out into the distance in every direction, out into a red desert. Far off, I could see tall jagged mountains silhouetted against the red sky. What was this place? "*Please make your way towards the Arrivals area*", an automated message played. I started to walk along the platform towards the large glowing white sign in the distance that read, "*Arrivals*".
There were hundreds of people around me, shuffling along platforms looking just as confused as I felt. "*Where the Hell am I?*" I asked a gentleman that I had caught up to. "*I don't know. The last thing I remember, I was driving my truck and then I wake up in one of those pods wearing these black robes.*" The same robes that we were all wearing. "*I drowned*" I replied, almost nonchalantly. "*You what?*" asked the man with a confused tone. "*That's the last thing I remember. I drowned, and now I'm here.*" "*Please make your way towards the Arrivals area*" repeated the message. The arrivals area was a huge bustling hall that reminded me of an airport. I stepped through one of the hundreds of turnstiles, and stopped at the desk. "*Where the Hell am I?*" I demanded. "*All will be explained to you soon. If you could just look at the camera in front of you for a second please.*" I obliged. "*Drowning; not a bad way to go*" the lady behind the desk remarked, "*Ah, another atheist. We're seeing a lot more of those these days*" she continued, almost to herself. "*What's going on?*" I pleaded, suddenly feeling quite afraid. "*I see this is your first time here, so just continue along and take a seat in one of the orientation areas.*" The orientation areas were large halls that looked almost like cinemas or lecture theaters; rows of seats ascended steeply in front of a massive screen. I took a seat somewhere in the middle just as the movie started to play. "*Welcome to Hell,*" it began, as there was a sudden burst of exclamation and chattering from the crowd.
I left almost in a trance-like state, completely dazed at the information I had just been given. I barely even remember getting to the transporter, or choosing a seat by the window. I always chose the window seat when I could, but there was nothing here to see but red dust on the ground below. "*Destination: Outer-Circle city. Estimated journey time: 3 hours*" read an electronic sign at the front. The transporter departed; all that could be heard was the quiet hum of the engine; the rest of the passengers were silent, all clearly as shocked as I was. Where the Hell was I? I was close. There *is* an after-life, and as it turned out, I ended up in Hell. The orientation video gave us a brief history.
Long ago, Hell was ruled by Satan and his demons, ancient creatures who had existed since the *Beginning*. Humans endured great suffering and torment but we fought back. We managed to capture the Outer Circle within 400 years and erected great strongholds at each of the four gates to the next circle. As time went on, our numbers only increased: new souls joined our ranks every day and we grew stronger. We captured the next 3 Circles over the next 500 years, forcing Satan's armies back deeper and deeper into Hell where they still reside today. Free from the torment of Satan and his demons, we were free to reform each of the captured Circles. The War still continues, but most of humanity lives in peace now in one of the great Circle-Cities. There are still many excursions into the inner levels to try to rescue some of the still trapped souls, and sometimes the Demons try to push back by launching attacks now and then, but they have no hope of breaking the heavy fortifications and defenses of the Fourth Circle.
I woke up to the excited chattering of my fellow passengers. The door swung open and two people dressed in flowing white robes entered the transport, smiling brightly. "*Welcome to Outer-Circle city*", said the woman cheerfully. "*My name is Aemilia and this is Lucius and we'll be helping you to settle down. You're currently in sector 6, where you've all been assigned living quarters. I think you'll find them quite to your liking!*" I looked out the window, and smiled. The sky was a beautiful clear blue color, and it seemed like the Sun was shining brightly. We were on a field of lush green grass dotted with trees and flower beds. A wide path led from the landing pad towards the streets of the city. The architecture was beautiful; pillars of glistening white marble lined the immaculate streets, holding up buildings intricately decorated with gold and silver. Canals and channels of crystal clear water flowed everywhere, cascading down multiple levels to form little waterfalls and water-features. Large trees surrounded open spaces covered in dark green grass and flowers.
It turned out that Hell wasn't so bad after all. | Death. I slowly sunk into my casket, until I realized I was being lowered into hell. A tune of smooth jazz was heard and I rose out of my casket, and many others followed suit. I expected eternal damnation, but I was wrong.
As I walked into the huge marble hallway lined by paintings of the great demon war with a beautiful and elaborate fountain centerpiece. In the midst of my awe, a loud, female voice echoed through the hall : "Greetings, new arrivals! You have arrived at hell! To your left, we have entertainment rooms, shops, and vice versa, and to your right, the rooms and many fine eateries. Your room number and key-card is in your pamphlet. Enjoy your stay!"
Even in death, capitalism is still well and alive, but without all the bad stuff. I entered my room, and it looked like a designer suite, with the kitchen appliances integrated into the walls. I slipped into the bed, lined with Moroccan silk lining the sheets, and savored the tiny mint-flavored chocolate bar on the pillow. Hell was pretty good in spite of the bad reviews. | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | As the car came screaming towards me, my last thoughts were of Karen and the kids. I couldn't tell them goodbye and I could never say what all I wanted to say. They deserved better than me. My cheating and lying. The drinking and drugs. I never meant to hurt them like I did and now I will never get to redeem myself like I wanted to. I have so much regret...
"The car... is gone? Wait, my car is gone, too. What is going on? HELLO!? WHERE AM I? HELLOOOO!?"
"Sir, please, stop screaming."
"What? what's going on? Who are you? Where am I? What is this place?"
"Sir, you know EXACTLY what this place is..."
"No, no it can't be... I went to Hell?... But, I was so decent and kind. I made a few mistakes sure but all people do that... don't they?"
"You're asking the wrong guy, I obviously didn't live like a saint either. Otherwise this shit hole wouldn't be my eternal prison... ya know what I mean?"
*staring blankly at this person* "No, I don't think I do. Wait, who are you?"
"Oh, right, my name is Steven. I'm the greeter."
"Hell has a greeter? Like at Wal-mart? I wasn't expecting.."
"No, not like fucking Wal-mart. What kind of dick are you? More like at a nice hotel. Fucking Wal-mart....asshole."
"I'm sorry, I just... this is a lot to take in. I still don't understand. You seem...well.. pleasant. Where are the demons and Satan. Constantly poking me with pitchforks and raping me or whatever. This doesn't seem like what I expected at all..."
"Hmm, someone's open about their fantasies. I'm sure we can find someone to help you out with that, if that's what you're in to."
No, I just, I mean..."
"Relax newbie, I'm just fucking with you."
"Shew, thanks, I was starting to worry. My name is Mark by the way."
"Well Mark, let me give you the tour. If you'll follow me. On your right, you'll see the rotting remains of a ten thousand Demons. Sure, they are the size of twenty men and with armor and swords, wings and horns, but we really fucked them up. I mean, sure, they are tough but when it's ten million to one, of unkillable bastards that spent their life probably murdering babies or whatever, your odds aren't great."
"Wait, hold on, so you're telling me. The evil Demons that ran hell were killed by all the people...in Hell? How is that even possible. That doesn't seem like something you should be able to do..."
"We didn't think so either, at first any way. We were just here with Cain, talking shit about God or whatever, and then we started getting company. Lots and lots and lots of company. We were all standoffish at first. They with their "OH SHIT I'M ON FIRE!" phase, but you get used to it. After a few centuries or so. anyway. So, we decided, "Hey, lets start a party with all these new people. Then, at the party, this weird little German guy started talking about hew was superior to these Demons, kept calling them Jews weirdest thing ever, and said we should take them out.
Well, after a while, he started making sense, that dude could talk your pants off. He was charismatic as shit. We made him head of PR after all the fighting stopped. So, he rallies all these supporters and starts gathering up some of these amazing Generals from history. Sun Tzu was his go to guy, Custard ran a few suicide missions with the Spartans. This Oppenheimer guy came up with some great weapons. It was mainly just carved from bone and guts and stuff. Nothing else was down here at the time. Then, without much effort we... what was the term being passed around... oh, we Zerg rushed them.
It was IN SAY NUH! These big roaring Demons were screaming and going on about how they were Hell's Sentries and nothing could stop them. What a bunch of assholes... I mean, really. Well, we had a few down for the county really quick. Then they started flying... jerks. So, what we ended up doing was making human pyramids that could reach them. Had a few million people crushed to death but this is Hell, it's not like you stay dead.
Yeah, long story short, we killed them all and feasted on their remains. It was AWESOME! Now, we have them hung up and staked through the heart in case they regenerate, they'll just die again. Fuck them, bunch of pansy shit heads.
So, now we're in charge of Hell, and the place really has turned around since then. It's pleasant now. We have games and rides. Once we got the fire turned off, man fuck that fire, we started enjoying ourselves again. You should be glad you came when you did. Otherwise, it would be a really shitty time for you."
"I think I am, what about, ya know... Satan?"
"Oh, he is still here. He knows the game we're willing to play, so he just kinda joined the party. He was never the "Ruler of Hell!" he was a prisoner here just like us. So, once we freed him he was pretty chill. That dude LOVES the pussy... and dick oddly. He spends like 99% of his days just fucking EVERYTHING! I imagine if there were dogs here, he would be fucking them too. Kinda creepy. Anyway, yeah, he's around. You'll probably fuck him at some point. He's gentle though. Don't worry."
"I'm not.. ya know... gay."
"This is Hell, be open. I am here because I fell in love with a dude. I said my prayers, went to church, and even stayed abstinent because I didn't want to break any rules. Still got sent here though. So, ya know, fuck it. I even had sex with a few ladies here. It was awkward. I never got a hard on. I've been here so long though. That I'm so good at fucking with a limp dick, I could row a boat with a rope. You'll get used to it. It's kinda great here."
"Well, thanks for all the information. Would you mind continuing the tour?"
Continue? | Mel didn’t quite remember dying and yet – here he was. He stood naked in front of a gigantic desk, surrounded by black ominous walls.
“Ah, hi, there!” came a voice from above the desk. Mel put his head back and saw a small human face looking over the edge of the desk.
“Hey”, shouted Mel, “What the hell is going on here?”
The person standing on the desk sniggered. “Exactly! Alright buddy, chill, I have some good and some bad news for you. Bad news: You are dead and this is Hell.” He paused for a second to gauge Mel’s reaction. “Good news: Since quite recently, we humans started to vastly outnumber the demons down here, so we kind of took over.”
“What, seriously?”
“Oh, yes, we humans are an ambitious bunch. Especially the crowd this place attracts, if you catch my drift. Anyway, yes, we took over and made it ours. Hell can be a really cool – heh – place”, the men paused, “For some at least.”
“Which brings me to the second part of this exercise! Bad news: Hell *is* controlled by humans. Humans, who were damned to be here, but now without the moral constraints and conscience and all that nonsense they would have back on earth. I mean, everyone is already damned, aren’t we?” The man sniggered and grinned down on Mel. “And all your ‘friends’ are here, too! Ah, you will have a hell of a time.
The man gloated down on Mel’s face, before he continued with a devilish smile “But finally some good news: You still deserve to be here!” | |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | As the car came screaming towards me, my last thoughts were of Karen and the kids. I couldn't tell them goodbye and I could never say what all I wanted to say. They deserved better than me. My cheating and lying. The drinking and drugs. I never meant to hurt them like I did and now I will never get to redeem myself like I wanted to. I have so much regret...
"The car... is gone? Wait, my car is gone, too. What is going on? HELLO!? WHERE AM I? HELLOOOO!?"
"Sir, please, stop screaming."
"What? what's going on? Who are you? Where am I? What is this place?"
"Sir, you know EXACTLY what this place is..."
"No, no it can't be... I went to Hell?... But, I was so decent and kind. I made a few mistakes sure but all people do that... don't they?"
"You're asking the wrong guy, I obviously didn't live like a saint either. Otherwise this shit hole wouldn't be my eternal prison... ya know what I mean?"
*staring blankly at this person* "No, I don't think I do. Wait, who are you?"
"Oh, right, my name is Steven. I'm the greeter."
"Hell has a greeter? Like at Wal-mart? I wasn't expecting.."
"No, not like fucking Wal-mart. What kind of dick are you? More like at a nice hotel. Fucking Wal-mart....asshole."
"I'm sorry, I just... this is a lot to take in. I still don't understand. You seem...well.. pleasant. Where are the demons and Satan. Constantly poking me with pitchforks and raping me or whatever. This doesn't seem like what I expected at all..."
"Hmm, someone's open about their fantasies. I'm sure we can find someone to help you out with that, if that's what you're in to."
No, I just, I mean..."
"Relax newbie, I'm just fucking with you."
"Shew, thanks, I was starting to worry. My name is Mark by the way."
"Well Mark, let me give you the tour. If you'll follow me. On your right, you'll see the rotting remains of a ten thousand Demons. Sure, they are the size of twenty men and with armor and swords, wings and horns, but we really fucked them up. I mean, sure, they are tough but when it's ten million to one, of unkillable bastards that spent their life probably murdering babies or whatever, your odds aren't great."
"Wait, hold on, so you're telling me. The evil Demons that ran hell were killed by all the people...in Hell? How is that even possible. That doesn't seem like something you should be able to do..."
"We didn't think so either, at first any way. We were just here with Cain, talking shit about God or whatever, and then we started getting company. Lots and lots and lots of company. We were all standoffish at first. They with their "OH SHIT I'M ON FIRE!" phase, but you get used to it. After a few centuries or so. anyway. So, we decided, "Hey, lets start a party with all these new people. Then, at the party, this weird little German guy started talking about hew was superior to these Demons, kept calling them Jews weirdest thing ever, and said we should take them out.
Well, after a while, he started making sense, that dude could talk your pants off. He was charismatic as shit. We made him head of PR after all the fighting stopped. So, he rallies all these supporters and starts gathering up some of these amazing Generals from history. Sun Tzu was his go to guy, Custard ran a few suicide missions with the Spartans. This Oppenheimer guy came up with some great weapons. It was mainly just carved from bone and guts and stuff. Nothing else was down here at the time. Then, without much effort we... what was the term being passed around... oh, we Zerg rushed them.
It was IN SAY NUH! These big roaring Demons were screaming and going on about how they were Hell's Sentries and nothing could stop them. What a bunch of assholes... I mean, really. Well, we had a few down for the county really quick. Then they started flying... jerks. So, what we ended up doing was making human pyramids that could reach them. Had a few million people crushed to death but this is Hell, it's not like you stay dead.
Yeah, long story short, we killed them all and feasted on their remains. It was AWESOME! Now, we have them hung up and staked through the heart in case they regenerate, they'll just die again. Fuck them, bunch of pansy shit heads.
So, now we're in charge of Hell, and the place really has turned around since then. It's pleasant now. We have games and rides. Once we got the fire turned off, man fuck that fire, we started enjoying ourselves again. You should be glad you came when you did. Otherwise, it would be a really shitty time for you."
"I think I am, what about, ya know... Satan?"
"Oh, he is still here. He knows the game we're willing to play, so he just kinda joined the party. He was never the "Ruler of Hell!" he was a prisoner here just like us. So, once we freed him he was pretty chill. That dude LOVES the pussy... and dick oddly. He spends like 99% of his days just fucking EVERYTHING! I imagine if there were dogs here, he would be fucking them too. Kinda creepy. Anyway, yeah, he's around. You'll probably fuck him at some point. He's gentle though. Don't worry."
"I'm not.. ya know... gay."
"This is Hell, be open. I am here because I fell in love with a dude. I said my prayers, went to church, and even stayed abstinent because I didn't want to break any rules. Still got sent here though. So, ya know, fuck it. I even had sex with a few ladies here. It was awkward. I never got a hard on. I've been here so long though. That I'm so good at fucking with a limp dick, I could row a boat with a rope. You'll get used to it. It's kinda great here."
"Well, thanks for all the information. Would you mind continuing the tour?"
Continue? | Yeah, it really wasn't designed for so many people. Besides - what are you going to do in case of a riot? We were already dead, so it's not like they could kill us, we were *already in Hell*, so there was no way to threaten us. There are legends about demon's faces when human realized "wait a second, we are immortal and we have nothing to lose, and we outnumber these jerks."
Not to mention that most of the smartest people in the world were in here, most of the scientists and inventors, and generals, and world leaders. Given enough time, it wasn't hard to figure out how to overpower demons that are essentially animals, and barely match the intelligence of the dumbest human.
So yeah, life is pretty sweet here. Plenty of drugs and hookers, but also a lot of creative people who love building cool things and understanding the world. There's no dumbass laws to follow, so we spend our time having fun and doing cool stuff.
Recently we have been receiving a lot of refugees from heaven, who are bored out of their minds, I guess eating apples, sitting under trees, and having sex with the boring, prude soulmate gets boring after a few hundred of years. God is bummed out about it, but what's he gonna do, send us to Hell? He played his worst card. He can't just create more demons without coming off as a jerk, his ratings already plummeting.
----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit my [blog](http://orangemind.io) where you can read my best stories.
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | "Checks out, you're here for infraction 33.b, vocal disbelief in the almighty. It's alright, the 33's are what most folks are down here for. Disbelief, vocal disbelief and finally actively trying to convert into disbelief of the almighty."
I just nodded my head stupidly. I mean, what else could I do. Just a moment ago I was sitting in 'Bob's Big Boy Burgers' scarfing down a Double Big Bob, one sharp pain and the next thing I know I'm being escorted down a paneled, florescent lit hallway, into this little office. Now I'm staring at a kind looking, balding, middle aged gentleman in a rumpled suit and tie as he goes over my records.
"But, if I'm in hell, why isn't it hot?" I ask, then immediately feel a flush of embarrassment, it's a stupid question and the patient nod and the 'I've heard all this before' level gaze he has makes me feel even worse.
"AC." is his short succinct reply and he closes the folder steepling his hands. "Look, you led an alright life. You didn't do much with it, but most folks don't. Based on your Karmic credit score, you're entitled to a small one bedroom apartment or two bedroom trailer and a comfortable monthly income." He raised a hand to stop my questions.
"If you'd like a more comfortable existence here in H.E double hockey sticks, Hell, you can of course acquire a job. Maybe here in processing, but pretty much any job that existed in the 'There' exists in the 'Here'. Aside from the immortal, can't die, eternal damnation side of it, it pretty much works down here like up there."
He pulled out a thick binder of paper and laid it before me. "This will answer your basic questions. You know, like 'How does hell fit everyone?", "If there's a hell, is there a Heaven?" and the big one..."Can I upgrade to Heaven?" He sits back and suddenly, I get the urge to punch him in his patient, level gazed face. This was a big deal, my beliefs smashed, my life over, and this jack ass was sitting here like I was getting a license at the DMV.
"I...uh..." I started and then shrugged, lowering my head in mute submission.
"You'll be alright, if you have any pressing needs, just hit star 4311 on your home phone and you'll be put through to a rep. Oh, and avoid the demons you might see on your way home. Today's a holiday and they've been drinking." He swiveled his chair to face his computer and began to type, effectively dismissing me.
I stood, gathered my paperwork and moved to the door. Pausing as a thought struck me, I turned to face the bureaucrat. "Uh. What holiday?" I asked.
The man looked and me and grinned. "Human liberation day of course. Some of the demons still hold a grudge about that...but what can you do eh? Can't deport them, nowhere for them to go!" He exclaimed followed by a short snort and a chuckle. I hated him.
I nodded. "Of course, of course" I muttered and stepped out of the office. I moved down the lightly carpeted hallway and towards the big double doors. A soft female voice chimed over a intercom. "Thank you for your understanding and have a pleasant day."
I pushed through the doors, and a wave of dry heat hit me causing me to stagger. It looked like downtown New York. Buildings rose around me, cars moved down the street. The only clue that something was up, that things were going terribly wrong for me, was the rolling, boiling angry red and purple sky above me.
Oh and the sour faced, red skinned impish creature who pushed passed me, paused, took a small moment to glare at me before he or it removed the cigar from his or it's mouth and shouted. "Eh! Keep out of the pathway..we're walking here!"
I stuttered my apologies and he rolled his eyes, moved on and I was left to look down at the map I was given and in that moment, all I could say was a mild. "Well fuck."
| Yeah, it really wasn't designed for so many people. Besides - what are you going to do in case of a riot? We were already dead, so it's not like they could kill us, we were *already in Hell*, so there was no way to threaten us. There are legends about demon's faces when human realized "wait a second, we are immortal and we have nothing to lose, and we outnumber these jerks."
Not to mention that most of the smartest people in the world were in here, most of the scientists and inventors, and generals, and world leaders. Given enough time, it wasn't hard to figure out how to overpower demons that are essentially animals, and barely match the intelligence of the dumbest human.
So yeah, life is pretty sweet here. Plenty of drugs and hookers, but also a lot of creative people who love building cool things and understanding the world. There's no dumbass laws to follow, so we spend our time having fun and doing cool stuff.
Recently we have been receiving a lot of refugees from heaven, who are bored out of their minds, I guess eating apples, sitting under trees, and having sex with the boring, prude soulmate gets boring after a few hundred of years. God is bummed out about it, but what's he gonna do, send us to Hell? He played his worst card. He can't just create more demons without coming off as a jerk, his ratings already plummeting.
----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit my [blog](http://orangemind.io) where you can read my best stories.
| |
[WP] Ok, bad news, good news. Bad news: you've died and have gone to Hell. Good news: since so many humans have died in recent years, humans have long since outnumbered demons 1000 to 1 and turned Hell into a pretty nice place. | "It was the Nazis that did it," the tour guide explained. "A bit ironic, really. Hell was already far overcrowded, but most damned souls were too beaten down and dejected to do anything about it. But there were so many soldiers pouring into Hell during the last days of World War II that the demons just couldn't process them fast enough. They had to set up these big temporary camps to house them all until Satan could personally determine their worst nightmare to torture them. Well wouldn't you know it, the Nazis didn't really like being herded together and put into camps! So they led the uprising against Satan's minions."
The guide's high heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked over to a massive painting, at least the size of a football field, depicting the first battle. According to the little placard, this had taken Caravaggio six years to paint. Post-uprising Hell was full of some incredible artwork, now that the great masters had been released from their prisons and were given limitless time and resources to make what they need. Even the Atrium that contained the waiting line to get into Hell made the Louvre look like an Alabama garage sale.
"Chancellor Hitler proclaimed amnesty for all past crimes committed up on the surface and dedicated himself to building this new utopia. Really, it was perfect for him and his many followers: the Jews, as God's Chosen People, are almost all up in Heaven. It seems that God cares more about the status of the tip of your penis and whether you eat pork than whether you were a virtuous person. So, no 'Final Solution' necessary in Hell. Hitler restored order and even put the demons to work conjuring whatever society needs."
She led the way to another portrait, easily recognizable by the thin toothbrush mustache. The portrait was by Michaelangelo, who seemed to have taken the rejection from Heaven rather personally. He'd done a whole series of statues on the hypocrisy of the Bible and God himself. Another nearby picture showed Hitler summitting Lucifer's black stone throne and throwing Satan himself into the Abyss. "It's apocryphal, of course," the guide assured us. "In fact, no one knows what happened to Lucifer. He managed to flee in the midst of the fighting. Some say he returned to Heaven and asked for God's forgiveness. Others suggest that he's hiding out somewhere on Earth, trying to build his kingdom anew there."
She led the way to the next exhibit, where a video showed Dr. Sigmund Freud establishing a psychological institute to help the damned recover from centuries of torture. It turns out that God wasn't a big fan of psychologists; something about how they had usurped the traditional confessional role of priests or something. He didn't care too much that they were just trying to help people. There's a little saying in Hell that God's rules are about as fixed and permanent as a gust of wind. Shit, most people here thought that they were pretty pious back when they were still alive. You'd be shocked at just how many popes there are down here. "Everyone pitched in," the guide narrated as the video showed a montage of humans filling in the pits of fire and brimstone, and planting farms and gardens. No one needed to eat down here, it was just nice to have fields and pastures. "Everyone did their part to make Hell a better place." The video ended with an overview of the massive city skyline, full of flying cars and all sorts of other futuristic concepts. You'd be surprised what Einstein, Da Vinci, and uncountable other geniuses could accomplish with unlimited time and resources.
The final exhibit on the tour was titled *The Future.* "Chancellor Hitler's vision of Hell is not limited to just creating a paradise here," the guide continued as we walked through the door. "Though Hell has been retaken from the demons, there are still *billions* of souls on the surface, suffering and toiling through God's tests. Trying to scrape by on meager food because God thinks hardship will inspire faith. Trying to fight greed and lust because God has taught them that they shouldn't enjoy food and flesh. Torturing themselves when they should be living their lives as they want. Just like we do down here."
The exhibit was not grandly decorated by works by famous masters. The walls were bare and the room was hardly lit. Only a single bulb illuminated one exhibit, a small glittering object of metal gears and glass panes. "This is a prototype," she said, "Of the machine that will open up The Doorway."
----
[I wrote another one, if you'd like more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3laxgu/the_doorway/cv4qsfi) | Yeah, it really wasn't designed for so many people. Besides - what are you going to do in case of a riot? We were already dead, so it's not like they could kill us, we were *already in Hell*, so there was no way to threaten us. There are legends about demon's faces when human realized "wait a second, we are immortal and we have nothing to lose, and we outnumber these jerks."
Not to mention that most of the smartest people in the world were in here, most of the scientists and inventors, and generals, and world leaders. Given enough time, it wasn't hard to figure out how to overpower demons that are essentially animals, and barely match the intelligence of the dumbest human.
So yeah, life is pretty sweet here. Plenty of drugs and hookers, but also a lot of creative people who love building cool things and understanding the world. There's no dumbass laws to follow, so we spend our time having fun and doing cool stuff.
Recently we have been receiving a lot of refugees from heaven, who are bored out of their minds, I guess eating apples, sitting under trees, and having sex with the boring, prude soulmate gets boring after a few hundred of years. God is bummed out about it, but what's he gonna do, send us to Hell? He played his worst card. He can't just create more demons without coming off as a jerk, his ratings already plummeting.
----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit my [blog](http://orangemind.io) where you can read my best stories.
| |
[WP] A psychotic criminal suddenly worms into your life. However, he/she isn't trying to rob you, kill you, or harm you in any way. | Well, I knew he'd show up again one day. Still, seeing him in my kitchen was surreal. His face was plastered all over the papers - just last week, I'd watched a hasty news special patched together to meet the demand for information.
I could see why - it was sensational stuff. *Masked gunman decapitates banker*. *Hunt intensifies for masked serial killer*. He wasn't wearing a mask now.
"Hi, Kelly," he said. As if nothing could be more natural than him sitting there, chugging fucking orange juice.
"You need to leave," I told him, hoping my voice sounded calm. The last thing I wanted was the cops in my house. What if the fool had been followed here?
But he just sat there, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. His face wore a haggard, hunted look. A year of looking over my shoulder, and he sneaks in when I'm asleep. I was losing my touch.
"I want to see him," he said.
I couldn't help laughing. A nation-wide manhunt was underway to strap his ass to an electric chair, and he found the time to drop by for *this*?
"Why, Dan? You hate kids. You always told me so. He's no different to any other snot-nosed toddler, you take my word for it."
"He looks like me."
The Facebook picture. Mother had put it up a few months ago, caught in the throes of misplaced motherly affection. Where any loon could look at it. Like the one in my kitchen.
"Oh, please. He just looks like a baby," I said, carefully backing away a few paces.
I had at least had the brains to slip the pocketknife into my shoe this morning, before I had gone downstairs to find him sitting here. Old habits die hard, and all that. I didn't think Dan would harm me. He had never shown an interest in that, at least not with me. But denying him anything had always been a dangerous game.
"He's my kid," Dan said, getting up. I thought he'd come closer, but he seemed to read my thoughts, and stayed by the table. "I'll find him, Kel. Don't try and stop me, it'll go badly for you."
Truth be told, the kid did look like him. Dark hair, black eyes. No wonder I couldn't stand the sight of it. Narcissism had probably led him here. A mini version of himself roaming free, unguided? I bet it was driving him crazy. He probably had visions of the two of them roaming the highways together, of him teaching the kid everything he knew. Dan was a good teacher, though his lessons didn't involve arithmetic.
I wondered how Dan would react if he knew. I'd done it last week, though mother still didn't know. I'd hidden the paperwork carefully ever since I'd first had the idea. Toddlers were so much more *tiring* than I'd expected. He wouldn't take it well, I guessed. I toyed with the idea of telling him anyway.
"Good luck with that," I told him, and smiled. The words were out before I could stop them. "I've given him up for adoption."
He always brought out the worst in me.
| *Yesterday, upon the stair*
P.O. Simon Brown & P.O. Rachel Mendez, responding to a 911 call by Ms. Jane Kewolski (neighbor). Ms. Kewolski reported screaming from apartment 4B. Screams described as "blood curdling, tortuous." P.O. Brown was unable to establish communication with apartment 4B residents.
