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Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | [WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered. | 1 day to learn to see in the dark.
50 years missing the sun and my friends.
50 years longing for warmth and forgiveness.
50 years learning about traditions and understanding my failure.
100 years learning everything about science to atone for my sins.
200 years to forget me.
300 years to use up all offerings.
500 years to learn the magic with no result to show for.
1000 years to unlearn to see, for it no longer served a purpose.
2000 years to stay perfectly still, to understand the dead.
3000 years to talk to the dead, to fight the silence, but it remained silent.
5000 years to command the dead, to fight the boredom. Even though Anubis listens to my will, nobody commands Bes.
An unknown amount of time served with no food, no light, no new knowledge, no emotion, no movement - no *purpose*.
But now, now something moved again. The seal on my prison has finally been lifted and I have a new purpose. Its time to fulfill the wishes of those that kept me company and did not forget me. Its time to go back out into the scorching sun and feel the burning sand shifting beneath our feet. Its time to search for our kin.
Ramses VIII shall not repeat their mistakes. **I** will not forget my purpose. | I cannot remember my name. I cannot remember my face. All I know are the lives of those I have selfishly stolen.
Long ago, after the last Ice Age, my existence was discovered. You see, I’m not from around here. Unfortunately, I cannot remember where I’m from or how I got here but the moment I do, I’m leaving. I cannot stay here any longer. Was I sent here on a mission? Was it yet another punishment? Some day I hope I can answer those questions. But this is not the time for that, you must be wondering what I’m doing here.
Believe me or not, most don’t, I can possess the minds of others. My body looks like it is resting peacefully but my mind is running wild in someone elses’ temple. Like a resting body, you can awaken me from my “slumber” and bring me back, but to do typically has dire consequences. I only allow you to live now because you are my final chance at escape. You see, there are limits to my power. If someone’s mind is too strong, I cannot make a full connection with them. If I release my attempts, my potential victim only feels a momentary out of body experience. If I continue to press my way in, it usually ends in death. That’s where this hell comes in. I was living my life as a nomad, traveling between continents and groups of humans. I found a larger, more established group. They seemed in such great harmony among each other and among nature. They produced more than they needed and gave away the excess to those in need. They were so genuinely happy. I wanted that for myself.
So I did what anyone in my position would do—I tried to take over the leader. To be the head of this group, to be so adored and unquestioningly followed… I could do so much! I could bring back the old technology that seemed like such a distant dream. I could move this group so far and so fast into the future that they would need something to hold themselves down. My plan was perfect! Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as planned. He was so strong, so different. He seemed more than human, which should have been my first hint to stop what I was doing and get as far away as possible. How brazen I was. How foolish. I had so much to learn.
I made my first attempt on the tenth night of watching the tribe. I waited until he was asleep. it’s usually much easier when they are unconscious; you can try to play the whole thing off as a strange dream… that may never end. My first attempt went so horribly wrong that I was paralyzed for two days. I’d never felt such strength before! It made me curious… made me hungry to know what this human actually was. I gave myself some time to recover. I disguised myself as a vagrant in need of food to try to get the trust of the tribe and learn their secrets. Of course, I don’t need to eat or I’d have been dead long ago, but they didn’t know that. My second warning came when the chief could not take his eyes off of me. Back then I was quite beautiful so my pride took it as a compliment. I got my strength back up and tried again, this time after he had been out hunting. Perhaps if he was tired he would be easier. I do not remember anything about that night, except that I woke up 50 feet from where I had been hiding. For one week the chief disappeared but no one seemed to notice or care, they knew he would come back when he was ready.
I remember the night of his return very clearly, but I had no idea it would change the course of my life so severely. When he returned, the chief was dirty, tired, and exhausted. He didn’t, however, bring back any food with him so he couldn’t have been hunting. I dared not try to possess him again that night but instead tried to use my charm and knowledge of your race to get information out of him. There was a large party in honor of his return. We smoked some substance and danced to our hearts’ content. Then I attempted to seduce him. He said we had to first smoke some ritual herbs before we could become one body. I woke up in this room in the same clothes I’d been wearing. I didn’t know how much time had passed but my body felt sore. From that small opening in the door I heard the chief’s voice asking whether I had slept well.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking around. I was sitting in this small, circular room made of stones. There were small windows all along it, making me believe there were no adjacent rooms except for whatever was through that door. I’m sure you can see now that it’s quite tarnished and overgrown, but it was actually quite beautiful in its simplicity. There used to be a bed made of hay but it has been gone for thousands of years.
“Where you belong,” he answered. “I don’t know what you are but you will not infect me or my people. You will stay here for 1,000 years to repent for trying to steal my body and soul. My descendants will release you only if they truly believe you have changed. If not, we shall try another 1,000.”
“1,000 years?? Surely you do not expect me to survive that long in here!” I desperately clung to the hope that he knew little about me.
“Yes! I have seen the real you. I have abilities neither you nor my people would understand. Do you not wonder why your attempts at sabotage failed so fantastically? I’ve known you were different since you first started spying on us… I could sense you,” he said with some contempt in his voice.
“So why let me stay? Why not banish me or try to kill me?”
“Is it not obvious? I wish to study you! How long have you been alive? Where are you from? What were your plans with my body and my people? I must have answers!!”
“I will answer them if you let me go. You can’t imprison me, I’ll go mad,” I plead.
“So be it. Someone will visit you every week to ensure you are still being punished. If you decide to talk, we’ll see if we can lighten your sentence.”
And with that, I never saw the chief again. True to his word, someone would visit me every week… then every month. I tried to take over them, to free at least my mind from this place, but I couldn’t even attempt it. It was as if my powers were gone. As if he had put some curse on me or this building or this room, I don’t know, but I was more trapped than I’d ever been in my life. I had little to do with myself, since there wasn’t any entertainment like you know today. Ah yes, I do know of your technology. It is still not nearly as advanced as I would have done back then, but you’re welcome for the bursts. Yes, that’s right! I am the reason you have any of your “modern conveniences,” as you foolish humans call them.
After maybe 200 years I stopped getting visitors. The ones leading up to then had no idea who I was or why they were seeing me. It was some tradition that the “short straw” had to deal with. I wasn’t needed. Yet still I could not possess my unwilling guests. I decided to try something new, something I’d never done before. I meditated and tried to see the whole world… all of the plants and creatures and everything on it. I don’t know how far I was able to see at the time, but it was enough. The tribes were growing rather quickly and trying to space out so they would not encroach on each others’ territories, but despite that I could fell them. The next tribe. Potential victims that I could not see but could feel. I succeeded on my first try. I became a child in one of the tribes. As you know, children are utterly useless so I watched everyone and chose the strongest hunter I could find. While he slept, I jumped from the child’s body to his. In the dead of night, I abandoned those people and left to travel the world.
Ever since then I’ve been traveling. I’ve been all over the world, I’ve had every job, I’ve been rich and poor, powerful and needy. I wanted to try every aspect of human life to try to understand them. I’ve learned to love, to hate, to sacrifice, to accept help, to want, to need, to steal, to envy. I have lived ten thousand lives. You’re probably wondering whether you’ve heard of me in your books, no? Like I said, the strong-minded are difficult to possess. I will not say who, but it is very easy to control the rich but easy-minded. Ever seen someone wealthy suddenly have a million dollar idea? Let’s just say they had a little help.
So that brings us to today. How did you find me? How did you get in? Through all my lifetimes I sought out this tower, this prison, this hell and I was unable to locate it. Did you know I would be here? Well say something! |
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | [WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered. | "what the fuck is *that*?"
Two young children stood in front of me, a hint of snow on their clothes, they were illuminating me with what seemed to be orbs of light floating above their heads. Their clothes didn't remind me of anything I've seen in the towns I visited before I was imprisoned a *second time*, and they didn't remind me either of the clothes the other prisoners wore. they were a combination of winter clothing and some other I couldn't put my finger on.
Not that I had fingers, oh but there was something I did recognize, something that I was *very* familiar with. a weapon, the shape was different but my instinct was telling that it was something that could hurt me. Now, why were these young children, covered in snow with orbs of light above their heads pointing a weapon at the mass of meat that is my person? here in this dark, damp, smelly and forgotten prison under the ground?
"...it's pulsating, is it alive?. Micah go poke it"
"Yes. how about no Emma?" the boy called Micah, the one with a bad mouth put down his weapon "let's take another cell, they won't find us her-"
The girl named Emma approached me. She did it so suddenly that it even startled *me*, she extended her weapon and started poking me on the sides, well what it looked like my sides, "look, it's definitely alive!" she giggles
"k-keep it down will you!" Said Micah approaching us and grabbing Emma's shoulder " and stop poking it, we don't even know what it is!...and it smells like shit get away from it before you catch the smell!"
*H-How rude...*
"You're right..." Emma looks down, a look of regret on her face, that is replaced instantly with a mischievous smile, Emma throws Micah and he falls to my left, his clothes now stained with my, *ahem* secretions. Emma covers her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter. Micah stares daggers at her, but that only made her laugh more, I couldn't help but think what a pretty laugh she had, it was so contagious that even Micah had a slight smile on his face, so contagious that even I-
My laughs echoes, I didn't even think I was capable of that in this form, I don't even remember the last time I used, I don't even remember if I had ever laughed. But it only lasts a second, silence returns to the prison once more as the two children stare at me, the boy with fear and hostility, a look that I was very used to and the girl, with curiosity. She walks to my side, ignoring the boy's warnings, takes off her gloves and starts touching me.
"is someone in there?" the girl's orb starts to orbit around me, looking around, illuminating every spot of my body, but it's no use, there is nothing they can- "these, spikes? no needles? they have some patterns in them, do they have something to do with what's happening to you now?"
I don't answer.
"I know you're there, please don't ignore me, I-" she stops for a second and looks at the boy "we are mages, we can help you!"
Mages? magic? it's a word I haven't heard in a very long time.
"Micah, help me take out this needles" the boy doesn't move "*Micah*"
"*Emma*, this. is. a prison" the boy crosses his arms "that thing is here for a reason, you can't just tell me to-"
"No, I'm pretty sure it-*she* isn't a criminal nor a monster"
How could she tell my gender?
"And how are you so sure about this? hm?"
"Feminine intuition," she said, flashing a smile at the boy and winking at him
"Em, I never wanted to shoot you so much like today..."
"No way~ you would never do that! you love me!" she lets out that beautiful laugh once again, and grabs one of the needles keeping me in this form, bringing forth a pain inside of me that didn't fit this carefree situation "let's get started shall we?"
***
"Congratulations, Em. you just killed it"
"N-no, I'm sure that even with all the screaming and shaking she did, a-and all the blood and pus that poured out of the holes, she must still be in there..." she kneels in front of me "why are you so silent...?"
I don't want to answer, she shouldn't have done that. there is a reason why I was imprisoned. the boy was right, I'm supposed to stay here forever, they thought that I wouldn't last a 200 years *or* 1000 in this form, but they were wrong I lasted *way* more than that, way more than even the country that imprisoned me lasted, trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth thanks to my powers and this curse, but now the curse is gone, it will only take a few seconds before my powers kick in and make the same mistake again, I have no control over them. The needles... I have to get them back, I have to take them away from Emma before-
Emma puts her hands together, muttering 'please', 'please' like she was...praying.
***
*"Are you truly a goddess?" said the young boy, hands together like he was praying, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes and red cheeks "if so, please bring my mother back!"*
*I smile at the young boy, the corpse of his mother laid on the altar, all I needed was a bit of my blood, just a small drop and a miracle would occur.*
*The woman awakens once more, bewildered, she looks at the boy and tears starts to fall on the ground. they hug for the first time in what felt like ages to the boy, calling each other's name. but eventually, they look up to me and start saying mine accompanied with words of thanks*
*"Giselle! thank you, Giselle!"*
*More of the people inside the temple start saying my name, some of them kneeling to me, some of them with their hands together, eyes closed and crying.*
*the word Giselle echoes inside my head,' this is the reason for my existence', I thought. 'I will save this world'*
***
"...who...are...you?" said the young girl, she had fallen on the ground and was looking at me, her mouth agape.
But, Micah had his weapon pointed at me, a small glint could be seen from the tip of it. I looked at my hands, a long time has passed since I felt and saw this white hands, my white hair and... my red eyes.
"Vampire!!"
***
***
Hope anyone liked it, please point out any typos if you feel nice today, and some tips would be appreciated too!
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/) | I cannot remember my name. I cannot remember my face. All I know are the lives of those I have selfishly stolen.
Long ago, after the last Ice Age, my existence was discovered. You see, I’m not from around here. Unfortunately, I cannot remember where I’m from or how I got here but the moment I do, I’m leaving. I cannot stay here any longer. Was I sent here on a mission? Was it yet another punishment? Some day I hope I can answer those questions. But this is not the time for that, you must be wondering what I’m doing here.
Believe me or not, most don’t, I can possess the minds of others. My body looks like it is resting peacefully but my mind is running wild in someone elses’ temple. Like a resting body, you can awaken me from my “slumber” and bring me back, but to do typically has dire consequences. I only allow you to live now because you are my final chance at escape. You see, there are limits to my power. If someone’s mind is too strong, I cannot make a full connection with them. If I release my attempts, my potential victim only feels a momentary out of body experience. If I continue to press my way in, it usually ends in death. That’s where this hell comes in. I was living my life as a nomad, traveling between continents and groups of humans. I found a larger, more established group. They seemed in such great harmony among each other and among nature. They produced more than they needed and gave away the excess to those in need. They were so genuinely happy. I wanted that for myself.
So I did what anyone in my position would do—I tried to take over the leader. To be the head of this group, to be so adored and unquestioningly followed… I could do so much! I could bring back the old technology that seemed like such a distant dream. I could move this group so far and so fast into the future that they would need something to hold themselves down. My plan was perfect! Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as planned. He was so strong, so different. He seemed more than human, which should have been my first hint to stop what I was doing and get as far away as possible. How brazen I was. How foolish. I had so much to learn.
I made my first attempt on the tenth night of watching the tribe. I waited until he was asleep. it’s usually much easier when they are unconscious; you can try to play the whole thing off as a strange dream… that may never end. My first attempt went so horribly wrong that I was paralyzed for two days. I’d never felt such strength before! It made me curious… made me hungry to know what this human actually was. I gave myself some time to recover. I disguised myself as a vagrant in need of food to try to get the trust of the tribe and learn their secrets. Of course, I don’t need to eat or I’d have been dead long ago, but they didn’t know that. My second warning came when the chief could not take his eyes off of me. Back then I was quite beautiful so my pride took it as a compliment. I got my strength back up and tried again, this time after he had been out hunting. Perhaps if he was tired he would be easier. I do not remember anything about that night, except that I woke up 50 feet from where I had been hiding. For one week the chief disappeared but no one seemed to notice or care, they knew he would come back when he was ready.
I remember the night of his return very clearly, but I had no idea it would change the course of my life so severely. When he returned, the chief was dirty, tired, and exhausted. He didn’t, however, bring back any food with him so he couldn’t have been hunting. I dared not try to possess him again that night but instead tried to use my charm and knowledge of your race to get information out of him. There was a large party in honor of his return. We smoked some substance and danced to our hearts’ content. Then I attempted to seduce him. He said we had to first smoke some ritual herbs before we could become one body. I woke up in this room in the same clothes I’d been wearing. I didn’t know how much time had passed but my body felt sore. From that small opening in the door I heard the chief’s voice asking whether I had slept well.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking around. I was sitting in this small, circular room made of stones. There were small windows all along it, making me believe there were no adjacent rooms except for whatever was through that door. I’m sure you can see now that it’s quite tarnished and overgrown, but it was actually quite beautiful in its simplicity. There used to be a bed made of hay but it has been gone for thousands of years.
“Where you belong,” he answered. “I don’t know what you are but you will not infect me or my people. You will stay here for 1,000 years to repent for trying to steal my body and soul. My descendants will release you only if they truly believe you have changed. If not, we shall try another 1,000.”