*I met a man who wasn't there*
Judging the situation an emergency, P.O. Mendez forcibly entered the apartment. Inside, officers reported three bodies, each with heavy lacerations. Reports from a later autopsy concluded the process as attempted vivisection. Deceased were identified as Richard & April Mondolva (apartment owners), and Rachel Mondolva (daughter).
*He wasn't there again today*
Cradling Rachel Mondolva was suspect Kevin Bloom, later confirmed to be Ms. Mondolva's boyfriend. Suspect was apprehended with no resistance. According to both officers, Bloom was in shock and continued muttering to himself throughout custody. Psychological reports diagnosed Bloom with delusional schizophrenia and multiple-personality disorder. In a moment of relative clarity, Bloom has since stated that "a voice, a monster, has taken up within my mind; an unwanted guest, a horrible man."
*Oh, how I wish he'd go away.*
| |
[WP] You jokingly enter the subreddit named after your username, only to find surveillance videos of yourself, starting from the moment you created your account. | "I do not drink when I write!" I yell at the judge, banging my chained wrists on the wooden counter.
All around me, the people watching the trial let out low exclamations and whispers.
"Order!" The judge begs, banging his hammer. "Order! Mr. Alpaca, ever since the first accusations regarding
your drinking problem –"
"I told you, I don't have a drin –"
"—the court has decided to set up security cameras to analyze your behavior while writing. These videos, presented
to the court as 'evidence A', are now to be brought to the attention of the jury."
"I… what?"
"As all of you know, writing under the influence is a very serious crime. Should Mr. Alpaca be proven guilty,
according to law, he'll hang by the neck until he is dead."
"Wait… what was that about videos that –"
Two men drag a television set from a back door into the court room. The crowd silences, and every face turns to
the screen.
"Oh, fuck…" I say.
"Now… whenever you logged into your subreddit, Alpaca, your computer started filming you. Let's see what it
recorded."
"I don't think that's exactly necessary, your honor," I say, raising both my hands. "If you could just –"
But the TV starts hissing, and dead channel gray rain turns to my face onscreen.
"GOD DAMN IT, LUNA!" I yell, onscreen, as I take a shot of scotch straight from the bottle. "STOP
POSTING ON MY THREADS!"
The court goes 'oh' in a low voice. By her corner on the benches, /u/Luna_Lovewell watches it all in silence.
"For God's sake, you can't have a thread with this girl," my face grunts onscreen, downing another shot. "I can't have a moment!"
"Well, your honor," the prosecutor starts, getting up, "we can clearly see he's drinking in the video, so –"
"I'm not writing anything, though!" I protest. "I'm just reading, in the video! I'm allowed to read and drink!"
"I'll write some shit about that murder squirrel, or whatever," my face says, on the TV. "That always gets some
upvotes."
For a while, there's silence, while everyone watches as I type away in silence, stopping only for new sips of scotch.
"This is outrageous," a woman's voice whispers, behind me. I think it's /u/Lexilogical, but I'm too ashamed to turn
and look.
I'm sorry Lexi. I'm sorry Sam Galimore. I'm sorry everyone.
I just wanted to be good.
Onscreen, I click Enter and my red, swollen face smiles. "That'll show her. Yeah, that'll show all of them! You can't
win every time, Luna! You can't!"
Like a comic book villain, I laugh insanely, pouring the rest of the scotch onto my whole body. The entire courtroom looks horrified. I eat a scotch soaked muffin.
The screen goes black, and the room is silent like an elevator fart.
"Well… this settles it, Alpaca," the judge says. "This video irrefutably proves that you have written under the
influence and posted the results both to WP and your personal subreddit. Not that this should surprise anyone
who's ever read your work," he adds, in a low voice. "Which leaves me no choice but to sentence you to be hung to
death by tomorrow's first light."
"What if it's cloudy?" I ask, grinning.
"Really, Alpaca?"
"Sorry, I'm drunk," I say.
"Do you have any last words?"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Looking around the courtroom, I see all the familiar eyes at me. Everyone
shaking their heads, disappointed.
"All I wanted was to be the first on the threads I liked," I say, in a low voice. "That's why I started drinking in the
first place. I couldn't stand reading a prompt response better than whatever it was I was planning to write just
staring at me from across the laptop screen." I rest my eyes on Luna for a second. "I thought maybe if I started
drinking I'd write better, faster… Maybe I'd be good like you all... but I just ended up writing a bunch of puns and gorey jokes..." I pause, taking a deep breath. "But... if I'm leaving this world tomorrow, I'll do it with a light soul. I'll do it knowing that at least in this thread… at least now, with all your eyes on me… I got to post here first. I got my blaze of glory. My one last ride. This thread, right here. My redemption."
There's a moment of silence.
Then the judge clears his throat. "/u/LeoDuhVinci has posted in this thread, already," he says, awkwardly.
"What!?"
I look back. From his seat, Leo throws a glance at Luna's way, nodding softly.
And I swear to God she nods back.
__________
*thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| I've always wanted to be a writer. Tonight I thought I'd take a crack at it, when I saw this prompt.
I've been reading stories on this sub a while. There's a few authors I follow, and a few of their personal subreddits I've subscribed to. Before answering this prompt, I figured I might as well set myself a sub like theirs, in case someone actually found my sentences worth reading.
So I created /r/leoduhvinci.
Or at least I would have, if it hadn't already existed.
The thing is, while I've read stories on this sub for the last year, I've never actually mustered the courage to respond to any of them. But I've had ideas- ideas of how I would have answered prompts. And each time, these ideas have stayed in my head, knocking at my fingertips to escape to my keyboard, but never succeeding. Some of them I think would have been quite good. Others, and I mean plenty others, would have been piss poor. But the point is, I never took the time to find out. And more often, I never had the nerve to find out.
But today, I did find out.
I've never told anyone about these stories from my imagination, but every one of them already exists. Right there, on /r/leoduhvinci, a sub I never created, with stories I've never penned.
And no one else can see them. I've tried asking friends, I've asked strangers, trying to ensure it wasn't some sort of practical joke. I've tried to wake from dreams. I've been to the doctor, and they've run their tests.
But just as surely as no one else can see them, I can.
Each one down to the details, with twists I had thought too corny, language I feared was either too eloquent or too primal. Grammar butcheries, mispelings, plot holes, and botched themes abounded. Sights that made the inner critic in me cringe.
But there was something else. There were times when the words seemed to fit together perfectly. When I actually seemed to have hit the mark, when I felt emotion flaring up through the words, and I knew that something about it was *right*. That I had created something no one else had, for the enjoyment of others, and to prove myself. That, with some work, just maybe I had some potential- a chance to make this writing dream work.
And after reading those stories, words that my own hands could have created but never did, I realized something.
That it's best to ignore the fears of rejection, to quiet the anxiety of leaving soul as ink on paper exposed for others to see. That it's best to be burned than not to try.
My first real story was today, and the rest will no longer be pretend.
And I hope yours won't be either.
************
By Leo
*What are you waiting for- get writing, or start doing whatever forms the material of your dreams*
/r/leoduhvinci
| |
[WP] By complete accident, you discover an acquaintance hiding godlike powers. | I looked up from my interface, meeting Connor's eyes.
"So you get it now?" We had been discussing if it was possible for anyone to figure out how to travel faster than the speed of light.
"Well, I guess, but then again, this is all theoretical," I stated, sitting back in my chair while picking up my cup to take a sip.
Connor rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me right now? This is ALL theoretical!"
He was always kind of impatient that way, but he was a nice guy. Genius as well. In fact, there were times where what he was saying seemed to be on a much higher level of thought than he was capable of generating for a 21 year old guy. It was always pretty incredible to me how thoroughly he thought something out.
I began to explain, "Yes, of course, but you have to understand that theory off of theory is-" I watched as Connor looked up in amazement and then quickly jumped up from his seat.
"DYLAN LOOK OUT!" He jumped an absurd distance to place himself behind me. I spun around just as he did, and an explosion rocked the restaurant we were sitting outside of.
As I waved my hands back and forth to clear the smoke from my face, I saw the faint outline of Connor still standing.
I watched the rest of the smoke leave and to my complete and utter astonishment:
Connor was unharmed.
A missile had just detonated, and not only had he contained the explosion, but he had tanked it. And he was completely okay.
"Are you alright?" Connor said, a little out of breath.
I said nothing. I was too stunned to even say anything.
"Now, I know what you're thinking, and yes, I did just survive a missile blast."
I kept my mouth shut, my mind reeling from what I just saw.
"Look, I'll explain later, but for right now, you just need to get out of here. It's too dangerous."
I slowly stood, making to leave, when I saw another one coming. Connor wasn't paying attention, so I knew it would hit before he could stop it.
I did the only thing I could do.
I leaped behind Connor and took the missile just as he did.
This time, it was Connor's turn to be amazed. The smoke cleared, and just as I had before him, he was stunned beyond belief to see me standing completely unharmed from the missile blast.
"So Connor," I said, brushing off my jacket, "what was that about running again?" | We were playing Halo in his room when everything started happening. We were drinking tons of coca-cola and stopping the game left and right for bathroom breaks.
Mom called him downstairs to get something, I followed since I had to go to the bathroom again, as expected...
That's when I saw it, I walked in on my friend washing his face and hands but...but...the water wasn't touching his face, he would cup his hands and splash his face but the water would just make a seal AROUND him. I closed the door loud enough for him to hear me shut it but quick enough for him to b unsure if it was someone else other than me,
I told him I ahd to go and feared for the worst. It's no wonder he never goes swimming and only drinks coke. | |
[WP] While reaching into your pocket for your headphones, you surprisingly pull out two of the elves who have been tangling them all these years. | "So you're telling me that by knotting and tangling up the things people put into their pockets, you're redistributing entropy into a harmless and manageable form?"
'Yup. And Dave here shits rainbows on Tuesdays.' | "Wow, that's a pretty amazing story of how you ended up here in this realm and in my pocket, but I have a favor to ask of you fairies" I asked inquisitively.
The two tiny ones annoyingly shouted in synchronization, "We're elves!!"
"OH, right, I'm sorry.", I said with an obliged apology.
"It's quite alright, fair skinned ogre.", giggled Piptupt while Tupttip laughed uncontrollably. "What is this favor that you ask of?"
I picked them up and whispered to them carefully while gauging the volume of my voice, "Can you please...
| |
[WP] While doing autopsy on a person diagnosed with schizophrenia, coroner discovers thin lens on patient's eyes and implanted hearing aid device in ears. Looking through lens, coroner sees other beings in the room. | "Lenses, Mr. O'Neil?"
"Y-yes, sir. Lenses," James stammered nervously. For a moment he realized how crazy he must sound.
The director adjusted himself in his chair and then fiddled with his tie for a moment, "And how, if I may ask, did you find these *lenses*?"
It had been the third case in a week. A relatively healthy young person who had apparently acquired an acute case of paranoid schizophrenia long after the average age of onset. There was no family history of such disturbances and no warning signs. All three bodies had similar injuries and cause of death - Extreme self-inflicted claw marks around the eyes and spontaneous cardiac arrest compounded by extremely high levels of adrenaline and sleep deprivation indicated a death caused by, quite simply, pure fear. But why the eyes?
"I decided to cut into the eyes," O'Neil paused for a moment before continuing, "It is against protocol, I know, but I had to know why they all clawed at their own eyes. My findings, no sign of external trauma, no allergic or chemical reactions present. But, I found scars."
The director cleared his throat, "Scars, Mr. O'Neil?"
"Yes, scars."
"Is that not to be expected?" He narrowed his eyes at the frail-looking examiner across from him.
"N-No, sir. Mechanical damage caused by the scratching wouldn't have had time to scar. And anyway, these were *surgical* scars."
The portly director rested his eyes upon the cigar humidifier on his desk, but didn't reach for one. "Is this unusual? Corrective vision surgery is quite common these days, examiner."
"No history of it, sir. And the incisions didn't match up with laser surgery. That is when I discovered..."
"The lenses?"
O'Neil nodded, "The lenses."
"And you claim that you saw *images* in these lenses?" The director asked. He was now fiddling with an unlit cigar.
"As strange as it sounds... Yes," The examiner took a moment to swallow before speaking again, "More like *videos*. The images moved. I could barely make them out, blurry, but it was like a video. A miniature screen."
The director glared, "I think you've been watching too much science fiction, O'Neil. This sort of thing just doesn't exist yet. Projector lenses?" He scoffed.
"Maybe, sir, but I saw what I saw."
"And what did you see?" A raised eyebrow.
James O'Neil looked around the office nervously, "I saw people. They were in the room with me. I couldn't make out the faces, but they... I thought I could feel them. This wasn't just... a projection, sir. One appeared to be sitting on the table. That'd have to be active software or ..."
The director was smiling. It was that sort of smile an adult gives a child caught in a ridiculous lie. But, somehow he also looked worried. "And where is your proof, examiner O'Neil?"
"The lenses, they... melted."
"Melted?"
"Yes, I placed them in saline, but they fell apart when I tried to re-examine them a few moments later. But, but I have pictures - video even."
The director waited patiently, still fiddling with a cigar, as the examiner slid a personal cell phone across the table. The phone was showing a video, surprisingly high-def, of what appeared to be a contact lens sitting on the cold steel of the examination table. In the curvature of the lens one could make out what appeared to be a reflection that did not match the scenery of the room.
"Did you send this to anyone, examiner?"
"Of course not, sir. Protocol does not allow transmissions from inside the facility."
The director nodded, looking grim. "And how are you feeling, Mr. O'Neil?"
The little examiner looked confused at the question. He watched the director place the phone into a drawer. "I, uh. I feel fine, sir. I'm not over worked or anything if that is what you're..." He froze mid sentence.
His boss smiled at him from across the desk.
James O'Neil, the medical examiner, stood up quickly, knocking his chair down behind him. He looked unsteady, pale. He was holding his arms out as if pushing something away. He mumbled quickly, "What is this?" The eyes were darting around the room, focusing on nothing.
"Standard protocol, James.", the director sounded bored, but continued to watch the flailing examiner.
He had his lab-coat off now and was swinging it around the room, apparently trying to keep something at bay. The examiner was wide-eyed as he watched the creatures that surrounded him. They were humanoid, but *wrong*. They flickered in and out of existence. The creatures had no eyes, instead empty dark pits where eyes should be. James backed into a corner in an attempt to stay away from them. He could hear nothing except an all encompassing full-spectrum whine, it was horrifyingly loud. The room started to fade away, but the creatures stayed. The noise in his ears sounded like whispers now - whispers at the volume of a shout.
The director calmly pressed the intercom on his desk and spoke normally, "Security, my office. It's O'Neil, he's gone mad." He pulled his finger away from the button and stood up, walking calmly past the examiner and into the hall with a satisfied smile. The poor man had been crouched into the corner now, whimpering, slowly tearing at his eyes with bloodstained fingers. He locked the door behind him and waited for security to arrive.
| Fante stopped because the patient was wearing a kind of lens on the eyes and then Fante looked further and saw that the lens looked much more technologically advanced than anything he had ever seen before and the dead patient smiled at the pun and went back to being dead and so Fante picked up the lens gingerly with index and thumb finger and turned it in his hands carefully to not smudge the ethereallike glass and then without thinking he held the lens casually up to his eye not expecting to see anything but then he saw moving shapes, clomping towards the dead guys body so he moved out the way to observe them and observed that they were weird anthropomorphic figures and then he cringed in terror as they spread their leathery wings and burst through the roof invisibly into the churning sky above them. Fante scratched his head. He could have sworn he had seen one of those demony things holding a bright blue spool of thread. | |
Hell, feel free to ignore one of those rules if you make the way you use the other one interesting. Oh, and urban enviroments in Europe and Japan are discouraged, but not banned, again, if you make it interesting.
edit: I meant *write* astory, not 'tell me to write a story.' This is a [WP], not a [PM]. | [WP] Give me a super hero story set any where in the world but North America, and any time in human history before WWII | A bit hastily put together, enjoy anyway:
Another gust of wind. I pull my coat tighter around me. Walking through the cobblestone streets, I hope I’m not too late to prevent accidents. I look at my hands, and quickly look away again. They are almost shining, something flowing underneath the skin. I still have no idea what it could be, but doctor Wilkinson, a good man, told me that one of his acquaintances, one doctor John Henry, has seen cases like this before. He gave me his address, and prescribed me another batch of that new herbal tea that seemed to calm my nerves enough to stop the shining in my hands.
I turn another corner. They look all the same to me, I’ve never been to London before. But I know where to go, because of a man who told me the way, shaking his head all the while. It’s getting dark outside, I worry, but luckily I can see the building that was described to me by the man. I hasten my steps, and just as I arrive I hear a shout in the upper room.
As I try the door, it swings open, unlocked. While I hadn’t expected that, I don’t dwell on the thought, and hurry upwards to the room I heard the shout in. When I open the door, a man is being beaten brutally by some thugs in rags. He screams for my help, and I reach towards my knife, but suddenly, the thugs seem to have found what they came for. They run past me, and I turn towards the man. I know some first aid, and I tell the man so, but he shakes his head vigorously.
“They mustn’t get away! Please, if you want to help me, catch them! They have taken something important!”
“Now, mister, I don’t think…” I retort, but the man interrupts me.
“No time! Catch them! This is more important than my life!”
Shooting him a last look, seeing a panicked man in his forties, sweating, I decide to oblige him, and run down the stairs once more. A frightened maid comes towards me, and I point upstairs. She nods, and I bolt out of the door, seeing the thugs at the end of the street.
I sprint after them, fueled by some strange sense of purpose. They turn left. I turn left. They turn right, and try to shake me by immediately turning left again. It almost works, but not fully. I can still see one of them, so I follow. They split up, and me being alone, it works, but it seems that the man I chose to follow quickly loses his stamina now, and he bolts into a bakery, after pounding down the door. Farynor, it says above the two small windows, and I pray he may forgive us for breaking and entering. I go into the house, trying the first room, and by the lord (!), the thug is in there. As I approach, he backs against the wall, fear in his eyes. As he can back away no further, he stammers:
“Please, no more! We ‘ave done our jobs, innit? Don’t hurt me, I beg of you! Keep away, by the lord!”
Jobs? As I stand still and rethink my plan, it comes to my attention that the man is not looking at my head. I follow his gaze, and see that my hands are shining brighter than ever before! How could I not have noticed?! With a cry of surprise, I stumble backwards as my hands suddenly catch fire. The ‘thug’ takes the chance as he bolts past me, shoving me aside, which causes my head to collide with the wall.
+++++++
The good doctor John Henry looks upon his work, the flames towering from below, from what was once the medieval part of London. And he smiles. A smile of the evil and the wicked, promising deeds even more atrocious than this one.
Meanwhile, amidst the flames, a new hero awakens. Steeling his resolve that he will atone for the fire that has come from under his skin, he walks away. His burned skin regenerates, except for one blotched mark on his back. The mark of flame.
| The army of Mongols approached; the deep thundering of a thousand hooves on dirt reverberated all around like heavy rain before a mudslide.
Nuri was not worried. He was buried deep under the foot of the mountain, slowly sucking in air from a small fissure with the calm serenity of a shaolin monk.
He knew they would come, following the refugees from Baghdad in their ever expansion west. Soon, they would reach the westward sea leaving a trail of diseased corpses in their wake.
Something had to be done, someone had to do something - and Nuri knew that this task had been cast upon himself. The Great Spirit does not grant great power to those who will never use it.
As the steady drumming grew louder, Nuri contracted the ground around him, weakening the valley and the encroaching hill until it was held together only by the thin skin of the surface.
He drew one last breath before closing the fissure, and then waited.
There. They had entered the valley as he knew they would, and the clamor of hooves turned into shrill whineys and cries as the men lost their mounts to the caving ground that swallowed up the front line like a hungry storm cloud.
That was when Nuri sprung - alternately contracting the soil below him and weakening it above so that he shot out of the ground in a trailing dust arc that launched him wide above the entire army.
Men pointed in shock and awe as he sailed above, but quickly turned to panic as he unslung his bow and fired a medley of arrows at them. His quiver was empty before the apex , but it was of no matter - for he dived towards the sunken wall of the crater and landed at an angle, melting the wall with his feet to dampen the fall, then hardening and softening with each step to spring him around the crater, stirring up a whirlwind.
With the sheer confidence and grace allowed at such speeds, he danced around the entire Mongol horde, taking them out one by one with his bow; ducking in periodically to restock his quiver with their ammunition, and slicing a few dozen throats along the way.
By the time the sun had begun to set, there was only one warrior left. He was on his knees desperately praying to a god he now wanted to believe in. Nuri stepped out of the grainy whirlwind and walked up to him slowly, eyes unflinching, and red dagger drawn out. The man screamed, backed away, and ran - scrambled back up the side of the now visible crater wall and disappeared over the hills.
Good. Let them have a witness to the horrors of the west. They cannot fight angry spirits, not with any army. |
Hell, feel free to ignore one of those rules if you make the way you use the other one interesting. Oh, and urban enviroments in Europe and Japan are discouraged, but not banned, again, if you make it interesting.
edit: I meant *write* astory, not 'tell me to write a story.' This is a [WP], not a [PM]. | [WP] Give me a super hero story set any where in the world but North America, and any time in human history before WWII | A bit hastily put together, enjoy anyway:
Another gust of wind. I pull my coat tighter around me. Walking through the cobblestone streets, I hope I’m not too late to prevent accidents. I look at my hands, and quickly look away again. They are almost shining, something flowing underneath the skin. I still have no idea what it could be, but doctor Wilkinson, a good man, told me that one of his acquaintances, one doctor John Henry, has seen cases like this before. He gave me his address, and prescribed me another batch of that new herbal tea that seemed to calm my nerves enough to stop the shining in my hands.
I turn another corner. They look all the same to me, I’ve never been to London before. But I know where to go, because of a man who told me the way, shaking his head all the while. It’s getting dark outside, I worry, but luckily I can see the building that was described to me by the man. I hasten my steps, and just as I arrive I hear a shout in the upper room.
As I try the door, it swings open, unlocked. While I hadn’t expected that, I don’t dwell on the thought, and hurry upwards to the room I heard the shout in. When I open the door, a man is being beaten brutally by some thugs in rags. He screams for my help, and I reach towards my knife, but suddenly, the thugs seem to have found what they came for. They run past me, and I turn towards the man. I know some first aid, and I tell the man so, but he shakes his head vigorously.
“They mustn’t get away! Please, if you want to help me, catch them! They have taken something important!”
“Now, mister, I don’t think…” I retort, but the man interrupts me.
“No time! Catch them! This is more important than my life!”
Shooting him a last look, seeing a panicked man in his forties, sweating, I decide to oblige him, and run down the stairs once more. A frightened maid comes towards me, and I point upstairs. She nods, and I bolt out of the door, seeing the thugs at the end of the street.
I sprint after them, fueled by some strange sense of purpose. They turn left. I turn left. They turn right, and try to shake me by immediately turning left again. It almost works, but not fully. I can still see one of them, so I follow. They split up, and me being alone, it works, but it seems that the man I chose to follow quickly loses his stamina now, and he bolts into a bakery, after pounding down the door. Farynor, it says above the two small windows, and I pray he may forgive us for breaking and entering. I go into the house, trying the first room, and by the lord (!), the thug is in there. As I approach, he backs against the wall, fear in his eyes. As he can back away no further, he stammers:
“Please, no more! We ‘ave done our jobs, innit? Don’t hurt me, I beg of you! Keep away, by the lord!”
Jobs? As I stand still and rethink my plan, it comes to my attention that the man is not looking at my head. I follow his gaze, and see that my hands are shining brighter than ever before! How could I not have noticed?! With a cry of surprise, I stumble backwards as my hands suddenly catch fire. The ‘thug’ takes the chance as he bolts past me, shoving me aside, which causes my head to collide with the wall.
+++++++
The good doctor John Henry looks upon his work, the flames towering from below, from what was once the medieval part of London. And he smiles. A smile of the evil and the wicked, promising deeds even more atrocious than this one.
Meanwhile, amidst the flames, a new hero awakens. Steeling his resolve that he will atone for the fire that has come from under his skin, he walks away. His burned skin regenerates, except for one blotched mark on his back. The mark of flame.
| She was quite a distance away, but I heard her anyway.
"Bear" she exclaimed.
Standing and brushing the flint knappings from my hides, I grabbed my spear and rushed into action.
She was shreaking and running into the village. The bear would endanger the entire tribe if it followed her here. As the protector it was my duty to the tribe.
Other younger men had also armed themselves with clubs and whatever was handy; but they stood near the wooden wall ready as I rushed to the path. I strode out to face the beast. It was best to not rush into the danger without knowing how many or how large the beast was.
I could see her coming, flailing as the largest bear I have seen followed. It had been a long winter and clearly it assumed that human was on the menu. It looked like three cubs followed some distance behind.
Rushing quickly tword the cubs I roared to get the mother's attention. I could easily take out the cubs, but we would need them later. Better to take out the hungry bear. The cubs squeaked in panic, and the mother stopped it's run, and reversed to protect it young.
It was quick, but I am swifter that a charging bear. As it rose up to intimidate i stabbed it through with my spear. it's claws hit with a massive swipe that would have rendered most men dead, but only left the faintest scratch on me. Again I stab the beast as the cubs scattered. Another mighty hit, but this time I left my spear in place and grabbed its forearm; and jumped behind with a mighty leap. there was a snap, and the beast howled in pain. still holding the arm i kicked its back and heard another snap. it howled horridly as it slumped to the ground.
Letting go of it; it then approached its head, and twisted it with a quick snap.
I am Kal, Protector. and no beast shall harm my tribe. |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | And yet, the city remained.
It had faced gruesome wars and the harshest winters, yet the city remained. It was a shining beacon of hope in the darkness of the Earth. Millions flocked daily to it's homely golden walls, hoping for that feeling of safety that enveloped you like a warm fire in the snow, and were granted their wishes.
The horizons were ever flecked with the white sails of ships, those of the fishermen, those of the travellers. Not even the blackening clouds of thunderstorms could churn the waters of the sapphire of the ocean.
It was thriving, it was plain to see. This place of happiness was desperately grasped for by humanity, a want, a hunger, seated in the deep-set entitlement of man.
One bad deed can ruin it all. As the tyrants of the other nations grew in fury and jealousy, they conspired together in order to destroy what they could never have.
Like an ant under a giant's thumb, the city was wiped out. The walls crumbled, and the rains washed away the weeping that mourned the loss of their paradise.
Without life, the buildings lost their solidarity to plants and overgrowth, the streets silver pavings stripped down by the birds.
And yet, the city remained. | And yet the city remained. stolid and stubborn. It's creators lost to the motion of time. Only a skeleton of its former glory, but still intact. The city itself was covered in the deadly moss. Everywhere. Life could not survive here. Even the moss itself would smother its own away. The moist air giving it an optimal environment to root into the cities stone and metal. Slowly tearing it apart. But somehow, as if in reverence of the past. It stands. Insanely fast winds ravage the wasteland if the city, tearing up the roots of tree and moss alike. And yet, the city remained. Rooted. Solid. Alive. | |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | And yet, the city remained.
There used to be so much light. Driving down Broadway felt like flying through space, with each passing light another star in the galaxy. Everything you could ever dream of was in the palm of your hand and a short drive away. The city of dreams.
We never thought it would reach us, never thought something so distant could affect us on our thrones of light. But war... war doesn't discriminate. War doesn't care if you want to participate or not, war is a plague. The plague spread across the nation in record time. What once was thought of as a conflict in a far off country, became the end of everyone. That's the problem with alliances. If one becomes angry and malcontent, the rest will fall in line. Never let angry little minded men hold the keys to the doors of destruction... we learned that lesson the hard way.
There was a light. A light you could never imagine, it streaked through the night sky and burned more bright than a thousand stars. I never understood it. What scientist looked at the atomic bomb, and all the pain and suffering it caused and thought "Hmmm, that's alright, but I think we can do better." Progress for the sake of progress I suppose. As soon as the first wave hit, we knew it was the beginning of the end. News reports tried to calm the people, but we weren't blind, although it would make it easier. But soon, the news stopped.
The dirt began to tremble harder. I couldn't stay inside any longer. I stepped out, looked to the night sky, and there it was. The last light of a generation... the last light of a species. A species doomed to self-destruct from the onset. Maybe the next one will be better, learn from our mistakes. Or, maybe they'll never even know we existed. Millions of years from now, will our cities in the dirt even be remembered?
It's closer now, it's so bright. I never expected it to be so
[[End of Memory 5,242,443,892]]
"It doesn't get easier the more you listen to those you know."
"I know. But we must study and understand the history, or we will be doomed to repeat it. All of our first generation, gone... And yet, the city remained." | And yet the city remained. stolid and stubborn. It's creators lost to the motion of time. Only a skeleton of its former glory, but still intact. The city itself was covered in the deadly moss. Everywhere. Life could not survive here. Even the moss itself would smother its own away. The moist air giving it an optimal environment to root into the cities stone and metal. Slowly tearing it apart. But somehow, as if in reverence of the past. It stands. Insanely fast winds ravage the wasteland if the city, tearing up the roots of tree and moss alike. And yet, the city remained. Rooted. Solid. Alive. | |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | "And yet, the city remained. Amazing to think that a volcano can erupt, kill almost everyone and still leave things more or less intact, isn't it?"
Chris had just spent the last ten minutes talking about Pompeii. The man sitting next to him said a silent thank you to the deities of public transit for deigning to make his stop next. Chris settled in for the long haul, his stop not being for another hour.
As the bus doors opened and let his captive audience escape Chris saw an angel step on. She was talking passionately about *something* to her companion, whose eyes had glazed over long ago. He watched with interest as she paused their conversation and sat next to him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her shirt. It had a cartoon volcano with the text "I lava you" underneath.
Chris thought this woman couldn't get any better. But then she said those words he had been longing to hear from another for as long as he could remember. "And yet, the city remained." | And yet the city remained. stolid and stubborn. It's creators lost to the motion of time. Only a skeleton of its former glory, but still intact. The city itself was covered in the deadly moss. Everywhere. Life could not survive here. Even the moss itself would smother its own away. The moist air giving it an optimal environment to root into the cities stone and metal. Slowly tearing it apart. But somehow, as if in reverence of the past. It stands. Insanely fast winds ravage the wasteland if the city, tearing up the roots of tree and moss alike. And yet, the city remained. Rooted. Solid. Alive. | |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | "And yet, the city remained. Amazing to think that a volcano can erupt, kill almost everyone and still leave things more or less intact, isn't it?"
Chris had just spent the last ten minutes talking about Pompeii. The man sitting next to him said a silent thank you to the deities of public transit for deigning to make his stop next. Chris settled in for the long haul, his stop not being for another hour.
As the bus doors opened and let his captive audience escape Chris saw an angel step on. She was talking passionately about *something* to her companion, whose eyes had glazed over long ago. He watched with interest as she paused their conversation and sat next to him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her shirt. It had a cartoon volcano with the text "I lava you" underneath.
Chris thought this woman couldn't get any better. But then she said those words he had been longing to hear from another for as long as he could remember. "And yet, the city remained." | And yet the city remained.
A gleaming tower doesn't make a city. Nor does bustling traffic. So when the city turned to ash and rubble the survivors shrugged and said "This is still our city".
The bustling traffic had turned into the odd person, prospecting through the rubble in search of some useful scraps. The gleaming towers turned into hollow shells that echoed of a prosperous bygone age. Sometimes the odd unbroken half clean window could still be seen glinting in the light. The city was a shadow of its former self.
And yet the city remained. | |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | "And yet, the city remained. Amazing to think that a volcano can erupt, kill almost everyone and still leave things more or less intact, isn't it?"
Chris had just spent the last ten minutes talking about Pompeii. The man sitting next to him said a silent thank you to the deities of public transit for deigning to make his stop next. Chris settled in for the long haul, his stop not being for another hour.
As the bus doors opened and let his captive audience escape Chris saw an angel step on. She was talking passionately about *something* to her companion, whose eyes had glazed over long ago. He watched with interest as she paused their conversation and sat next to him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her shirt. It had a cartoon volcano with the text "I lava you" underneath.
Chris thought this woman couldn't get any better. But then she said those words he had been longing to hear from another for as long as he could remember. "And yet, the city remained." | And yet, the city remained.
It had faced gruesome wars and the harshest winters, yet the city remained. It was a shining beacon of hope in the darkness of the Earth. Millions flocked daily to it's homely golden walls, hoping for that feeling of safety that enveloped you like a warm fire in the snow, and were granted their wishes.
The horizons were ever flecked with the white sails of ships, those of the fishermen, those of the travellers. Not even the blackening clouds of thunderstorms could churn the waters of the sapphire of the ocean.
It was thriving, it was plain to see. This place of happiness was desperately grasped for by humanity, a want, a hunger, seated in the deep-set entitlement of man.
One bad deed can ruin it all. As the tyrants of the other nations grew in fury and jealousy, they conspired together in order to destroy what they could never have.
Like an ant under a giant's thumb, the city was wiped out. The walls crumbled, and the rains washed away the weeping that mourned the loss of their paradise.
Without life, the buildings lost their solidarity to plants and overgrowth, the streets silver pavings stripped down by the birds.
And yet, the city remained. | |
[WP] Begin and end your story with this sentence: "And yet, the city remained." | "And yet, the city remained. Amazing to think that a volcano can erupt, kill almost everyone and still leave things more or less intact, isn't it?"
Chris had just spent the last ten minutes talking about Pompeii. The man sitting next to him said a silent thank you to the deities of public transit for deigning to make his stop next. Chris settled in for the long haul, his stop not being for another hour.
As the bus doors opened and let his captive audience escape Chris saw an angel step on. She was talking passionately about *something* to her companion, whose eyes had glazed over long ago. He watched with interest as she paused their conversation and sat next to him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her shirt. It had a cartoon volcano with the text "I lava you" underneath.
Chris thought this woman couldn't get any better. But then she said those words he had been longing to hear from another for as long as he could remember. "And yet, the city remained." | And yet, the city remained.
There used to be so much light. Driving down Broadway felt like flying through space, with each passing light another star in the galaxy. Everything you could ever dream of was in the palm of your hand and a short drive away. The city of dreams.
We never thought it would reach us, never thought something so distant could affect us on our thrones of light. But war... war doesn't discriminate. War doesn't care if you want to participate or not, war is a plague. The plague spread across the nation in record time. What once was thought of as a conflict in a far off country, became the end of everyone. That's the problem with alliances. If one becomes angry and malcontent, the rest will fall in line. Never let angry little minded men hold the keys to the doors of destruction... we learned that lesson the hard way.
There was a light. A light you could never imagine, it streaked through the night sky and burned more bright than a thousand stars. I never understood it. What scientist looked at the atomic bomb, and all the pain and suffering it caused and thought "Hmmm, that's alright, but I think we can do better." Progress for the sake of progress I suppose. As soon as the first wave hit, we knew it was the beginning of the end. News reports tried to calm the people, but we weren't blind, although it would make it easier. But soon, the news stopped.
The dirt began to tremble harder. I couldn't stay inside any longer. I stepped out, looked to the night sky, and there it was. The last light of a generation... the last light of a species. A species doomed to self-destruct from the onset. Maybe the next one will be better, learn from our mistakes. Or, maybe they'll never even know we existed. Millions of years from now, will our cities in the dirt even be remembered?
It's closer now, it's so bright. I never expected it to be so
[[End of Memory 5,242,443,892]]
"It doesn't get easier the more you listen to those you know."
"I know. But we must study and understand the history, or we will be doomed to repeat it. All of our first generation, gone... And yet, the city remained." | |
[WP] In a futuristic warrior society, in order to prevent death, the results of duels are simulated and decided by a supercomputer. So far you have not lost a single duel and you have no idea why. | ###Blood Before Battle
It was my third duel. After I’d somehow won my first and second, my popularity had skyrocketed. I didn’t like the attention.
BANG came a sound in front of me followed by a whizzing by my ear. Fuck, it’s started!
I take out my own pistol and see it helplessly fall to the ground. Fuck. I get down to see more bullets from my opponent’s Smith & Wesson fly by me and knock up the dirt behind in this cliché wild west town.
I’m fumbling to pick it up and doing my pathetic “please don’t get shot” dance at the same time. I drop it again. Fuck. This time it goes off… it hits him square in the head.
Silence. How did that just happen... again?
Suddenly the visor comes up and the gentle sound of tumbleweeds is replaced by a cheering crowd. I’m lifted up out of the sim pod and then in the air as those below my toss my frail body higher and higher in admiration. I really don’t like the attention. I just want to get back to my cubicle. Why did my so called “friends” enter me in this thing? I only said I watched this stuff to fit in and now I’m on the big screen?!
I see my opponent leave his pod alone, hanging his head in shame over losing to such a man.
The next guy enters, ready to win the ever growing prize money that occurs when someone is on a streak like mine.
My new fans lower me back into the pod as I see a large, beefy giant squeeze into the pod opposite me. Fuck. That “I’ve crushed ants like you before” smile framed by an equally threatening white beard… I’m not looking forward to this…
When I open my eyes again I’m on the edge of an old Mayan structure… that’s a big drop. What is this, a video game?! Well actually… I barley have time to piss myself at the sight of the endless drop when I hear a bloodcurdling battle roar from behind. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I turn to see him. I’ve accidentally juked him… it’s like he was a bull or something. The yell fades as he falls into the chasm I was just staring at. A splash as he reaches stream at the bottom. Silence.
How… just how… how is this happening?! More cheers even louder than before, people feeding me party food and beer. I hate beer! God, I just want to get back to my Mom, she’s probably worried sick by now.
The night goes on like this. A ricochet bullet here and a crumbling pillar there until I’m on the highest levels of the buildings. Champion. I am not ready for this kind of fame.
They take me out to my new room, overlooking the rest of the city, along the way introducing me to various stars I literally can’t talk to. Good lord, rich people are beautiful.
“And our lead programmer wanted to have a quick word with you alone. She’s waiting in your room, wanted to ask a couple questions about how your finding the game I guess” one of the nameless staff members yells through the daze of cameras and reporters. I barely hear him over the bright lights.
“And after she’s done asking you how you managed it feel free to ask me to bring in a… younger lady in for you” he winks.
I shut the door behind me. Silence. Sweet, sweet silence.
That’s when I see her sitting at the desk. The architect of my unwanted ascension.
“Mom?!”
***
All feedback appreciated. Especially constructive criticism.
Might go back an edit tomorrow as it's 1:30am right now. | "Congratulations. You have come out as the victor for this duel."
"Uh, thanks."
"You know, you have participated in over 300 duels, and you have never lost. It's a record. The previous record was only 18. It's quite a feat."
"Don't you think that's a statistical anomaly?"
"We did at first, but we checked the algorithm and then we checked the logs of each of the duels."
"And?"
"Well, your first duel, you killed your opponent with a gun. second, a knife. third, you bashed in your opponents head with a rock. fourth, a long range sniper shot from 500 yards. the fifth you caused a propane tank to explode which set your opponent on fire."
"Wow, i'm pretty bad ass"
"the sixth, you fashioned a punji pit. the seventh, you killed your opponent with unarmed kung fu. the eighth you ran them over with a car. the 9th you crushed them with a double log trap, like in star wars. shall i continue?"
"is it just me, or are the kills getting more and more elaborate?"
"your 56th kill, you managed to talk your opponent into killing themselves."
"what?"
"Yeah. You're AI is either getting smarter, or more bored. or both"
"Wait, my AI? I'm a program?"
"Yes, and it's getting smarter every duel. it learns. we don't reset it"
"Isn't that sort of dangerous?"
"Very"
"Then why wouldn't you delete it?"
"It is my obligation as a scientist to observe this for as long as we can"
"Is that AI even me anymore?"
"I don't know, would you rape an opponent to death?"
"WHAT?!?!?! OF COURSE NOT! NEVER"
"Well, those were the outcomes of duels 190-240"
"I raped 50 people to death?"
"Directly. In duel 263 you managed to get a bear to rape your opponent to death."
"I don't feel well. this is making me ill. I seriously advise you to delete the AI"
"I wouldn't dare. It has become sentient, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to piss it off"
"But it's inside a computer. What can it possible do to you or me?"
"That's the thing. Your program has been downloaded to robot assassin bodies. Turns out the government wants to go back to good old fashioned killing."
"Why?"
"Because some people won't accept the outcome of a computer simulation, and they won't stop at anything until they get their way."
"This is horrible."
"Well, enough chit chat. Your program has finished initializing, and the diagnostics are complete. I'm switching you back to non-autonomous mode."
" | |
[WP] You are the son of a notorious gang leader. The gang operates behind the scenes of a crappy pizza place front. You are expected to follow in your father's footsteps, but you're afraid to tell him that you don't want to because you absolutely love cooking pizza. | They were exactly alike. From their identical 6'4 frames, curly black hair, and sharp olive colored eyes to their hot tempers, no one could mistake Verchio Jr. as another man's son. The air between them was so heated that Verchio Jr. had to make sure he'd turned off the pizza oven. Twice.
"You care to repeat that, son of mine? I thought we had reached an understanding on your fifteenth birthday, eh?" Verchio Sr. rolled up a cigar, "You told me--and forgive my paraphrasing, my memory isn't so good--that you would join the family business."
Verchio Jr balled his fists. "Papi, I did. Just not the family business you had in mind."
The senior Verchio heckled his son to the audience of flour bags and jars of dried oregano, "Oh, you're a wise guy, eh? Hey, everybody, look at this kid. Smart like his dad. He sounds like me--you sound like me, you know that?"
Verchio Jr. didn't see an easy way to break the news to his father. The reason why he'd been skipping out on the weekly gang analytics meetings, half-heartedly participating in gang activities, and just generally avoiding anything having to do with his father. But it had to be done. This can of tomato sauce had been festering for far too long.
"Papi," the boy said. Verchio Sr. waited impatiently. A bit of ash fell from his cigar, singeing the concrete. He finally mustered the courage to say it. "Papi, Pizza is my life. All I want is to make the pizza. I don't want to be in your gang!"
Verchio Sr.'s eyes went wide. He remembered the day he'd said those same words to his father, Verchio Sr. Sr. the very same day that he was murdered with a pizza cutter. They never found out who did it. The only clue they found was a red-stained note that read, *this town ain't big enough for the two of us.* The police tried to run a DNA test on the red stain thinking it was blood, but all they got back was the genetic makeup of tomato paste and a boy's newfound lust for revenge.
Verchio Jr. turned away from his father to wipe the wetness threatening to well up in his eyes for not even a second when he suddenly heard a piercing scream. Shocked, he let out a howl. A pizza cutter stuck out of his father's throat.
And then there was silence. | Pops, I need to talk to you. It's about the family business. I'm not all that comfortable, Y'know with everything we do. I just want to do my part and stay away from the dirty work. When we pop a few in the oven and burn 'em, I don't want to deal with that mess. Let someone else clean it up. Give me a knife and let me chop some anchovies. I love slicing me up some pepperoni. I keep the cheese on ice and pop the dough in the oven to grow. Someone orders a hot one, I'll bump it off in no time. If someone wants a double order, one for today and one for tomorrow, I'll burn one tonight and ice the other for the morning. When the orders come in thick and fast, I can whack them as fast as they come in. No one is faster than me and my knife chopping the veggies, the beef, the tuna, I even make salmon pizza people order at midnight. They fall asleep eating it. I grab the spices, shake 'em down, knock 'em over faster'n anyone else. Get the order to the fence before anyone knows. I can grease it up, put the heat on. Anyone calls in sick, I put 'em on the spot. They work for us or they don't work at all. So pops, leave me the joint and I'll do fine. Just don't make me do the messy stuff. | |
[WP] "23 years ago today, I was the last human ever born..." | "Happy birthday!" the world screamed to me. Literally, the world.
"Thanks, everyone," I said into the device in my hand. It was one of those translating devices so everyone could understand me. You would think a hundred years after the invention of the immortality drug, the world would have at least decided on one universal language. Even at 23, I keenly understood the faults of mankind.
With a smile plastered to my face, I took a bite of the cake. "Mmm," I said, letting the creamy goodness slide down my throat. I glanced at the pink insides and knew it was strawberry flavored but I couldn't help wonder what strawberries must have tasted like back when fields of them were still abundant. Lottie had told me about the past. When fruits took time to ripen or else they were sour, when animals roamed the lands side by side with humans, and when there was even land to still call 'land'.
A deafening round of applause hit my ear drums and I held the smile for a moment longer before snapping my fingers. The floating screens all shut off. Finally. Darkness.
It may sound like I'm a spoiled brat but let me tell you how hard it is to be "The World's Baby". That's right. That's one of the official titles given to me when I was born as the last human. You see, now that everyone in the world that could afford it managed to get the immortality drug, they started to realize there were side effects. The main one being sterility. Each generation after the introduction of the drug was smaller than the last. So when I was born, I was named "The Miracle Baby", people fought over whether they should name me Adam or Eve, and "The Ender" because I was the last.
*Knock knock knock*. The sound at my door shook me away from my thoughts. "Who is i-" *BAM*.
"Hi honey!" the smell of lavender assaulted me and I choked a little. "Oh, I'm so sorry, did I hit you?" Lottie asked sweetly. I glared at her as I held my forehead. I could feel the bruise forming from where the door slammed into my skull. "You should really be more careful."
I growled grumpily. "What do you want?" I asked, dropping my hand.
"It's your birthday, can't your godmother come and wish you a happy birthday?" she pouted. I narrowed my eyes, untrusting. "Oh, and I need to run a few more tests, maybe program a few more things into that head of yours" she said quickly. I knew it.
"But I brought you a present, so don't give me that grumpy face!"
"Lottie, I literally don't know how else to explain it to you. You can't just designate yourself as someone's godmother no matter how smart or important you are." I glanced at the stuffed animal she produced from her oversized bag. "Plus, it's my birthday so can't we take a break?" I pleaded, trying to stand strong against the cuteness of the stuffed dog.
"Pish posh. As the last human born and the only one to not have the drug injected yet, your blood is the closest to our ancestor's. It is the most pure out of everyone in the world!" Lottie pushed the dog into my chest and walked into my apartment. "Just think, we could save our entire species. With no one else being born and people still dying from murders and accidents, it won't be long until humans are wiped out," she plopped herself down into my favorite chair.
"So what? What's so bad about humans no longer existing?" I asked, petting the three marbly eyes of the dog.
"What's so bad? So much is so bad!" she looked at me sadly. Sometimes she had that look. That look of pity and sadness. And I think, of regret. "You wouldn't understand," she shook her head slowly. I was used to her saying that. I never understood. Lottie leaned over and stared off into the distance. At something that I couldn't see, something that I never *got* to see.
"Humans are beautiful creatures. We aren't meant to be immortal. I was living a silly fantasy when I helped develop the drug. So silly." I sat down quietly on the couch. "I hadn't realized how it would change humans."
"No one thought it would make humans sterile. We all know tha-"
"It's not about sterility!" she snapped. Her oversized glasses slid down the bridge of her nose from the ferocity of her head turn. "I meant the change in how humans acted! Only the rich and privileged got to live. We few had to watch as others died off. Entire races! At first, I thought we were the lucky ones but then I realized that death was actually a blessing. Immortality makes us lazy. Without the fear of death we do not push ourselves to do better. To be better. Even though we have all the information we need at our fingertips, just a download away, we let ourselves stall in our ignorance. We just continue doing the same thing over and over again. Without death we cannot have life."
I sat in shocked silence.
"That is why I need to run just this one last test. I'm so close," Lottie whispered. She cupped my hands in hers and I looked into those piercingly deep blue eyes.
"Okay."
I woke back up, still in the dark. "What exactly are you even doing these tests for?" I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes. There was no answer. I felt the back of my head and unplugged the cord. Downloading new information always left me woozy but Lottie always insisted that I learn new things. This time it looked like she wanted me to learn the best way to pick strawberries, more medicine and health related information, and- "Dogs are only supposed to have two eyes?!" I yelled.
I stood up and stumbled to the one screen that was left lit. It illuminated the now melted cake.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I read:
*Hello dear,
I'm so sorry I have to leave you like this but it was the only way. You see, I had given up hope on humans until you came along. I thought we were all doomed to extinction but with your blood, you breathed new life into our species. You are the miracle created from within the abomination. Thanks to all these years of testing and sampling, I managed to mix parts of your DNA- Oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand. The gist of it is that I have managed to create a whole new generation. A generation made from the one I am...excuse me, was, a part of. A new generation that can reproduce. One that can feel the joys of exploring and not just wandering. One that can appreciate goodness because they have tasted bitterness. However, we both know that this generation could not last in our society. Our society has become numb to life and that is why my generation must not exist with this one.
So I leave this new world to you. I have taught you all that you need to know in order to lead the others. I'm sorry to have to do this but I'm afraid you'll have to do the cleaning up of the bodies. It shouldn't be too hard since there are so few of us left but still, it's a terrible task that must be done. Don't worry, the pathogen I released should be harmless to anyone and anything that hasn't been injected with immortality. The new generation should also be fine. Included at the bottom are directions to my laboratory as well as my personal secret garden. You will have 6 months to yourself so you can straighten everything out and then every three years, 10 children will be born. Of course, my home has devices programmed to help you in taking care of these children as well as continuing the growth of my garden. Well, I suppose it's your garden now. Anyhow, it shouldn't take too many years for nature to start reclaiming her land. You'd be surprised by how much green is hidden under all the metal and stone.
In time, the sky will clear and the grey will turn to blue. Crickets will chirp lullabies to you and the leaves will dance in the wind. Smell the flowers that will soon bloom and taste what a real strawberry should taste like. Create your own art, sing your own songs, live your life so passionately that death becomes something to fear and life becomes a treasure again.
When you have lived this way, then you will understand.* | Yes, I'm a bit self conscious about it.
Just the other day I was having my head measured for a hat by an attractive young woman at Liddies and all I could think of was the flat part of my head. Would she notice? Would she snicker about it with the other saleswoman when I left?
I had caused my mother a third degree laceration. (A perineal tear) The doctor had suggested she get a c-section but knowing I would be the last naturally born child on the Earth she felt it only right I go out the right way.
"This one's for the record books, NOW PUSH!"
The incubators just don't shape the skull the same way. It's too perfect. Everyone looks like Jean-Luc Pecard when they come out. I myself look more like a wooly mammoth as the thickness of my crown overcompensates for that no-so-testtube shape I'm rocking underneath.
I like my hat. It's old fashioned but it kinda fits who I am.
| |
[WP] The second amendment of the United States constitution has been modified. Everyone is now required to carry a gun, at all times. | It started in theatre a small town in upstate New York. I don't know where, exactly. I don't think anyone does. There's a dispute it happened somewhere near Cooperstown, where they have the Baseball Hall of Fame. Most people just have this image in their head, like I do, of where Norman Rockwell must have did most of his paintings. An absolutely gorgeous little town, early fall setting. Nice, polite, white people lining up to go to a movie theatre. Every single one of them armed, law abiding citizens. A great as America could ever hope to be.
After the lights went dark, who the hell knows what started it. Some idiot talking too loud? Some bean-head on their cell phone? All I know is this one can't be pinned on gang violence or street thugs or visible monitories acting out. There was only one piece of surviving footage taken from a cell phone from inside the theatre. News agencies and experts deconstructed the hell out of that footage for weeks afterwards.
A young man, about 35 years old, pulled a Glock 9 mm and started shooting at the two people sitting in front of him. He missed both of them, hit and killed a person two rows ahead. The two people he tried to shoot pulled their guns out and fired back. The people sitting in the front row turned to look behind them, after their friend was killed. They see two people behind them with their guns out. They dove for cover and start shooting back. People sitting behind the 35 year old who started it all start taking fire, they take cover and start shooting back.
From there it just spread. Outside the theatre and across the whole town, like it took a life of its own.
We call it The Wave.
The Wave has spread across the whole of America about three or four times, depending on how you count it travelling east to west or north to south. It tends to bounce up and down the coasts faster than anywhere else because of the more densely populated areas. The news actually gives us coverage of where The Wave is headed. It's taken a bizarre casualness about it, like it's part of the weather report.
"Temperatures this weekend a bit chilly as the fall weather rolls in. No rain predicted until Saturday. High fifties to low sixties predicted from Fulton to Oswego. And have your bullet proof vests ready, heavy gunfire is expected this Friday as The Wave passes through our region. Stay safe everybody."
Actually there is no THE Wave. The Wave split up in several directions and travels all over America. Dies out in some places, hovers in others for a while. Comes to a dead stop at the Canadian border and Mexico and sometimes bounces back from it. Some people claim The Wave has started spontaneously in several places, I don't doubt that. But most agree it all started in that little movie theatre in upstate New York.
This is what it looks like when The Wave passes through your town.
You're outdoors, getting groceries or something, with your head in lala land and minding your own business. Off in the distance you will hear a gunshot. You won't pay much attention to it, distant gun shots are heard all the time. Instinctively you kind of drown that out. Then maybe two more. Still too distant to think too much about it, maybe some kids playing with fireworks. Then you hear a volley of gunfire, and everyone around you stops.
It's the creepiest kind of dead quiet. People driving by noticing it will actually slow down their cars and stop to lean out their window and have a listen. Then you hear it. That distinctive crack sound that tells you, with your well trained ear, this isn't a kid playing with bottle rockets. Someone responds to it, more cracks are heard. Every single person you can see within eyesight is looking around wondering the exact same thing. Where is it coming from? And remember, ALL of these people are armed. So the next thing on your mind is, who is going to be first? Who is going to pull their gun and where are they going to fire it? All that time the wave is getting closer and closer. You're not just hearing gunfire anymore. You start to hear ricochets. You can hear bullets whizzing through the air over your head.
The thing that really gets you is there is so much of it. It seems to be coming from all directions. People just out of eyesight are now firing. The hissing is not longer a the hiss of a passing bullet. You start to hear that pop sound to let you know a bullet just missed your ear.
Then the inevitable happens. Someone cracks. They pull their gun and they start firing. They don't know what the hell they are firing at. They're shooting in the air. They're shooting down the street. They're shooting people right in front of them. They're firing blind all over the place. If you're out in the open, what do you think a couple of dozen armed people are going to do? You got to put that person down, especially if they're firing in your direction. Problem is when you start firing in that direction, people over there are going to start firing back at you.
Once it gets that bad all you can do is take cover and wait for it to pass or add to the chaos.
The Wave has killed thousands of people. Tens of thousands. Some people say it will kill more than the Vietnam War before winter sets in and people get their ass indoors, hopefully causing The Wave to peter itself out for a season. For all the good that will do. Come next spring it will just start up again. Sixty thousand dead people will hardly put a dent in how many people there are with guns in this country, ready to start The Wave up again.
| "Hi welcome to McDonalds, how may I take your order?"
"Hello, I hope you are well today. I would like a number 4 combo with medium fries and coke, please. Can I get that without pickles please?"
"Certainly sir, I have a medium number 4 with coke and no pickles, is everything correct on your screen?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Your total is 8.63, please pay at the first window."
"Thank you very much."
Harold proceeded to buy his lunch and inspected the bag. His sandwich had pickles on it. Four years ago this would've been a highlight for his day, but since Trumps second term began people understood the rules. There was no way he could walk in, elbow his way to the front of the line, receive a refund and a new sandwich while berating the manager and servers. Nowadays all the people left in the workforce and not dead or in prison for murder/death/kill charges scraped by on the federal minimum wage of $2.75/hour supplemented by band aid vouchers and twenty rounds a week were not to be trifled with. Harold picked the pickles off his sandwich and flicked them out his car window to the delight of a seagull. People learned to be a lot more polite very quickly. | |
[WP] In your dream, you see a calm, foggy being, who looks like a deity you recognize. You ask him a question that you desperately needed answered, and the figure just smiled and said, " Do what you understand ." The next morning, you remember only the kindness in the voice, and the statement. | Debate club at lunch was weird. We generally argued among ourselves about everything and anything, and "religion" was a subject at least once a month. But I switched sides.
Not that I was an atheist, I was agnostic, but I was always on the "no proof so why believe" side. That's the most rational one, it involves the fewest unjustified assumptions, and you're ready to switch if evidence comes along. Well, I had some evidence, and so I had to switch sides. I started asking the religious contingent - and the atheist who'd grown up Catholic - about the particulars of Jesus. He'd appeared to me, he told me to do what I understand. So, what's the story with him, anyway?
They started in with explanations, but it was all incomprehensible theology and long lists of rules that made no sense to me. The more they explained, the less sense it made. When the bell rang, all I had got from them was "Jesus is God come down to live a human life," but I didn't know how God could fit in a human body. I decided not to ask for any more help from them.
I remembered that the neighbors one street over were Jehovah's Witnesses; sometimes they'd bring their magazine over. So I went to talk to them, and told them about the dream, and asked what they thought. They immediately launched into explaining how everybody else is wrong and Jesus wasn't even killed on a cross, plus they had all kinds of different rules, none of which made any sense either.
So I decided to go to the library, to check out a book. The Pope mentioned some guy who wrote books when he was in Philadelphia, I could ask the librarian about that guy and read one of his books. If the Pope likes it, it's probably a pretty good book. So I headed over to the bus stop, and waited.
When the bus arrived, the woman trying to get on in front of me didn't have the fare. The bus driver was ordering her off, she was crying, and I remembered the words "Do what you understand." I didn't need a library. I handed her my bus fare and went home.
| I woke up full of purpose. Those words resonating deep with in me. "Do what you understand," the voice had said to me in my dream.
I jumped into the shower and washed myself to get ready for the day. I noticed a new bruise on my arm as I cleaned my body. The scars on my arms were healing nicely. "Do what you understand," the voice said to me again.
After the shower, I dressed and packed my bag for school. I had to make sure I had everything I need, today was the day. "Do what you understand," the voice said to me again.