“1,000 years?? Surely you do not expect me to survive that long in here!” I desperately clung to the hope that he knew little about me.
“Yes! I have seen the real you. I have abilities neither you nor my people would understand. Do you not wonder why your attempts at sabotage failed so fantastically? I’ve known you were different since you first started spying on us… I could sense you,” he said with some contempt in his voice.
“So why let me stay? Why not banish me or try to kill me?”
“Is it not obvious? I wish to study you! How long have you been alive? Where are you from? What were your plans with my body and my people? I must have answers!!”
“I will answer them if you let me go. You can’t imprison me, I’ll go mad,” I plead.
“So be it. Someone will visit you every week to ensure you are still being punished. If you decide to talk, we’ll see if we can lighten your sentence.”
And with that, I never saw the chief again. True to his word, someone would visit me every week… then every month. I tried to take over them, to free at least my mind from this place, but I couldn’t even attempt it. It was as if my powers were gone. As if he had put some curse on me or this building or this room, I don’t know, but I was more trapped than I’d ever been in my life. I had little to do with myself, since there wasn’t any entertainment like you know today. Ah yes, I do know of your technology. It is still not nearly as advanced as I would have done back then, but you’re welcome for the bursts. Yes, that’s right! I am the reason you have any of your “modern conveniences,” as you foolish humans call them.
After maybe 200 years I stopped getting visitors. The ones leading up to then had no idea who I was or why they were seeing me. It was some tradition that the “short straw” had to deal with. I wasn’t needed. Yet still I could not possess my unwilling guests. I decided to try something new, something I’d never done before. I meditated and tried to see the whole world… all of the plants and creatures and everything on it. I don’t know how far I was able to see at the time, but it was enough. The tribes were growing rather quickly and trying to space out so they would not encroach on each others’ territories, but despite that I could fell them. The next tribe. Potential victims that I could not see but could feel. I succeeded on my first try. I became a child in one of the tribes. As you know, children are utterly useless so I watched everyone and chose the strongest hunter I could find. While he slept, I jumped from the child’s body to his. In the dead of night, I abandoned those people and left to travel the world.
Ever since then I’ve been traveling. I’ve been all over the world, I’ve had every job, I’ve been rich and poor, powerful and needy. I wanted to try every aspect of human life to try to understand them. I’ve learned to love, to hate, to sacrifice, to accept help, to want, to need, to steal, to envy. I have lived ten thousand lives. You’re probably wondering whether you’ve heard of me in your books, no? Like I said, the strong-minded are difficult to possess. I will not say who, but it is very easy to control the rich but easy-minded. Ever seen someone wealthy suddenly have a million dollar idea? Let’s just say they had a little help.
So that brings us to today. How did you find me? How did you get in? Through all my lifetimes I sought out this tower, this prison, this hell and I was unable to locate it. Did you know I would be here? Well say something! |
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | [WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered. | Without any light, it was impossible to see the nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty eight lines etched into the concrete walls of the small stone room. Ragged breathing was the only indication that anything living existed in the darkness. The sounds of someone who had remained at death’s door for millennia, but could never die.
From above, something cracked, and without warning, piercing sunlight knifed into the room as the ceiling collapsed in on itself. The rubble settled, and a girl appeared at the edge of the hole, squinting her eyes to peer through the dust. When the creature within stirred, she shrieked.
“Hush child,” croaked the creature, its dark shapeless mass appearing to ooze and boil from the countless sores that covered its pitch-black skin. “Many years have I waited to be freed. I won’t have it spoilt.”
The girl, stopped from running by the creature’s words, turned back. “You can talk?”
Slimy teeth appeared from beneath the creature’s rotting gums. “Much more than that. Ten thousand years have kept me, but it won’t take long for my strength to return.”
“What- what are you?” the girl asked, inquisitiveness defeating fear or its appearance
“I am that one they locked away. Tell me how you found me, child.”
“They told me not to touch it, but I did anyway. I didn’t know they were keeping you prisoner.”
“Ah, curiosity,” mused the creature. “What is the name of my savior?”
“Pandora” said the girl.
“Thank you, Pandora,” the creature said, stretching out its arms to reveal a wriggling mess of maggots and disease that fell to the ground as it rose to its haggard feet. “Thank you for releasing me from my box.”
| I cannot remember my name. I cannot remember my face. All I know are the lives of those I have selfishly stolen.
Long ago, after the last Ice Age, my existence was discovered. You see, I’m not from around here. Unfortunately, I cannot remember where I’m from or how I got here but the moment I do, I’m leaving. I cannot stay here any longer. Was I sent here on a mission? Was it yet another punishment? Some day I hope I can answer those questions. But this is not the time for that, you must be wondering what I’m doing here.
Believe me or not, most don’t, I can possess the minds of others. My body looks like it is resting peacefully but my mind is running wild in someone elses’ temple. Like a resting body, you can awaken me from my “slumber” and bring me back, but to do typically has dire consequences. I only allow you to live now because you are my final chance at escape. You see, there are limits to my power. If someone’s mind is too strong, I cannot make a full connection with them. If I release my attempts, my potential victim only feels a momentary out of body experience. If I continue to press my way in, it usually ends in death. That’s where this hell comes in. I was living my life as a nomad, traveling between continents and groups of humans. I found a larger, more established group. They seemed in such great harmony among each other and among nature. They produced more than they needed and gave away the excess to those in need. They were so genuinely happy. I wanted that for myself.
So I did what anyone in my position would do—I tried to take over the leader. To be the head of this group, to be so adored and unquestioningly followed… I could do so much! I could bring back the old technology that seemed like such a distant dream. I could move this group so far and so fast into the future that they would need something to hold themselves down. My plan was perfect! Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as planned. He was so strong, so different. He seemed more than human, which should have been my first hint to stop what I was doing and get as far away as possible. How brazen I was. How foolish. I had so much to learn.
I made my first attempt on the tenth night of watching the tribe. I waited until he was asleep. it’s usually much easier when they are unconscious; you can try to play the whole thing off as a strange dream… that may never end. My first attempt went so horribly wrong that I was paralyzed for two days. I’d never felt such strength before! It made me curious… made me hungry to know what this human actually was. I gave myself some time to recover. I disguised myself as a vagrant in need of food to try to get the trust of the tribe and learn their secrets. Of course, I don’t need to eat or I’d have been dead long ago, but they didn’t know that. My second warning came when the chief could not take his eyes off of me. Back then I was quite beautiful so my pride took it as a compliment. I got my strength back up and tried again, this time after he had been out hunting. Perhaps if he was tired he would be easier. I do not remember anything about that night, except that I woke up 50 feet from where I had been hiding. For one week the chief disappeared but no one seemed to notice or care, they knew he would come back when he was ready.
I remember the night of his return very clearly, but I had no idea it would change the course of my life so severely. When he returned, the chief was dirty, tired, and exhausted. He didn’t, however, bring back any food with him so he couldn’t have been hunting. I dared not try to possess him again that night but instead tried to use my charm and knowledge of your race to get information out of him. There was a large party in honor of his return. We smoked some substance and danced to our hearts’ content. Then I attempted to seduce him. He said we had to first smoke some ritual herbs before we could become one body. I woke up in this room in the same clothes I’d been wearing. I didn’t know how much time had passed but my body felt sore. From that small opening in the door I heard the chief’s voice asking whether I had slept well.
“Where am I?” I asked, looking around. I was sitting in this small, circular room made of stones. There were small windows all along it, making me believe there were no adjacent rooms except for whatever was through that door. I’m sure you can see now that it’s quite tarnished and overgrown, but it was actually quite beautiful in its simplicity. There used to be a bed made of hay but it has been gone for thousands of years.
“Where you belong,” he answered. “I don’t know what you are but you will not infect me or my people. You will stay here for 1,000 years to repent for trying to steal my body and soul. My descendants will release you only if they truly believe you have changed. If not, we shall try another 1,000.”
“1,000 years?? Surely you do not expect me to survive that long in here!” I desperately clung to the hope that he knew little about me.
“Yes! I have seen the real you. I have abilities neither you nor my people would understand. Do you not wonder why your attempts at sabotage failed so fantastically? I’ve known you were different since you first started spying on us… I could sense you,” he said with some contempt in his voice.
“So why let me stay? Why not banish me or try to kill me?”
“Is it not obvious? I wish to study you! How long have you been alive? Where are you from? What were your plans with my body and my people? I must have answers!!”
“I will answer them if you let me go. You can’t imprison me, I’ll go mad,” I plead.
“So be it. Someone will visit you every week to ensure you are still being punished. If you decide to talk, we’ll see if we can lighten your sentence.”
And with that, I never saw the chief again. True to his word, someone would visit me every week… then every month. I tried to take over them, to free at least my mind from this place, but I couldn’t even attempt it. It was as if my powers were gone. As if he had put some curse on me or this building or this room, I don’t know, but I was more trapped than I’d ever been in my life. I had little to do with myself, since there wasn’t any entertainment like you know today. Ah yes, I do know of your technology. It is still not nearly as advanced as I would have done back then, but you’re welcome for the bursts. Yes, that’s right! I am the reason you have any of your “modern conveniences,” as you foolish humans call them.
After maybe 200 years I stopped getting visitors. The ones leading up to then had no idea who I was or why they were seeing me. It was some tradition that the “short straw” had to deal with. I wasn’t needed. Yet still I could not possess my unwilling guests. I decided to try something new, something I’d never done before. I meditated and tried to see the whole world… all of the plants and creatures and everything on it. I don’t know how far I was able to see at the time, but it was enough. The tribes were growing rather quickly and trying to space out so they would not encroach on each others’ territories, but despite that I could fell them. The next tribe. Potential victims that I could not see but could feel. I succeeded on my first try. I became a child in one of the tribes. As you know, children are utterly useless so I watched everyone and chose the strongest hunter I could find. While he slept, I jumped from the child’s body to his. In the dead of night, I abandoned those people and left to travel the world.
Ever since then I’ve been traveling. I’ve been all over the world, I’ve had every job, I’ve been rich and poor, powerful and needy. I wanted to try every aspect of human life to try to understand them. I’ve learned to love, to hate, to sacrifice, to accept help, to want, to need, to steal, to envy. I have lived ten thousand lives. You’re probably wondering whether you’ve heard of me in your books, no? Like I said, the strong-minded are difficult to possess. I will not say who, but it is very easy to control the rich but easy-minded. Ever seen someone wealthy suddenly have a million dollar idea? Let’s just say they had a little help.
So that brings us to today. How did you find me? How did you get in? Through all my lifetimes I sought out this tower, this prison, this hell and I was unable to locate it. Did you know I would be here? Well say something! |
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you. | [WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered. | Without any light, it was impossible to see the nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty eight lines etched into the concrete walls of the small stone room. Ragged breathing was the only indication that anything living existed in the darkness. The sounds of someone who had remained at death’s door for millennia, but could never die.
From above, something cracked, and without warning, piercing sunlight knifed into the room as the ceiling collapsed in on itself. The rubble settled, and a girl appeared at the edge of the hole, squinting her eyes to peer through the dust. When the creature within stirred, she shrieked.
“Hush child,” croaked the creature, its dark shapeless mass appearing to ooze and boil from the countless sores that covered its pitch-black skin. “Many years have I waited to be freed. I won’t have it spoilt.”
The girl, stopped from running by the creature’s words, turned back. “You can talk?”
Slimy teeth appeared from beneath the creature’s rotting gums. “Much more than that. Ten thousand years have kept me, but it won’t take long for my strength to return.”
“What- what are you?” the girl asked, inquisitiveness defeating fear or its appearance
“I am that one they locked away. Tell me how you found me, child.”
“They told me not to touch it, but I did anyway. I didn’t know they were keeping you prisoner.”
“Ah, curiosity,” mused the creature. “What is the name of my savior?”
“Pandora” said the girl.
“Thank you, Pandora,” the creature said, stretching out its arms to reveal a wriggling mess of maggots and disease that fell to the ground as it rose to its haggard feet. “Thank you for releasing me from my box.”
| He sat cross-legged, as always, motionless. His eyes were closed. It wasn't as though there were anything to see. It would be the same sight as ever - a row of tight-packed adamantium rods, and the narrow door he had been thrust through all those years ago. Beyond that, all that was visible from his dismal cage was plain, bare concrete.
His legs were stiff again. It was time to switch. Obligingly, he rose, walking a brief lap around the pen. His eyes never opened. He didn't need them to. The cage was large enough to allow him to walk, but no more than five of his great strides long and wide.
His lap completed, he returned to the cold ground. Laying, this time.
This was the same routine as always. Sit. Stew on his thoughts. Walk a lap. Lay down. Stew on his thoughts. Walk a lap. Stand. Stew on his thoughts. Then back to sitting.
A thousand years, they had said. As *punishment*. It had been a joke. Those pathetic excuses for arbiters, thinking to imprison an Eternal such as himself? They wouldn't live for even a hundred years - what right did they have to pass judgement on *him*?
He *had* killed most of the people in that city. They weren't *wrong*. And, yes, he may have feasted on their flesh. But he left their bones in the ceremonial arrangement as an offering to their souls. It was all according to *custom*. Was that so horrible?
They had clearly thought so. He'd been amused, at first, at their insolence. And then surprised, when they'd managed to trap him in a dead-end road. And then shocked, as they systematically stripped him of one enchantment after another.
He'd been dumbfounded by the time they carted him to the dungeon they'd rigged for the worst offenders of the extramortal world, chained so tightly to the floor of the truck that he couldn't move.
Now, he was just hungry.
At first, they'd shown him at least a *little* bit of compassion. They'd kept him fed. Occasionally the guard who brought him food would pass him a bit of news, the goings-on of the above world.
But that had dwindled, little by little. The food came less often, and the guards stopped visiting.
And then one day, they'd stopped coming entirely. No matter how loudly he yelled or pounded his feet or slammed into the bars, no one answered.
He was alone.
The lights had gone out soon after. Of course, a night-haunt such as him had naturally superb night vision. The darkness was as comfortable as the light. But he knew. He knew no one was going to come back. They had decided to bury him at last. It wasn't as though he had anyone who would come looking.
Time blurred into an intolerable, endless wall of crippling hunger and weakness. He wished for an end that he knew was never going to come. He couldn't die. Not that he didn't *want* to, he simply wasn't capable of it.
And so he resigned himself to it. He mulled his plight over in his head, one more time. And then he rose, walking another lap around the cage.
Something went *plink* in the darkness.
He froze. His ears twitched. It was a tiny noise, one easily-overlooked. But in a world that hadn't known a noise beyond the padding of his feet in what must surely have been centuries, it rang out as loud as a bell.
In the dim greyness of the dark cell, he could see dust spiraling down from the wall opposite his door.
The portal. He remembered it well. Once upon a time, it was his signal that he was about to get food and a story. It hadn't moved in an eternity.
He could hear someone on the far side of it now. They were pushing. Swearing.
The sudden burst of light coming through the crack was enough to send his eyes into screaming complaint. He threw his arms over his face, cowering from the unbearable brightness.
"About fucking time." He heard a low voice mutter. "I swear to the five that if I've hurt my shoulder, Paro, I'm going to send *you* the bill." The sour words rang out painfully loudly. He cracked one eye. The light was still too bright.
"Oh, stop whining. You're *fine*." A cheerful voice followed the first. "You've got to get into the adventure, you know?"
"I don't know. I *don't*. Not if it means- What are you doing? What's *that*?"
Footsteps danced across the ground. A searing light blazed down at him, much closer.
"It's a *person*, Alton."
He laughed. It was the first time he'd used his voice in forever. The sound bubbled up from his belly. He could see them, now. Two young men, both dressed in oddly fashioned jackets. The style...wasn't familiar. He wrinkled his nose. One of them held a ball of mage-light.
"A person, eh?" He rumbled. Slowly he rose and stretched his limbs. He stood easily a head higher than either of them.