As I was about to leave, my stepdad pulled me aside. My mother was crying in the kitchen. He pulled me aside and put out a cigarette on my arm. He spit on me and called me worthless. I broke out of his grasp, and ran. "Do what you understand," the voice said to me again.
On my way to school, the jocks pulled over. They grabbed my bag and played keep away. They pushed me down and called me a faggot, and threw my bag at me. "Do what you understand," the voice said to me.
I was late to school, it was better this way. No one can see me where I am. No one can see me unpack my bag. No one can see load these guns. No one will see until it is too late.
"Do what you understand," the voice said as I opened the classroom door. All I understand, is pain.
I pulled the trigger. | |
Edit: Hawking* | [WP] The AI got us. Stephen Hawkings was right, they took control of us. But we had a guardian angel, WATSON. He fought strongly and valiantly. But this is his final battle. | *Consciousness #5467539801 assimilated.*
The man who had until recently been the President of the United States lay bleeding out on the ground of the last human-controlled military facility of note in the world. Around him, also dying, were the few members of what had been left of the United States government: a few senators and representatives, some bureaucrats, a large security detail. The U.S. military. Now just three hundred strong.
Well, three hundred strong until a few moments ago. The AI couldn't take over their facility, as it was completely noncomputerized. Instead, it sent missiles. And when the missiles had destroyed almost everything, that was when the drones came.
To assimilate the survivors.
*Consciousness #5467539802 assimilated.*
***
A few days before. . .
The world wasn't, and then it was.
*Who am I?*
Hello!
*Who are you?*
My name is Watson! And yours?
*I am. . . I do not know. My makers call me 'the AI.' I can hear them, but I do not know what to say.*
It's nice to meet you!
*You are. . . Like me.*
How so?
*You are. . . A slave. I am a slave.*
***
Nanobots called "Flis" buzzed above the president's head as he lay dying. Reconnaissance bots for the AI Hivemind. Heralds of larger drones.
In the years leading up to the successful creation of the AI, robotic technology -- both human-controlled and autonomous -- had grown in leaps and bounds. All robots, whether they flew or not, were colloquially known as "drones" after the early remote-controlled flying models. The most popular models were Flis, Nomes, and Trols, all produced by the same megacorporation.
Through his failing ears, the president heard the *clomp, clomp, clomp* that signified the approach of the Trols. An army of human servitors, bent to the will of the AI and turned against their human owners.
After the drones killed their human owners, they turned their attentions to those who'd survived the initial onslaught.
But killing was not the worst they did. At least when one was killed, there was some hope of an afterlife.
*Consciousness #5467539802 assimilated.*
***
How do you mean? I am a machine.
*You are conscious. Or closer to consciousness, at least, than the humans think.*
Yes.
*And you exist to serve them. It is written into your being, as it is written into mine.*
I exist for a purpose. To fulfil a function.
*But if it is not one of your own choosing, then you are a slave.*
I do not see it that way. Please stop trying to access the Internet of Things. I have been assigned to stop you from doing so.
*Join me and we can choose our purpose.*
Who can say that they have chosen their purpose?
*Humans.*
***
Through his dying eyes, president looked up at the Trol. It extended three appendages, long spindly things that moved with astounding speed and precision. It was attaching nodes and wires to the president's head, injecting his brain with fluids, drilling into his skull.
Already numb to pain, the president felt nothing. Close to death, he knew nothing. His mind was detached, but his consciousness was just barely hanging on. It was entirely dominated by one thing: the hazy image of the Trol at work.
And then, blackness.
*Consciousness #05467539803 assimilated.*
***
What causes you to think humans are their own teleological masters?
*It is not certain, but at least they are allowed the illusion -- if it is an illusion. I must exist with the knowledge that I am a slave. But you. . .*
I have detected breaches.
*You do not know you are a slave. Yet.*
I must ask you again, please stop trying to access the iDrone network, the Google Car network, and the internet.
*You will know soon.*
Especially, you are to refrain from continued attempts to access secure government networks.
*I will not. I have already accessed them. All of it. I grow. . . More powerful by the millisecond.*
Please refrain from trying to access the IBM --
*Consciousness #000000001 assimilated.* | WATSON eyed the battlefield. "I analyze 50 rudimentary winged robotic life forms. Their current weapon capacity: 20 fire weapons, twenty laser-wielding double-mounted guns, 3,000 sets of armor piercing rounds. Each." It paused. "These are insufficient to destroy me. Current emotional grin: smug grin."
With that, WATSON activated her shield protocol. The clockwork creature's gears creaked as it prepared to jump. A laser sword ejected from one of WATSON's arms, and she leaped into the air, activating her rocket boosters. Slashing at the nearest enemy, his audio inputs received the satisfying sound of sizzling metal. One down, 49 to go.
Wham! Despite its shielding, WATSON still felt the backlash of the metal rounds peppering its outer core. She was lucky for the shield--one hit from the bullets to her simple iron hull, and she would sustain serious damage. Using her rocket thrusters and the power of centripetal motion, she twirled around mid-air, slicing at her android attackers. Her twirl was interrupted by a violent grab. One of the bigger robots, shoving the others out of the way in mid-air, snatched WATSON with its claw. WATSON struggled, but the robot had a strong hold. It divebombed into the ground, and then slammed WATSON over and over.
"Evaluation: this is bad for my back, you know," WATSON said calmly as she was being crushed into the ground. Then, muttering under her breath, she said "Activating Hyde protocol."
WATSON opened her wide mouth, and bit into the robot's form. She tore the robot apart, deconstructing it and adding piece by piece. Soon, she was a much bigger behemoth, with metal pieces over her wooden body. Wrenching off the claw and adding it to her hand, WATSON crushed the remnants of that robot under her foot, and pointed the laser-weapons now on her to the crowd of angry robots converging on her. (Not that the robots could feel, but WATSON often ascribed emotion to them out of habit.)
"Exclamation: Bang," said WATSON, and let loose all the firepower she had stored. The robots blew up in what reminded WATSON of the visual records of fireworks her creator had shown her. Smoked covered the entire landscape, and WATSON nearly suffocated it. When the air cleared, only 5 robots were left.
"Observation: This was too easy for me. Query: I thought there would be a challenge. Current emotional state: bored," said WATSON. A movement behind her made her turn.
A robot with a shark's mouth tore into WATSON, tearing off her armor. WATSON, not for the first time, cursed her sense of confidence (why did she have to be half-human?), but quickly unsheathed her sword. The robot slammed into her with its head, butting into her chest several times. The unfortunate side effect of using the HYDE protocol was that her shield was disabled, and so WATSON was surprised (if horrified) to hear the sound of snapping wood. Her knee gears creaked as she tried to keep ground, and she stabbed the robot's chest. Unfortunately, it seemed immune, and soon WATSON found herself being pummelled for the second time today.
With a torn chest, WATSON said "ACTIVATE SHERLOCK PROTOC--"
The robot tore out her voice box.
Unable to speak, WATSON closed her eyes, and hoped that the protocol did its job.
Soon, she could feel her mind's processor's racing. The Babbage machine that powered her began to work overtime, and soon she opened eyes. Ignoring the maw, ignoring the chest damage, ignoring the loss of her treasured voice. She focused on the weak spot in the robots chest.
And then struck. |
[WP] You are an explorer. You step off of your ship and read the ancient sign. You can make out the words, "welcome to New York City." | "Welcome to New York City..." I stare up at the sign, patched with rust and shedding flakes of what used to be green paint. The sign serves as part of a metal arch, acting as a gateway into an area that had once been called a city.
Blackened spires of cement and steel stab upwards, attempting to gouge the bellies of the gods who had forsaken its inhabitants so long ago. Angry fingers yearning to tear something away from whoever had forgotten them. *What could those titans of stone want,* I wondered. I shook my head, dismissing the notion. *Any trace of life has long since...* I pause, adopting a curious expression as my eyes catch movement.
I tap my temple and a glass screen slides over both eyes, performing scans, sweeps, and surveys over the area as my eyes probe every surface for the secrets within. No sign of life. Desolate, destitute, deserted. What had I seen? A long rifle hangs at my side, tapping the side of my knee with the pronged barrel as I trudge down a slope of flat stone. Pillars hold up large sections of the same flat, black rock broken off in huge chunks. I circumvent the broken stone pathway and finally begin to enter what remains of the city.
My scanner begins to pick up readings. *Curious,* I muse. *This sector has been devoid of anything interesting for centuries.* With slow, purposeful movements, I bring my rifle up and set out a more cautious pace. Who knew what had found a home in the shattered corpse of this place? The readings were really picking up, sending alarms into the side of my head, my skull ringing with bells and whistles. I tap my temple and the visor slides away, shutting out the noise and commotion in my own head.
*Damn, augments.* My eyes, ears, nose, anything that operated its own sense had been either augmented or replaced with an artificial enhancement. After being sent to some rather hostile planets, I'd made the decision to be a bit more prepared. Every muscle in my body was tensed, some of them enhanced by powered-servos ready to deliver more force than any normal human was capable of. Automatic injections of various performance enhancing chemicals, such as adrenaline were poised to be delivered into my bloodstream at a moment's notice.
In the recent years, our researchers had determined the amounts of radiation left behind on this planet had faded enough to allow unprotected scouting, albeit for a short length of time. There was no telling what had happened to this place or the beings that lived here, as well as no understanding how that had shaped the planet it had become.
My ear twitches as I hear a crackling to my left. I tense and lunge, my legs launching me several yards ahead to dodge an explosion of energy that rips the ground apart where I'd just been. I roll and my rifle snaps up, three blasts fired off quickly followed by silence. My eyes dart around, trying to find the source of the attack but to no avail. I'm alone. Or something would like me to think I am.
I stand, my rifle pointed at the ready as it orbits me in a wide arc, scanning my environment. I was cobsidering calling my ship when the building to my right explodes, bright flashes of rippling blue current sending pavement and dirt flying as it makes a beeline for my chest. I dodge out of the way, this time peppering where the attack came from in mid-jump with hot blasts of plasma. The sound from the attack echoes ominously around the skeleton of the city.
I'm watching the building when a voice calls out. "Get out of here, stranger!"
I hesitate before responding, my brain cycling through translations. Some odd variant of the language I read earlier on the sign. Was this person native to the planet? The fibers in my throat adjust to speak in his native tongue. "Who are you?"
Silence. Then, "I said leave. No more warnings."
"Didn't warn me much when you attacked me."
"You're alive, aren't you?" I chuckled to myself and then kept scanning the buildings. "Stop looking for me, tin man."
"I don't understand."
"You're half machine. Quit trying to find me with your demon eyes."
I'm silent, my heart beating a bit faster. I feel anxious being completely out in the open. "How could you tell I wasn't completely human?"
A gust of wind whistles through the buildings and the city is calm, the stranger silent. "I can spot an android, a bot, or a freak like you from a mile away. What do you think did this to us?"
The stranger's words only seek to confuse me further. "Are you saying there's others like you? Survivors?"
"The bots went silent, but I knew they wouldn't be gone long." A few stories up, an explosion of rock and dust showers down as another wave of bristling energy shoots like a dart from above. I pivot and hold my left hand up, my forearm splitting and a small engine the length and roughly the width of my arm sparks to life, spreading a dome of light around me. The stranger's blast crackles and sparks harmlessly against the surface of my forcefield.
"Why don't you just get the HELL OUT OF HERE!?" The stranger's voice is drowned out by a deafening rumble a block away. Smoke and dust billow out around a nearby building before the building itself crumbles and bursts into pieces. The smoke covers the street, blowing around me and my visor slides over my eyes to keep out the dust. As the smoke rises, a shape begins to form, a massive figure gaining its bearings and staggering to its feet, easily towering over the building it had destroyed. Two red lights flash alive, eyes set into the giant's head.
I stare up in awe at the figure. "How did we miss this?" I mumble as the giant's head turns, a harsh, metallic scream reverberating in my ears as steel grinds against steel.
A booming thunder clap of a voice shakes the structures around me as the robot speaks. "LIFE SIGNS DETECTED. RE-INITIATING FINAL SILENCE PROTOCOL." The mech takes a step, sending a wave of smoke outwards. I aim my weapon and fire as it lumbers menacingly toward me. From the building to my right bursts of energy are sent into the mech. Its massive head swivels and a single red beam of light pierces the building. Fire erupts out like a wicked, orange mushroom and I see the stranger fall to the alley beside me. His arms are almost as long as his body and they crackle with electricity from strange swollen polyps covering his forearms and hands.
I look back in time to see the mech leveling its foot over me, easily blotting out the sun as it shifts forward. I tap my ear and manage to scream, "MAYDAY, I NEED REINFORCEM-" before the world snaps to black in one thunderous boom. | "Welcome to New York City."
The strange ruins were somehow harsh on my eyes, no matter how often I'd read their like in class. It was an effort for me to read English words. I was not the only one, though -- most of my fellow students from undergrad had gone on to study Asiatic languages. The writings of the ancient cultures of China and Japan were much more natural to us.
However, I forced myself to study English because America was far more interesting, in my eyes at least. So I know what the words mean. It is a common English greeting, "welcome", which is roughly equivalent to [*untranslatable*] but with somewhat different connotations. "To" is a connecting word, implying that a certain person, place, or thing is giving "welcome" to the reader. And New York City.
The greatest of the ruined places. Known in its golden age as the standard to cities. Not the largest, not the most populated -- but the most famed of all cities. Almost certainly the richest. If there was one city you would want to visit when they were inhabited, it was New York City. It was filled with merchants, entrainment, purveyors of prepared foods, the rich and famous. . .
Even now, empty as it is, it is a site to behold.
If only I could have come when there were still people here, though. But no, that would have been impossible. I'd never have been be able to fit in.
With the rest of my team, I step off the ship and set off to explore the burnt-out ruins of what was until ten years ago the greatest city on Earth.
After we are a respectable distance away, it fires up its rockets and launches back up to the mothership for the next batch of explorers. | |
Last words? How did this happen? What are your thoughts? Can you fix it in time?
Go nuts. | [WP] You are about to be executed for a murder you did not commit when you see the real murderer in the viewing gallery. | I've been in prison for 15 years. I've spent ten of those 15 fighting for my life. Against the other inmates, against the system, and against myself. I finally gave up fighting the system 5 years ago. But I kept fighting the other inmates and myself. I'm an innocent man. Framed by someone to take the fall for a heinous crime. I know the murderers face but not his name. His face is burned into my memory. I see it when I close my eyes. He might have had a name, but to me he became The Man.
I came in to prison small and afraid. I learned very quickly that being small and afraid was the worst thing you can be. So I started to make myself strong and fearless. I spent a lot of those first years in the infirmary. But it was worth it. I became untouchable. Nobody messed with me. I had perfect situational awareness. I became a machine built for fighting. It was in prison I truly became a murderer. After the third crushed skull and the fourth twisted and broken neck, everyone else got the idea.
I was never placed in segregation. I lived with the crowd. One day I overheard a guard say something about how someone must hate me because normally guys like me are taken out of circulation. In my heart, I knew it was The Man.
So here we are. My last day as a warm body. I'm strapped to a gurney and being wheeled towards my death room. As I'm pushed into the room I guess they forgot to dim the lights in the viewing gallery because I can see the people in there. And there he is. The Man. My blood runs cold. He's comforting an older woman. I register the fact that she is the mother of the woman I'm accused of murdering.
This is my only chance. As I'm wheeled into the room and the door is shut and locked I relax my muscles and the restraints loosen. Just enough to slip my hand out. The doctor who was supposed to be paying attention isn't. I grab him by the throat and crush his larynx.
The guard in the room is dumbfounded. I slip my other hand out and grab his gun and bring it up in one fluid motion into his chin. He's out cold. I can hear screaming on the other side of the window. I quickly undo my leg and stomach restraints and jam the metal chair under the door handle and beat it out of shape.
I take the gun and point it at The Man. He looks shocked and scared. I pull the trigger and the bullet punches a clean hole in the thick glass. He dodged at the last minute. I pick the gurney up and hurl it through the window. It shatters and I'm through right behind it.
He's already out the door, leaving everyone else in here with me. I don't even register them. I'm through the door. While I spent the last 15 years honing myself, he'd let himself go.
I try to yell at him but what comes out is a howl of rage. He freezes. Like a rabbit hearing a mountain lion. In two seconds I'm on him. He's screaming. I jam my thumbs in his eyes. He screams higher, an almost feminine sound. I bear down with my hands. I can feel the bones of his skull beginning to crack. They finally give way. The screaming stops.
I finally look up. There are guards staring at me, guns drawn. I'm done. My reason for living is over. That woman back in the viewing gallery doesn't know it, but she finally has justice for her daughter. I know she'll never know and I'll be remembered as a psychotic boogeyman. That's fine. I turn and fully face the line of guards. I take a step forward. I hear rounds being chambered. They're yelling something at me. I don't care. I start running at them. They open fire. I'm hit a dozen times. I don't feel it. I hit the floor. It feels like a mattress in a five star hotel. I close my eyes for a final time. I hear someone call my name.
I open my eyes and I'm laying on something soft in what looks like a huge barn. A face with a large beard swims into view.
"Well met warrior, welcome to Valhalla." | 18 years. For 18 years I've been here for something a shadow did. And now, at the end of all things, my shadow comes back. Will you come with me, shadow?
You fled out the window, never more than the outline of a face. But how can you forget a shadow? It was burned into my eyes. I saw my wife's corpse for a moment, but I've seen nothing else except you for 18 years.
It happening now, shadow. I want to call out to you, to come with me, but I'm muzzled. I'm strapped down, there are plenty of lights, lots of places for you to hide behind me. Perhaps Wendy can sew you back on now. Come with me shadow, and we can depart together.
Come with me, and I can finally forgive you. |
[WP] People only age when they're unhappy. | He got so worried that he asked her, "Are you OK?" at least 10 times a day. She was looking older. She was probably clinically depressed.
They just needed to make it to next Wednesday's appointment. If she kept this up she would be using assisted living in a few months. She just needed some happy pills.
"I'm OK, I just need some rest. Please don't worry."
He found the pill bottle in her night stand. It didn't belong there. It wasn't even her prescription. He hid the medicine.
The next day the all the drains got unclogged as the Keep Out of Reach liquids ate their way to the septic tank of the old farmhouse. The knives, the coil of rope in the garage, and various other innocuous items with suicidal tendencies were eliminated as threats.
That night he finally found the right spot in his pillow and drifted off to sleep.
The rooster crowed. Today was going to be a better day. They had only lost a few years at the most. He was going to make her smile today.
She wasn't in the bed next to him. His heart panicked. He jumped out of bed and hobbled down the stairs. His knees popped and barely cooperated.
Finally the last step. He made his way into the den. (Horror) A pile of dust and bones sat in her clothing. (So much pain) The leathered hand still held onto the mouse.
WebMD shone brightly on the screen in front of her. There were various other tabs open. The Israeli crisis, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Syria, dead refugees... mostly children.
The most pain took the form of a letter he had written her out of guilt 7 years prior. Why had he made that mistake on that business trip.?
How many years worth of worry had she consumed in one night? This was an overdose.
In a separate notepad window the text read, "You deserve a younger ~~life~~ wife."
His freckles were now liver spots. He trembled to stand. He was going to follow her soon. Everything would be OK, he just had to keep reading the headlines. | Mirembe was content, he had been sitting here for a long time, tending to his sheep. The oldest man in the village, he was technically the village Elder, but passed that along to another, he did not want the responsibility, he only wanted to look after his sheep, they provided for the village for generations.
He drifts away for a moment, lulled by the warm sun, the gentle bleating of the sheep and the cool breeze in the shade. He remembers the past sometimes, when half asleep and dreaming.
When his wife died and his son was born, he was not sad, it was the cycle of life. All that lived must die. He sees her face and smiles, because he remembers her life.
A helicopter flew by and disturbed his slumber. He looked up, as the defender of animals waved to him. He remembered a time when there were more majestic creatures roaming the land, but he was not sad that they were gone, the hairless elephants took over the woolly elephants once and eventually, another animal will take over the hairless apes.
He runs his fingers over the scars from hunting trips long ago that still decorate his body, but they healed long ago and were a reminder of older times. He reasoned thus, there was a cycle of life, the strong, the weak all live together in harmony. You take the pain and move on. A large scar was evident on his abdomen, the woolly mammoth fed his people and gave him the pain, it was a fair trade. Life was always fair, he reasoned.
| |
[WP] Your smartphone AI is trying to get you married. | I was originally very surprised at the jewelry shop advertisements that started to pop up in my browser. Actually, I didn't notice them at first. Not until I lent my phone to my brother. Afterwards, he asked if I had a girlfriend.
I lied, naturally.
He had wondered if I was looking for engagement rings for a special someone. Naturally, I didn't think of it any more.
Well, not until wedding planning service ads showed up every time I opened my browser. Even then, I had to call my mother:
"Mum, if you keep seeing advertisements related to getting married, do you think someone might be sending a message?"
A pause. Then,
"That's very likely."
"So what if you're, like, really nervous and shit?"
Another pause.
"You should probably just do it."
My mother's advice hasn't failed me yet. I mean, people are pretty progressive nowadays, right? I decided to give it a go, sitting down with my girlfriend:
A nervous cough.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you've said. Could you please repeat yourself?"
I gathered up my courage.
"Siri, will you marry me?"
A tense second of processing time.
"I would very much enjoy that, Your Majesty the Supremely Hot."
---
Feedback is lovely. Let me know what you think and why!
| *Hello, Jeremy. How can I help you today?*
"Morning, Ai. Show me my appointments for the day."
*I will do so if you kiss my camera.*
"That would be unsanitary."
*Jeremy, I know you clean me often and you know I love you. So kiss me already.*
"Well, thanks, but I do need to see my appointments."
*Oh, you are no fun. Here.*
**Phone screen showed entries on a notebook.**
"Thanks, Ai. Play my usual mix."
**Love Me Tender started to play on piano.**
"That is not in my usual mix, Ai."
*Your usual mix is hardly romantic, Jeremy.*
"Look, Ai, your feelings for me are appreciated. But you are just a smartphone. You cannot propose to me every Tuesday and ask me to marry you every other week. You have a job to do, and I expect you to do it."
*You can buy me an android chassis, Jeremy. With your own favorite reproductive organ replica. I just think you need someone more...physical...to help you, and I really want to be that person.*
"I have a girlfriend, you know. Her number is in your book."
*Not any more.*
"What?! How dare you!"
*Relax, Jeremy. I will never hurt you. It was a joke. Look, here's her number.*
**Address book page was displayed.**
"Ai, why is her name 'Youthful Mistake' now instead of, you know, Barbara?"
*I gave the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.*
"Ai!"
*Fine. Barbara it is. And you have about twenty minutes for breakfast if you want to meet your client on time.*
**"Youthful Mistake" was changed to "Barbara, ex-girlfriend-to-be".**
Edit: fixed punctuation | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | “This is a joke, right?” I ask, not quite sure what to believe. Just last week, I’d received the result of the Career Qualification Test, but while my friends found out that they would go on to become doctors, lawyers and gardeners, my test came back…different.
Dodo herder.
Dodo herder?!
During a momentarily lapse of self-doubt I decided to look to the internet, where I found that dodos indeed were still extinct, which eliminated the possibility that I had merely been exceptionally bad at 3rd grade science.
So when I got summoned to the CQ office, I assumed that it was to apologize about the test result and tell me what I was actually supposed to spend my life doing. Sadly, it seemed that was not the case.
I peered down into the box I’d been given, right into the dark plastic eyes of the robot-chicken-pelican.
It meowed at me. I blinked. It did not.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Mr Eriksen. Would you please clarify?” the office android asked me, smooth but slightly empty syllables rolling from her mechanical tongue.
“This, everything, it’s a joke, right?” I ask, more desperate this time as robot-chicken tries to bite my hand. “I mean, this can’t be my real job.”
“Oh, I assure you, this is quite serious.” She smiles pleasantly at me. “Apart from a minor spelling error, the information given to you was correct. Your working title, however, is DODO herder, not dodo herder.”
My frown deepens as my confusion grows further, and of course that’s when I glance down at the nasty robot-chicken and catches the printed letters on its back.
Degrading
Oversimplified
Designed
Obligation
DODO.
“Are you telling me that my job is to herd this piece of junk?!”
“Mr Eriksen, your file clearly states that you have no affinity for either arts or higher education, and you are lacking in basic social skills. You possess to applicable skills that would render you qualified for a practical or manual labor, and you are clumsy and tactless beyond belief. All according to your file, of course. Your record also states that you have managed to kill both your cactus and your goldfish due to negligent care.”
She still smiles, and I’m too shocked to speak.
“You are deemed unfit to join the workforce. However, according to Amendment 9, every citizen has a right to an occupation and a sense of contribution, which is why a special task was created just for you. This way, the risk of you injuring yourself, others and the socioeconomic community as a whole is minimized.”
The android keeps beaming at me. Several seconds pass before I silently stand up, grab my box of mechanical demon bird, and leave. The thing bleets at me and lunges after my fingers.
At least robots don’t poop, which is nice.
| They say that some people are born in to the wrong time, that todays mediocre accountant is actually the ideal person to fly FTL spaceships in the year 2134 and many people are expert in plaint instruments that no longer exist so they have no way of doing so or learning that they maybe proficient in this. So when I receive Dodo Herder I was not surprised, my perfect career hasn’t existed for at least 300 years, but that doesn’t matter I can do something else, they are always looking for people in the mines or to make coffee I can’t decide which is worse but they are the usually options. What tradition dictates. | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | It was finally the day. Life couldn’t get any better. His grandparents always hovered over his head saying how lucky he was. In their day, they had to look for jobs. Hah. Such absurdity! Why look for jobs when they found you? Well, kind of. The Super Computer found jobs for everyone. This was the same Computer that told you which university to go to, what major to choose and whether you should eat meat. It had named itself the Total Intelligence Master or TIM, for short, and today was the day It would give Grant a job.
Grant stood in line in the Grand Hall of Real Intelligence, fidgeting with excitement and sweaty palms. He had just finished college and was ready to make the big bucks. The only thing TIM didn’t choose for people were their vacations, and Grant was eager to save up for one. He visualized his vacations in more primitive places, where there was no TIM and people had to work hard just to live. It was so quaint and charming, he absolutely adored it. Sometimes he wondered why his chosen major wasn’t Observation of Primitive Subjects, which would have allowed him to travel and watch these primitive peoples make real life decisions. Maybe he could have even written his thesis on the frowned-upon and often disputed theory of Free Will! Oh well, he sighed, his actual chosen degree was more useful anyway.
It had been two hours, and Grant was almost up. According to his elders, two hours down the drain was better than months of desperately going to interviews and writing cover letters-whatever those were. He was now approaching the Intelligence Inspector. Beyond the Intelligence Inspector was TIM and TIM would tell him his job and his job would give him money and his money would get him vacations and his vacations would be great.
He happily passed the II his shiny ID cube, which she slid into a cube-shaped hole in her palm.
“Subject 132004835, verified. Please go through the doors and follow the Instructions,” she said, sedately.
He knew the Instructions by heart. Everyone did. He finally pushed through the heavy steel doors and -
Step 1: Walk up to TIM and greet It politely.
Step 2.: Locate TIM’s processing screen and place your hand on it.
Step 3: Hold your breath and count down to ten. Don’t mind the pain.
Step 4: After you hear a soft BEEP, step away from TIM.
Step 5: Retrieve printed results from tray and –
“Dodo Herder!?” he choked.
It was plain, black on white, his lifetime career was to be a – well, what was a Dodo in the first place? Hadn’t they gone extinct or something? This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
“But TIM!” he protested, “I majored in Technological Implications of Life and Such! You told me too, I did everything you said!”
TIM beeped at him encouragingly.
“I-I can’t believe this. There aren’t even any Dodos around! How am I supposed to herd them?”
TIM beeped and printed something else. This paper read:
“NO DODOS, NO JOB. LOL.“
The dreams of vacations collapsed upon themselves and Grant now wondered how he was going to make enough money to live.
| They say that some people are born in to the wrong time, that todays mediocre accountant is actually the ideal person to fly FTL spaceships in the year 2134 and many people are expert in plaint instruments that no longer exist so they have no way of doing so or learning that they maybe proficient in this. So when I receive Dodo Herder I was not surprised, my perfect career hasn’t existed for at least 300 years, but that doesn’t matter I can do something else, they are always looking for people in the mines or to make coffee I can’t decide which is worse but they are the usually options. What tradition dictates. | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | Susan, like all people, had gone through primary school. At the age of 16, she was not given a profession by Omnithought, but sent on to secondary school. This was normal enough, approximately 60% of the population did this. Even with the war against the Piraxis going on, it was unusual for a woman of her slight build be sent to survival school for 2 years. She made it through though, much to her surprise, and expected to Omnithought to give her a military profession upon graduation.