"Well- not a person, then." The holding the light said. It was the cheerful one - Paro? "What're you doing down *here*? This doesn't seem like a place you should be, you know."
"Shut the fuck up, Paro." His friend hissed. His eyes were wider. He was looking at the bars of the cage, not the inhabitant. "This is Old World stuff. A jail. We should *go*."
"Old world." He repeated, his voice long and drawn out. "I take it by your appearance you're not the new shift?" He smiled mirthlessly. "You're tardy. I'm famished." One hand clenched the bars. They smelled *good*. So very good.
"Paro, *now.*" Alton said. His voice was overloud and afraid. He was already backing up, backing away from me. The concrete barrier was open behind him. The night-haunt could *see* the faintly lighter room behind him. Somewhere, somewhere close, there was light again. Natural light.
"He's not *going* anywhere, Alton." Paro chuckled. He was completely at ease, inspecting the caged night-haunt. He wasn't much to look at. Once, he'd been finely bedecked in the best synth-armor money could buy. Then, they'd reduced him to a simple jumpsuit. The years had reduced *that* to some mere rags. Anything resembling decency had long ago been lost.
The young man stepped closer, grinning.
"So what'd they have you in for? And what *are* you? Never seen anything like you in the bestiary."
He frowned down at the impertient man. "*Bestiary?* You think to label us as mere animals? Men have been picked clean straight down to the bones for a fraction of that insult, you fool." He sniffed. "If you *must* ask, I suppose I can enlighten you. I'm a night-haunt. An Eternal, not a *human*. An extramortal." He raised one eyebrow at the men.
"An answer for an answer. Who are you? Is my sentence complete?" He wanted it to be over. So very badly. He *needed* the sensation of hot blood in his mouth again, of tearing through flesh.
They looked between each other. And then they looked back at him.
"Uh. Sentence?" Paro said, scratching his head. "Sorry, big guy, but we're just scavengers. Been through these ruins a dozen times, but we only just got that door there uncovered last month." He grinned. "Just *knew* there had to be something good in there."
He shook his head impatiently.
"Ruins? What are you *talking* about. The human's prison? Don't be foolish." His fingers flexed on the bars. "Where are the arbiters? Why has no one come? Surely my sentence is complete."
"Just...what's going on?" Alton mumbled, his eyes flicking to his friend. Paro shook his head.
"Uh- Well, you see. This isn't a prison. It's abandonded. Has been since the Uprising." His words trailed off awkwardly. The night-haunt shook his head.
"Uprising?" He grated. "What is *that*? This is nonsense. I want to leave. Let me out."
"No. *No*. Paro, we're *leaving*." Alton said, his eyes narrow and angry. He grabbed his friend's arm. Paro didn't move.
"Sure. I'll let you out. But....a few questions, first." He cocked his head to the side. "I've *heard* of night-haunts before. Old book I found once. Haven't been seen in millenia." He grinned. "Says they're demons. Are you a demon?"
The night-haunt bared his teeth at the young man, who didn't even flinch.
"You insulting piece of filth. I told you. I'm an *Eternal*." He sighed, and finished begrudgingly. "But. Yes. Some among the pathetic human masses referred to us as demons."
"Splendid." Paro said, clapping his hands. "Then, I have a proposal for you."
"Paro! Stop." Alton ran back, still pulling on his friend's arm. "This is *stupid*. You're playing with fire. Let's go. Now."
Paro shook him off, still watching the night-haunt.
"Hush. We'll never get this chance again! I can't pass it up. Just picture the look on old Galen's face. We'd be unstoppable."
He grinned, revealing two rows of perfect, shining white teeth. It wasn't a pleasant expression.
"Become my familiar. Take the blood oath, swear yourself to me. Become my servant, now and forever, and I'll let you out."
(/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!) |
[WP] A medieval world where we know how to make modern weaponry, but each piece is so expensive it is considered impractical. You are a knight laying siege to a fortress when all of a sudden you see tanks on the horizon... | "Ahhh what an impractically expensive collection of anachronistic weaponry," I said.
I stood beside my horse drinking a chalice of wine and watched the impractically expensive tanks on the horizon.
"Squire," I said, "bring me my equally impractical rocket launcher."
The squire whom I did not have sex with brought me my impractically expensive rocket launcher.
"Watch here good squire whom I do not have sex with," I said.
I shot the impractically expensive rocket launcher and destroyed an impractically expensive tank, "now that's how you destroy impractically expensive modern weaponry in a medieval world," I said.
The end | "Wake up! Today is the big day." Captain Frolik said.
Frolik was the closest person I had to family in this empire. Not very strong but he was a great shot with a gun. Of course, barely anyone on earth had more than a couple of guns in their military because of the price of them. In some cases, they costed more than building yourself a brand new castle! However, our empire, The Kormstin Empire, was rich enough to afford almost thirty guns, including a high-tech Gewehr-43. From what I've heard, there was only one other empire on earth that had better weapons than us, and that empire was called the Tersain Empire. They were an old legend said to have advanced technology from the future, these big boxes with deadly over-sized guns on top called tanks with black and blue flags and red lightning bolts drawn on the sides. However, this was unreasonable. It was most likely a myth after all.
"Today is the day? Today is the day!" I exclaimed. I hopped out of bed with excitement. Today we were getting new guns for a chunk of the officers from the empire's newly hired weaponsmith. Which meant I was finally getting my own gun to use in battle.
"I wonder what mine will be! Maybe a Gewehr-43 like yours, or maybe even one of those new Thompson guns!" I said to Frolik.
"We'll just have to find out. We better head to the meeting." Frolik said, motioning with his head to follow him outside. I put on my helmet and followed him to the castle. I wanted to be early to the ceremony.
 
 
The castle was a huge building. It was built with layers of circles surrounding the outside, each one bigger as it got closer to the keep. It was almost like a staircase for a giant. Torches lit up the outside at night time, giving it an effect that made the castle look like it consisted of rings of fire. The city surrounding the castle had a population of almost 30, 000 people, and that was just the empire's capital.
We were among the first of the forty-eight officers to arrive in the ceremony hall. We walked down the elegant red carpet and found seating near the front, close to the emperor's stage. The ceremony today would be for the two new officers replacing the two that had died in last month's battle against the Forkaven Empire, a war that we had won with little resistance. We would also be given ten more weapons, and I was on the list to receive one. After all, I'd been an officer for almost five years now, and guns first came out almost ten years ago. I was one of the most experienced officers. After an hour or two or waiting, the Emperor finally showed up, with his ten royal guard soldiers protecting him. The King was a tall man. He looked like the face of war. Battle scars on his face and arms, and a giant scar that went from the top of his left arm to the bottom.
 
 
"Greetings! I have not prepared a speech because I feel like you do not need a speech. You have been far exceeding my expectations for years now, and I'm running out of things to say. I'll keep this short, because I know all of you are looking forward to seeing the new weapons. First, let me introduce to you the newest officers. The first is Sir Marcuit."
A tall, muscular, dark man walked out onto the stage and shook the Emperor's hand, kneeled before him and took the sword tap on both shoulders, much like a knighting. The emperor then took the tip of the sword and softly cut the skin of Marcuit's finger. This was an act of honour, as well as an oath. Once you bleed for the emperor, you are more than two people who are friends. The people you bleed for are connected with you on a much deeper level.
"Next, we have Sir Tambus." The emperor stated. A short, thin, light-skinned man walked out on the stage and repeated the process. The two new officers then bowed. After a short amount of clapping, they joined us in the rows of seats.
"Now, for the weapons. We have nine new Gewehr-43's, and one Thompson. This Thompson is for a man that has shown great courage on the battlefield's for many years." As the king said this, I started to feel nervous with anticipation. I already knew he was talking about me.
"Captain Treavus, why don't you come up here and be the first to hold your new weapon." The emperor said.
I gave Frolik a quick embracement hug. I composed myself and walk up the stairs to the Emperor. He reached back and picked up the Thompson, made beautifully with metal and wood. He handed it to me, shook my hand, and pulled out a list of officers who were also receiving their weapons today. Just then, the warning bells began to go off and the castle vibrated from the noise.
"GET YOUR REGIMENTS TOGETHER! THESE ARE THE ATTACK BELLS!" The Emperor shouted.
With this new Thompson, I felt immortal. I confidently hurried to the section of the castle my battalion stayed in. I ordered the sergeants to wake up their men. The battalions that formed an army of 5000 emerged out of the castle and through the front gates. When I walked out, I looked across the horizon. Suddenly all my confidence was flushed out of my body, and I felt myself begin to sweat. Over the horizon was a sea of the tanks from the legends, all with black and blue flags, each one with a lightning bolt in the middle.
 
 
Sort of put my own twist on it, but I really liked the idea. This is only my second time writing on here. I hope you like it!
| |
[WP] A medieval world where we know how to make modern weaponry, but each piece is so expensive it is considered impractical. You are a knight laying siege to a fortress when all of a sudden you see tanks on the horizon... | My horse whinnied and stopped. The archers put down their bows. Even the enemy knights, mid sword swing, froze. We all looked toward the metallic creaking of wheels, the snapping branches, and the crescendoing hum of an engine. A tank appeared over the horizon, its armor too thick for any of our weaponry to battle.
“What in God’s name…” I muttered, dropping my sword.
The tank’s main cannon spun toward me and the war machine stopped. Its latch popped open and Sir Geoffrey of the Iron Table poked out. “Do you see my great war beast, Sir Dravo?” he shouted across the battlefield.
I did. In fact, I couldn’t stop staring. The drunken bards sang songs of dragons and kraken. The ones high on Shrior’s Moss sang songs of battle tanks. And this was the mightiest of them all, a M1A2 Abrams.
I burst out laughing. “Sir Geoffrey,” I shouted back. “Surely you jest. For the price of that tank, I could’ve simply purchased the kingdom you’re defending. Where did you find the gold?”
Sir Geoffrey glanced away for merely a second before huffing out his chest. “Our financials are of no concern to you, heathen.”
But I had caught his glance. “Did you pursue high interest compound loans from the Grand Bank?”
He pursed his lips. “Payday loans from the Warstock Bank.”
“Payday loans!? Their interest rate jumps to 24% compounded monthly within the first year! Are you mad?”
“I was desperate,” he said. “You guys are going to rape and pillage the kingdom I’ve sworn to protect.”
“Yeah, but only for like a week or two. At this rate, you’ll be getting pillaged ten centuries down the line. Have you learned nothing from student loans?”
The men around me snickered. Even his own men nodded with me. After all, Sir Geoffrey had graduated the High Scepter School of Higher Education with a Sociology Degree. Stupid by itself, but in this economic climate? Madness.
“No matter!” Sir Geoffrey screamed. “I will claim victory today. Lay down your arms or face the iron of high explosive shells.”
“You’re going to use one of those to kill *us*?” My mouth gaped.
“Yeah,” the soldier said beside me. “I own an acre and a cow. It would be an honor to die for so much.”
The words caught in Sir Geoffrey’s throat. He looked around for support from his soldiers, but they only turned away. This was what they got following a Sociology major into battle.
“I mean…” he stammered, “I can run you over too.”
I only shook my head. “Have you seen today's gas prices!?”
---
---
/r/jraywang
| "Wake up! Today is the big day." Captain Frolik said.
Frolik was the closest person I had to family in this empire. Not very strong but he was a great shot with a gun. Of course, barely anyone on earth had more than a couple of guns in their military because of the price of them. In some cases, they costed more than building yourself a brand new castle! However, our empire, The Kormstin Empire, was rich enough to afford almost thirty guns, including a high-tech Gewehr-43. From what I've heard, there was only one other empire on earth that had better weapons than us, and that empire was called the Tersain Empire. They were an old legend said to have advanced technology from the future, these big boxes with deadly over-sized guns on top called tanks with black and blue flags and red lightning bolts drawn on the sides. However, this was unreasonable. It was most likely a myth after all.
"Today is the day? Today is the day!" I exclaimed. I hopped out of bed with excitement. Today we were getting new guns for a chunk of the officers from the empire's newly hired weaponsmith. Which meant I was finally getting my own gun to use in battle.
"I wonder what mine will be! Maybe a Gewehr-43 like yours, or maybe even one of those new Thompson guns!" I said to Frolik.
"We'll just have to find out. We better head to the meeting." Frolik said, motioning with his head to follow him outside. I put on my helmet and followed him to the castle. I wanted to be early to the ceremony.
 
 
The castle was a huge building. It was built with layers of circles surrounding the outside, each one bigger as it got closer to the keep. It was almost like a staircase for a giant. Torches lit up the outside at night time, giving it an effect that made the castle look like it consisted of rings of fire. The city surrounding the castle had a population of almost 30, 000 people, and that was just the empire's capital.
We were among the first of the forty-eight officers to arrive in the ceremony hall. We walked down the elegant red carpet and found seating near the front, close to the emperor's stage. The ceremony today would be for the two new officers replacing the two that had died in last month's battle against the Forkaven Empire, a war that we had won with little resistance. We would also be given ten more weapons, and I was on the list to receive one. After all, I'd been an officer for almost five years now, and guns first came out almost ten years ago. I was one of the most experienced officers. After an hour or two or waiting, the Emperor finally showed up, with his ten royal guard soldiers protecting him. The King was a tall man. He looked like the face of war. Battle scars on his face and arms, and a giant scar that went from the top of his left arm to the bottom.
 
 
"Greetings! I have not prepared a speech because I feel like you do not need a speech. You have been far exceeding my expectations for years now, and I'm running out of things to say. I'll keep this short, because I know all of you are looking forward to seeing the new weapons. First, let me introduce to you the newest officers. The first is Sir Marcuit."
A tall, muscular, dark man walked out onto the stage and shook the Emperor's hand, kneeled before him and took the sword tap on both shoulders, much like a knighting. The emperor then took the tip of the sword and softly cut the skin of Marcuit's finger. This was an act of honour, as well as an oath. Once you bleed for the emperor, you are more than two people who are friends. The people you bleed for are connected with you on a much deeper level.
"Next, we have Sir Tambus." The emperor stated. A short, thin, light-skinned man walked out on the stage and repeated the process. The two new officers then bowed. After a short amount of clapping, they joined us in the rows of seats.
"Now, for the weapons. We have nine new Gewehr-43's, and one Thompson. This Thompson is for a man that has shown great courage on the battlefield's for many years." As the king said this, I started to feel nervous with anticipation. I already knew he was talking about me.
"Captain Treavus, why don't you come up here and be the first to hold your new weapon." The emperor said.
I gave Frolik a quick embracement hug. I composed myself and walk up the stairs to the Emperor. He reached back and picked up the Thompson, made beautifully with metal and wood. He handed it to me, shook my hand, and pulled out a list of officers who were also receiving their weapons today. Just then, the warning bells began to go off and the castle vibrated from the noise.
"GET YOUR REGIMENTS TOGETHER! THESE ARE THE ATTACK BELLS!" The Emperor shouted.
With this new Thompson, I felt immortal. I confidently hurried to the section of the castle my battalion stayed in. I ordered the sergeants to wake up their men. The battalions that formed an army of 5000 emerged out of the castle and through the front gates. When I walked out, I looked across the horizon. Suddenly all my confidence was flushed out of my body, and I felt myself begin to sweat. Over the horizon was a sea of the tanks from the legends, all with black and blue flags, each one with a lightning bolt in the middle.
 
 
Sort of put my own twist on it, but I really liked the idea. This is only my second time writing on here. I hope you like it!
| |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | There was a knock at his door. Marcus turned towards it, looking up from his book, a look of confusion crossed his brow. Outside, rain came down, beating the world like a drum. The glare from the streetlights twisted and danced.
Slowly he stood up and went to the window, looking anxiously out of the blinds. It was a man, clad in a heavy rain coat. Fear twisted in his belly, but he shunned it. They might need help.
He steeled himself, and opened the door.