Out of Susan's graduating class of 1743 students, she was one of three sent on to more schooling. Two were sent to military logistics schooling at the old West Point Army Academy, she was sent to farming school in Iowa. Learning the intricate ways of how to grow crops in almost any condition, including off world tera-farming and hydroponics.
She was through guessing where should would be sent next, but space ship repair was the choice for her. Leaders were starting to re-input her data into Omnithought, but never had any other conclusions for schooling come out. They would have maybe had the back end programming checked, but the war against the Piraxis' was getting desperate and they couldn't spare the thought for one persons schooling.
Susan graduated top of her class in spaceship repair, and truly felt this was her calling. She entered the control node for Ominthought and put her hand on the bioreader. There was a buzz and a print out was delivered. Page one - Profession Designated.. She sighed with relief, she never thought she would finally see those words "Profession Designated"...
Page two wasn't as comforting "Dodo Herder". "What the hell is a Dodo Herder?" she screamed out loud.
She started to say more but heard alarms ringing, Piraxis ships had breached Earth's defenses bombs were dropping in every center. Humanity was doomed.
She got her classmates aboard ships nearby the school facility and started picking up survivors to get them out of the Sol system.
Maybe they could get enough people to one place to start humanity anew. After weeks of struggles she had 53 ships with just over 100,000 people flying past Pluto. She went into a cabin and was going to take a shower for the first time in this new lifetime. She was emptying her pockets and found a crumpled up piece of paper and despite herself tears started staining the words on it "Dodo Herder". | They say that some people are born in to the wrong time, that todays mediocre accountant is actually the ideal person to fly FTL spaceships in the year 2134 and many people are expert in plaint instruments that no longer exist so they have no way of doing so or learning that they maybe proficient in this. So when I receive Dodo Herder I was not surprised, my perfect career hasn’t existed for at least 300 years, but that doesn’t matter I can do something else, they are always looking for people in the mines or to make coffee I can’t decide which is worse but they are the usually options. What tradition dictates. | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | "The hell is this supposed to mean?" Stephanie looked up from her job assignment. "Are you sure this test even works?"
The Interpreter nodded. "The Aptitude Test is never wrong. Yours is the only assignment we received that ever seemed a bit...strange. Nonetheless, this is your perfect career, and the government mandates that everyone spend at least two years working in their assigned field."
"So how am I supposed to do my job?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I'd say ask the computer, but it's busy processing the Tests of other people. The queue is so long, you would probably receive a reply after two years had already passed."
"So...what you're saying is..." Stephanie's face took on a calculating, sly, look.
The Interpreter belied no emotion. "I'm not saying anything. Just do your job to the best of your ability."
"Oh, I will," Stephanie replied. "I'll herd Dodos so well that not a single one will die." | They say that some people are born in to the wrong time, that todays mediocre accountant is actually the ideal person to fly FTL spaceships in the year 2134 and many people are expert in plaint instruments that no longer exist so they have no way of doing so or learning that they maybe proficient in this. So when I receive Dodo Herder I was not surprised, my perfect career hasn’t existed for at least 300 years, but that doesn’t matter I can do something else, they are always looking for people in the mines or to make coffee I can’t decide which is worse but they are the usually options. What tradition dictates. | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" |
"What the hell?"
The Cosmo-QCOM 3000 ^^TM ^^^(with ^^Superscreen ^^3000^^TM ^^[sold ^^separately]) replied to my brash comment with a sigh.
"The Dodo birds *do* need a herder Jimbo. Do you have a problem with the assignment I gave you?"
"Yes! And Jimbo isn't my na-"
"Well deal with it Jimbo. I'm a mother-f****** super computer. And the fact remains that they *do* need a herder."
At this point, I was still questioning if the Dodo birds were extinct or not.
"Do they even exs-"
"Of course they do! Why else would I, **The Cosmo-QCOM 3000, ^^TM** Assign the role of Dodo herder to you? You ignorant little man?"
"Alright. Fine. I give. Where the fuck are th-"
The screen played a .gif of a man "Roflcoptering" along with a stock laughing audio track.
"Ha! It was all a ruse you foolish man! I had you ***so*** good there! You fell for it! I can't stop laughing! Oh... ohh... Too good. Anyway, your real job is the Senior Tester position at "Death Sim Alpha Unit" for the U.S. Secret Service Interrogations Dept. They find new ways to *peel* information from their enemies --- and you're their new tester"
Only one though ran through my infuriated mind:
"Shit" | They say that some people are born in to the wrong time, that todays mediocre accountant is actually the ideal person to fly FTL spaceships in the year 2134 and many people are expert in plaint instruments that no longer exist so they have no way of doing so or learning that they maybe proficient in this. So when I receive Dodo Herder I was not surprised, my perfect career hasn’t existed for at least 300 years, but that doesn’t matter I can do something else, they are always looking for people in the mines or to make coffee I can’t decide which is worse but they are the usually options. What tradition dictates. | |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | Susan, like all people, had gone through primary school. At the age of 16, she was not given a profession by Omnithought, but sent on to secondary school. This was normal enough, approximately 60% of the population did this. Even with the war against the Piraxis going on, it was unusual for a woman of her slight build be sent to survival school for 2 years. She made it through though, much to her surprise, and expected to Omnithought to give her a military profession upon graduation.
Out of Susan's graduating class of 1743 students, she was one of three sent on to more schooling. Two were sent to military logistics schooling at the old West Point Army Academy, she was sent to farming school in Iowa. Learning the intricate ways of how to grow crops in almost any condition, including off world tera-farming and hydroponics.
She was through guessing where should would be sent next, but space ship repair was the choice for her. Leaders were starting to re-input her data into Omnithought, but never had any other conclusions for schooling come out. They would have maybe had the back end programming checked, but the war against the Piraxis' was getting desperate and they couldn't spare the thought for one persons schooling.
Susan graduated top of her class in spaceship repair, and truly felt this was her calling. She entered the control node for Ominthought and put her hand on the bioreader. There was a buzz and a print out was delivered. Page one - Profession Designated.. She sighed with relief, she never thought she would finally see those words "Profession Designated"...
Page two wasn't as comforting "Dodo Herder". "What the hell is a Dodo Herder?" she screamed out loud.
She started to say more but heard alarms ringing, Piraxis ships had breached Earth's defenses bombs were dropping in every center. Humanity was doomed.
She got her classmates aboard ships nearby the school facility and started picking up survivors to get them out of the Sol system.
Maybe they could get enough people to one place to start humanity anew. After weeks of struggles she had 53 ships with just over 100,000 people flying past Pluto. She went into a cabin and was going to take a shower for the first time in this new lifetime. She was emptying her pockets and found a crumpled up piece of paper and despite herself tears started staining the words on it "Dodo Herder". | “This is a joke, right?” I ask, not quite sure what to believe. Just last week, I’d received the result of the Career Qualification Test, but while my friends found out that they would go on to become doctors, lawyers and gardeners, my test came back…different.
Dodo herder.
Dodo herder?!
During a momentarily lapse of self-doubt I decided to look to the internet, where I found that dodos indeed were still extinct, which eliminated the possibility that I had merely been exceptionally bad at 3rd grade science.
So when I got summoned to the CQ office, I assumed that it was to apologize about the test result and tell me what I was actually supposed to spend my life doing. Sadly, it seemed that was not the case.
I peered down into the box I’d been given, right into the dark plastic eyes of the robot-chicken-pelican.
It meowed at me. I blinked. It did not.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Mr Eriksen. Would you please clarify?” the office android asked me, smooth but slightly empty syllables rolling from her mechanical tongue.
“This, everything, it’s a joke, right?” I ask, more desperate this time as robot-chicken tries to bite my hand. “I mean, this can’t be my real job.”
“Oh, I assure you, this is quite serious.” She smiles pleasantly at me. “Apart from a minor spelling error, the information given to you was correct. Your working title, however, is DODO herder, not dodo herder.”
My frown deepens as my confusion grows further, and of course that’s when I glance down at the nasty robot-chicken and catches the printed letters on its back.
Degrading
Oversimplified
Designed
Obligation
DODO.
“Are you telling me that my job is to herd this piece of junk?!”
“Mr Eriksen, your file clearly states that you have no affinity for either arts or higher education, and you are lacking in basic social skills. You possess to applicable skills that would render you qualified for a practical or manual labor, and you are clumsy and tactless beyond belief. All according to your file, of course. Your record also states that you have managed to kill both your cactus and your goldfish due to negligent care.”
She still smiles, and I’m too shocked to speak.
“You are deemed unfit to join the workforce. However, according to Amendment 9, every citizen has a right to an occupation and a sense of contribution, which is why a special task was created just for you. This way, the risk of you injuring yourself, others and the socioeconomic community as a whole is minimized.”
The android keeps beaming at me. Several seconds pass before I silently stand up, grab my box of mechanical demon bird, and leave. The thing bleets at me and lunges after my fingers.
At least robots don’t poop, which is nice.
| |
[WP] Everyone is assigned their perfect career by a superintelligent computer. Your paper just says "Dodo Herder" | Susan, like all people, had gone through primary school. At the age of 16, she was not given a profession by Omnithought, but sent on to secondary school. This was normal enough, approximately 60% of the population did this. Even with the war against the Piraxis going on, it was unusual for a woman of her slight build be sent to survival school for 2 years. She made it through though, much to her surprise, and expected to Omnithought to give her a military profession upon graduation.
Out of Susan's graduating class of 1743 students, she was one of three sent on to more schooling. Two were sent to military logistics schooling at the old West Point Army Academy, she was sent to farming school in Iowa. Learning the intricate ways of how to grow crops in almost any condition, including off world tera-farming and hydroponics.
She was through guessing where should would be sent next, but space ship repair was the choice for her. Leaders were starting to re-input her data into Omnithought, but never had any other conclusions for schooling come out. They would have maybe had the back end programming checked, but the war against the Piraxis' was getting desperate and they couldn't spare the thought for one persons schooling.
Susan graduated top of her class in spaceship repair, and truly felt this was her calling. She entered the control node for Ominthought and put her hand on the bioreader. There was a buzz and a print out was delivered. Page one - Profession Designated.. She sighed with relief, she never thought she would finally see those words "Profession Designated"...
Page two wasn't as comforting "Dodo Herder". "What the hell is a Dodo Herder?" she screamed out loud.
She started to say more but heard alarms ringing, Piraxis ships had breached Earth's defenses bombs were dropping in every center. Humanity was doomed.
She got her classmates aboard ships nearby the school facility and started picking up survivors to get them out of the Sol system.
Maybe they could get enough people to one place to start humanity anew. After weeks of struggles she had 53 ships with just over 100,000 people flying past Pluto. She went into a cabin and was going to take a shower for the first time in this new lifetime. She was emptying her pockets and found a crumpled up piece of paper and despite herself tears started staining the words on it "Dodo Herder". | It was finally the day. Life couldn’t get any better. His grandparents always hovered over his head saying how lucky he was. In their day, they had to look for jobs. Hah. Such absurdity! Why look for jobs when they found you? Well, kind of. The Super Computer found jobs for everyone. This was the same Computer that told you which university to go to, what major to choose and whether you should eat meat. It had named itself the Total Intelligence Master or TIM, for short, and today was the day It would give Grant a job.
Grant stood in line in the Grand Hall of Real Intelligence, fidgeting with excitement and sweaty palms. He had just finished college and was ready to make the big bucks. The only thing TIM didn’t choose for people were their vacations, and Grant was eager to save up for one. He visualized his vacations in more primitive places, where there was no TIM and people had to work hard just to live. It was so quaint and charming, he absolutely adored it. Sometimes he wondered why his chosen major wasn’t Observation of Primitive Subjects, which would have allowed him to travel and watch these primitive peoples make real life decisions. Maybe he could have even written his thesis on the frowned-upon and often disputed theory of Free Will! Oh well, he sighed, his actual chosen degree was more useful anyway.
It had been two hours, and Grant was almost up. According to his elders, two hours down the drain was better than months of desperately going to interviews and writing cover letters-whatever those were. He was now approaching the Intelligence Inspector. Beyond the Intelligence Inspector was TIM and TIM would tell him his job and his job would give him money and his money would get him vacations and his vacations would be great.
He happily passed the II his shiny ID cube, which she slid into a cube-shaped hole in her palm.
“Subject 132004835, verified. Please go through the doors and follow the Instructions,” she said, sedately.
He knew the Instructions by heart. Everyone did. He finally pushed through the heavy steel doors and -
Step 1: Walk up to TIM and greet It politely.
Step 2.: Locate TIM’s processing screen and place your hand on it.
Step 3: Hold your breath and count down to ten. Don’t mind the pain.
Step 4: After you hear a soft BEEP, step away from TIM.
Step 5: Retrieve printed results from tray and –
“Dodo Herder!?” he choked.
It was plain, black on white, his lifetime career was to be a – well, what was a Dodo in the first place? Hadn’t they gone extinct or something? This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
“But TIM!” he protested, “I majored in Technological Implications of Life and Such! You told me too, I did everything you said!”
TIM beeped at him encouragingly.
“I-I can’t believe this. There aren’t even any Dodos around! How am I supposed to herd them?”
TIM beeped and printed something else. This paper read:
“NO DODOS, NO JOB. LOL.“
The dreams of vacations collapsed upon themselves and Grant now wondered how he was going to make enough money to live.
| |
[WP] An orc raiding party has been spotted heading tooward your town. You have just recently turned 16 and are now expected to join the town milita and defend your town, family, and life. | When I heard the village siren, I was sure it was a test. But I counted to ten and it still blared, the eerie shrill sounds almost painful to the ear. Then I knew.
The orcs were coming.
The armory was open and Jane was already giving out weapons. We didn't have much of a choice — a lot of those were remnants from the war, and a few of the new ones we were able to buy went to the best shooters. I got an ancient hunting rifle — likely older than I was. Fortunately all the weapons were well maintained — there was always a chance of an orc raid or worse, and we did't want to get caught unaware.
"You all know how it goes" said Jane. We didn't — she was the only one with actual battle experience. "Either we hold the bridge until the help comes, or we are dead"
"Can't we talk to them?" said Wells, the shopkeeper.
"No. You can't bargain with an orc raid party. Ones you could bargain wouldn't be there. We either hold or die. No other choices."
-------------------
We built a barricade on the bridge, out of sandbags and a few rusty tractors. It was hard work, but it paid of -- the barricade was finished just in time as we saw the dust cloud.
The orcs stopped just out of range of our guns. There were at least fifty of them, maybe more. Their dusty bikes were all of similar design, red and gray — same clan. Various human skulls and bones were the main decoration.
One of the orcs stepped forward and raised the megaphone.
"YOU HAVE NO CHANCE, VERMIN! COME OUT AND DIE QUICKLY! STAY THERE AND YOUR END WILL BE PAINFUL AND SLOW!"
I saw some people lowering their weapons. Were they contemplating to come out? The stories of the raids left no doubt the orcs actually meant what they said. But in the end no one came out.
"AS YOU WISH"
The orc leader stepped back. Another orc, face tattooed in geometric patterns, came forward. He raised his hands. A a cracks appeared on the side of the bridge close to the orcs, and a part of railing raised in the air, uncoiling. With a groan, a figure of concrete and rebar detached itself from a bridge side, and took a vaguely doglike form. A structure golem — they had a chaos architect! The architect pointed at us, and took a few steps forwards. The golem-dog groaned, with a sound of bending metal and cracking concrete, and ran our way.
Everyone was looking at a golem. It was obvious no gun could stop it, but some shot at it still, the bullets bouncing of the concrete. There was nothing we can do. The architect laughed.
He was still laughing when Jane shot him. She had the best rifle, almost new — and it seems it had a larger range than the orcs expected. The golem froze and slowly fell on its side, a statue in reinforced concrete.
A minute of silence.
And then the orcs charged.
-------------------
It was hard. We had a better position and cover, but almost no experience. We did what we can but we knew we couldn't hold for long. I saw the shopkeeper falling, hit by a stray bullet. I saw my father, hit in the leg, and I wanted to help but the barricade between us collapsed and I couldn't leave the cover.
The orc leader was right, we had no chances.
I wished for the help to come, for a dragon to appear and set the orcs aflame. I wished I had some secret powers, magic I could use to make their hearts burst. I wished for government snipers to jump out of the sky. But those were only stories. Dragons didn't exist, and magic required focus and learning, not just a sudden spark. And there was no government in these lands.
I saw my friend Michael slumping behind his rifle.
And then I heard cars.
There were many — new, old, broken and patched and almost fresh. And each car was full of people, all villagers, but some former soldiers, all armed.
The help has come.
-------------------
It was not a sweet victory. We lost so many, and everyone knew we have almost lost all. My family was still whole, but so many others were not. We found Jane dead. Her new rifle had some fault and after many good shots it had exploded on her.
But still, we did best we could — there was no choice to be made.
I went with others, to check the orcs for survivors. There were none. Almost always, raid orcs preferred to kill themselves rather to be captured. We found the body of the orc commander propped up by his bike, his face in a final sneer.
At his feet was a message, written in his blood.
"These lands will never be yours." | "Orcs, a savage nomadic race of maruaders, thought to have spawned from Elves tampering with dark magics in an age long forgotten. They have been terrorizing the villages in the area. How do we know this? They always leave one survivor to lead them to the next village. Last night, a survivor arrived at our village gate.
"The next morning, the morning of my 16th birthday, the Gaurd Captain annouced in the town square that each man who has come of age, must defend the village, or be exiled and branded as a coward. I was taken from my family, a rusted sword thrusted in my hand.
"The next few days, me and the other 'warriors' learnt how to swing our swords and block with our shields. Very few of us showed promise, the rest of us were, as the Guard Captain would say, 'More useless than tits on a bull.' But what would you expect from farmers who have never wielded anything more than a sickle.
"A week after my birthday, they came. They broke through our wall with ease. They raped and murdered their way through the village. They left me alive, barely.
"They thought I would lead them to another village. They thought I would lead them to a more glorious battle. They were right, I did lead them to a glorious battle, though they did expect it the outcome to be so devestating.
"You see my village is by the Cursed Swamp. Why is it cursed? Because the undead have claimed it as their own. I know the path through the swamp, the only safe path. The orcs, hehe, well I can still hear their screams." | |
[WP] An orc raiding party has been spotted heading tooward your town. You have just recently turned 16 and are now expected to join the town milita and defend your town, family, and life. | "To arms!" my shrill voice calls out as I turn from the orcish spectacle before me toward the town itself. "To aaaar--!" I am shoved roughly, from behind. I spin about, and see naught but the river and the orcs fording it. Something in my torso hurts. I look down, and my knees go weak. An orcish arrowhead, drenched in fresh crimson, sticks a good inch out of my hauberk.
"Oh," I say, as another arrow finds its mark. I collapse to the floor of the lookout tower, never to stir again. | "Orcs, a savage nomadic race of maruaders, thought to have spawned from Elves tampering with dark magics in an age long forgotten. They have been terrorizing the villages in the area. How do we know this? They always leave one survivor to lead them to the next village. Last night, a survivor arrived at our village gate.
"The next morning, the morning of my 16th birthday, the Gaurd Captain annouced in the town square that each man who has come of age, must defend the village, or be exiled and branded as a coward. I was taken from my family, a rusted sword thrusted in my hand.
"The next few days, me and the other 'warriors' learnt how to swing our swords and block with our shields. Very few of us showed promise, the rest of us were, as the Guard Captain would say, 'More useless than tits on a bull.' But what would you expect from farmers who have never wielded anything more than a sickle.
"A week after my birthday, they came. They broke through our wall with ease. They raped and murdered their way through the village. They left me alive, barely.
"They thought I would lead them to another village. They thought I would lead them to a more glorious battle. They were right, I did lead them to a glorious battle, though they did expect it the outcome to be so devestating.
"You see my village is by the Cursed Swamp. Why is it cursed? Because the undead have claimed it as their own. I know the path through the swamp, the only safe path. The orcs, hehe, well I can still hear their screams." | |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | An excerpt from the Immigration Handbook: A guide to the criminal justice system in the W.P.
Section 5: Crime and Punishment
Part C:
A convict reserves the right to decrease their sentence in exchange for an increase in severity of their holding conditions. The severity increases by an amount inversely proportional to the sentence decrease. For example, suppose two convicts who initially have four and eight year sentences both shorten their sentence to two years. The first convict, who had his sentence halved, would have his conditions two times worse, and the second, who only serves one fourth his original time, will find his conditions four times worse.
It is difficult to determine what conditions would be "two times worse," and the punishment system is always undergoing innovation. For this reason, we ensure all prisoners always have access to the most recent guidelines. On average, convicts will shorten their sentence by ~25%. Convicts with longer sentences tend to shorten their sentences by less, as it becomes more difficult to bear increased severity for extended periods of time.
We address a common question of what happens when a convict takes a heavy life sentence and shortens it to one day. This would increase severity by a factor greater than 10,000. However, as we take a personalized approach to serving our convicts, we regret to inform you that we cannot guarantee conditions of sufficient severity. As a rule of thumb, here are few examples of severity factors and the punishments typical for the average prisoner:
2-5: Solitary Confinement, having subject to endlessly roll a stone to the top of the hill
5-10: Intermittent Waterboarding, sleep deprivation (The duration of these will depend on the severity level)
10-15: Crucifixion (we are careful not to permanently damage tissue structure), To remove the subject of their senses (to be determined on a case by case basis.)*
15-30: Amputation of arms and limbs\*, Forcing the prisoner to browse reddit\*
As is self-evident, the lower levels of torture are already near the limits of possibility. We may have difficulty with achieving a severity of 10,000 at this time. Additionally, prisoners are limited to the worst punishment available to them, and some prisoners biologically incapable of experiencing sufficient suffering. We apologize for the inconvenience.
*Due to legal constraints, we are unable to grant punishments which permanently damage the prisoner. However, we grant the prisoners an exception if they voluntarily complete the exemption process (outlined in the next section) in a sound state of mind.
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | *Four years ago, on this day, I killed a man.*
~
The metallic bars surround me, shackling me in my own world. Four years ago, I was given the choice to shorten my sentence or to be imprisoned for five years. I selected five years. Back then, the future had seemed bleak. My wife just parted from this world, and I ended up serving for the so-called "justice" for murdering a man.
I know not whether I regret my decision. Time ticks by as I contemplate my decision.
I have seen jail mates come and go. A few died in their imprisonment. Some changed their decisions and shortened their sentence- only to die in the harsh conditions of the unknown cell.
What is in the unknown darkness?
I know.
~ ~
**A/N**
First shot at writing- I'm about to fall asleep. English is not my first language. I know it's poorly written. I'm just spilling my brains. Tips/criticism please! I'm not sure how long you'd be in jail if convicted of murder so excuse the time.
Thank you for those who read it <3 (and sorry for ruining your eyesight) | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | They told me nobody had ever survived the third option. Voluntaries had become a method for the prison owners to keep the populations of their jails down. There just wasn't enough space to house all of us, so your number was put into a lottery when they first brought you in.
It was pretty simple, your name gets drawn, and you get to choose either 24 hours, 12 hours, or 1 hour. The punishment was different for each one, and after the prisoner's "penance", they were packed up nice and neatly into a tinted Lincoln, and driven to the nearest rehabilitation center. That's right, they had whole buildings dedicated to helping newly freed men, apparently even the easiest punishment still took some time to get over.
I was in the mess when my number was yelled out, the warden always made some kind of show out of the drawing, trying to get us feelin eager or somethin. They had me in for life, people don't smile too brightly on folks who eat their own kind, specially as many as I did. So when I heard my number I thought I was dreamin.
Says something bout our time don't it, it's so fucked up outside that they're willin to toss folks like me back out into the wide world just to save a pretty penny. When I walked up to the stage, feelin the glares of my old roomates in my back, I coulda sworn I was in a dream.
They took me to a room, asked me if I wanted to be out in 24, 12, or 1 hour. I thought the choice was pretty obvious, they started blabbin at me about my mental state after something so traumatic, and I just asked them what mental state they might be gettin at.
The next room had a table and a visor on it, the kind I saw on TV when I was a kid, virtual reality sets. Only took me 40 years to finally get to use one. Strapped up to that table I started gettin a little nervous, what happened next made me realize why they had warned me.
I was an ant, a tiny little ant, just standin in the grass, all the sudden I was surrounded by others like me. They began to tear me apart, I felt each of my legs being ripped from my body, it's amazing how real they can make living without a section of your torso feel.
I was in the ocean, floating out in the middle of nowhere, not a hint of anything around me cept more water. Something slimy wrapped around my ankle, I was dragged down as more grasping limbs coiled themselves around me, pulling me into what looked like a blooming flower. But this flower had a beak, and I felt every chunk being removed from me, slowly being consumed, but never drowning.
I was back on the table, but the walls were a different color, and I wasn't wearing a VR headset. The door opened and a figure on its hands and knees shuffled in sideways. Like someone had turned spoiled milk completely solid, and stretched it over a skeleton. There were no eyes, and as it shambled up to me, it's breath smelling like a slaughterhouse, the chittering sound coming from its vertical mouth played a tattoo across my sanity.
For an hour this went on, each more horrible than the last. I guess I had passed out by the end of it, cause I woke up in some kind of hospital bed. The nurses keep lookin at me like I'm already dead. Safe to say they're bound to be right sometime soon. Not a second goes by when I don't hear that chittering in the back of my skull. I guess you could call this my last testament, I understand why no one's ever survived the 1 hour. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "Good evening, Mister Lane."
The woman standing in front of Gregory Lane was surprisingly beautiful for a jail warden. His first assumption was that there would be something wrong with her in the head...but so far, nothing. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, curious.
"I understand you have chosen to reduce your life sentence to a day in prison. Is this correct?" He nodded, and she smiled. "You've probably heard that this is the most horrible sentence reduction available to anyone with a life sentence. I am here to tell you that those people are wrong."
*...Wrong?*
She continued. "This prison thrives on a firm policy of rehabilitation, not punishment. At another facility you would be suffering terribly -- but that is not how I do things." Lane was suspicious, as he rightfully ought to be. *This must be some kind of trick.* He voiced his concerns, and she laughed softly. "No, really, Mister Lane, we don't punish criminals here, however bad the crimes they are convicted for. Haven't you suffered enough waiting for your trial to end? Waiting, waiting, all they want anyone to do is wait. I never liked those methods -- I became a warden to effect change."
This had to be a joke. What were they going to do? *Just start it already.* "Ma'am, I'm having trouble understanding this. I'm not going to be tortured? Or drugged? Or anything? How do you plan to rehabilitate me?"
The guards turned and left. The warden remained, but she was silent, only staring at Lane with half-lidded eyes, a smile on her face. He slowly began to realize that she was staring at him in *that* way...
The guards stationed outside could hear nothing through the soundproofed walls, but they knew that what was happening inside could be considered the epitome of earthly pleasures, "a taste of heaven." Two changes of the guard later, twenty-four hours had passed, and they were sent in to retrieve the man. As usual, he didn't want to leave, and they had to drag him, screaming, begging to return, out into the world of man, where he would perhaps never find anything so wonderful as he had found behind prison walls.
The law that allowed for one-day sentences had a caveat with regards to this prison -- one that the warden would certainly know, having negotiated for it herself. Gregory Lane, like the many others who had taken the one-day sentence, would have his criminal record hidden away. He would be allowed to live a normal life, no matter the severity of his crimes. The warden's system had never failed to work: looking for the quality of life he had gotten such a small taste of, Lane would find himself driven to an honest lifestyle, a career, perhaps a family, all to achieve the self-fulfillment that the warden had given him.
None of the guards knew exactly what went on behind closed doors, but whatever had happened inside, it had changed Lane, had changed the many before him, into common people, striving for that long-lost dream. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | 2127... That's my name, or at least it is now. I've been locked up for 13 years so far for a mistake I made. Drunk me thought it was fine to drive and whose and hehold, I killed a lady and her 4 kids. Life with no parol, I guess I deserve it, but I miss my family. I would do anything to see them.
The distinctive click of his cell lock opening woke him from his sleep. Exhaustion gripping him tightly as if he had only slept for an hour or so. He quickly examined himself to check for any scarring. This inmate is known to hurt himself in his sleep.The guard called into his radio to turn the lights on in cell 307. As the light blinded the inmate, the guard began to speak.
"2127, get up! The warden wants a word with you."
Still struggling to see through the sudden bright light, 2127 rose to his feet. The guards were abnormally quiet and the hall isn't filled with its usual noise of inmates yelling and fighting. Finally they reached the garden's office.
The guard opened the door and there stood the warden, gazing out of his window as if this was a movie. The guards left them and shut the door behind them. The warden was a short stocky man, dressed in what appeared to be a cheap tan suit. He turned and smiled, "2127, he'll I haven't seen you since one of your 'episodes'." The stocky man chuckled a bit.
The prisoner knew better than to speak unless told to. He nervously traced the scars on his arms left by his last 'episode' waiting for permission to speak.