It was Marcus. A twin, but not exact. This Marcus had been through... something. His face was long, grey, and haggard. His eyes told a tale of butchery. Half of his face was burned into a ragged angry canyon land, while three long scratches ran parallel across his cheek and down his neck. His back was hunched and his leg was shaking. It looked as though he carried all the lives of men in a sack upon his shoulders.
"Hey." said Marcus, his voice was grim and full of smoke. It was not *his* voice. It was a new one, forged with pain. "Can I come in?"
Marcus nodded, too shocked to distrust himself. Rain sloughed down his jacket and pooled on the floor. He moved past him like a cougar and went into the kitchen. He took Marcus' favorite cup from the cupboard, knowing exactly where it was, behind the flour.
He poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the dinner table, his face a mask of grim resignation.
"Why are you here?" Marcus asked him.
He took a swallow of water. "I'm here to kill you. Sit down. We need to talk."
Marcus obeyed himself without a word.
"It may feel, at times, that we inhabit the darkest timeline." Marcus said. His fist closed. "But it is not so."
"You've already had the idea. A time machine! Repair the past, perfect the future." Marcus laughed bitterly. "Listen now, and hear me well." Then Marcus told him of the future, as a pale man on a white horse, and he told of his part in making it. On and on he spoke, Marcus listening in fear. At the end, when the tale was told in all its terror Marcus took from his jacket a strange pistol, and set it upon the table.
Marcus took it, and shot himself in the temple.
A moment later, the second shot rang out. | "And one screw turn... and two screw turns... and thre-"
*KABOOM*
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Thomas shrieked, as he flew backwards.
"Don't use the machine-" came the rapid words of a very familiar voice. It was Thomas, but it wasn't.
In the final moments of completion, a time machine that Thomas had worked on suddenly appeared, piloted by himself, in the very spot that his newly built time machine had been sitting. The resultant explosion from two pieces of the same matter occupying the same space at the same time knocked Thomas off his feet. The machine appeared only briefly, allowing a few words to be spoken before vanishing.
Thomas leaned on his hands and feet, trying to get his wind back. The entire workshop was a mess of smoldering debris.
"What the hell was that? Was that me!?" Thomas yelled. "Man, screw time travel." | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | Interesting.. This might actually work. But what do I actually want to do with this, I pause and ask myself as I turn on the device.
Just because I can doesn't mean I need to?
Screw it.. Let's just see what happens
I appear on the other side, and see a familiar scene, myself finishing the last of the device just moments before..
My new self finishes the device. and pauses like I did before, thinking to themselves..
I wonder in this moment, what will happen If this ones light is taken away and I step through this device in the final movements before all the light is gone?
Will I die along with it? Can I make it in time? A new rush like never before came over me, should I even?
Screw it.. These are my final thoughts as I walk up behind the other being and slit it's throat.
I take a moment to stare as the blood pools on the floor.. Then enter the device, curious as to what will happen next
I appear on the other side, and see a familiar scene.. How's many times has it been now? | "And one screw turn... and two screw turns... and thre-"
*KABOOM*
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Thomas shrieked, as he flew backwards.
"Don't use the machine-" came the rapid words of a very familiar voice. It was Thomas, but it wasn't.
In the final moments of completion, a time machine that Thomas had worked on suddenly appeared, piloted by himself, in the very spot that his newly built time machine had been sitting. The resultant explosion from two pieces of the same matter occupying the same space at the same time knocked Thomas off his feet. The machine appeared only briefly, allowing a few words to be spoken before vanishing.
Thomas leaned on his hands and feet, trying to get his wind back. The entire workshop was a mess of smoldering debris.
"What the hell was that? Was that me!?" Thomas yelled. "Man, screw time travel." | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | "It's finished," I muttered sleepily to myself. I scratched the side of my jaw, feeling what was probably a year old beard under my chewed fingernails.
I invented a time machine.
A freaking time machine.
So yea, we all know the time machine song and dance. Go back, save JFK, shoot Hitler, stop the atomic bomb from being dropped on Japan. I wish my reasons were as altruistic. Nope, I'm a greedy, self-absorbed idiot.
I want to go back in time, and stop a girl from killing herself. My high-school girlfriend took her life, and I didn't know why. This was my chance to save her, to stop one of the most destructive stupid soul-wrenching things anyone should ever experience.
I know every high-school sweetheart was perfect. That every couple would move in together after they graduate and have a hundred fat babies and die together. Reality, most of them break up, emotions, distance, another girl that was more like "the one".
She deserved a chance, to have a real future. I could fix this....right?
The chrono-displacement unit was fired up. All I needed to do was step into the field, and I'd go back. I closed my eyes, and stepped into the unknown.
The next thing I knew, I was face down in the dirt. Slowly opening my eyes, I nearly shouted in triumph. I was in the playground of our old school, holy crap I actually did it?
I did it!
"Booyah!" shouting against my better judgement as I got to my feet. I had one hour to change her fate. I can fix this! I broke into a dead-run for her house.
As I rounded the corner to her block, I froze dead in my tracks. An older man sat on her front steps. The white streak in his hair was more pronounced, his beard was even more shaggy, his icy blue eyes glared at me as he slowly got to his feet. "Out of my way!" I screamed at the old guy, reaching for the door. He sighed, drawing a rather large pistol from his jacket. The gunshot rang out before I even made it halfway up the walk. I teetered backwards in shock, the man standing before me looked almost indifferent.
I've never been shot before, it hurt, a lot. I stumbled away from the door, my hand clutching my stomach as I fell to the ground. The old man sighed as he looked at me, disgust on his face as he stepped towards me. I finally had a chance to look at this stranger, my brain scrabbled to place him. He was older, much much older, but he had the same sad eyes I saw every day.
He was me? Why would I go back to stop me?
"You can't do this." He sighed as he sat back down. "She's gotta die, and now, so do you." Sputtering profanity as I tried to get to my feet, I was rewarded by toppling back onto the sidewalk.
"Why? She deserves this!" I spat angrily, my spittle mixed with blood flecked against his boots. He looked towards the door, almost just as longingly as I did.
"Yea, she did. Guess what, the first time you did this? You saved the girl, congrats." He pulled off a small silver band on his ring finger, placing it on the stoop beside him.
"I'll give you the highlights, you deserve that much. You married Kat, you two were happy. She even encouraged you, wait us, to do everything you were too afraid to even try" he corrected himself before continuing.
"Then she got sick," he frowned. "She began seeing two time-lines, hers, and the world where she died. Guess how well the mind can handle finding out you killed yourself in an alternate timeline." His jaw tightened, voice shaking.
"The end was hell, she wasn't even Kat anymore." He looked at the pistol, almost surprised by the weight. "You know this is the only weapon I could find that exists in this time. I almost feel bad, that looks painful." I tried to plead with the future version of myself, but he cut me off.
"That wasn't the end either. Kat's death caused a ripple that began to unravel time, everything's supposed to have a place. Kat didn't, and we didn't think, or care about the blowback from this."
I groaned as I tried to shout for someone to help her, me, anyone. The older me shook his head, “Her last act, to try and complete the timeline. She jumped back here, creating a loop. Her last day, is everyone’s last day. We literally broke time.” He drew the hammer back on the pistol as he placed it against my skull.
“Sorry, but Kat needs to die here. I couldn’t stop you before you jumped, you just kept going back and trying again. Every timeline got worse,” he looked at the house one last time before turning back. “This is the only way I can fix everything, for what it’s worth, sorry.”
The pistol fired, and that was it. Everything started to fall apart, I was so very very tired.
As I opened my eyes again, I was back in the playground. A young girl with raven black hair and bright green eyes smiled at me as she passed me my comic book. I looked at Kat confused, she was a kid again. “Come on, she giggled. Another stupid story about the boy saving the girl, can’t you find something else to read?”
“Kat?” I asked, my voice coming out in a childish squeak. My voice, a kids voice?
Wait, this memory is familiar, I moved here when I was twelve. Katherine and I just met, and she took my comic. How did this happen? Maybe I just need to lay off the comics after all...
As I got to my feet to chase after Kat and get my comic book back. She giggled as I pursued her all over again.
An older woman smiled softly as she watched the kids at the playground, she looked at a small device on her wrist.
“TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT, LOCKED.”
“Maybe, just maybe this time it’ll work.” She whispered to herself.
| "And one screw turn... and two screw turns... and thre-"
*KABOOM*
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Thomas shrieked, as he flew backwards.
"Don't use the machine-" came the rapid words of a very familiar voice. It was Thomas, but it wasn't.
In the final moments of completion, a time machine that Thomas had worked on suddenly appeared, piloted by himself, in the very spot that his newly built time machine had been sitting. The resultant explosion from two pieces of the same matter occupying the same space at the same time knocked Thomas off his feet. The machine appeared only briefly, allowing a few words to be spoken before vanishing.
Thomas leaned on his hands and feet, trying to get his wind back. The entire workshop was a mess of smoldering debris.
"What the hell was that? Was that me!?" Thomas yelled. "Man, screw time travel." | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | Part 1
When I saw myself--from the future--standing in the corner of the room, my heart sank.
*I'm dead.* I thought.
"I'm not here to kill you." Older me said.
*Oh thank god.*
"But if we're not careful, we will be dead." Future me said, calmly.
"Okay, why are you here?" I asked, trying to understand that was going on.
"To give you this." He said, as he reached his hand out.
"Whatever that is, won't it cause a paradox if I take it?" I asked.
"We have no choice." My future self insisted.
I reached my hand out, and he put something in it. A key.
"Hurry." He said. Then he went back to the corner of the room, crouched, entered a code on his wrist band, and with a thick 'pop', he vanished.
I looked at the key chain and saw an address.
*Why?* I wondered.
Reluctantly at first, I looked for my shoes, keys, and jacket and prepared to drive to the address given to me by my future self.
But a sense of urgency grew inside me.
*"hurry."*
I jogged out to my car, got in, threw it in gear and started driving as though it were a race. Apparently, despite having a time machine, I was racing against time.
I had a haunting feeling as though I were being watched, or followed. Part of me believed that I was headed for certain death and that nothing I did or didn't do could prevent it.
When I found the address I was surprised to find that it was a humble house on a small corner lot in a regular residential neighborhood.
I parked a block away. When I approached the house I saw blinds move through the window. I was at a serious disadvantage, but if I couldn't trust myself, who could I trust?
Moments later the garage door began opening. It stopped half way, and someone on the other side waved for me to come in, quickly.
| "And one screw turn... and two screw turns... and thre-"
*KABOOM*
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Thomas shrieked, as he flew backwards.
"Don't use the machine-" came the rapid words of a very familiar voice. It was Thomas, but it wasn't.
In the final moments of completion, a time machine that Thomas had worked on suddenly appeared, piloted by himself, in the very spot that his newly built time machine had been sitting. The resultant explosion from two pieces of the same matter occupying the same space at the same time knocked Thomas off his feet. The machine appeared only briefly, allowing a few words to be spoken before vanishing.
Thomas leaned on his hands and feet, trying to get his wind back. The entire workshop was a mess of smoldering debris.
"What the hell was that? Was that me!?" Thomas yelled. "Man, screw time travel." | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | There was a knock at his door. Marcus turned towards it, looking up from his book, a look of confusion crossed his brow. Outside, rain came down, beating the world like a drum. The glare from the streetlights twisted and danced.
Slowly he stood up and went to the window, looking anxiously out of the blinds. It was a man, clad in a heavy rain coat. Fear twisted in his belly, but he shunned it. They might need help.
He steeled himself, and opened the door.
It was Marcus. A twin, but not exact. This Marcus had been through... something. His face was long, grey, and haggard. His eyes told a tale of butchery. Half of his face was burned into a ragged angry canyon land, while three long scratches ran parallel across his cheek and down his neck. His back was hunched and his leg was shaking. It looked as though he carried all the lives of men in a sack upon his shoulders.
"Hey." said Marcus, his voice was grim and full of smoke. It was not *his* voice. It was a new one, forged with pain. "Can I come in?"
Marcus nodded, too shocked to distrust himself. Rain sloughed down his jacket and pooled on the floor. He moved past him like a cougar and went into the kitchen. He took Marcus' favorite cup from the cupboard, knowing exactly where it was, behind the flour.
He poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the dinner table, his face a mask of grim resignation.
"Why are you here?" Marcus asked him.
He took a swallow of water. "I'm here to kill you. Sit down. We need to talk."
Marcus obeyed himself without a word.
"It may feel, at times, that we inhabit the darkest timeline." Marcus said. His fist closed. "But it is not so."
"You've already had the idea. A time machine! Repair the past, perfect the future." Marcus laughed bitterly. "Listen now, and hear me well." Then Marcus told him of the future, as a pale man on a white horse, and he told of his part in making it. On and on he spoke, Marcus listening in fear. At the end, when the tale was told in all its terror Marcus took from his jacket a strange pistol, and set it upon the table.
Marcus took it, and shot himself in the temple.
A moment later, the second shot rang out. | "Buddy. . ." That's all my future self could say at the moment. There didn't appear to be anything different about him; he wasn't dawned in battered clothes or anything else that would give the impression of a badass renegade. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I feel disappointed by this, but that doesn't really matter. While I sat there analyzing myself from the perspective of someone else, I, or rather they, continued, "Dude. You know that this hasn't ever worked out before, and you think this is somehow different? What the fuck?"
I didn't really know what to say; he was obviously right. So I agreed to shut down the operation. We went out for a few beers after the fact. Turns out he's a fucking psycho. I guess all of the abuse and hardship he went through in his early years brought him to such a place. When I got home, I decided to resume my operations so I could go back and be there for him in all the moments that made him who he is now. What could possibly go wrong if I keep my involvement in the past contained to just one person? | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | "It's finished," I muttered sleepily to myself. I scratched the side of my jaw, feeling what was probably a year old beard under my chewed fingernails.
I invented a time machine.
A freaking time machine.
So yea, we all know the time machine song and dance. Go back, save JFK, shoot Hitler, stop the atomic bomb from being dropped on Japan. I wish my reasons were as altruistic. Nope, I'm a greedy, self-absorbed idiot.
I want to go back in time, and stop a girl from killing herself. My high-school girlfriend took her life, and I didn't know why. This was my chance to save her, to stop one of the most destructive stupid soul-wrenching things anyone should ever experience.
I know every high-school sweetheart was perfect. That every couple would move in together after they graduate and have a hundred fat babies and die together. Reality, most of them break up, emotions, distance, another girl that was more like "the one".
She deserved a chance, to have a real future. I could fix this....right?
The chrono-displacement unit was fired up. All I needed to do was step into the field, and I'd go back. I closed my eyes, and stepped into the unknown.
The next thing I knew, I was face down in the dirt. Slowly opening my eyes, I nearly shouted in triumph. I was in the playground of our old school, holy crap I actually did it?
I did it!
"Booyah!" shouting against my better judgement as I got to my feet. I had one hour to change her fate. I can fix this! I broke into a dead-run for her house.
As I rounded the corner to her block, I froze dead in my tracks. An older man sat on her front steps. The white streak in his hair was more pronounced, his beard was even more shaggy, his icy blue eyes glared at me as he slowly got to his feet. "Out of my way!" I screamed at the old guy, reaching for the door. He sighed, drawing a rather large pistol from his jacket. The gunshot rang out before I even made it halfway up the walk. I teetered backwards in shock, the man standing before me looked almost indifferent.
I've never been shot before, it hurt, a lot. I stumbled away from the door, my hand clutching my stomach as I fell to the ground. The old man sighed as he looked at me, disgust on his face as he stepped towards me. I finally had a chance to look at this stranger, my brain scrabbled to place him. He was older, much much older, but he had the same sad eyes I saw every day.
He was me? Why would I go back to stop me?
"You can't do this." He sighed as he sat back down. "She's gotta die, and now, so do you." Sputtering profanity as I tried to get to my feet, I was rewarded by toppling back onto the sidewalk.
"Why? She deserves this!" I spat angrily, my spittle mixed with blood flecked against his boots. He looked towards the door, almost just as longingly as I did.
"Yea, she did. Guess what, the first time you did this? You saved the girl, congrats." He pulled off a small silver band on his ring finger, placing it on the stoop beside him.
"I'll give you the highlights, you deserve that much. You married Kat, you two were happy. She even encouraged you, wait us, to do everything you were too afraid to even try" he corrected himself before continuing.
"Then she got sick," he frowned. "She began seeing two time-lines, hers, and the world where she died. Guess how well the mind can handle finding out you killed yourself in an alternate timeline." His jaw tightened, voice shaking.
"The end was hell, she wasn't even Kat anymore." He looked at the pistol, almost surprised by the weight. "You know this is the only weapon I could find that exists in this time. I almost feel bad, that looks painful." I tried to plead with the future version of myself, but he cut me off.
"That wasn't the end either. Kat's death caused a ripple that began to unravel time, everything's supposed to have a place. Kat didn't, and we didn't think, or care about the blowback from this."
I groaned as I tried to shout for someone to help her, me, anyone. The older me shook his head, “Her last act, to try and complete the timeline. She jumped back here, creating a loop. Her last day, is everyone’s last day. We literally broke time.” He drew the hammer back on the pistol as he placed it against my skull.
“Sorry, but Kat needs to die here. I couldn’t stop you before you jumped, you just kept going back and trying again. Every timeline got worse,” he looked at the house one last time before turning back. “This is the only way I can fix everything, for what it’s worth, sorry.”
The pistol fired, and that was it. Everything started to fall apart, I was so very very tired.
As I opened my eyes again, I was back in the playground. A young girl with raven black hair and bright green eyes smiled at me as she passed me my comic book. I looked at Kat confused, she was a kid again. “Come on, she giggled. Another stupid story about the boy saving the girl, can’t you find something else to read?”
“Kat?” I asked, my voice coming out in a childish squeak. My voice, a kids voice?
Wait, this memory is familiar, I moved here when I was twelve. Katherine and I just met, and she took my comic. How did this happen? Maybe I just need to lay off the comics after all...
As I got to my feet to chase after Kat and get my comic book back. She giggled as I pursued her all over again.
An older woman smiled softly as she watched the kids at the playground, she looked at a small device on her wrist.
“TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT, LOCKED.”
“Maybe, just maybe this time it’ll work.” She whispered to herself.
| "Buddy. . ." That's all my future self could say at the moment. There didn't appear to be anything different about him; he wasn't dawned in battered clothes or anything else that would give the impression of a badass renegade. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I feel disappointed by this, but that doesn't really matter. While I sat there analyzing myself from the perspective of someone else, I, or rather they, continued, "Dude. You know that this hasn't ever worked out before, and you think this is somehow different? What the fuck?"
I didn't really know what to say; he was obviously right. So I agreed to shut down the operation. We went out for a few beers after the fact. Turns out he's a fucking psycho. I guess all of the abuse and hardship he went through in his early years brought him to such a place. When I got home, I decided to resume my operations so I could go back and be there for him in all the moments that made him who he is now. What could possibly go wrong if I keep my involvement in the past contained to just one person? | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | There was a knock at his door. Marcus turned towards it, looking up from his book, a look of confusion crossed his brow. Outside, rain came down, beating the world like a drum. The glare from the streetlights twisted and danced.
Slowly he stood up and went to the window, looking anxiously out of the blinds. It was a man, clad in a heavy rain coat. Fear twisted in his belly, but he shunned it. They might need help.
He steeled himself, and opened the door.
It was Marcus. A twin, but not exact. This Marcus had been through... something. His face was long, grey, and haggard. His eyes told a tale of butchery. Half of his face was burned into a ragged angry canyon land, while three long scratches ran parallel across his cheek and down his neck. His back was hunched and his leg was shaking. It looked as though he carried all the lives of men in a sack upon his shoulders.
"Hey." said Marcus, his voice was grim and full of smoke. It was not *his* voice. It was a new one, forged with pain. "Can I come in?"
Marcus nodded, too shocked to distrust himself. Rain sloughed down his jacket and pooled on the floor. He moved past him like a cougar and went into the kitchen. He took Marcus' favorite cup from the cupboard, knowing exactly where it was, behind the flour.
He poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the dinner table, his face a mask of grim resignation.
"Why are you here?" Marcus asked him.
He took a swallow of water. "I'm here to kill you. Sit down. We need to talk."
Marcus obeyed himself without a word.
"It may feel, at times, that we inhabit the darkest timeline." Marcus said. His fist closed. "But it is not so."
"You've already had the idea. A time machine! Repair the past, perfect the future." Marcus laughed bitterly. "Listen now, and hear me well." Then Marcus told him of the future, as a pale man on a white horse, and he told of his part in making it. On and on he spoke, Marcus listening in fear. At the end, when the tale was told in all its terror Marcus took from his jacket a strange pistol, and set it upon the table.
Marcus took it, and shot himself in the temple.
A moment later, the second shot rang out. | The air shifted behind me and without turning around I said, "I've been expecting you. Please, have a drink with me." My future self pulled up a chair and sat beside me. I poured us each a few fingers of scotch and said, "If there's one thing I know well, it's myself. Lemme guess, I screwed it all up and you're here to kill me." My future self laughed and said, "I knew I was an asshole when I was younger, but dammit if this isn't nostalgia." I laughed, he laughed... we laughed.
I turned to look at him. His hair was a bit grayer than mine. He had scars on his hands and face that I hadn't experienced yet. He stared at my unblemished face and said, "I forgot how good I used to look." I smirked and replied, "Nice to know I get ugly." We sipped our scotch in unison and he sighed afterward. I stared at him intently and said, "How many years apart?" He stared into the distance and said, "Fifteen. She's dead you know. The kid too. It's our fault."
I rolled back in my office chair and said, "I'd like to think I was smarter in fifteen years. This has been fun, but I've got a trip to 1973 planned." He looked at me confused and said, "73? I went back to 1928." I laughed and replied, "Yeah, and that is where I was originally headed, but then you showed up. I always knew I was self-destructive enough to come back and end myself if I screwed this up, but I don't think it will matter."
My future self stared at me in horror. I smiled and said, "It was in the scotch. Not enough to kill us, just enough to make us drowsy." He stumbled back as I flipped open my ring and snorted the orange powder I had tucked away for that moment. He was already woozy. He shouted, "I don't remember any of this!" I chuckled to myself as I started patting him down for a weapon. He fruitlessly tried to struggle, but I pushed away his arms.
I whispered in his ear, "You don't remember it because you didn't go far enough back. You're the second version of me to attempt this."
His gun was in a concealed holster up by his left armpit, just where I would put one. With a single shot from the revolver fired a round into my head. It was the second time I had killed myself in as many as three hours. It was around that time that I felt the air shift behind me.
Without turning to look I said, "I've been expecting you. Please, join me for a drink."
| |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | Part 1
When I saw myself--from the future--standing in the corner of the room, my heart sank.
*I'm dead.* I thought.
"I'm not here to kill you." Older me said.
*Oh thank god.*
"But if we're not careful, we will be dead." Future me said, calmly.
"Okay, why are you here?" I asked, trying to understand that was going on.
"To give you this." He said, as he reached his hand out.
"Whatever that is, won't it cause a paradox if I take it?" I asked.
"We have no choice." My future self insisted.
I reached my hand out, and he put something in it. A key.
"Hurry." He said. Then he went back to the corner of the room, crouched, entered a code on his wrist band, and with a thick 'pop', he vanished.
I looked at the key chain and saw an address.
*Why?* I wondered.
Reluctantly at first, I looked for my shoes, keys, and jacket and prepared to drive to the address given to me by my future self.
But a sense of urgency grew inside me.
*"hurry."*
I jogged out to my car, got in, threw it in gear and started driving as though it were a race. Apparently, despite having a time machine, I was racing against time.
I had a haunting feeling as though I were being watched, or followed. Part of me believed that I was headed for certain death and that nothing I did or didn't do could prevent it.
When I found the address I was surprised to find that it was a humble house on a small corner lot in a regular residential neighborhood.
I parked a block away. When I approached the house I saw blinds move through the window. I was at a serious disadvantage, but if I couldn't trust myself, who could I trust?
Moments later the garage door began opening. It stopped half way, and someone on the other side waved for me to come in, quickly.
| Someone started clapping behind me as soon as I turned the machine on. I turned around to see myself as if looking in a mirror. I could hardly say a word until "I" stopped clapping and spoke up.
"Great job. Absolutely fantastic job there buddy." I was giving myself praise while walking towards the machine. "Nice to see you. Let me tell you, this thing, magnificent piece of machinery. The only thing is, you'll have to wait a really long time to use it for it to be worth it. And if you're really wondering this is the first time we've used it. Totally worth it. I can't tell you how much I've wanted to tell someone about it but realized that I could just appreciate myself if I used it later."
"So now what?"
"Ya know, I'm not really sure. Every time after this point there is a time machine we've made and can travel to that point. Anything before now is useless."
"That's good. At least you can return to your time."
"Well we both know that we need to arrive in that time by how much we've spent here so we aren't dying early."
"Yeah, the math should be correct. Just, ya know, if ya come back then there's probably a problem. Hopefully not but it will become sufficient research data."
"You got it me. Man this is starting to get a little awkward."
"I'll remember it for the future."
"No you won't, we go get liquor and forget this conversation. But we get it in our head to travel back in a year to this point and give ourself praise because no one else appreciates it."
"Well, that's nice."
"Alright, I'm going back now. Gotta feed the cats."
"Alright. Thanks for stopping by."
"Just to be clear, we aren't going to let anyone else know this right?"
"Damn right. That's how paradoxes happen." | |
[WP] Time machines have been invented four times in the past. Each time, the results were so horrific that the inventor travelled to the moment it was created and killed their past selves. You just invented it for the fifth time when your future self shows up. | 1. I have to die.
I have/? to die.
2. I have to die.
I have/!? to die.
3. I don't want to die.
I don't/! want to die.
4. I blinked and died.
I blinked and died?
5. Time is not a stream. It's a pond; the deeper you go, the higher the pressure. There are scary things in the
depths. Very scary things. Deadly things. Things humans should be afraid of.
You have to die.
I don't want to die/.
You have to die.
Time is a pond, the deeper you go the higher the pressure. There are scary things in the depths.
Scary/?
I am sorry. For humanity, you must die. You all must die.
I don't want to die/.
Time is not a stream. It's a pond. If you can't float, you'll drown. We'll all drown.
I don't want to die/.
I'm sorry you must.
The smell of sulfur wafted into the air, the dingy room holding the body of a man. Another man looked at the body.
"You have to die."
"I don't want to die." the man said softly.
"Nor do I."
| Someone started clapping behind me as soon as I turned the machine on. I turned around to see myself as if looking in a mirror. I could hardly say a word until "I" stopped clapping and spoke up.
"Great job. Absolutely fantastic job there buddy." I was giving myself praise while walking towards the machine. "Nice to see you. Let me tell you, this thing, magnificent piece of machinery. The only thing is, you'll have to wait a really long time to use it for it to be worth it. And if you're really wondering this is the first time we've used it. Totally worth it. I can't tell you how much I've wanted to tell someone about it but realized that I could just appreciate myself if I used it later."
"So now what?"
"Ya know, I'm not really sure. Every time after this point there is a time machine we've made and can travel to that point. Anything before now is useless."
"That's good. At least you can return to your time."
"Well we both know that we need to arrive in that time by how much we've spent here so we aren't dying early."
"Yeah, the math should be correct. Just, ya know, if ya come back then there's probably a problem. Hopefully not but it will become sufficient research data."
"You got it me. Man this is starting to get a little awkward."
"I'll remember it for the future."
"No you won't, we go get liquor and forget this conversation. But we get it in our head to travel back in a year to this point and give ourself praise because no one else appreciates it."
"Well, that's nice."
"Alright, I'm going back now. Gotta feed the cats."
"Alright. Thanks for stopping by."
"Just to be clear, we aren't going to let anyone else know this right?"
"Damn right. That's how paradoxes happen." | |
[WP] you are the friend of a super villain. This makes being kidnaped very interesting | [WP] you are the friend of a super villain. This makes being kidnaped very interesting | “I’m going to level with you. This, this right here? It’s a bad decision. Alright?”
James emphasized his point by rattling the steel chains binding his arms. They rung out against the industrial concrete, bouncing harmlessly off of a spray painted pentagram.
“We aren’t talking about your every day bad decision either. This isn’t like buying milk close to the expiration date. This is letting the used car salesman talk you into buying a Porsche, or dumping your life savings into a casino run.”
James’ voice echoed in the abandoned warehouse (who could afford to leave these things empty? The real estate alone had to be worth something.) Several black robed cultists took no heed of his words as they lit lavender-scented candles. Their leader, a cardboard cutout from some B-list movie, dramatically shrugged off his black velvet cloak.
“Mr. Esteves.” Came a voice honed in dozens of improv theater classes. “It is you who has made the bad decision.”
“Right. This is all my fault. How could I have forgotten?” James felt his eyes twitch with the sheer effort to keep from rolling.
“So good that you understand.” The big bad turned around and, without a shred of self-consciousness, twirled his mustache.
“This is stupid.” James said without thinking. “You’re stupid.”
The villainous wannabe scowled at that. James had to admit, if the man weren’t such an idiot, he would cut an imposing figure. The black gi he wore had no sleeves, showing two powerfully built arms covered in occult tattoos. The man’s bald pate was crisscrossed with Nordic runes, one of which James recognized as the Icelandic stave for warding off foxes (“Why is that a thing?” he wondered. “And why would you get it tattooed on your skull? Have you had reoccurring problems with foxes?”)
“The time has come, James Regal Esteves. The time… for your death!”
Tall, dark and dumber drew out a ridiculously overdone knife. Despite its appearance, James was reasonably sure it could do bad things to him.
“Wait, now wait a moment!” James thought furiously. “Why are you doing this?”
Those were the magic words. Mr. Evil broke out into a rehearsed smile. What villain could pass up the chance to monologue their painfully thought out machinations? (Competent villains, that’s who. But James kept his mouth shut.)
“Ah, what harm could it do to tell you?” (So much harm, you dumbass.) “What do you see when you look upon this city? The unwashed masses, desperately searching for meaning in their meaningless lives...”
James tuned out the monologue and focused on his surroundings. There had to be a way out. If the cultists were as predictable as their archetypes, there would be some misplaced key or a convenient blowtorch. His eyes darted across the room before catching on one of the lavender candles.
The flame was burning blue.
“Ah shit.” James breathed.
“What?” The leader turned to him, offput at being interrupted.
The warehouse door exploded off its hinges with pinpoint timing. Serpants of blue flame writhed through the entryway and began engulfing the concrete floor. They crackled and spat like no natural fire would.
James gave Mr. Evil some credit. The man had stepped back, visibly shaken, but quickly regained his composure.
“Who goes there?” he bellowed.
“I do. I go here. You can tell, because I’m standing here, lecturing you.”
She was 5’6” of sarcasm and sunshine. Unlike the pretentious knock-offs in the room, she wore jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. A blonde ponytail stuck out from under a red baseball cap. And, of course, she was wreathed with the flames of hell, bound to her terrible will.
“Hey Angie.” James plastered a smile on his face.
“Hey James!” Angela beamed at him, and he could almost forget that she was far and away the most dangerous person in the room.
“Sorceress! How dare you interfere with my machinations!” the lead cultist yelled.
“Like this.” Angela motioned to the fire serpents. “You keep asking these stupid questions. Are you expecting stupid answers, or is this just normal for you?”
Bad guy numero uno turned red in the face.
“To arms my legion! Destroy the interloper-”
He was cutoff by the roaring of flame as Angela brutally and preemptively murdered the half-dozen low-level cultists. Their flesh sizzled like bacon on a hot skillet. Their bones, charred and ruined, were reduced to ash shortly after.
“Gah! Fuck!” James shrieked. The cult leader turned perfectly pale in the flickering blue light.