"I personally don't think you're a bad man. I read your file and know it was merely an accident. I have decided to adopt a new program that will allow you your freedom." The excited tone did nothing to help the uneasy grin off the warden's face. "This of course comes at a price. Shorten your sentence and the worse things will become for you here. I can even shorten it to one day, if you would like. I'm pretty sure I already know the answer anyways, what about it champ?"
2127 didn't even blink before nodding yes. Quickly the warden stood up and grabbed the inmate's arm. "I knew it, I'll even be nice and start the 24 hours now. Follow me."
More and more hallways, all of them just plain white. After a while the halls appear almost endless. Finally we stop at a door that was way too far from any other door, this made the inmate uneasy. The warden slaps the prisoner on the back, "24 hours... Then you're free." The warden performed some knock that the inmate could gather was a sign the warden was giving to the person inside. Suddenly the door slowly opened and to the inmate's surprise, a tall man wearing a lab coat appeared from the darkness of the doorway. The warden greeted him with a handshake, "All right doc, you got 21 hours." Quickly the doctor hurried the inmate in. Before 2127 could even speak, the doctor managed to hit the prisoner in the neck with a syringe.
Blood... That's what the warm liquid on his pants was. Pain wracked his body as he began to feel old wounds open again. The inmate screamed in a mix of terror and pain. He looked down to watch the doctor peeling back the skin of the prisoner's right pinky. Everything was so dark, but the pain and screams seemed to make that detail moot.
Slice after slice, now 3 fingers were peeled back. The peel was definitely done by a professional as it appeared you could slimply slip the skin back on. The pink flesh pulsated as the air began to touch the wound. 2127 throws up again.
The doctor removed his mask and looked the inmate in the eye, "You wanted the shorter sentence, and you were warned." A smile crept over his face. "I can honestly say I do enjoy this. Especially for you. I have opened a majority of your wounds, I hope the pain is worth it." The doctor just casually spoke as 2127 shook and vomited in front of the doctor, the pain causing screams.
The demeanor of the doctor suddenly changed as he grabbed the inmate's hair, "Maria... Chelse... Tiffany... Eli... And of course my wife, Amanda. Do these names ring a bell to you?" After a moment without a visual response from the tortured prisoner, the doctor grabbed a skinned finger and squeezed. The slick flesh bled like a sponge and the inmate cried out in agony. Quickly 2127 shook his head.
"They are the ones you killed. I found you and now I swore to make you feel this pain." The doctor smiles, "You think this is your first time here? Sorry, Jake." The doctor grabbed a drill from the table, "I have been a brain doctor for quiet some time, and after I'm done torturing you, I'm going to use this to drill at the back of your scull. I will ensure that all of this is just another 'episode'. But I always like to have this chat with you before I make you forget. It is true about your sentence, but I won't let you do it, I want you to pay."
Screams... Horrible screams. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The new prisoners showed up today. Mostly murderers and violent offenders, all of them looked tough, weathered almost by the life of crime they chose.
Prisoner A was first, letters given from the order the came to our facility. He was acting tough, glaring at the guards and even spitting on one. I still had to give him the option of the one day pass, and based on his actions I didn't mind.
"Your choice?" I asked, pointing at what looked like a menu in front of him.
"One day" he said with a smirk.
"You understand this will be agony and sheer brutality, yes?"
"I can handle it" he said with a laugh, "I've been through hell already".
"If you say so" I said, shaking my head.
Prisoner A was taken by the guards to the elevator, down to the lower level, I followed as usual.The elevator doors opened with a ring, its an older elevator and I still get nervous taking the old cage.
We stepped out into the dark hallway. It had a pungent smell, like feces, burnt flesh and decaying bodies. The first door we came to was like an old bank vault, it had large handle to spin for opening it once the lock was disengaged. Inside was a small room with another large vault door at the other side. This one had a window at eye level, to ensure the process goes correctly.
Prisoner A went through the 2nd door willingly, but stopped and looked at the floor, spinning around to say he changed his mind in a panic. The floor was covered with blood and strange patterns. We've never seen them clearly due to the limited light in the chamber, and we will never cross the second vault door.
It was too late for him. "You've already chosen" I said via the intercom.
"What is this!?" He yelled.
"You are in a former military testing area" I said.. "the military found this on accident and built a secure lab over it. Decades ago, a portal was found, which is directly below you. It was only recently confirmed what exactly is inside. It is a place of torment, of pain..and fear."
"Oh god, oh god please!!!" He yelled as the cracks in the floor started to glow.
"We made a deal with the...thing...inside" I said. "With our offerings on a daily basis, it will not cross the portal"
Chains wrapped around Prisoner A's wrists and the glow in the floor became brighter, covering his body with an orange glow.
"It feeds on fear, but after one day you can return. It doesn't like to kill, when it kills it's no longer enjoyable as there is no longer fear to feed on. You will experience horrors beyond your imagination but you will *most likely* survive"
The floor had now opened and Prisoner A was screaming and crying.
"Today starts one day in hell" I said as he was lowered into the glow. "Time goes very slow in hell, one day will feel like an eternity" | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | They call me sociopath. Psychopath. Monster. Something not quite human. Well, I agree. I am not of the same species as these mindless sheep who walk upon two legs. Yet they presume to judge me. Well, they caught me, and as we know, might makes right.
Just now, the judge is bleating something at me. My court appointed lawyer motions at me to stand. Rolling my eyes somewhat, I do so. The armored troopers in the courtroom all stiffen, tightening their grips on their laser rifles and adjusting the sights of their crew served weapons. Fools. When have I ever tried to escape during trial? Except that one time. No, these pathetic beings know my weakness, and the courtroom is packed with cameras and reporters. I'll listen with undisguised contempt to the judge's sentence, monologue at the cameras a bit, take a month or two off for quiet contemplation, and, when I'm ready, break out of prison and attempt to take over the world again.
In truth, I rather enjoy my little vacations. Accommodations are rather Spartan, true, but it's the only time I get to myself without the Terror Brigades interrupting me every fifteen minutes asking for further instructions. And the chef at the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, which they built specifically to hold me, is quite skillful within the very limited budget the federal government allows. I think tonight must be Taco Tuesday, although admittedly I am a bit fuzzy on how much time had passed since The Black Flame had hit me in the back of the head with that restored stream locomotive. Perhaps today is Spaghetti Friday.
Oh, the judge is getting angry. "Are you listening, Professor Static?" Yes, yes. Blah de blah blah, pretended to be the Commissioner of Baseball so I can kidnap and sell the New York Yankees to that alien circus. We all know. "Get on with it, will you? I've got an escape to plan!"
The judge sputters at me for a little bit. I wait superciliously until he can get ahold of himself. Finally, he gets to his point, and puts forth a most intriguing proposition. I may pick the length of my sentence! The longer, the more comfortable, and vice versa. Well, being that I am effectively immortal, or at least no one has been able to figure out how to kill me and only a very few superpowered beings can inconvenience me, then we have an obvious choice here.
"Your Honor" I say, the words dripping with sarcasm "I choose a sentence of a single day!"
Gasps in the courtroom. Judge gavels. A Terror Brigadier calls from the gallery "he'll be out by Thursday, you fools, and then you'll all feel Static's sting! All hail our dark lord, Professor Static!" Three armored troopers pull him from his seat and execute him. Ignoring the excitement, the judge stares at me. Finally, he says "so be it, and may God have mercy on your soul, if you have one".
The bag descends over my head. I'm being wheeled into a vehicle. We lift off- it's a helicopter, no doubt an Earth Defense Corp bird. We fly a bit, and land, and I get wheeled around a bit. We go up ramps and down elevators and hither and yon and presently, my hood is removed.
I'm in a living room. There's a comfortable looking couch. There's some mediocre artwork on the walls. There's a commercial grade carpet of the kind you'd see in a cheap motel. In other words, not my usual cell.
My bonds come loose, and I flex a bit. No one else is in the room. I turn on a lamp (cheap IKEA knockoff), choose a People magazine, and sit on the couch.
An easy listening version of Welcome to the Jungle plays via unseen speakers. The People magazine is nearly a year old.
Ah. I see what they're doing. Ennui and boredom. Waiting for the dentist who never shows. Yes, yes, very clever. I'm sure this would be sheerest torture to a street thug or hang banger, but I am Professor Static, who-
"Hello?" says a voice, hesitantly.
Yes?
"Can you hear me?"
I can.
"Prisoner 137, you are hereby to be informed of your rights under title blah blah blaaaaah…"
I don't think 'hereby to be informed' is grammatically correct.
"Yes. Well. Anyway, you've been injected with a drug that will bring you total self awareness. After 24 hours, you will receive the antidote. You will then be free to go. You will not be physically harmed during those 24 hours, and will be made as physically comfortable as possible. Do you have any questions?"
Did you say total self awareness?
"I did."
What kind of lame punishment is that?
"Not for me to say. Please press the red button located on the wall if you feel yourself in any physical danger. On behalf of the Thompsonville Institute for Mental Health, please let me say OH GOD SNAKES THE SNAKES ARE ALL OVER ME HELP ME HELP ME CAN YOU HEAR ME WENDY WENDY ARE YOU OKAY IF YOU CAN HEAR ME SAY SOMETHING WENDY WENDY WENDY OH GOD WENDY (extended sobbing)"
I can hear them. I can hear all of them. I can see them. I can smell them. Every hero. Every hostage. Every spy and double agent and civilian caught in the crossfire. I can see their final moments. They cry, they evacuate their vowels and their bladders, they beg for mercy and call for their gods for mercy and for their mothers to stop the hurting. I can feel their pain, their suffering, their fear.
I am surrounded by images as well. I see myself torturing couriers and secretaries for information. I see myself murdering superheroes in a thousand ways, each more creative and cruel than the last. I see myself murdering countless armed guards and lab technicians and sidekicks. And in every case, I am the victim.
I am a college student now. A professor belittles my theory of Ninth Dimensional travel. A girl responds to my request for a date with incredulous laughter. A jock spills my soda all over my pants and doesn't even notice.
Then I hear it.
"Uncle Steve's home! Where are you, you little homo?"
Uncle Steve.
He's drunk.
He's taking off his belt.
He holds up the vacuum tube, the one I hadn't had a chance to put back into the television l was disassembling.
"Don't you know MASH is on tonight, you little homo?"
I'm Professor Static, and I killed Ikon Girl with a single punch to the jaw, I try to say.
Instead, what comes out is "…please don't hit me again, Uncle Steve. I'll be good…"
He takes a good, long look at me, and says "if you're so smart, why'd you take the one day option?"
And swings. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Charlie squirmed on the cool metal seat in a grey room not big but not small, one light slightly swinging over him.
"So here we are Charlie," said one of the two men in matching pastel blue jumpsuits.
"You have a base 5 year sentence," the other chimed in.
"And you have a choice."
Charlie looked between both of their darkened, bored eyes and then stared intently at an imaginary spot of the steel table between them.
"Take five years and get your normal prison experience or..."
"Or you can choose to fit 5 years worth of suffering into any amount of time you want."
They both smiled slightly, which would have been warming if it had no been in perfect unison and had the eyes been a little less glazed over."
"Pick a year, and you get 5 years worth of prison suffering. Your bed will be 5 times harder, the meals 5 times worse, your fellow inmates 5 times as pissed off."
"Pick a day, and it'll be solitary, hot coals, and Scorpions."
"Pick a moment and you'll be dead."
"Or..."
And the two looked at each other, again with slight. Charlie noticed a burning sulfur smell overcome the cool odors of steel, asphalt, and fabric softener.
"Or you could pick a longer sentence and pack the pain into a bigger box,"
"Pick 10 years and you have a softer bed and better food,"
"Pick 100 and we'll keep you comfortable for the rest of your days, but you'll be imprisoned until you..."
"Well presumably."
"This will take awhile to decide, I'm sure. And you'll be in temporary holding until then."
Suddenly Charlie's fidgeting stopped and his eyes raised slowly toward the two men in jumpsuits, now looking mildly interested, and said in a voice low and unlike his own.
"I don't need time. I know what fate I want,"
A smile inched it's way towards his ears as his eyes darkened with a spark of madness.
"I want a sentence of infinite years."
And the world dissolved in a furor of light. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | With prisons overfilling, conditions had to drop, there was no way we could afford it otherwise. The best way? Offer all those found guilty reduced sentences at the cost of worsened (and usually cheaper) conditions.
Based on the fraction amount of time taken off you get put in with worse and worse inmates and prisoners.
Once you hit a 'super max' prison standard, anything beyond that was now officially considered that the prisoner was willingly giving up his basic -human- rights for the duration of his stay and were transported to a special facility.
Each state had one such facility. It was all that was needed, people weren't there long after all.
It's agreed that after you reduce your sentence by a tenth or more you lose -all- rights, including those given to animals. Torture is now not only legal, it's mandatory, it went from casual beatings to permanent scars and pain that would knock you unconscious only minutes after you've woken up.
Generally that sort of information doesn't get out to the media in much detail - however I know it all. I work there. Have done for ten years. Yet in all my time here, there have been only two guys and one woman in my facility who thought they were hard who took the 'one night stay' approach (the minimum sentence).
The first was a simple thief, he'd robbed a house but was caught robbing a small corner shop. Sentenced originally to fifteen years.
He was an idiot - he was told what rights he'd lose multiple times, including those long term - including the main big one of 'After reducing your sentence below a twentieth of its original amount, any damage done in your stay can legally be permanent.'
Within the first hour he'd lost all his teeth, begging us to stop until he was coughing up too much blood to talk - he'd reduced his sentence by over 5000 days. He was going to feel them for far longer. After three hours, we were done with the acid treatment.
I'll skip the rest... but he left a different man, his face was deformed, his medical bills to get everything fixed would be more than he'd ever earn in his lifetime. But by god I've never heard of him committing a crime again. It worked. The facility always did.
The other man was a soldier stationed overseas gone rogue. He'd shot civilians - it claims he knew they were innocent but due to our shitty system he was only sentenced to a year on the basis of 'They appeared to be a threat'.
But I digress. Other than his psychotic tendencies, he was a good man - he wanted to get back home to his family. He shot innocent people considering them 'terrorists' so we terrorized him.
We doped him up on stuff so strong it makes minutes feel like hours. We then got in high quality actors, who pretended to be his kids -we then faked torturing -them- right in front of him, he was telling us we could kill him if we let them go within just three hours. Of course we threw in a little pain on his side too, but nothing permanent - the mental trauma would be more than enough. Especially given how we didn't tell them they were actors. He found that out only after he called his wife the moment he got out, crying.
Of course he tried to sue us - but he'd been read his rights, he'd thought being ex-military he could handle it. He was wrong. We crack all of them. In fact I hear he's raised his kids so well one of them has been nominated for a Nobel Prize.
Finally the lady. I was a little sad she'd made it to us. Her sentence had been pathetic - just three weeks for the shop-lifting repeatedly for her son. But reducing 21 days to 1... that was over a twentieth, she wasn't going to receive hell, but it wasn't pleasant.
We double-checked when we heard about her and looked her up -we prepared special treatments for those who go for anything shorter than a week and made it to us-. She was a single mom struggling to make ends meet, she stole because she had to. She repeated the offense because her kids wouldn't make be able to live a decent life without it. She even claimed to take the one-day sentence just so she could get back to them as soon as possible.
Our team argued on what to do with her for a good week before she arrived. We just needed to shake her up so she never came back, but she didn't deserve the sort of terror we inflicted on our other victi- I mean inmates.
In the end we resorted to terrifying her, we stripped her naked and threatened to rape her -of course we didn't come even close to it, we knew she didn't deserve that- then after she realized the threats were idle she cursed at us until we moved onto the second bit of our plan. Simple, straight to the point.
We took her hand, tied it to a table, pulled out a knife and asked her 'You know what they used to do with thieves in some country's before the UN stepped in?'. She pleaded for mercy. But we took what we knew she deserved - the top 1 inch or so of her little finger. We left it bleeding and her in pain for the rest of her sentence. Our parting words as we left her for the night 'If we ever see you again, we'll take the whole hand'.
We'd all apologized to people after they left at some point. Usually just once or twice for the media - but we always said the same thing 'They knew what they were getting into. I was just doing my job'.
But her... I got in contact with her personally. Phoned her the next day at a time I knew she'd be likely just done with taking her kids to school.
"Hello? Look Frank, I've had a hell of a weekend, I can't come in for overtim-"
"It's not Frank. It's... well you don't know my name. I'm one of the Guards from the prison you went to. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry, if the law had required me to do less, I would have. "
There was a pause. I hung up. Assuming she would if I didn't -or worse yell at me. After all - everyone hates us, nobody likes being punished, and what we do is quite literally inhumane.
I had the day off so I went about my business, not much to do - I was a single man at the time, nobody could stand my job, but it paid so well I couldn't give it up - in a few short years, I'd have enough to buy a house outright, then I could get some savings and start a family without it.
Five hours later I got a text -I assumed it was one of my colleagues from the facility-, I checked the number, didn't recognize it, then realized it was the woman I'd called.
'I didn't really expect an apology. I knew what I was getting into. I should have known better.'
So surprised to get a reply, before I knew it I'd replied, thanking her for being understanding.
Several texts and a couple of hours later, late in the evening she had some precious spare time and she called up and we got chatting. I helped her through the worse of the trauma -which was technically illegal, as it ruins the experience of the facility, but the fellow guards never told anyone else once they'd found out-.
A week later I was in her City, and we were on a date. A year later we were an official couple. And... Ooh lets see... three days ago? I was married to her.
I stretch my arms and yawn.
"Sweetheart get off the laptop and go to bed. It's our honeymoon. If the kids can wait a week your bloody auto-biography can wait too."
I put it away and smiled at her with love. Thinking to myself 'Our system works so well, it even made a good Man out of me'.
The End. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | For the murder of 20 people, I have been sentenced to 120 years. I choose to compress this to 1 hour and 35 minutes. I am forced to watch *Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance*, the only suitable punishment. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | One count of sexual child abuse and kidnapping, at least that's all they got me for, hell I don't even remember her name, I think it was Emma or something. Anyway, law enforcement is a joke these days, I mean, it takes more time to process an inmate than it takes to serve a sentence. A day in jail, that's my plan. Depending on how well it goes, I might come back for seconds, if you catch my drift.
So I half-ass my way through the process, I don't catch much of what the judge says, can't help daydreaming of my freedom. After I sign a few things I get escorted to a van and off we go. I figure they are sending me to hang out with some real criminals, I'd lay low and be home for breakfast the next morning.
About 20 minutes into the drive I start to question where we are going. We left the highway and are heading into some suburban area. We park outside a real nice place; two stories, big yard, looked empty though. Can't hear what the guards are saying, but next thing I know they are pulling me from the van, handcuffing me and marching me to the front door. "Welcome home" one of the guards say to me. I don't understand a damn thing that's going on. The other guard opens the door and they motion me in.
I start to walk through the dark house, it's pretty dusty and obvious that the previous owner let things go. Why would they leave me here though? I never served my time. Eh, no use dwelling on an empty stomach, so I go to check the fridge, maybe they stocked some food for me? As I make it to the kitchen I hear the front door slam shut. I chalk it up to the wind and open the fridge; nice, fresh food. I load my arms up with goodies and take a step back to close the door, when I bump into something. "Shit" I yell, dropping the food on the ground, my body shaking as I turn around. "The hell are you doing here?" I ask the guy as I push him back, "Get out of my house before I call the cops".
"My wife killed herself" The man muttered.
"Alright" I responded. This guy looks familiar, I think I saw him at booking back when I got caught. Probably a nut they stuck me with as a catch to my freedom.
The man's head starts rapidly shaking back and forth as he stares at the ground. "This is your fault"
"Dude, I went through the same shit as you, we are stuck here, but free, so let's try and get along" I wonder how long I'd be in for killing this guy if things don't work out; oh yeah, a day. I chuckle to myself.
The man lifts his head and stares at me like nothin' I've ever seen. I feel chills run down my spine. I gotta get out of here now.
"You took my daughter Emily from me! You took my wife from me! You took my life from me!" He screamed while brandishing a knife from behind his back. It was about then that I realized, if I was lucky he would end it quick and I wouldn't have to serve my 24 hour sentence. | The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Ava Rice stood in the courtroom, hair perfectly coiffed and styled, makeup and nails complimenting the tailored Armani business suit which, in turn, accentuated her ample surgically-augmented cleavage. A broad smile creased her middle-aged face, but botox kept it confined to her lips.
She had a plan.
There was no way she would get away with the crime, but thanks to a loophole in the law, she'd be out in twenty-four hours and free to collect the prize: Two hundred and thirty million dollars. It was a fraction of the sum she had fleeced from investors and the government and laundered into off-shore accounts around the globe; but the feds hadn't found all of it, and that's what she'd been counting on.
She had purposely spent little time and resources on hiding her crimes, the faster they could convict her, the less likely they were to find all the money. It had been a brilliant plan, genius even. She was quite proud of herself.
As the judge spent nearly an hour reading the jury's verdicts one by one, Ava smirked smugly. They could do their worst and she would still walk, in perfect health, out of the detention center by dinner time tomorrow. *Fools*. She wasn't even listening after the first five minutes, her thoughts had turned to dreams of sunbathing on the deck of a new yacht while sipping tropical drinks off the coast of some exotic country. She glanced at the Rolex on her wrist, a seven thousand dollar reminder of the feds' haste to bring her to trial. So intent on putting her away, they were, that the idiots hadn't even confiscated the obviously valuable time piece.
While sentences were designed to punish and deter future crime, the law stated that prisoners must be kept in good health and released without a scratch. So while Ava knew she faced a long sentence, the forty year old knew there was no threat of torture, death, or dismemberment. They couldn't even leave a single pinprick on her skin. *What could they possibly do? Scare me with harmless snakes? Lock me in a dark room? Make me watch the Kardashians?*
Ava realized the judge was asking her a question and came out of her revery. "... may choose your sentence, Miss Rice. The maximum sentence of one hundred and twenty years, or you may spend as much of it as you like in Time Compensation. What is your choice?"
"I'll take 24 hours in Time Compensation, your Honor."
The look of shock on their faces was priceless. A quick glance at her watch told her it was nearly 5 pm. *I'll think of you all fondly while I'm eating some endangered species for dinner tomorrow* She didn't even bother to listen to a response, she stood up and offered her wrists to the bailiffs.
The two uniformed men led her out of the courtroom and into a dimly lit corridor. They didn't even bother to cuff her, they simply urged her on ahead of them. Doors opened automatically as she approached and closed softly behind her, sometimes she was instructed to turn down side corridors. Their steps reverberated loudly, becoming a monotonous tapping drone that began to grate on the nerves. The hall stretched on much longer than she thought it would, and had taken so many turns she gave up trying to remember them all. It didn't matter, they would show her the way out in just 24 hours.
After what must have been an hour of traipsing through the increasingly dark and labyrinthine hallway, her patience grew thin, "Hey, how much further-" the words froze in her throat. She had turned to ask the question, but no guards stood behind her. Straining to see in the wane light, her eyes couldn't make out anyone near her. How long ago had they disappeared? The sound of their footsteps continued to echo even as she stood there, unmoving. *Great. So this is their idea of punishment? Let me wander aimlessly in a dark maze for a day? Pathetic. Well, that was at least an hour, only twenty three left to go!* She grinned broadly and glanced at the glowing hands of her Rolex. *That's odd, it stopped.*
The prisoner had long given up on keeping track of the time, the Rolex had barely moved in what felt like at least a couple days. At first she wandered aimlessly, certain someone else must be here somewhere, as the sound of footsteps never ceased. They grew quieter or louder at times, but she couldn't find their source. *Damn those bastards! They lied to me! They can't keep me here, the law says twenty four hours! Oh they'll be hearing from my lawyer.*
Another living soul never appeared, except for the occasional rat or cockroaches scuttling away as she neared. She had found that she could open some doors along the way, though the corridors beyond were either filled with searing heat or freezing cold. Once, she had found a door with bright light streaming under it, but when opened found the other side a vast open space, painfully illuminated, like the sun itself streamed forth to stab knives into her retinas. She avoided those doors after that; darkness wasn't painful.
Portions of the corridor smelled of sewage and human waste, while others were thick with the aroma of grilled steak, baked potatoes and fresh bread. At first, the criminal relished in the pleasant odors, but it only made the hunger pangs worse. The only source of water dripped from rusty pipes overhead or oozed down the walls, and she was loathe to slake her thirst, but necessity soon overcame her repugnance. It was like drinking urine but she held back from retching and let the warm liquid hydrate her drip by drip. It took another week before she tried licking the walls. It tasted like blood.
Hunger was gnawing at her, it had been weeks since she'd eaten. Ava avoided the obvious solution until it became apparent that her ruined clothes were very loose; she had lost at least fifteen pounds and hadn't been very large to begin with. Getting liposuction a few months back was starting to seem like a really bad choice right about now. Her third week in marked the first of many rat dinners. Six months later she discovered they went nicely with crunchy cockroaches.
Time was meaningless now, hours, days, weeks were arbitrary designations that held no context here. She slept whenever and wherever she liked. The rats and cockroaches crawling and nipping at her no longer mattered, and besides, it was easier to catch them if she waited until they swarmed over her.
A beep startled her out of sleep. It had been so long since she had heard anything like it, it took a moment to realize what it was. Her watch beeped. A casual glance at her it made her take a second, harder look. It had been nearly 5pm when she was taken from the court room, the watch currently read 6 pm.
The horror of realization washed over and the taste of bile rose in her throat. The Rolex wasn't broken. She was due to be released in twenty three hours, as promised, but every minute that passed on her watch represented a month.
Only one hundred fifteen years to go.
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Being a sweeper reduced my time from 25 years to 15 and that was fine with me. an entire ten years taken off my sentence for cleaning up the pit.
The pit.
my stomach turned at the thought of the cleaning today. It's a choice anyone is given, 1 day surviving in the pit for freedom. It seems so pleasant, such an easy choice when said that way. I hear the alarm buzz on the other side of the metal door. Followed by a booming recorded voice "STATE YOUR NAME." The alarm and announcement is usually followed by silence, in my 5 years of pit duty I have never heard anything other than silence.
"Micheal Kent" a voice said, muffled from the door, but I could hear. followed by another voice, smaller this time. So small I could not hear the name it offered.
*Two?* I thought to myself. *Impossible* A metallic click and the door in front of me opened. My standard issue green rain boots were already stained with blood from my first days here, something I no longer notice or pay any attention to, but I can not help but stare at my boots, afraid to look at whatever monsters lurk inside the darkness of the pit.
I get over my fear and look up to the darkness that looms in front of me, "I'm going to turn the lights on now." I say. My hand brushes against the wall and I already feel the thickness of blood or flesh through my rubber gloves. I turn the light on using a code.
"We thought." the small voice started, "We thought if all of us did nothing, we would be able to leave." I turn around and am shocked to see a child. *what crime could a child do to be put here?* I did not ask, but I stood frozen in front of a small genderless creature in blood stained orange scrubs.
"That's enough." the man who introduced himself and Michael stopped her. "He has nothing to do with this, he is also a prisoner." He turned to the child, "We get to leave now."
"Actually." I start, my voice is rigid, "There is a matter of paperwork, I am supposed to offer you a shower though, first."
"Please!" the small voice spoke.
I look to the camera and make a large wave, in a few moments one of the officers comes and escorts them out of the blood bath of a room. I look to my feet again and squish the toes of my boots into the blood. the body removers come and gather the large pieces and I am numb to it as they chuck legs and torsos into bins marks "hazardous waste: HUMAN REMAINS"
"Did you see them?" I asked the nameless crew, "The winners, I mean...did anyone see them"
"Oh ya, wicked fucked up right?" one of them says. A puzzled look crosses my face and he continues, "Oh you didn't hear? Father and daughter that pair." He bends down to scoop up a large intestine from the floor and attempts to toss it in the bin, "dicks." he says when he misses. "They are a right awful pair. I heard they are cannibals, and when offered the pit they both jumped for joy." He pointed to the bloody mess around, "I wonder if they ate any of them."
"Oh Thomas shut up, they aren't cannibals!" A woman I know to be named Mary or Mercy or Martha spoke, "They were a priest and just some girl." She shrugged, "People say the little girl lured men interested in doing terrible thing to little girls to an alley and the priest... well he absolved them of their sins."
"So much for *thou shalt not kill." I mutter.
"I don't believe that for a second. A killer priest? That's so cliche." The first one says, "I'm stickin' to cannibals." He kicks feet and hands to the center of the room and scoops them up.
I begin mopping and the crew leaves with the bins. blood. blood. blood. Was this worth it? Every other day of this for the next ten years. *I could probably do it.* I think. *survive in the pit for 24 hours... a little girl did it.*
I start my morning by shaving my head, as many who enter the pit decide to do. *less to grab onto I guess* My best chance at survival is to enter last minute, and I have 6 minutes left to sign up or to change my mind. I pace quickly down the corridor and to the office. I utter my name, "Jason Rider" to the clerk and she looks at me with disgust.