“Is that lavender?” Angie walked towards them with a spring in her step. Both men cringed back. “I love lavender. Just a hint.” She winked at James.
“Who… who are you?” whispered Mr. Evil.
“I’m Angie, your friendly neighborhood witch.” She gave him one of her girl-next-door smiles. “And you made a bad decision today.”
The cultist’s eyes darted to James. He remembered the knife in his hand and dove at James. His valiant effort at hostage-taking was cut short by another hungry flame demon, surging close enough to blister James' skin. The smell of burning fat overtook the lavender undertones. Angie wrinkled her nose.
“Bleh. Pretty to look at, but not so nice up close, don’t you think?”
James thought that applied to more than one horrific sight in this room. Angie sauntered over to him and admired the chains.
“Ah, James. That’s quite the sticky situation there.” Her smile reminded him of a butcher’s knife. “But since you aren’t going anywhere, I think now would be a good time to talk about us...”
And at that moment, James knew true fear. | "Hi. Sorry. I hope you're not too busy or anything. But you know. I got myself in a predicament. Well. It wasn't my fault but you know. I could use your help. I got kidnapped. And please stop laughing. It's not funny. It's very serious. Please. Can you stop laughing. I need your help. I don't know where I am. I happened to sneak this cellphone off one of the henchmen when they weren't looking. You need to like figure out a way to come and get me. Why do you need to know who took me? It's not important. Just save me. Okay. Fine. I got kidnapped by Zombieman. Okay. Very mature. I need you to stop what you're doing and come get me. You think this is funny? Okay. I was out clubbing. Yeah the one by the pier. Went out to smoke a cigarette. Okay. Now's not the time to be judging my habits. It was just half a cigarette. I'm not starting up again. Anyways. That's not important. I was outside and they showed up out of nowhere. I was with three other people. They ran. I tripped and they got me. They said they're going to eat my brain. You need to come and help. No. I can't wait that long. C'mon. Just cause they're zombies doesn't mean you can take your sweet time. Oh really? Why you think I'm calling you. I already tried to escape. Please. Just get over here. I have done so much for you. And the one time I need you, you're having a big laugh. Just typical. Just typical. Okay. Good. I'll be waiting."
"Four fucking hours. Wow. Wow. That's how much I mean to you. Four fucking hours and you show up with fucking wendys."
"At least I came. I almost forgot."
"Oh you can go to hell. Now hurry up and get me out this thing."
"Relax. I got you a baconator. So it's not like I completely forgot about you."
"I"m on my vegan diet you asshole. So you can shove that bacanator up your ass".
"Oh I'm sorry. Are cigarettes vegan too? I mean. It's okay for you to smoke. But not eat a fucking burger"
" You don't get to take that judgmental tone with me. I was this close to having my skull sawed open. This close. "
"Did you die?"
"Excuse me"
"Did you die?
"Almost. I almost died."
"But you didn't, so stop bitching."
"God. you're such an ass. Give me that fucking bag". |
It may or may not be reciprocal, up to y'all | [WP] A beautiful enchanter(ress) is ruling the land and has all inhabitants under her spell. You're immune but don't know it because you are madly in love with them. | I was standing in what was a field, taking a look at the kingdom. I saw the event coming forth, people celebrating the continuous festival. It happened every month. The sole leader of the land, Princess Amai, went down the steps of he royal palace.
I had heard of her land. It was called Alarontos. I had heard that she had sealed it off, and that the culture there was… odd. I walked along the old dirt paths that used to lead to the gates, my giant sword being dragged behind me. I’m a traveler, one that heard rumors of this place.
The two guards, armed with spears, noticed me. It seemed like I was going to sneak past them somehow. Beyond the brick walls surrounding the town I heard the celebration. I heard that the Princess could make anyone fall in love with her. It was said to be magic. Yeah, right. Only magic I’ve ever heard of were in the badlands, in the deserts.
The guards question me, walking towards me, “Hey! Who are you?”
“Me?” I answer. I chuckle and come up with a lie that they’ll buy. “I’m here to see your wonderful princess. I heard that her beauty lands people to fall in love. Wanted to see if it’s true to myself.”
“Oh ho ho!” The guard smiles, the other one glaring at me. This one was a middle aged gentleman. “Very well then! Open the gates!” I saw the metal gates clang open, and I was allowed to enter. I did it with caution, and I was thankful that they bought my lie so easily. I strolled along the castle-town, seeing the festivities.
One thing I didn’t mention was that whoever came here never returned. My friend Robbie had come here two weeks ago and never returned. I saw the Guards throw out what looked like his equipment into a ditch last night when I was scouting. Why they did it was beyond me. As these thoughts came to my head I saw her.
Princess Yoma Sca Amai. She had long, blonde hair, with sharp hazel eyes, and a smile. It almost looked like she wasn’t aware of why everyone was rushing up to meet her. I felt some kind of attraction towards her, however, and despite my best efforts, fell in love. Love at first sight, and I didn’t feel a spell being cast like they say. It was like if you like someone, and you have a crush on them.
I have no clue whether it was the spell or my natural tendencies, but I could feel my face blushing. She seemed so innocent, but, in her presence, an entire town had fallen for her, and were doing anything that she said. I looked away, trying to resist, and looked for the library. Maybe in there, was a clue.
I entered the library, and I saw what appeared to be a ghost town. Everyone, even the receptionist, was at the festival. There was a ‘not open’ sign, but the front door was unlocked. My skeptical mind immediately went to this being a trap, but oh well. Nothing I could do about it. If it was indeed a trap, then I’d fallen for it hook line ‘n sinker.
Looking around, I saw a list detailing where all of the different sections were. I was looking for the history of this land. I head down to the section to find that it’s all been cleared out. “Dammit!” My yell of frustration caught the attention of a few people outside the library, but not enough to cause any suspicion.
My next idea was sneaking through the back end of the castle. I avoided the guards, and I pulled out a device. It was black with a screen, and I aim it at the guards, turning it on. On the screen showed the camera feed of the guards, along with information on them.
They were just there while the real guards were on guard duty. Finding a rock, I throw it at a nearby bush, causing a rattling sound. I swiftly got by them as they got distracted by some noise in the bushes. Kicking down the wooden door, I found myself not paying attention to the dungeon-like landscape.
Out of the blue, I enter what appears to be a prison. I see ordinary people inside. Women, children, and hunters. I spot a familiar face, albeit with a beard, in a cell in the corner: Robbie. It looked like he was beaten up, bruises and scars all over him.
Thanks for reading! Feedback appreciated!
Ver 1.0.1
Edit 1: Added more after character locates the library. | "...ke up...wake up Em"
A soft female voice being whispered in my ears awaken me, I was having a very good dream thanks to the tingliness that it provided. the moment my eyes opened they locked with hers.
The person who appeared in front of me didn't look like someone who would have that kind of voice. In the deep green of her three eyes, I could easily see my sleepy face and a bruise on my left eye.
At least until the iris in her eyes tightens and changes shape, like that of a cross; a black cross floating in a sea of green. She growls when I show no reaction, she lifts me off the ground using her long arm, in that moment the sleepness I had in me disappears and I gain awareness of my surroundings.
"...Princess...?" I mutter I look around to see that I'm surrounded by bodies, all of them of different shapes and colors, some bleeding, some death, some looking at us with fear in their various eyes; not wanting to intervene.
The Princess, a girl part human, part lion, part hawk and some other unknown animal tighten her grip on me, I can see something erupting from the palm of her other hand, a long thin claw aimed at my belly button.
"W-wait, please Princess!" my mother says, she was a combination of a dog and a crab, she opened and closed her claws desperately trying to get the princess's attention "h-he hasn't hurt anyone!"
There are various nods from the crowd, but not from everyone, I couldn't tell if they agreed with the Princess's actions or they were just scared of her. My Father a mix between an octopus and a horse, shoots ink everywhere in frustration. He hasn't learned to speak in that form yet...
A deep growl from the princess was enough to shut everyone up. She stabs my bellybutton with her claw, my screams echoing in the stone city, our 'Bird Cage' like some villagers call it. She stabs me over and over again missing the bellybutton a few times, all while looking at my face, all while muttering 'why?' 'why?' 'why?'.
I fall to the ground in a bloody heap, she steps on my arm in frustration, breaking it, she starts screaming while grabbing her her head violently.
"Why!? why aren't you like them!?"
I try to say something to her, but only blood comes out. she was sobbing now, like a little kid whose ice cream just fell on the ground. Her white hair was fluttering in the wind while she cleaned her eyes.
My vision becomes static for a moment, and through the small holes in that static, I see the same scene, only this time it was another girl, completely human and with blond silverish hair and with the same green eyes, only this time she had only two completely normal eyes. My vision returns to normal. Some of the villagers were getting angry and started approaching, claws and teeth at the ready. the Princess's hair starts to wriggle and change shape; wings, like those of an angel she starts to create a strong wind with them, keeping the villagers at bay.
She flies away, but just before that, I could see the anger and frustration on her face, on such a level that her whole body was trembling.
*...Why...indeed...?*
All the villagers start leaving, there was nothing more to see, they carried the dead bodies of those who stood up to the princess; some of them were eaten on the spot though. My mother lifts me off the ground and puts me on my father's back.
"I-I-I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I should have hidden you better!" she says "dear, please quickly! before he bleeds out!"
My father nods and starts running to the nearest 'hospital' as I start to lose consciousness *again* both the Princess's question and mine are left unanswered.
***
will do some edits later! but for now, let me know what you guys think!
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
|
It may or may not be reciprocal, up to y'all | [WP] A beautiful enchanter(ress) is ruling the land and has all inhabitants under her spell. You're immune but don't know it because you are madly in love with them. | "It was the only way." -Stella often told herself. It didn't make her heart lighter but eased the pain at difficult times. "It was the only way to survive."
For everything you want in this world, you have to pay a price. As a magician she learned this lesson early. Since casting her spell upon the people she learned to hate this rule from heart.
-My queen, your eye has returned!
Stella turned around to see Sebas kneeling at the door. When the man looked up with warm puppy eyes her heart skipped a step. It was always hard seeing her most close servant return, yet she anticipated these moments more than the sunrise at dawn. He was her last joy in this world.
-Please, tell me what you saw!
-Yes, my queen.
-But first, stand up.
She grabbed Sebas's hand and helped him up. Their faces got dangerously close and the man's pupils dilated by joy. His blushing face entranced Stella for a moment.
"This is not real, it is all not real." The queen reminded herself as she turned her back on her love. All the love the man shoved to her was only for by the spell. How could one truly love such a monster? Times like this her burden felt the heaviest.
-I think we have finally succeeded. Your devoted servants cleaned the land and stopped the ruin. No more man fall from breathing the air now. You united us when we needed most, and at the end our belief in you really saved us all.
That was a lie, but poor man couldn't be blamed for not realizing this. There was never such belief. If there only was a way she could apologize to him for all her horrible deeds. But at least it finally came to an end.
The next morning she stood at her window to say farewell to this world. She broke the spell at night and no memories shall remain of her reign. Stella tightly grabbed her dagger for the last time.
-My queen, are you feeling all right?
And the dagger fell to the floor clattering.
-Sebas, you shouldn't be here. The spell is broken, you are all free again!
-What spell are you talking about, your highness? Did you catch the cold?
Under his caring she certainly could feel a fewer rising. "I see, I already died and went to Heaven. Even though I expected Hell more." Those were her last thoughts before Sebas put his unconscious queen on the sofa.
Maybe one day she will notice her, but until then he was happy to serve the women he loves…
***
For more of my work, check out r/SixthEon or ask for a personal appointment from my secretary! | "...ke up...wake up Em"
A soft female voice being whispered in my ears awaken me, I was having a very good dream thanks to the tingliness that it provided. the moment my eyes opened they locked with hers.
The person who appeared in front of me didn't look like someone who would have that kind of voice. In the deep green of her three eyes, I could easily see my sleepy face and a bruise on my left eye.
At least until the iris in her eyes tightens and changes shape, like that of a cross; a black cross floating in a sea of green. She growls when I show no reaction, she lifts me off the ground using her long arm, in that moment the sleepness I had in me disappears and I gain awareness of my surroundings.
"...Princess...?" I mutter I look around to see that I'm surrounded by bodies, all of them of different shapes and colors, some bleeding, some death, some looking at us with fear in their various eyes; not wanting to intervene.
The Princess, a girl part human, part lion, part hawk and some other unknown animal tighten her grip on me, I can see something erupting from the palm of her other hand, a long thin claw aimed at my belly button.
"W-wait, please Princess!" my mother says, she was a combination of a dog and a crab, she opened and closed her claws desperately trying to get the princess's attention "h-he hasn't hurt anyone!"
There are various nods from the crowd, but not from everyone, I couldn't tell if they agreed with the Princess's actions or they were just scared of her. My Father a mix between an octopus and a horse, shoots ink everywhere in frustration. He hasn't learned to speak in that form yet...
A deep growl from the princess was enough to shut everyone up. She stabs my bellybutton with her claw, my screams echoing in the stone city, our 'Bird Cage' like some villagers call it. She stabs me over and over again missing the bellybutton a few times, all while looking at my face, all while muttering 'why?' 'why?' 'why?'.
I fall to the ground in a bloody heap, she steps on my arm in frustration, breaking it, she starts screaming while grabbing her her head violently.
"Why!? why aren't you like them!?"
I try to say something to her, but only blood comes out. she was sobbing now, like a little kid whose ice cream just fell on the ground. Her white hair was fluttering in the wind while she cleaned her eyes.
My vision becomes static for a moment, and through the small holes in that static, I see the same scene, only this time it was another girl, completely human and with blond silverish hair and with the same green eyes, only this time she had only two completely normal eyes. My vision returns to normal. Some of the villagers were getting angry and started approaching, claws and teeth at the ready. the Princess's hair starts to wriggle and change shape; wings, like those of an angel she starts to create a strong wind with them, keeping the villagers at bay.
She flies away, but just before that, I could see the anger and frustration on her face, on such a level that her whole body was trembling.
*...Why...indeed...?*
All the villagers start leaving, there was nothing more to see, they carried the dead bodies of those who stood up to the princess; some of them were eaten on the spot though. My mother lifts me off the ground and puts me on my father's back.
"I-I-I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I should have hidden you better!" she says "dear, please quickly! before he bleeds out!"
My father nods and starts running to the nearest 'hospital' as I start to lose consciousness *again* both the Princess's question and mine are left unanswered.
***
will do some edits later! but for now, let me know what you guys think!
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
|
It may or may not be reciprocal, up to y'all | [WP] A beautiful enchanter(ress) is ruling the land and has all inhabitants under her spell. You're immune but don't know it because you are madly in love with them. | I woke up with my normal routine. Clothing, breakfast, and lighting
the 5,000th candle in dedication to the beautiful Enchantress
Emalia. Her first day into power is still crystal in my memory. Millions of
shooting stars flashed over the night sky. White snowflakes descended from the
streaks, falling unto all witnessing. In a brilliant flash I saw her for the
very first time. Her blue eyes pieced my heart, that brilliantly flowing black
hair engulfing all my senses. We all must meet our new Queen. She was at the
castle.
While everyone began forming into line and marching, I ran
passed and as fast as ever. I simply could not believe my eyes that such a
creature can exist in a world like ours. I found floating right above the
castle, descending to greet her new subjects. The vision not even holding a
candle to how she really looked.
She looked surprised when she first met me, and looked
intensely into my eyes. I know she could feel my love though (probably evident
of my goofy grin), and she greeted me in such a warm and kind manner. In fact,
she was so kind so offered me to be her personal magic assistant! She knew I
special, I was the only one who’s eyes didn’t turn brown.
I got to work with all kinds of her spells and potions, from
the simplest of frog curses to the strongest of superhuman enchantments. I was honored
with the job of finding new ways to increase her power and rule. For the safety
and livelihood of the common folk, of course.
In the early dawn, a breakthrough was before me. The fizzing
orange bubbles told me bat’s breath was the final ingredient to its success. It
was a side project of selfish desire, but one I’ve dreamed of always. The elixir
would allow the drinker to be an enchanter themselves, albeit not as powerful
as her majesty. Maybe this would allow her to see me as a worthy partner now.
I ran down her throne, calling out to her of a breakthrough.
I always love to see her face light up.
I cheerfully explained my creation, and what it could me for
us. I told what great things we could accomplish together. And most of all, we
could become the King and Queen forever.
Her usually smile turned into a face I’ve never seen her
create; concern. She looked away, thinking. She asked me why I wanted to become
an enchanter like her. I confessed my absolute love for her, and told my
deepest desire of becoming her eternal partner.
She looked down on the ground, tapping her foot. Didn’t she
want us to be together?
With a sigh, she got up and hugged me.
“If that’s what you want, then I shall grant it.” She
whispered to me ear.
I began to feel sleepy, and the world faded.
I awoke to being next to her on the throne. Everything
seemed a little fuzzy and weird, but she grabbed my hand to comfort me. I could
see the black smoke was now flowing out of my hands, just like her.
“And now, my dear, you are officially my King forever.”
I nearly cried tears of joy. I couldn’t believe it. This
felt like a dream!
--Thanks for reading! Check out /r/JustATadOfStories for
more works, I’ll be posting my backlot soon!-- | "...ke up...wake up Em"
A soft female voice being whispered in my ears awaken me, I was having a very good dream thanks to the tingliness that it provided. the moment my eyes opened they locked with hers.
The person who appeared in front of me didn't look like someone who would have that kind of voice. In the deep green of her three eyes, I could easily see my sleepy face and a bruise on my left eye.
At least until the iris in her eyes tightens and changes shape, like that of a cross; a black cross floating in a sea of green. She growls when I show no reaction, she lifts me off the ground using her long arm, in that moment the sleepness I had in me disappears and I gain awareness of my surroundings.
"...Princess...?" I mutter I look around to see that I'm surrounded by bodies, all of them of different shapes and colors, some bleeding, some death, some looking at us with fear in their various eyes; not wanting to intervene.
The Princess, a girl part human, part lion, part hawk and some other unknown animal tighten her grip on me, I can see something erupting from the palm of her other hand, a long thin claw aimed at my belly button.
"W-wait, please Princess!" my mother says, she was a combination of a dog and a crab, she opened and closed her claws desperately trying to get the princess's attention "h-he hasn't hurt anyone!"
There are various nods from the crowd, but not from everyone, I couldn't tell if they agreed with the Princess's actions or they were just scared of her. My Father a mix between an octopus and a horse, shoots ink everywhere in frustration. He hasn't learned to speak in that form yet...
A deep growl from the princess was enough to shut everyone up. She stabs my bellybutton with her claw, my screams echoing in the stone city, our 'Bird Cage' like some villagers call it. She stabs me over and over again missing the bellybutton a few times, all while looking at my face, all while muttering 'why?' 'why?' 'why?'.
I fall to the ground in a bloody heap, she steps on my arm in frustration, breaking it, she starts screaming while grabbing her her head violently.
"Why!? why aren't you like them!?"
I try to say something to her, but only blood comes out. she was sobbing now, like a little kid whose ice cream just fell on the ground. Her white hair was fluttering in the wind while she cleaned her eyes.
My vision becomes static for a moment, and through the small holes in that static, I see the same scene, only this time it was another girl, completely human and with blond silverish hair and with the same green eyes, only this time she had only two completely normal eyes. My vision returns to normal. Some of the villagers were getting angry and started approaching, claws and teeth at the ready. the Princess's hair starts to wriggle and change shape; wings, like those of an angel she starts to create a strong wind with them, keeping the villagers at bay.
She flies away, but just before that, I could see the anger and frustration on her face, on such a level that her whole body was trembling.
*...Why...indeed...?*
All the villagers start leaving, there was nothing more to see, they carried the dead bodies of those who stood up to the princess; some of them were eaten on the spot though. My mother lifts me off the ground and puts me on my father's back.
"I-I-I'm so sorry, this is all my fault! I should have hidden you better!" she says "dear, please quickly! before he bleeds out!"
My father nods and starts running to the nearest 'hospital' as I start to lose consciousness *again* both the Princess's question and mine are left unanswered.
***
will do some edits later! but for now, let me know what you guys think!
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
|
[WP] Write the lyrics to the song the Oompa Loompas would have sung if Charlie and Grandpa Joe hadn't been able to burp their way out of the fizzy lifting drink's shaft | Oompa loompa, do-ba-de-do, I've got a perfect puzzle for you.
Oompa loompa, do-ba-da-dee, if you are wise you'll listen to me.
What do you get when you get when your throat is so dry?
Pockets so poor that grown men would cry?
One little taste, and you'll want so much more!
Surely this child's taste will soar!
Higher and higher!
Oompa loompa, do-ba-de-da, given good manners you will go far.
Oompa oompa, do-ba-de-do, just like the Oompa Loompa do-ba-de-do. Do-ba-de-do!
"Wonka, help! You can get me down later, but--Charlie! He flew through the fans!"
"Oh, dear, such an honest child, felled by the greed of the older generation.... *Flute* I want you to grab some string and a ladder and tie our dear grandfather here to it. Get six or seven of your friends, a blowgun and some darts, a life net, and take him outside."
"A blowgun? What do you need a blowgun for!?"
"Why, to get the air out, of course. That fizzy lifting drink is making bubbles, bubbles, and more bubbles in that boy's chest, you see. He'll keep flying and flying, but a balloon can only take so much before it pops."
"Pops!? Oh, Charlie... Oh Charlie...!"
"Sayonara, Grandpa Joe, I hope Charlie reaches new heights! And with another burdensome child lifted off, we have two angels left... Shall we carry on?" | Oompa Loompa, bubbly boo,
I'd take this warning, if I were you.
Oompa Loompa, bibbly bop,
If you're not careful, you will be chopped.
What goes up and doesn't come back?
Who's been sliced like a little boy snack?
| |
[WP] Aliens said that most of our technology is some kind of magic. They built a radio using our blueprints, but it didn't work. When a human touched it, every light in the room exploded and the radio immediately started playing his favorite station live, despite being light years away from Earth. | The aliens bowed to the human, who despite being much smaller in stature, suddenly seemed to tower over everyone.
Gary Wills was taken from his garage in Minneapolis, MN. The aliens filtered in silently, like large, grey ninjas, and bagged him like a hostage. When they removed the bag he found himself inside of a surprisingly unhostile, well-lit room, with comfortable places to sit.
The aliens had already taken the time to learn his language, and replicated it fairly well with their deep, wet sounding voices.
"You humans posess power you do not understand." One of the creatures said. "It is feared that you will branch out and do to the galaxy what you have done to your planet, and I have been sent to assess that likelihood."
"What? Uh... why me?" The human asked.
"We have attempted to replicate your technology, but we are not gifted with the powers that you are." The alien continued. "We need to be sure."
The alien placed a square, silver box in front of the man.
"Is that a radio?" He asked, confused.
The alien turned it on, but only the faint hum of the battery came through the speakers. Then he turned it off.
"You will operate the radio." The alien said as he slid the box closer to the human.
"Okay..." The human reluctantly played along, mystified by the circumstance he found himself in. He turned the radio on, and to his surprise, Tax Man by The Beatles began echoing through the room.
The aliens all made gasping sounds. Some backed away. Some stepped closer.
The leader picked up the radio and examined it.
"It's just a radio... that's probably Kool 108, the oldies." The man said.
"We have read about your radio technology." The alien gurgled. "Tell me, human, could your radio work if it were several light years away from your planet?"
"Uh, I don't know how far radio waves go, but, I'm guessing it wouldn't come in so... clearly." The human said. "Where are we?"
"We are no longer in your galaxy." The alien said.
"What?" The human asked. At that exact moment the music stopped playing on the radio.
"As I said." The alien said. "Power you do not understand." | "They're launching again, sir. Do you want to watch?"
Morix swivelled towards the portalscreens, the crystals which made up his being tinkling with the sudden shift. His eyebrows, or the thickened clusters of diamonds near his orbital receptors, knitted in consternation.
"They never give up, do they?" he asked, rhetorically.
"You have to give it to them for trying," said Laprux, the junior between the two. He was a smaller cloud of sparkling stardust, at least a couple of millenia away from reaching Morix's seniority. He made up with diligence what he lacked in experience.
"Chances of success?" asked Morix. The images on the portalscreens were troubling - it had been years since the last serious expedition mounted by the humans to explore the galaxy they lived in, and the Berullians had expended no small effort to ensure that the humans stayed where they belonged. In fact, Morix had been promised that the humans had all but abandoned their fixation on exploring the inkiness beyond their puny planet. This was supposed to be a quiet shift, and the last thing Morix wanted was an escalation.
"High, sir," said Laprux, studying a small screen at the console before him. "Their governments have prioritized their efforts elsewhere, but it seems that some of the... private tribes have amassed sufficient resources to explore the universe on their own."
"That's not good," said Morix.
"No, sir, it isn't."
Morix pondered on the options before him. He could, of course, directly intervene in the small shuttle which was being prepped for launch. They had agents amongst the humans, ready to intervene at their behest. But that took effort, and important as the directive was to ensure that the humans never left earth, of even greater priority was the instruction never to let the humans learn of their presence. Every direct action he took was a risk he could not afford.
"Forgive me for asking, sir," said Laprux, ever the inquisitive mind. "What happens if the humans actually, you know, manage to make contact with the rest of us? Is that such a bad thing?"
"Well, it's hard to say for sure," said Morix. "The best simulations we've run indicate that the humans will balk at knowing we've been hampering their progress, interfering with their ability to explore the stars. Certainly, they would stop using any of the technology we've seeded amongst their civilization. Chaos, just chaos, after that. No, it's better that they stay where they are. This symbiotic relationship has been going pretty well, and I'm not going to have it all be upset on my watch, that's for sure."
Laprux tapped on the console, and the images zoomed in.
"They're even bringing our power generators with them, on the space shuttle," he said. "Amazing how we managed to integrate it into their lives so easily."
"Everyone's happy this way," said Morix. "We give them a device which helps them connect with one another, share their knowledge, capture their every moment. And in return, it helps power our planet, generates the resources we need to survive."
"They almost uncovered the truth, didn't they, sir?"
Morix nodded. It had been a close shave - the latest upgrade the Berullians had introduced necessitated the removal of a connection port the humans used to listen directly to their devices. A minor revolt surged, and it was only through their best efforts that they managed to quell the human dissatisfaction which threatened to blow their cover.
"Make it shiny, make it bigger, and they won't ask questions," said Morix. "The shuttle's getting too close. Cut off the probe, feed them the prepared footage, and hope they don't ask any more questions."
"Roger, sir."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | |
[WP] Aliens said that most of our technology is some kind of magic. They built a radio using our blueprints, but it didn't work. When a human touched it, every light in the room exploded and the radio immediately started playing his favorite station live, despite being light years away from Earth. | The problem with aliens is that they don't think. They can read blue prints, but they don't understand them. The radio they built was fully functional. However they forgot a single detail. It's needs to be turned on.
With a sigh I corrected the problem, at the very instant I touched the radio something else happened. I don't know what, I was as confused as they were when the lights exploded. Aliens, being aliens were quick to assume that it was me, asking me to explain the magic. The only magic I know is a simple card trick!
I tried to explain the concepts of off and on, of electricity, they don't want to know. I explained long distance radio waves that go into space seemingly forever and the odds that we had picked up one. However, aliens being aliens, they have insisted that I show them the magic and explain it. How can I? I don't understand how their technology works or why their lights exploded, let alone why at that exact moment.
I have convinced aliens of nothing and they now seek to understand more. I don't know when if ever they will let me go. Perhaps I can come up with a plan, I don't know very much about physics but Earth is filled with libraries and Universities, perhaps the aliens could learn there. Perhaps. But I doubt it. They seem convinced that I should be the one to teach them. | "They're launching again, sir. Do you want to watch?"
Morix swivelled towards the portalscreens, the crystals which made up his being tinkling with the sudden shift. His eyebrows, or the thickened clusters of diamonds near his orbital receptors, knitted in consternation.
"They never give up, do they?" he asked, rhetorically.
"You have to give it to them for trying," said Laprux, the junior between the two. He was a smaller cloud of sparkling stardust, at least a couple of millenia away from reaching Morix's seniority. He made up with diligence what he lacked in experience.
"Chances of success?" asked Morix. The images on the portalscreens were troubling - it had been years since the last serious expedition mounted by the humans to explore the galaxy they lived in, and the Berullians had expended no small effort to ensure that the humans stayed where they belonged. In fact, Morix had been promised that the humans had all but abandoned their fixation on exploring the inkiness beyond their puny planet. This was supposed to be a quiet shift, and the last thing Morix wanted was an escalation.
"High, sir," said Laprux, studying a small screen at the console before him. "Their governments have prioritized their efforts elsewhere, but it seems that some of the... private tribes have amassed sufficient resources to explore the universe on their own."
"That's not good," said Morix.
"No, sir, it isn't."
Morix pondered on the options before him. He could, of course, directly intervene in the small shuttle which was being prepped for launch. They had agents amongst the humans, ready to intervene at their behest. But that took effort, and important as the directive was to ensure that the humans never left earth, of even greater priority was the instruction never to let the humans learn of their presence. Every direct action he took was a risk he could not afford.
"Forgive me for asking, sir," said Laprux, ever the inquisitive mind. "What happens if the humans actually, you know, manage to make contact with the rest of us? Is that such a bad thing?"
"Well, it's hard to say for sure," said Morix. "The best simulations we've run indicate that the humans will balk at knowing we've been hampering their progress, interfering with their ability to explore the stars. Certainly, they would stop using any of the technology we've seeded amongst their civilization. Chaos, just chaos, after that. No, it's better that they stay where they are. This symbiotic relationship has been going pretty well, and I'm not going to have it all be upset on my watch, that's for sure."
Laprux tapped on the console, and the images zoomed in.
"They're even bringing our power generators with them, on the space shuttle," he said. "Amazing how we managed to integrate it into their lives so easily."
"Everyone's happy this way," said Morix. "We give them a device which helps them connect with one another, share their knowledge, capture their every moment. And in return, it helps power our planet, generates the resources we need to survive."
"They almost uncovered the truth, didn't they, sir?"
Morix nodded. It had been a close shave - the latest upgrade the Berullians had introduced necessitated the removal of a connection port the humans used to listen directly to their devices. A minor revolt surged, and it was only through their best efforts that they managed to quell the human dissatisfaction which threatened to blow their cover.
"Make it shiny, make it bigger, and they won't ask questions," said Morix. "The shuttle's getting too close. Cut off the probe, feed them the prepared footage, and hope they don't ask any more questions."
"Roger, sir."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | Ninjacon 2017 was an interesting one. They all were. Ninjas from all over the world in one place. Holding it in a secret basement of a hotel hosting an anime convention was a stroke of genius. Those japanese ninjas had been right, to hide a tree: use a forest. But thier time had passed. They did'nt change with the times.
Those who hired them knew how to find them. The international association of Ninja. The Australian Ninjas were the best in the world, thier mastery of deadly creatrues and harsh terrain made them the most expensive. The Japanese ninja had fractured into the traditionalists (what normies think of ninja) and the flashy ones who wore orange. Nobody ever expected Spanish Ninjas or the Canadian ones (they would apologize as they killed you, often by force feeding you maple syrup and poutine until your stomach burst). With the new assassins creed games more people expected the Arabic, Italian and even the American Ninjas.
It was at the secret ninja bar that they would trade stories.
"I say olaf, did you see yesterday's episode of Game of Thones? Cracking show eh Wot! , asked Nigel. Everyone knew about MI 6 and James Bond, but the queen's personal Ninjas were Britians true strength.
Olaf Magnussen, a blonde bear of a man laughed "Yes, I do believe that Ned Stark Fellow will"
Suddenly a knife appeared in his heart as he crumpled over. A little girl with freckles and red hair glared at him "fer fook's sake ye daft coont. Enough with the spoilers."