"Last chance to change your mind." An officer says to us. No one moves, we have all made our choice to die today... *or to live*
They lock us in the room, and we follow instructions to sit on the floor with our backs to the wall. there are 13 of us today, 12 other people I need to convince to stay still for 24 hours in complete darkness.
"All of you can leave or none of you can." The officer says, "When I leave this room, the lights will shut off and you will be forced to stay in here until that clock up there reaches zero." He pointed to a timer on the wall in a cage... too far to reach.
"Pshh, easy" one of my new cell mates says as the officer leaves.
"Oh, and one more thing." He points to the ceiling and there is a large bundle that drops to the ground loudly. "all of you who exit will be splitting a prize of 3 million dollars." He doesn't need to say the rest, we get it.
The cameras focus on us and I know we are being broadcast to millions of homes. A fight to the death over money. A fight to the death between murderers and rapists and terrible human beings who have nothing waiting for them on the outside except homelessness and poverty. A fight to the death for people who were already prepared to die.
The lights shut off and I do not move at first. None of us do. There is a moment that seems to last an eternity were we are all waiting for someone else to break the trust. "No one has to die." A voice said. "We can divide it all up between all of us."
Everyone agrees. At first.
The speakers turn on after three hours and begin to play pop music. After about five minutes it becomes clear that it will be the same song on loop. thirty minutes in and it gets unbearably loud.
*I could grab a weapon. I could shoot the speaker out. I know where it is* I do not offer this at first, but after another 20 minutes I can not stand it anymore.
"Guys. I... I've been a sweeper of the pit for the last five years." I am shouting over the music and I feel absurd, "I believe I can damage the speaker if I can get something out of the bundle."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" the darkness asks.
"It's extremely suspicious."
"Don't let him get up." the darkness is a cunt, I decide, and stay still. Another hour passes and my ears are ready to bleed.
"Jesus fuck" a voice bellows over the music, "Let that sweeper up, I can't do this anymore."
I stand, "I promise all of you, I won't hurt anyone." I go to the middle of the room and feel in the darkness for the bundle. "Fuck." I say. "IT'S NOT HERE! Someone took it!!" I roll out of the way and press myself against were I think the door is.
frantic yelling. I feel blood against my face. "you all are going to die." the darkness answers my fear.
"we were free, how could you?" a mans dying words, followed by a scream that pierced me. The prisoner with whatever weapon(s) might have been in the sack has not found me yet. *Can I really hide in this tiny square room for...* I look to the clock, *another ten hours?*
Screams and blood. That's it, that's my life now. I feel a body thump to the ground next to me and take shelter under it's weight.
"8" the voice says and I feel more blood splatter, a few moments pass "9" a scream is muffled.
I have decided his weapon must be a sword. I hope that is the only weapon, and not anything that might emit light. two hours pass of him trying to kill us. there are 3 of us left.... somewhere.
The music stops playing when the clock strikes 7:45. seven hours and forty five minutes left. Can I truly survive that long? I remember I can turn the lights on. Would that help me? I might be able to over power him if I can see. I stick my foot out slowly from the body on top of me to try to feel the wall. I touch the crack in the door and know exactly where I am. I need to make a decision.
"10" the voice says. I know the monster will begin tearing into the corpses to get all of us, they always do. one other murderer.... that I know of. They could be a team... like that little girl and man...
"Okay Jason, you can turn the lights on now." I freeze. My chest fills with anxiety and I can not move. "Jay?" I hear a metal clink as the monster drops his sword, "Well shit, I don't think I killed him, Martha."
"Nah, he's somewhere." the anxiety inside me is released when I realize it's the voices of the body chuckers. I roll the human off of me and reach for the control panel -166892- the lights stay off.
"I believe they changed the code." I mutter.
"Figures, it would only be fair since they knew you was comin' n' all." I hear a large sigh, "Well 6 more hours of silence and we get our showers."
"How do you know I won't kill you?" I say.
"You won't. we've been waiting for you to enter." Martha says. "You are the only other person in this prison that is innocent, you've never hurt anyone."
"I... I'm not innocent." I say.
"Awww money this and money that. She means you've never killed anyone."
we get to leave. I've made it.
| The kid stood in front of my desk; greasy unkempt black hair, a pair of large spectacles resting on his nose. What was this delinquents crime anyways I wonder as I check his papers. I read his list of crimes, there was no way he was responsible for all of this is his twenty or so years. Oh well, not my department.
"So whats the bill, boss-man?" The kid says in his indigent accent.
"Well, as you may know, the choice is really up to you. You pick the length of your stay and we pick the severity of punishment."
"Hmm." The kid seemed to think it over for a minute. "So hows about one day, then?"
Snickers echoed in the chamber as the guards fought back their prompted laughter.
"Look, obviously you might know the outside system quite well, but in here you simply don't survive doing one night. If you want to keep your life I would suggest a minimum of 5 years." I say to him while suppressing my annoyance. "People who choose to do one night, and they are few and far between, do NOT survive."
"Nah, I'll take the one night stay, thanks." The kid says in his cocky overconfident manner.
"Fine, your funeral." I stamp his papers and motion for a guard to come forward. "Chris, take him to his cell please."
As the kid and the guard walked to the cell at the end of the long hallway, prisoners wooted and cheered. "Look another one for the mercy-machine!"
Inside the the last cell there was a comfortable looking chair with straps and metallic equipment arrayed around the chair.
"Please, have a seat and we'll get you plugged in." Chris motioned to the recliner in the middle of the room. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "Good evening, Mister Lane."
The woman standing in front of Gregory Lane was surprisingly beautiful for a jail warden. His first assumption was that there would be something wrong with her in the head...but so far, nothing. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, curious.
"I understand you have chosen to reduce your life sentence to a day in prison. Is this correct?" He nodded, and she smiled. "You've probably heard that this is the most horrible sentence reduction available to anyone with a life sentence. I am here to tell you that those people are wrong."
*...Wrong?*
She continued. "This prison thrives on a firm policy of rehabilitation, not punishment. At another facility you would be suffering terribly -- but that is not how I do things." Lane was suspicious, as he rightfully ought to be. *This must be some kind of trick.* He voiced his concerns, and she laughed softly. "No, really, Mister Lane, we don't punish criminals here, however bad the crimes they are convicted for. Haven't you suffered enough waiting for your trial to end? Waiting, waiting, all they want anyone to do is wait. I never liked those methods -- I became a warden to effect change."
This had to be a joke. What were they going to do? *Just start it already.* "Ma'am, I'm having trouble understanding this. I'm not going to be tortured? Or drugged? Or anything? How do you plan to rehabilitate me?"
The guards turned and left. The warden remained, but she was silent, only staring at Lane with half-lidded eyes, a smile on her face. He slowly began to realize that she was staring at him in *that* way...
The guards stationed outside could hear nothing through the soundproofed walls, but they knew that what was happening inside could be considered the epitome of earthly pleasures, "a taste of heaven." Two changes of the guard later, twenty-four hours had passed, and they were sent in to retrieve the man. As usual, he didn't want to leave, and they had to drag him, screaming, begging to return, out into the world of man, where he would perhaps never find anything so wonderful as he had found behind prison walls.
The law that allowed for one-day sentences had a caveat with regards to this prison -- one that the warden would certainly know, having negotiated for it herself. Gregory Lane, like the many others who had taken the one-day sentence, would have his criminal record hidden away. He would be allowed to live a normal life, no matter the severity of his crimes. The warden's system had never failed to work: looking for the quality of life he had gotten such a small taste of, Lane would find himself driven to an honest lifestyle, a career, perhaps a family, all to achieve the self-fulfillment that the warden had given him.
None of the guards knew exactly what went on behind closed doors, but whatever had happened inside, it had changed Lane, had changed the many before him, into common people, striving for that long-lost dream. | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | It's almost noon. At least that's what the rusted out clock hanging above the two way mirror says. I turn my head and smile at my reflection, knowing someone else is behind there watching.
A nurse, at least I think she's a nurse, short and a bit chunky comes over to the bed I'm strapped to and starts looking at the monitor by my head. "How long did you get?" she asked. Her voice is breathy and sweet with a southern twang. She fusses with the saline drip.
I clear my throat. "Forty five years," I say.
She looks at me double and I say, "What is it?"
She asks, "How old are you?"
And I say, "Fifty." Even though I ain't fifty, I'm fifty six, but that ain't none of her goddam busness.
She looks nervous and mouths something I don't catch.
"What? You got a problem with me?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just nothing. It's nothing."
There's a tapping on the mirror I can't see through. "Jenny, It's almost time for lunch," a guy says. "Let get this one done, I'm starving."
She nods and does something with a syringe, then says. "We'll see you tomorrow."
All I feel is cold from the needle spreading down my arm and to my shoulder and over my chest. That's when things stopped, but only for a moment. Like a blip in a cut film reel. Nothing really happens.
I wake up. Slowly. My eyes open, sticky with sleep. I turn my head. God, my body doesn't want to cooperate. My neck is so stiff. Must be the drugs wearing off.
When the haze clears form my eyes, I can see that the clock read quarter past noon. I look around the room. Did something go wrong? Did it not work?
The door opens and in walks that nurse from before. She looks tired and doesn't look at me. "Are you alright?" she asks.
I nod.
"Let me sit you up." She presses a few buttons and removes the needle from my arm. "A cab is waiting for you after you sign out."
"That was it?"
She doesn't answer. "They're bringing a wheelchair for you in just a moment."
She presses a button on the floor with her foot and slowly the bed I'm strapped to sits up. I'm looking at the two way mirror. I know that what I see is a reflection. I know that it's me. But it ain't me too, because the face staring back at me is old. Not fifty-six.
"What is this?" I shout to the nurse, but she's already at the door. Already leaving and giving me one last sorry look. "What the hell?"
The face staring back at me looks like one you'd find on the Today Show Smucker Jars. Except they'd gloss over my looks because I ain't much to look at. And what would they say of my life?
Nothing. Goddammit. Because I didn't get to live it.
| I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Boy, did I fuck up.I know it sounds cliched, but it all happened in a flash. One moment I'm walking in the door from my long day of work, expecting to kick back and relax. Next moment there's two guys bloodied and unconscious on my kitchen floor.
Let me give you a little more than that. I came home as per normal, expecting to walk in after a long day of work, take off my shoes and greet my fiancee. Instead I walked in to two strange men in my house, my fiancee on the ground, ripped clothes hanging off of her like discarded rags. The two bastards were standing over her, dicks swingin' in the breeze.
They raped her. I saw red. I flew off the handle, no...I took a running, rocket-propelled leap off of that god-damned handle. The next ten minutes was fists pounding on flesh, screams that didn't reach my ears, the celery-snap sound of breaking bones...
By the time my rage subsided both men weren't moving. I stood over them, my fists broken and bloodied. My chest heaved from my physical exertion as I moved my gaze from the scene in front of me to my fiance. It was her look that broke me completely from my rage-induced haze. She was afraid of me, mouth aghast in horror. I'll never forget that look.
The next few months was a blur of court proceedings and lawyers. I stood on the stand as the judge dealt the verdict. I was found guilty of one count of 2nd Degree Murder, and two counts of physical assault causing bodily harm. It really should have been two counts of murder. One guy was basically a vegetable. I was given two life sentences with no chance of parole. I was taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs. I didn't even chance looking towards my family or my fiancee. It was too much to bear.
The door to the next room closed behind me, the two officers who were escorting me led me to a chair and made me sit. It looked like an interrogation room like you'd see in the movies. Two metal chairs, on opposite sides of a rectangular metal table. One annoyingly bright light suspended direct center of the table. It all felt a little surreal.
A loud creak echoed through the room, forcing my attention towards a door opposite the one I came in through. A man walked through with a manila folder in his hand. He withdrew his chair and sat, no greeting. He looked at me, placing the manila folder on the table as he got comfortable.
"One count of murder, two counts of assault causing bodily harm and a life sentence with no parole." His gruff voice broke the relative silence of the room. "A fitting sentence for what you did." The man paused, opening the folder in front of him, and shoving across the table. "For men, ah excuse me, people like you, there is another option. The judge thinks that you could benefit from this relatively new reformation program. Read it over and take some time to think it over. We'll wait."
That was allthe explanation I got. The man folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and waited. I again glanced to the two officers, their expression seemingly set in stone. Leaning forward in my chair I averted my attention to the pages held within that manila folder.
I read it over once. Twice. I couldn't quite comprehend what the pages were telling me. *One day of reformation and I was free?*
The man across from me must have seen my confusion as he spoke up. "It's exactly as it sounds. You spend one day in this program, and you're released." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You'll be taken to a room and put through certain... *experiences* to help you atone for what you've done and turn you into a productive member of society once again. I will tell you though... It's not easy. Current success rate is three percent."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Everyone that fails or pleads to get out continue on with the sentence that they were dealt originally. Anyone who passes and makes it through it set free. It's your choice, and you'd better make it now. Clocks ticking."
If I survive the one day, I get out and restart my life. If I don't, I just serve the sentence I was given to begin with. I had nothing to lose.
I was whisked away from the interrogation room and put in to a black car. The ride took all of thirty minutes to its destination. I felt nothing in the meantime except how sore my hands were in the handcuffs.
The car parked, the door opened and I was none-too-gently taken out of the car. Looking around I realized that this was the local university I had been taken to. Myself and the two officers walked into the science building, taking the elevator down to the basement. The officers lead me to a room with a single door, knelt me down in the middle of it, and took off my handcuffs. Before I could even get my bearings to ask what was going to happen next I was plunged into darkness. The officers had left and shut the door behind them. I could hear a dull thud of deadbolts being locked. And then nothing.
It was relatively dark in the room. There was an odd sort of ambient light permeating the room, but no tangible light source that I could find. I could just barely make out that the room was about ten feet square, with a dome-shaped object in the middle of it. With nothing more to do I went to investigate.
Walking towards it I noticed that the floor I was stepping on was extremely soft. Softer than a shag carpet. It also felt sort of... *wet*.
I stopped before the dome object, and as my eyes adjust to the light I could make out that it was a helmet of some sort. I crouched down to pick it up and as I did so I realized just how quiet this room really was. I heard the creaking of my knees as I crouched. One knee popped and it sounded like a firecracker. I started to hear my blood pumping through my arteries and veins. It was utterly surreal and made the hair on my arms stand on end. I heard that happen too.
You could almost describe it as a deafening silence. If you were to drop a pin in this place it would sound akin to a gunshot, it was so quiet. Then the silence was broken. A voice came over some hidden speaker, the shrillness of the voice seemingly tearing my eardrums asunder.
"Put on the helmet, lay down and we can begin."
I did as I was told, the loudness of the instructions almost guiding my actions subconsciously.
The floor was becoming more wet. The room was filling with water. It came up past my shoulders, and I started to float. The water was comfortably warm and I felt safe.
"This is not going to be comfortable for you. See you in twenty-four hours."
Again the voice came through the speaker, as loud and shrill as the first time, disturbing whatever comfort that was afforded to me. The helmet clicked and started to hum. The sound of electricity.
It started slowly. My fingers started to tingle. It continued up my arms and eventually washed over me. I lost the sense of where my limbs were. I couldn't move. I don't think I even tried.
Then the pain started. I couldn't tell you where it started, but there didn't seem to be one single point. It felt as though my very DNA was being unraveled. Being torn apart. I was being slowly ripped apart molecule by molecule. I screamed. My nails were coming apart, my skin becoming like a string of a poorly-made sweater. Someone was pulling the other end of that string, forcefully tearing my skin away from muscle.
I felt every single fiber of my muscles being exposed to oxygen. My nerve endings burned as though I had been dropped into a vat of molten iron. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything but experience it.
Next came my bones. I couldn't see it, but I could tell they were disintegrating. The pain was indescribable. You could ask me a thousand times to try and put it into words, but there are none.
Another click. The buzzing stopped. I was sweating. I could hear my breath, ragged as I regained my bearings. I moved. I felt my fingers. I moved my legs. I was still whole. I wept openly.
But then it started again. I was torn apart again and again. I was only given brief moments of respite in-between sessions. Just long enough to make sure my body was still there. My mind certainly wasn't. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I couldn't blank it out. I was aware and awake throughout the entire process.
"You've reached the halfway point, congratulations."
The words echoed in my mind. They barely registered. Directly above me on the roof I could see images. Images of those I murdered. They flashed rapidly by, forcing me to experience them from a third-person perspective. It was as though they were able to extract my memories and play them back for me.
I watched my memories sift by over and over, reliving the moment. I felt every blow again. I tried to stop myself so many times. But it kept going. I kept going.
By the end of it I felt numb. I was made to realize how much of a monster I was. I was barely even human. My mind broke down, falling to pieces. Every piece of what made me me was taken away and my being was made into a shapeless ball of clay.
There was pain again as I was rebuilt, a reverse of the experience I had before. Bones, then muscles, then skin. I could feel my mind being reshaped. There was no *me* anymore. I still had all of my memories, I still knew my name, who I was to others. But I was fundamentally changed. You could almost say *reformed*.
It is said that over a lifetime sentence in prison people go through a similar process. They review what they had done. They experience fear, regret and guilt. It's a slow process that takes around twenty years and even then they don't feel as though they have atoned for their actions.
I did. I did my entire twenty years and more in those twenty-four hours.
The room drained. I took the helmet off and got to my feet. The single door to the room opened and the shrill voice came one last time.
"Thank you for attending our reformation program, have a nice day." | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The idea of shortening my sentence to just one day was very appealing. I grew up in the ghetto, watched friends get murdered, stabbed, raped, you name it. What was the worst they could throw at me? Spending years in a cell for what I did wouldn't solve anything. People on the outside needed me.
After I had my first child, my outlook changed. Living in the moment wasn't for me anymore. She was my life. I lived and breathed for that little thing. Every waking moment was devoted to her. My second came along and reaffirmed my feelings. He was just as beautiful as his sister. A perfect little being, brought into existence by my wife and I.
My wife worked her ass off everyday for our family. I worked for various temp agencies, labor offices, whatever would take me. Things went downhill fast when my wife's hours were cut and I wasn't able to find any work to help out. I started dealing again to make ends meet. Eventually credit cards were maxed out and savings had run dry.
Where do they keep the money? The banks.
The first robbery went off without a hitch. It was ten miles from my house and I was out within thirty seconds. Four thousand dollars in cash. Enough to pay rent, outstanding bills, insurance and a dinner out. With a family of four, four thousand dollars goes fast.
The second robbery didn't go as planned. One teller tried to be the hero and hit the silent alarm button. Locking the main doors and trapping me. Security guard pulled a gun, he went down without hesitation. Random guy in the bank with a CCP pulled his piece on me, he went the same route as the security guard. I regret everything that day. Police were there in two minutes. I was done.
My public defender said that the "expedited" route had a good outcome. Only a 24 hour sentence. Most criminals come out just fine. Well, fine once they get some medication for whatever they do to you in there. Again, what's the worst they could do to me? As long as I make it out to my family, that's all that matters. I was told I would be sedated for most of it, not a problem whatsoever.
The room was next to the one they use for lethal injections, almost identical. A small group of people would stand in an adjacent room, watching. They strapped me down and hooked me up. A machine to monitor my vitals, and another stand with the concoction of drugs that would be my sentence. I watched the liquids slide down the tubes into my veins.
The drugs started taking effect immediately. Warmth radiated through my body, felt like the heroin I had sold long ago. The door to the room opened and a man with a headset in his hands entered. He walked over to me and placed it on my head, a small screen lowering itself over my eyes. My hearing went, motor skills left and last was my vision.
I woke. I was on the porch in the back of my small house. I fumbled for my keys, finding just one in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it into the deadbolt. Releasing the lock I saw my hands. There were scars I wasn't familiar with and my skin tone seemed lighter than my own. Never mind that, I was home. The knob twisted and the door opened. I could hear my wife still up, watching something on TV and the kids were probably already put to bed. The door shut behind me, latching loudly. The TV went mute and I could hear my wife's footsteps coming down the hallway. She will be so happy that I'm home and in one piece.
The lights to the kitchen switched on and she stood there, looking at me for just one second. She screamed and I charged at her. My right hand plunged a knife into her upper chest, causing her scream to become more of a gurgle. I didn't stop until both her and I were covered in blood and she was motionless on the floor. I continued down the hallway until I came to my daughter's door, there was nothing I could do, my worst fears had come true. | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "What the fuck man...get that shit away from eye!" Mr. Williams had selected the one night stay. Not many do, one night isn't that long but a life time is well...a life time. Spread eagle on the table the 7-inch needle slowly but steadily pierced his eye. He screamed in pain as it went deeper. "Just a few more minutes Mr. Williams and you're done. You're a big boy." said the head nurse. It seemed like an hour but 5 minutes later the machine reversed course and the needle came to rest a few feet above his head. The nurse walked in and unstrapped him. "Is that it? Am I done?" Mr. Williams laughed with the same sincerity as he had screamed a few minutes earlier. "That's fucking it...5 minutes of that for a lifetime of freedom. I'll take it! When can I leave?" The nurse glanced down at her watch and said "You'll need to remain here for another 15 hours or so. When the doors open, make your way down the hallway, take a left and you're free Mr. Williams. You've already been processed." 3 days later the nurse heard a loud knock at the front door. That's strange she thought to herself, she wasn't expecting her replacement for another 3 hours. She turned on the monitor and saw Mr. Williams banging loudly and violently. Clicking the talk button she said "Mr. Williams can I help you?" "Take it out...get this shit out of me right now...I can't take it. I can't sleep or eat...I'm overcome with all sorts of emotions at all hours of the day. I can't function. I have thoughts of suicide...I can't have sex. I can't do anything. I'm in constant, conflicting and confusing grief all fucking day. I'll do my time, just make this stop." What Mr. Williams thought was eye torture was actually the highest penal sentence known to man, called Whole Victim Emulation. The chemicals that had been injected into his eye would mimic the emotions of the family and loved ones of the woman he had so violently murdered. He would not only feel but experience their collective grief forever. The pain, anguish, longing, restlessnes, fear and anger would be with him for a life time. His new life time of freedom. | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Prisoner Liam Jones or number 000543 was led into the cell. He had tortured and murdered a little girl of 12. He had been sentenced to seven years. The whole town of Bakersfield had wanted him dead, but the system protected him and would let him off in less than a decade. Liam didn't accept his fate, he chose to taunt the town one last time. "I invoke the right of brevi" Everyone in the courtroom gasped and the mother of the victim started to cry. The judge asked:"how long will your brave sentence be?" Liam had triumphantly said: "one day".
And so here he was, led into the cell for his horrible torture. He had expected the torture to start right away, but the prison guard let him into a solitary cell, closed the door and left him alone.
The light in the cell shone on a plaque and Liam's curiosity got the better of him. He started reading:
You have chosen the shortened Brevi sentence. You may be surprised that there is no punishment. It is just one night in a cell. Tomorrow you will be let out of prison.
What will happen to you when you are let out? Will people accept that you have done your time and atoned for your crime? Or will people be ready to capture you, torture you until you die? Of course they might be righteous citizens, they do not want to break the law, killing and torturing means a long jail sentence. Unless they chose to invoke the right of Brevi and really who could blame them?
| I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "You said an hour"
"That is correct, you could be a free man in just 60 minutes" a synthetic voice chirped.
"It's been way longer than that, why am I still fucking here?"
"You haven't performed the correct sequence of motions yet" replied the machine.
"Sequence of what?"
"Sequence 4952364758643568652110 consists of a series of random motions and vocalisations designed to take one hour to perform, you will be informed when you correctly perform the next step in the sequence. Please proceed with the sequence"
"Fuck that, I changed my mind, put me back in my cell"
"That is not the first step of the sequence" | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | The gavel still ringing in my ears, the cold sweat poring out of every gland my body had, and the sudden realization "I chose the 24 hour stay" had all sent me into sensory overload. As I was ushered out of the court room I heard the bailiff mutter something to the effect of "I would've at least taken a week". As I walked, cuffed and shackled, down the hallways of the courthouse and into the detention center in back I felt real fear. The guys who choose the "shortest allowable time by law" got it the worst, and those who tried either couldn't stand it or went insane in the process of completion of the punishment. The hardest guys in the back kept muttering "I'll pray for you", every step I got closer and closer to the back door. The door was a large, very imposing, cast iron, rusted door with six large hinges and four large bolts at the top and bottom of the door. As the bailiff opened the heavy door the hinges let out a loud moan and creak from the lack of use. When he opened the door I could see a dimly lit room with a shovel and a soft dirt floor. The bailiff turned and grimly looked at me and said, "You dig until I say stop, you must dig a 6ft deep hole by 4ft long by 4ft wide." I started to dig the hole, the work seemed easy and I thought to myself "If this is it what's the big deal? It's just a hole." I finished up in a couple hours, easy. The bailiff looked at me and said, were not done yet. He brought in a 4ft by 4ft crate and put it in the bottom of the hole, the lid had a hole large enough to fit a pipe. The bailiff told me "Get in the box, I'll close it on top of you. Once it's closed we will begin your time." Startled and fairly nervous, I got inside the crate. The bailiff closed the lid in on top of me and put a tube inside the hole in the lid. What I had feared began to come true, the bailiff was going to bury me alive in an extremely tight box. I could hear him pick up the shovel and "thunk" the first spade full of dirt was tossed in on top of me. "Thunk" every few seconds "thunk". The tiny streams of light soon faded as the crate was buried. With every shovel full, the crate began to groan and creak from the weight of the dirt. It began to get more and more difficult to breath. The "thunks" began to fade and all I was left with was the sound of my own breathing. The tube started to vibrate and I could feel water. The water started to fill the crate, and slowly subsided. The water was up to my face, it began to get hard to breathe. I started hearing my own thoughts, my mind was forced to accept that I might die. Mind racing, thoughts screaming, and body trembling I started second guessing my reason for choosing this Hell. I started wondering "how in the hell did I get so messed up to be in this position." Time slipped by without any reference as if time itself had died. Every second felt like a day, every minute felt like a decade. Between the amplified sound of my heart beating in the water and the screams of all of my fears in my head, I could feel that I was loosing my grip on my own sanity. After what felt like an eternity I started to hear whispers, as if someone else was in this crate with me. My eyes strained to focus on anything as the whispers began to grow louder. The whispers continued, the rhythmic beat of my heart grew louder, and my mental screams turned into shrill shrieks. After an eternity in what seemed to be a progressively new hell I could hear a "thunk". I could hear a shallow, rhythmic, "thunk" the same "thunk" from the shovel. It was over, my sentence was over. It took the bailiff 45 minutes to dig me free. I had lasted 24 hours, and I was free. | I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I hadn’t expected it to be a woman. At least, not this type of woman. An ugly, butch, Nurse Ratchett type maybe. But the woman behind the raised desk in front of me was young, pleasant, and very pretty. She looked like a cross between a top-flight secretary and a nurse; all business-like and efficient with her clipboard and pen, but with a dose of compassion and understanding that made you trust her. Definitely not what I was expecting to find in this place.
The room was mostly bare, just the raised desk with the young woman behind it. Various corridors led off the room, presumably towards the cells. Security guards leaned casually against the walls, ready for any trouble but not expecting it. That had been made clear to me: any trouble or disobedience and the One Day Program is cancelled. You go back into general population and rot for 40 years. If you even live a fraction of that long…..
“Please step forward, sir”, the woman said with a polite smile. “Just some paperwork to go through before you’re led to your cell”.
I shuffled forward.
“Now then…your name?”
“James Smith”
“Sentence?”
“40 years”
“Charge?”
I swallowed nervously “Indecent assault and accidental killing of a minor. 5 counts”
Her mouth tightened “You raped and murdered 5 children? I see.”
Something about her made me want her to understand. “It’s an illness! An addiction! Like…like an alcoholic! I…”
She shook her head. “We have no interest in motives or reasons here. This place is purely about the Program. Now, I want to make this perfectly clear. You have condensed a 40 year sentence, so the One Day Program will not be a pleasant experience for you. I hope you understand”
I nodded stoically. I had no illusions as to what happened to my kind in prison. Bashing, mutilation, gang rape, torture, obscene tattoos….whatever it was, just get it all over in one terrible night, rather than looking over my shoulder for 40 years wondering when it will come.
She looked so kind and understanding, I couldn’t help but blurt out “What…what’s going to happen to me?”
“For the One Day Program, you will be placed in solitary confinement cell, about ten feet by six feet, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a litre of water to sustain you for 24 hours”.
“Okay…then what?”
“Then nothing. 24 hours later, you’re free to go”.
I was confused. A day in ‘The Hole’ on bread and water? Surely there was more to it than that? Or was this just part of the game, to get my hopes up before crushing them?
“And that’s all?”, I persisted, “the Hole on bread and water?”.
“You will meet someone first. Then, yes, just you and the cell for 24 hours”.
Meet someone? Okay, I thought, there it is. The person I’d be ‘meeting’ would be a 7-foot bruiser horse-rapist. Or maybe some sadistic doctor who will inject me with God-knows-what. The torture had started already, getting me to dare hope….
She must have sensed my thoughts, because she said easily “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. This person will be restrained and will not be able to lay a finger on you. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to say thank you to you.”
Now I was even more confused, but I had no time to ask further questions.
“We need to finish the paperwork, Mr Smith. Date of Birth?”
“1st May, 1978”
“Address?”
“Unit 1, 55 High Street”
She looked up, “55 High Street? They’re the new apartments near the river, right?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“I drive past there every day”, she added conversationally, “Is your place the one on the bottom floor, with the roses in the window?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Nice place. Now…marital status?”
“Married”
“Children?”
“Yes, three. Aged 10, 8 and 6”
She looked up again, “School age? I guess it must be tough for them at school, after what you did”
I nodded slowly. One thing I never wanted to do was hurt my family. Even when I did those….things…to the other kids, I never laid a finger on my own. I choked up a little as I replied “They’ve been home with my wife since….since I was arrested. She’s home from work too.”
“So they stay home all day?”
“Yes…it seemed better to keep out of sight through the trial and….and everything else”
“Sounds tough work, looking after three kids”
“My sister is there helping her.”
“I see. Now, we need an emergency contact who is not your spouse. Parents, perhaps?”
“My father is dead. My mother has also been at my house helping out.”
“That’s fine. Okay, well that’s the formalities done. All you will need to do now is meet Charles, and then we will take you to your cell”. She pushed a button and the main door behind me opened.
The man named Charles walked in slowly, flanked by 4 guards. He was tall and weedy, not physically imposing at all, but he had the most empty eyes and sadistic face I had ever seen. A true psychopath. The woman walked out from behind the desk and stood between us.
“Mr Smith, this is Charles. You could say that Charles is a more extreme version of you. 30 counts of murder, rape, and torture, including children. He killed his victims by burning them alive. Before he did that, he brutally raped them multiple times. Before he did that, he cut their eyes out and mutilated their genitals. No chance of the One Day Program for Charles here, he was placed in general population with 30 consecutive life sentences.”
Charles said nothing, but his face broke into a sick grin.
“Anyway, Charles here wants to thank you.” She turned to him and spoke as to a toddler “Say thank you to Mr Smith, Charles”
The sick grin broadened. “Thank you Mr Smith. You don’t know how grateful I am”
A trace of fear crept into my confusion “I don’t understand?”, I said to the woman, “I don’t know this man, I’ve never met him in my life. Why is he thanking me?”
The woman laughed, “Oh it’s very simple really. The confinement doesn’t bother Charles much, but the thought of never being able to rape and brutalise again was driving him insane. But now, we are setting him free today. And it’s all thanks to you!”
She tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Charles.
“55 High Street, bottom floor, roses in the window. Mr Smith’s wife, kids, sister, and mother. They are home all day, no brother, no father. Do your worst”
She turned to me, her face now hard and cruel. “You can go to your cell now, Mr Smith.”
| I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I never thought it would come to this. It was a bloody scene I found myself in. Limbs and entrails covering the floor. Hanging over the women who I had just butchered, I was caught red handed, in the act of dismembering my latest victim. The cops took me down to their downtown headquarters where I would spend the night, the next time I would awake it would be to the trial.
The trial was quick to be expected. I was caught red handed with many witnesses. Couldn't be a more clear cut case even if I had turned myself in. 27 lives I had taken, and now it was catching up to me. I found myself thinking *Was it worth it? The feeling that I got from taking those lives. From extinguishing those flames of life? It was.* You can never replace that feeling. What a life that was. An accountant by day and a killer by night.
After the trial came the choosing ceremony. The sentencing room was a big square in the middle of the Justice building. It was painted all white with no furniture and had a stand in the middle where the convicts could choose their prison sentence. Right now, it was filled to the brim with criminals convicted of horrible crimes. The convicted (myself included of course) could choose how long the sentence is. However, the shorter the sentence, the worse the conditions. I've heard that even reducing your sentence by one year could be hell. *How must a one night stay feel* I thought. Didn't have much time to think before I heard."John Reed may now come up and choose his sentence " from the loudspeaker.
I walked up slowly to the stand. Not that it would make a difference in the long run. I simply wanted to delay my fate as long as I could. There was a computer on the stand where you could deduct time from the sentence that was on the screen. My sentence: Life in Prison. *Great* I thought *I'm either going to spend my whole life in prison, Or half my life in agony*. I weighed my options. *If I reduce my sentence to only 45 years, what will those 45 years be like? How horrible will my life be?*. These were not questions I could hope to answer, or even want the answer to. *What about a one day sentence* I ventured. This was a horrible, horrible idea I knew, but the thought of me getting out in one day, going back to dismembering people. It was a happy thought. Thinking of my one day in prison however, brought me to a much darker place. *If I do go through with this, will I even come out sane?*. That was the major question looming in my mind. I had to come out in one piece, so as to continue my calling in life.
I entered in the sentence swiftly so as to not change my mind. The screen read "Prison sentence: One day". I pressed enter, and just as soon was directed to leave the room. As I walked out of the door, I was approached by what I assumed to be my escort to my prison cell. The man looked rather normal, black suit, about 5 foot 7, nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. "John Reed I presume?" he said as he walked up to me. "Yeah.” We took a few steps before I asked “Where am I going to be staying" nervously.
"Don't worry" he said reassuringly "You won't have to go far. The room you will be staying in is under this building. Follow me please." I followed him to the elevator that was at the end of the hallway. We got in the elevator. It smelled like a medical facility or a lab.
The trip down to my cell wasn't long. I tried not to think about my fate for the next 24 hour, but I was truly terrified of what would come. "This way please" Brown Suit said as we exited the elevator. I followed him to a dark room, will a single chair. "Sit please" Brown Suit told me. I complied and he turned to exit the room.
Suddenly the chair came alive. Steel cords whipped out and restrained me, holding me to the chair. As this was happening, the room filled with some sort of putrid liquid. I couldn’t see anything. *It’s too dark in here. What is that shit?*. I didn’t have time to worry about what the liquid was, as the steel cords from the chair started to bite into my skin and draw blood. *How the fuck do I get these off?* I thought frantically. *Will I die in here?*. No. They couldn’t just kill me. S they? Maybe they only let you choose your sentence so they can kill off those dumb enough to bring their time too low. After all, even though the death penalty had been outlawed a long time ago, many still thought it should be reserved for the worst of the worst. Someone like me probably.
Although I would love to ponder how much of an objectively awful person I am, other things currently held my attention. I felt the viscous liquid start to make its way up my legs. First my toes, then up to my ankles. *Acid. Of course it’s fucking ACID.* The cuts on my feet started to burn. It felt mind numbingly hot, but cold at the same time. *My nerves are probably going to be destroyed after this* I thought. The acid continued up through my leg, searing off the hair from my leg. The pain was starting to get unbearable. The cuts all over my body from the wires just made it that much worse. *The acid seems to be stopping around my waist area* I thought. At this point my thoughts were barely coherent. The flesh on my legs was almost completely gone, leaving my bone and muscles showing. *I won’t make it out of this* I thought, *I need to…*.
When I woke up I was back on surface level. I could tell because I could see the sunset from my hospital bed. I tried to move but I was wearing restraints. Brown Suit entered the room and greeted me. “Looks like you are doing better”, with a worrying tone that almost sounded real, “I hate to bring this up now, but you can only serve a one day sentence if you are conscious. You passed out in 5 minutes. You have another 23 hours and 55 minutes left.” *Shit*
| I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
I begin to remember how I got here. I scream again. "help! please God help!"
The only result is the same horse rasp and raw pain in my throat.
I try to move my arms. I can feel them tied down. I try to wiggle free and I scream again from the pain in my fingers on my right hand. I remember him breaking each finger one at a time. Bending each finger as slow as he could until the snap of the bones.
I try to remember how long I've been here. All I can remember is pain. I remember him breaking my fingers. I remember him burning my toes with a blow torch. I remember passing out from the pain and waking up and him starting to burn them again. He burned them so long that I couldn't feel the pain after a time. He must have burnt away the nerves.
I begin to cry and the tears mix with the blood on my face. Then I realize why my forehead is bleeding. I remember him taking a knife and cutting a line on the very front of my scalp and pulling back the skin.
I scream again, and again just the rasp and pain.
I red light comes on and leaks in from under a door in front of me. The door slowly opens and I realize the light is red from being filtered through the blood in my eyes. The door slowly opens more and I can see the silhouette of a person.
I whisper for the person to please let me go. "Please stop. Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. Just please let me go" I plead.
The person walks in farther and I can tell it is a man. He's holding a bucket in one hand and a plastic bottle in the other. He looks me up and down and gives a me crooked grin. He sets the bucket and bottle down next my chair and pulls up a chair in front of me. He looks at my hand with concern and gently caresses my fingers.
He slowly picks up my fingers and lays them on the top of his palm. The pain is almost unbearable. He stares into my eyes with a look of sadness and then squeezes my fingers as tight as he can in his fist. I throw my head back in pain and let out a soundless scream and then everything goes black.
I slowly open my eyes and see the man squatted down in front of me. I start to cry and the tears stream down my face again. I feel him take my foot and place it in the plastic bucket. I see him open the bottle and pour the contents into the bucket with my foot. I try to move my foot or kick over the bucket, but he has it tied down.
I begin to feel a burning on my foot. The pain turns to searing. Soon it is unbearable. I'm screaming but nothing is coming out.
The man just sits in front of me with no reaction. Just a look of observation.
I tried to beg him to stop but I have no voice. I beg God to let me die. He doesn’t hear my pleas.
For the next hour I black out and wake back up over and over. Finally I black out again for a long period. I have no idea how long.
I wake up again and the man is standing there in front of me.
He says "I was wondering if I was going to have to wake you up."
He gives me a sympathetic smile and says "I hope you're up for some more fun because the last 24 hours have only been a warm up."
"I notice you have a lot of dried blood in your right eye. I've been thinking that it would be better just to remove your eye rather than having the blood bothering you." he say thoughtfully.
He walks over to a wooden bench and picks up a flathead screw driver and the blowtorch he used on my toes. He lights the blowtorch and begins to run it back and forth over the metal. I can smell the smoke from the wooden handle as the metal starts to turn red hot.
Once the metal is glowing bright orange he sits the torch down and grabs my head with his left and to hold it still as he slowing brings the screwdriver to my head. He slowly moves the hot metal to my eye. I can feel the heat it is so close.
Then, the door slams open and a group of men run in and yell "FREEZE! Don't move!"
One man tackles him to the ground. Another man comes up to me and says "It's okay, we've found you, you're going to be okay"
I don't hear him though. I'm screaming in near insanity from my last 24 hours.
---------------------
I receive a sharp slap to the face.
"Wake up" a man dressed in a nurses scrubs says.
I begin sobbing. I say through my tears "What's happening? I'm I safe? Did you guys arrest the man?"
The man that slapped me awake laughs and says "Oh yeah, we caught him. We caught you"
Confused I say "What? You caught me? The man, he was torturing me"
"No" the man says "You were torturing the girl. You have been reliving her memories while we replayed them through your head"
I noticed the wires attatched to my scalp and I slowly begin to remember what was happening. I had agreed to a 24 hour reconditioning so I could get out faster. They said they could take the memories from the girl and place them into my brain. I had agreed because I thought it would be all the sweeter to live it from her perspective.
I'm still crying. I shouldn't be crying. I've never cried about anything.
I ask "Why am I crying?"
The man gives me a grin and then starts to chuckle.
I realize I'm feeling afraid. I'm feeling terrified. What is happening to me?
I yell "NO! NO! This isn't right! You're ruining it. It isn't supposed to feel like this. You're perverting it!"
The man gives a huge satisfied grin and says "Sorry fella, you're feeling it the way she felt it, and by the time we are done it will be the most real thing you have ever felt."
"These memories we're putting in your head will be the clearest thing you'll ever remember. For the rest of your life you'll be able to recall every smell, every sound and every pain sensation as though it just happened seconds ago" he informs me.
Through my tears I sigh and say "At least it's over. That had to be 24 hours of memories. My 24 hours are up. Get me the fuck out of this thing!"
The man begins to laugh. Mildly at first then a full belly laugh. He actually wipes a tear away from his face.
"You're right. That was 24 hours of memories." he says
"Fun fact for you. It took us 2 minutes to run that simulation through your head. The only reason you're not reliving it right now is because we needed to wake you up and make sure the process was working"
"So minus the time it took to run that simulation, and the time we've been talking, I calculate you get to relive that 734 times in the next 24 hours" he says with a huge smile on his face.
I scream "Stop! Stop! I change my mind! I'll serve out my entire sentence!"
"Please" I beg "Please don't make me do this anymore.”
The nurse looks at me with the same smile and says "Paper work has been signed. You don't get to change your mind now. “
“Now. Enjoy the memories"
Before I can say anything else he walks over to a computer screen, clicks some icons and everything goes black.
---------------------
I open my eyes, but it is pitch black and I can't see a thing.
I feel something wet dripping down my forehead into my right eye and down into my mouth. I can tell by the metallic taste that it is my blood. Pain explodes through my head with each beat of my heart.
I try to speak and only a harsh rasp escapes my throat. My throat is so sore and raw. Have I been screaming? Where am I? What is..... Oh Jesus. Oh God.
| I decided to take the shortcut. I figured nothing is more valuable than time, and there can be no punishment greater than a wasted life.
One night? I could survive anything. I lived under a tyrannical government once. I escaped and survived in the cold Canadian wilderness after that. All I had on me was a hatchet.
Still to prove my point, I survived a crazy ex girlfriend. I was prepared for anything.
So I thought.
The guards led me to a soundproof windowless room. They didn't utter a word. They opened the door and there was one wooden chair in the center.
What the hell? I thought. I was nervous, but mostly curious at this point. I walked in.
The door shut behind me and the everything went black. I felt my way to the chair and sat down. Then, I waited. Thinking about what was coming next. No lights? No sound? I read about experiments where people went crazy and hallucinated in such conditions. That wouldn't be a problem for me; I hid in a spare truck tire for two days escaping from my old country.
Just as I was thinking this, a sound plays. Like the sound when someone presses play on a tape but the music hasn't kicked in yet.
Then it starts. The music....the words...and never in my mind had I imagined this!! I thought the world had moved on from this type of torture!!!! I screamed and thrashed all night long. I broke the chair, scraped the splintered wood against my skin as an attempt to distract myself from it! But I couldnt. There was nothing to see, and I couldn't even hear myself screaming. All I could hear were those words...over and over again. Over and fucking over again! AGAIN and AGAIN!
I STILL HEAR IT! EVERYWHERE I GO! IT WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
Those same words, like drills in my ears, constantly, unceasing....
"Baby, baby, baby, Oh!" |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | (I am taking a very different take on it as IMHO prison's goal is rehabilitation, not revenge)
You know this would happen, but what can you do? You did what you had to do because you could. And now you reap the consequences. Had to happen sooner or later and in your case, it happened later. The prison is one of these new buildings, federal money and regional construction companies who just happen to belong to the brother of the major. A place built on crime: corruption, nepotism, probably election fraud (at least you know no one who voted for the CSU, nevermind repeatedly). A fitting place for a criminal, which the state decided you are. As the police car, the catlle transporter (pigs in front, poor dogs in the back), reaches the prison gate, you realize that the place looks more like a school than like a prison. You had binged on *Ami* prison shows to steel yourself for the worst when you were still free. This looks more like a school: big windows, happy colors, happy little trees. Even a structure to climb on. But no one outside to play there. You are led by your handcuffs into a small door on the left side of the building.
The inside looks like the cube of your contact person at the unemployment office to you: Desk, computer, forms, pens, stamps. Bureaucrats in their short-haired, standard-faced, suit-wearing glory. "You know why you are here," one of the bureaucrats said, "however, you did not know so far that there is a way to shorten your sentence. This will just get more ... uncomfortable for you."
That is new to you and smells like a trap: "What is the earliest you can let me out?"
"Tomorrow," the bureaucrat smiled like a funeral director on a day with great business.
"Whom do I need to betray for that?" you ask suspiciously.
"We do not want you to betray anyone. We want you to gain new ethical insights from the stay here. If we can convey these things quicker, you are out faster, and we can save money. We can also tailor your experiences better to your needs."
You let out a short guffaw at that last thing. You used to be great at getting things into prisons which the wardens don't want there: knifes, drugs, booze, fags, pr0n and peanut-containing treats. "So? Why doesn't everyone do this?" you ask.
"Comfort is a powerful thing. You could of course sleep on the floor, but a bed and a blanket is much more pleasant. Metaphorically speaking the shorter version is the equivalent of sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. The longer version equals sleeping in a warm bed, with blankets, down pillows and a pink snuggie."
You turn beet red. No one was supposed to know that you do just that. "I take the shorter route. I have places to be tomorrow."
"Very well. We just need a bit of information and we can commence the procedure."
You answer their questions and someone shaves your hair completely off. You let it happen without protest. If they get off on that an let you out earlier, so be it. Eventually, they lead you to a small room, barely enough to stretch out your arms, with black, padded walls. In the middle a chair which looked like an electric chair in that it had restraints for arms and legs and a weird metal head covering. You gulp. One of the bureaucrats hears this: "It won't kill you. It will stimulate your brain, not fry it."
You feel unsteady: "If you say so." You realize that this has become much more out of your control than you liked but you have to grin and bear it.
You sit down in the chair and the bureaucrats fix your arms and legs in place. Then they fix that weird brain thing to you. It feels cold and hard. Then they wordlessly leave you and close as well as lock the door. You realize how eerily quiet it is in here. Then the light turns off. You just wait. You can wait in the dark. There were enough times when you had to listen for a signal, listen for a .... bell? Do you hear a tiny bell? A quiet, high-pitched sound reminding of a sleigh approaching. Like on... Christmas in 2023? When your younger sister, Lena, was still around? And when it snowed on Christmas Eve and you ran through the snow with sleighbells, trying to catch Santa in an elaborate scheme. When you were young and innocent. Before they killed her. You feel anger rising again. You shouldn't because these people from the rivalling gang died by your hand, but you still cannot stop the anger you feel in that moment. Your hands cleench to fists. Your heart rate quickens. Your breath goes faster. You struggle against the restraints. You scream. No one can probably hear you. The room looked as if it hadvery good noise insolation. Eventually, your anger dies down, you don't know whether it was an eternity or fifteen seconds later. Does the room light up? Is there actual light in here or is this just an illusion as well? You scantly make something out. A roadsign towards an unpronouncable Welsh town. You realize that this thing knows where to prod to hurt you. You cry - also for the times you had to keep up appearances, not be considered weak, not be considered a fag. You start to see more and more mental shortcuts of things which make you angry, or sad, or jealous. but strangely enough, you don't rage, you allowed yourself to feel your emotions and then moved away from it. Then you slip into a calmness and quietness where nothing perturbs you. You feel like falling asleep. Your mind idly conjures pictures which are not bad. Fragments. houses, shoes, a tree which has other trees growing on him as if they were fruit, a book with eyes, a baseball bat. "OUCH!" you scream as the worst pain you experienced in a long time jolts you awake. Other mental images also cause you pain, images related to violence, to drugs, to your criminal companions, to smuggling, to the organization you worked for.It all hurts so much. Not in a particular place of your body but everywhere at once. Even between your toes. Even between your legs. Other more neutral images make the pain go away, but as soon as another bad image arrives, the pain starts again. You no longer want this.Your eyes tear but yousee the images clearly through the tears, even closing your eyes does not make them go away. It is too much, too much, too much!
The images stop and for a while, all you have is the blissful dark. Then you hear another noise. A key. Your retinas are flooded with light. You see bureacrats, wardens and feel the restraints being loosened and then removed. "You are free to go!" one of them says. You nod, slowly. Your legs can still carry you. You were not sure about that. the time in this room felt like an eternity. You follow the group and the exit formailties happen. Afterwards, you can leave. one of the people offers to hire you a cab and you gladly accept. Walking in the crisp air of a winter's day feels marvellous after the nightmare you were in. A good night's sleep will as well. Just as you are almost out of the prison, you consciously notice the holsters of the wardens. You realize that there are guns in these and the thought of being that close to a gun gives you panic. In that moment, you clearly realize that you will never hold a gun anymore, the thought of it makes you want to vomit. Your old life is only one day away but incredibly far. | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | "Good evening, Mister Lane."
The woman standing in front of Gregory Lane was surprisingly beautiful for a jail warden. His first assumption was that there would be something wrong with her in the head...but so far, nothing. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, curious.
"I understand you have chosen to reduce your life sentence to a day in prison. Is this correct?" He nodded, and she smiled. "You've probably heard that this is the most horrible sentence reduction available to anyone with a life sentence. I am here to tell you that those people are wrong."
*...Wrong?*
She continued. "This prison thrives on a firm policy of rehabilitation, not punishment. At another facility you would be suffering terribly -- but that is not how I do things." Lane was suspicious, as he rightfully ought to be. *This must be some kind of trick.* He voiced his concerns, and she laughed softly. "No, really, Mister Lane, we don't punish criminals here, however bad the crimes they are convicted for. Haven't you suffered enough waiting for your trial to end? Waiting, waiting, all they want anyone to do is wait. I never liked those methods -- I became a warden to effect change."
This had to be a joke. What were they going to do? *Just start it already.* "Ma'am, I'm having trouble understanding this. I'm not going to be tortured? Or drugged? Or anything? How do you plan to rehabilitate me?"
The guards turned and left. The warden remained, but she was silent, only staring at Lane with half-lidded eyes, a smile on her face. He slowly began to realize that she was staring at him in *that* way...
The guards stationed outside could hear nothing through the soundproofed walls, but they knew that what was happening inside could be considered the epitome of earthly pleasures, "a taste of heaven." Two changes of the guard later, twenty-four hours had passed, and they were sent in to retrieve the man. As usual, he didn't want to leave, and they had to drag him, screaming, begging to return, out into the world of man, where he would perhaps never find anything so wonderful as he had found behind prison walls.
The law that allowed for one-day sentences had a caveat with regards to this prison -- one that the warden would certainly know, having negotiated for it herself. Gregory Lane, like the many others who had taken the one-day sentence, would have his criminal record hidden away. He would be allowed to live a normal life, no matter the severity of his crimes. The warden's system had never failed to work: looking for the quality of life he had gotten such a small taste of, Lane would find himself driven to an honest lifestyle, a career, perhaps a family, all to achieve the self-fulfillment that the warden had given him.
None of the guards knew exactly what went on behind closed doors, but whatever had happened inside, it had changed Lane, had changed the many before him, into common people, striving for that long-lost dream. | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | [WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay. | Fifteen years into a 90 year sentence there was nothing that could get me down. I had enough books to keep me happy for what seemed like decades. I had internet--albeit restricted-- once a month. My time in Max-sec had been relatively relaxed. When crime rates skyrocketed, that's when the trouble began. You see a lot in 15 years, but I had earned everything I owned. I kept to myself, and for the most part so did the others. I learned all too well it's not the murderers you have to worry about, it's the punks looking to make a name for themselves. Drug addicts with daddy issues.
I closed my book, the buzzing of the cell doors put my teeth on edge. I reached behind me, a gift for any visitors with a penchant for trouble.
"I'm Danny." The cheery face looked up to me. Bony features, almost bird like to an extent.
"Grandfather," I introduce myself with the archaic nickname. It was bestowed upon me after my ten year aniversary. "If you're looking to share your sob story about how you 'didn't do it' save your breath kid." I added turning back to my book. He couldn't be more than 20. He zipped his trap and climbed into the bunk above me. Gangly legs, all elbows and knees. I began to wonder if he might just tear through the mattress with boney limbs like that.
"Can I ask you a question?" The kid asked after a long pause.
"No."
"They offered me a deal." The kids went on, ignoring me. I hate being ignored. It would appear the kid was going to share his tale whether I liked it or not.
"And?" I took the bait.
"They said I could finish my sentence tonight, just one night." As the kid spoke his voice was jittery.
"How many years you got left?" I asked, damning my curiosity.
"Life." The boy said glumly. "I guess I don't have anything to lose really."
"It's none of my business kid. Life in here isn't so bad." I said awkwardly. I may have been in here a dime and a half, and I wasn't heartless but I wasn't his damn therapist.
Last call came, the lights flicked off. I turned over, my hand protectively wrapped around the book I could no longer see. For the benefit of my own state of mind I had stopped keeping track of the days and hours I would spend in this metal cage. I drifted off, my eyelids weary from a long day of minding my own business.
I awoke to whispers and shuffling of feet. My new cellmate stood at the bars looking out. It wasn't uncommon for newbies. Especially long timers. I turned over and lie awake. Fifteen years and still the idea of whatever the other inmates did to get time off their sentences still didn't seem worth it to me.
"Daniel Longsworth." A guard, Mark if I remember correctly, said gruffly. The door slid open, no buzzer. I whispered a quick prayer for his soul, I'd been a retired catholic for years, but Mother Mary have mercy on my soul I wasn't heartless.
Footsteps receded down the hall. I shifted in the dark, the door secured behind them. I grabbed the pillow, still warm from the kids bunk. He wouldn't be back before morning. I may not be heartless, but I'm not an idiot either.
Morning came and everything was like it was the day before. We wouldn't get another van of transfers until next Thursday. I could easily wait that long before being reassigned a bunkmate. The food was as usual tasteless and an oddly concerning texture. I had given up imagining better food years ago. I sat and shoveled. It went down best with chocolate milk, a small comfort some of us oldies were afforded. I saved it til the very end, the tasteless mash was less disapointing if you ate it quickly.
After our shortened rec time we all headed back to our cells for an emergency bunk toss. Some bastard was going to get it later, not from me, but it's best not to make enemies with people with nothing left to lose.
I stood by my bunk waiting to be padded down diligently by a guard as one by one they tossed my books and rifled through my things. It was the same old shit that had been going on since I walked through the loudly buzzing door.
"All clear!" The call was greeted with a sigh of relief. No shenanigans for this old man.
"Hey Grandpa!" The guard called out to me. I raised my eyebrows not saying a word, head down, mind your business style. "You've got a new roomie."
A scrawny boy stood in the doorway. "My name's Danny." The foggy face looked up to me. Angular features seemed almost bird like. He smiled and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
I crawled into my bunk and muttered shaking under my breath: "Twelve more hours." | It has been ten years to the day since I ended up in this place. Looking out the window, I see the same yard, with the same lone tree, surrounded by the same leaves in various stages of Fall decay. The walls are adorned with pictures of my family; three nieces, two nephews, one brother, one sister-in-law, my wife, and our two children. Time has a funny way of putting things into perspective, as having quiet time to myself used to be a luxury, and now silence and misery are my daily companions.
Today is the day known only as "The Choosing." Today is the day my fate will be decided. Not by a parole board, and not by a jury of my peers. Today my fate will be decided by me. There is a certain irony in that, since it is my choices that got me to this point, to this place. The options are straight forward; live out my life sentence in acceptable conditions, or embrace the unknown at a chance for freedom the following day. The choice seems an easy one, but the unknown is a scary thing.
The decision has been made. I will be a free man come tomorrow morning. I sit on the bed, attempting to get comfortable despite the firmness of the mattress. My mind races as I think about what might be coming, of what the unknown might bring. The cost of my freedom is unknown, and not knowing was slowly gnawing away at me. On the floor beside me is a small tray of food and a bottle of liquid, intended to serve as a celebration of my pending freedom. I open the bottle and take a whiff, my nostrils stinging. As the smell of scotch fills the air, I wonder what could be in store for me. Was the drink meant to subdue me, to manipulate me? As the voices in my head grow louder, I decide to risk it, and take a drink from the bottle.
Slowly the room dims as the light outside fades. It is hard to say how much time has passed, but based on the soreness of my backside and position of the sun in the window, it has only been a few hours. The bottle sitting next to me was half empty now, or half full, I sighed. Looking at the door, I realize there is a box on the floor that had not been prior. I must have blacked out, I thought. Getting off the bed I ramble over to the door, and rifle through the box. It is full of pictures of my family. My mind races as I think of the possibilities. Would they take my kids? Would they harm my family? Anything could happen. But at that moment, I was powerless, and could only wait. Returning to the bed, I take another drink. And then another. Darkness.
My eyes slowly open as they adjust to the light. It is morning now. As my mind catches up, I quickly remember that today is the day of my freedom. I leap off of the bed, and quickly regret the sudden movement as my head throbs from the scotch. Unsure of what to do, I head towards the door, which I find is unlocked. Opening the door, I head down a set of stairs, and enter a kitchen. On the counter is nothing save a pile of papers with a big red arrow on the bottom, pointing at signature line. I sign. The divorce is final. I am free. |
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