Nigel shook his head distastefuly. "Mary, you git! You can't keep doing that. It's bloody inconvientent for the cleaning staff." Irish ninjas. Typical really. Her face flushed red as she figured out what Nigel was thinking. "I'll fite you mate!"
At another table Pierre and Jack were arguing.
"ee's impossible, zere is no such thing as Mexican Ninjas, you've been drinking too much." Pierre argued. "no one has ever seen one and they never show up.
"Nah man.I tell you bro.My uncle got killed by one. They are real Give them a shot of tequila and they like teleport and shit. I know a guy who'd roomate's nephew saw one. "
Logan wandered over "sorry to interupt but I could'nt help overhearing. I heard that one once got elected to office. I forget which one. But my grandma plays pinochile with a lady who's dentist's former roomate once saw one kill a man with a taco from a mile away. " Logan wandered off.
Pierre looked over at Jack. "'ave you gotten zose taco trucks on every corner yet. Jack shook his head "not yet, leaders say a lot are slow to deliver. He patted his back pocket to realize his wallet was missing.
"has anyone seen my wallet? He asked. The maid passing by answered "No. No.." thinking to herself "I take"
|
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | Ninjacon 2017 was an interesting one. They all were. Ninjas from all over the world in one place. Holding it in a secret basement of a hotel hosting an anime convention was a stroke of genius. Those japanese ninjas had been right, to hide a tree: use a forest. But thier time had passed. They did'nt change with the times.
Those who hired them knew how to find them. The international association of Ninja. The Australian Ninjas were the best in the world, thier mastery of deadly creatrues and harsh terrain made them the most expensive. The Japanese ninja had fractured into the traditionalists (what normies think of ninja) and the flashy ones who wore orange. Nobody ever expected Spanish Ninjas or the Canadian ones (they would apologize as they killed you, often by force feeding you maple syrup and poutine until your stomach burst). With the new assassins creed games more people expected the Arabic, Italian and even the American Ninjas.
It was at the secret ninja bar that they would trade stories.
"I say olaf, did you see yesterday's episode of Game of Thones? Cracking show eh Wot! , asked Nigel. Everyone knew about MI 6 and James Bond, but the queen's personal Ninjas were Britians true strength.
Olaf Magnussen, a blonde bear of a man laughed "Yes, I do believe that Ned Stark Fellow will"
Suddenly a knife appeared in his heart as he crumpled over. A little girl with freckles and red hair glared at him "fer fook's sake ye daft coont. Enough with the spoilers."
Nigel shook his head distastefuly. "Mary, you git! You can't keep doing that. It's bloody inconvientent for the cleaning staff." Irish ninjas. Typical really. Her face flushed red as she figured out what Nigel was thinking. "I'll fite you mate!"
At another table Pierre and Jack were arguing.
"ee's impossible, zere is no such thing as Mexican Ninjas, you've been drinking too much." Pierre argued. "no one has ever seen one and they never show up.
"Nah man.I tell you bro.My uncle got killed by one. They are real Give them a shot of tequila and they like teleport and shit. I know a guy who'd roomate's nephew saw one. "
Logan wandered over "sorry to interupt but I could'nt help overhearing. I heard that one once got elected to office. I forget which one. But my grandma plays pinochile with a lady who's dentist's former roomate once saw one kill a man with a taco from a mile away. " Logan wandered off.
Pierre looked over at Jack. "'ave you gotten zose taco trucks on every corner yet. Jack shook his head "not yet, leaders say a lot are slow to deliver. He patted his back pocket to realize his wallet was missing.
"has anyone seen my wallet? He asked. The maid passing by answered "No. No.." thinking to herself "I take"
|
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| Ninjacon 2017 was an interesting one. They all were. Ninjas from all over the world in one place. Holding it in a secret basement of a hotel hosting an anime convention was a stroke of genius. Those japanese ninjas had been right, to hide a tree: use a forest. But thier time had passed. They did'nt change with the times.
Those who hired them knew how to find them. The international association of Ninja. The Australian Ninjas were the best in the world, thier mastery of deadly creatrues and harsh terrain made them the most expensive. The Japanese ninja had fractured into the traditionalists (what normies think of ninja) and the flashy ones who wore orange. Nobody ever expected Spanish Ninjas or the Canadian ones (they would apologize as they killed you, often by force feeding you maple syrup and poutine until your stomach burst). With the new assassins creed games more people expected the Arabic, Italian and even the American Ninjas.
It was at the secret ninja bar that they would trade stories.
"I say olaf, did you see yesterday's episode of Game of Thones? Cracking show eh Wot! , asked Nigel. Everyone knew about MI 6 and James Bond, but the queen's personal Ninjas were Britians true strength.
Olaf Magnussen, a blonde bear of a man laughed "Yes, I do believe that Ned Stark Fellow will"
Suddenly a knife appeared in his heart as he crumpled over. A little girl with freckles and red hair glared at him "fer fook's sake ye daft coont. Enough with the spoilers."
Nigel shook his head distastefuly. "Mary, you git! You can't keep doing that. It's bloody inconvientent for the cleaning staff." Irish ninjas. Typical really. Her face flushed red as she figured out what Nigel was thinking. "I'll fite you mate!"
At another table Pierre and Jack were arguing.
"ee's impossible, zere is no such thing as Mexican Ninjas, you've been drinking too much." Pierre argued. "no one has ever seen one and they never show up.
"Nah man.I tell you bro.My uncle got killed by one. They are real Give them a shot of tequila and they like teleport and shit. I know a guy who'd roomate's nephew saw one. "
Logan wandered over "sorry to interupt but I could'nt help overhearing. I heard that one once got elected to office. I forget which one. But my grandma plays pinochile with a lady who's dentist's former roomate once saw one kill a man with a taco from a mile away. " Logan wandered off.
Pierre looked over at Jack. "'ave you gotten zose taco trucks on every corner yet. Jack shook his head "not yet, leaders say a lot are slow to deliver. He patted his back pocket to realize his wallet was missing.
"has anyone seen my wallet? He asked. The maid passing by answered "No. No.." thinking to herself "I take"
|
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. | "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. | "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> | "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| "Oh, here *they* come" the blonde agent said, his English having a slight accent. Scandinavian, probably.
His face was hidden behind a generic Guy Fawkes mask. White shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, electronic watch. The other agent turned her head to see. A woman with a big black sunhat and a bland white mask. Black suit, black boots, black gloves, electronic watch.
She didn't say anything.
From everywhere, ninjas appear, in various ninja gear, armed with Howa type 89s and fuckin' samurai swords, they literally started firing at the convention of literal assassins, again.
No message, just screaming at you from the start. Every few years they track down a gathering, and just charge it. Not even any demands, no envoy - they're never invited anyway.
Almost everyone at the convention, as if they had been waiting for the moment, snapped into action. Pistols slid out from sleeves, boots and pants all over. Bartenders dove behind the bar, and started throwing assault rifles to the agents. A few odd ones were completely caught off guard, and started freaking out.
"Holy shit" an American agent, probably Texan, shouted. Probably his first time. He hadn't reached for cover because of this, and got shot in the jugular, forehead and abdomen. The ninjas, however, had even less who had survived to learn. The agents had taken up defensive positions, and quickly gained superior fire control. The ninjas had come sliding in from ropes as well, and as they got shot they fell, slamming into the floor. Others had made it down, trying to get a foothold by swamping them with dead ninjas falling from the sky, executing agents point blank and slashing them with samurai swords.
As usual, after a few volleys, most of them had been neutralised. Some had fallen wounded, but killed themselves where capable instead of risking capture. Some carried grenades. And as usual, once most of them were downed ... All over the place, they'd explode themselves as they screamed in defiance.
Body parts, blood, concrete, shrapnell flew around. Meanwhile above, a security team had engaged the second wave of ninjas, not succeeding in preventing them from throwing nades down to the lowest floor. By now, the quickest had made it into the other rooms, where they engaged parts of the second wave.
In all this, the Scandinavian agent, sat almost paralysed behind the bar, clenching his Glock 17, trying to cover his ears.
He was surrounded by dead bartenders, as the rest had now fled, as the ground shook and dust flew around. "Förlåt mig, Herre" he heaved through his tears, rocking around, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The agent with the bland white mask had lost her black sunhat by now, revealing her dark brown hair and fair complexion.
"Upp, upp lilla tik" she screamed as she dragged at his arm "Jävla skitt" as a nade blew half the bar away. "Upp!"
"Jag är knullad, de har skjutit mig" he groaned
"Jag är inte jävla blind, tjockskalle, gå upp om du inte vill att vi ska dö, jävla" she screamed right into his face. That got him up, and they stumbled over the bodies into the other room.
I push the button now that only ninjas remain, and gas starts filling the room, killing them as their circulatory system feels as if its on fire, and their lungs shut down. That's another generation of ninjas we won't have to deal with, I think as I push back against my desk, so I can see the vast myriad of security cameras.
Ninja raids gave him a great commission. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| I tell you man, the harmonium, and god, the bells... THE BELLS!
It all started at the county fair. It was supposed to be a diplomatic visit. The president was supposed to do a quaint meet and greet followed by a photo op with the WI, and the quaint British traditions. Guaranteed to raise the approval rating from the foreign trip. Spawn a couple of think-pieces on the special relationship. That sort of thing.
God why won't anyone believe me. They came at us with sticks! They tapped Agent Carter on the ankle, and he just fell down shaking, It couldn't have been anaphylactic shock from the Victoria sponge!
They all moved in this lockstep, dancing towards us spiralling around us. Your eyes were just drawn to the ribbons and hankies, it must have been some sort of hypnosis! I'm telling you!
Why won't you believe me!
What?
I don't know why the crowd was all cheering and clapping. It was fucking creepy, watching their dead eyes and their robotic motions. It must have been some sort of mass hypnosis.
But what happened next, I couldn't move. There was some sort of weight pinning me down. They skipped I tell you, Skipped up to POTUS, and just tapped him on the forehead.
They just carried on down the street, the whole gang of them. I'm not crazy, but the bells, why won't anyone believe me! |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. | **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. | **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> | **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| **The Family...**
The Family is a secretive group the works with assassins to influence the world. They're a secret program developed by a company, though I don't know which. From what we were taught, it was originally developed to be a private assassination squad that would target key figures from the company's rivals. As time continued on and the world changed, the group expanded its scope of operations. They stopped training their own assassination squads and began blackmailing preexisting assassins...
The program has changed since that was implemented but not by much...
How they pick their candidates is unknown, me and my buddy were veterans they picked up. We had done some... less than morally correct things during our service. When The Family approached us, we didn't have much of a choice due to the blackmailing. The job pays good, which is nice, but there's certain drawbacks - as with every job.
There's a ranking list, over 300 operatives across the globe and all of them in competition with each other. While the murder of fellow operatives is strictly forbidden, the sabotage of missions for others is not. If you get too low on the ranking board, lose your rank, you're *tied* up. No need to support inadequate members in service...
Those lower on the ranking list are sent to Japan for their missions. Lots of people there, lots of escape routes too - the perfect hunting ground of the inexperienced. Unfortunately, when you perform better you get shipped out to other posts in various countries. At least, that's how it use to be until The Family began expanding again. Rather than having independent branches in various territories to blend in, it's began interlinking them - combining them.
The problem this poses for people like me and others ranked lower on the listings, the more interconnected they are - they less there is a need for operatives in every section. Fewer operative means more heads will role and I and few others might end up on the chopping block...
I need to leave, I can't keep my contacts waiting... |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| It's 7 PM, and I'm set up in the lobby of the Albany Marriott. My target is due downstairs in about 10 minutes, so I have plenty of time to check over my equipment.
Poison needles... check. Ceramic dagger... check. Ballpoint pen... check.
...oh shit... is that **Fukunaga?**
Fuck. It is.
I catch him staring at me from a bush outside. He's dressed in that idiotic ninja garb that screams "**HEY, OVER HERE!!! I'M A NINJA!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU CAN SEE ME!!!**"
Now, I have much respect for the traditions of the *kage*. They were once the great warriors of the shadows, and could infiltrate a castle, kill a man, and leave before anyone was aware they were a target... and best of all, no one would suspect it was an assassination.
Then they got cocky.
They let word of their deeds out, purportedly to "spread fear among their potential victims." They also let themselves stagnate under the weight of tradition.
Meanwhile, most of the rest of the practitioners adapted, learned to blend in the modern world, ditched those fucking pajamas and got better than the originals.
So now my mission may be blown because of some short-bus killer who stands out when he should be...
Oh... idea time.
Five minutes to go, and I gesture to a coworker. "Hey... who is that in the bush outside?"
"Dude, whatcha been smokin'? Can you, like... oh shit, dude, yer right! There's, like, a guy in that bush!"
He points right at Fukunaga. He's speaking so loud that the 4 or 5 guests in the lobby look where he's pointing.
I see Fukunaga startle, then duck his head down into his hood. Probably to bite the cyanide capsule he has sewn into the lining.
Joke's on him. I swapped it for a Nyquil caplet 2 or 3 years ago in Rome, when he tried to cut in on another job. Fucked that up, too, as he got spotted by a **priest**, if you can believe it, who called the Swiss Guard to report a possible attempt on the Pope's life.
(He was kind of close... I was after a cardinal. Took an extra two days with the heightened security.)
Fukunaga falls dramatically to the ground to prepare for his "death throes," and I see my target leave the elevator flanked by two rent-a-thugs.
I pull the ink part out of my Bic pen, slide the needle into the barrel, and puff hard into the end, I see a brief glint of light on surgical steel, and the point pokes into the target's neck.
At the same moment as the victim slaps the needle deeper into his flesh (guaranteeing a painful death 4 hours from now... that's what you get when you rape a congressman's son, you sick Mafia fuck), the gorillas spot Fukunaga failing to spasm in death, and start towards the dumb bastard.
I turn to the coworker. "Hey, can you take the desk for a second? I have to take a piss."
"Yeah, man... don't you want to see the excitement, though?"
No, not really. I want to get as far away from here as I can before that greasy pedo drops dead.
"No... I'v **really** got to go."
As I leave the desk (never to return... sorry, dude), I see Fukunaga jump to his feet and run like his life depends on it (which it does, given the size of the bodyguards chasing him) and chuckle quietly.
Sometimes, tradition **does** come in handy. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| What do you see when I say the word 'ninja'? Clad in black, hooded, some kunais and knives hanging from their belt? Well, that just shows you how bad they really were at hiding. Sure they're trying to reinvent their image but their so steeped in history that the elders find it appalling to change tradition.
But they're not the only ninjas that exist. There's more, all around the world. They hide in plain sight.
You want an example? Well, find the most hipster looking guy or girl around you. See one? Alright, follow them. They're heading to the Chatime stand, right? Well, I know for a fact what they're gonna order. Caramel Milk Tea, extra bubble jelly and five shots of sugar. Absolutely diabetic, but that's the secret code they give to get their mission. Even the employees don't know about it, they just mindlessly key in the order and swipe their rewards card, which is more identification. They get that little slip of paper, and from there they get their mission before rubbing the ink off with their finger.
That's how we get our missions.
Weapons? Well, it is illegal to openly carry here in Malaysia, but phones are getting pretty smart these days, and theirs are no exception. They mainly get by without attacking anyone, using the phone with top of the line decryption algorithms to get through the toughest security there is. But when push comes to shove they've got a trick or two up their sleeves. Their glasses have sharpened ear rests. Their phones can fire a tranquilizer dart from the charging port. Used to be the headphone jack but Apple caught on to us. Had to change it. That's about it really. Our ninjas specialize in information. Which is why you don't see many unexplainable deaths happening here.
Only one you may have heard of is the Altantuya case, but we needed him to take the top spot. We thought he'd be easily manipulated. Then he started getting greedy, so we started leaking stuff online.
Because we deal in information.
Which is why I'm talking to you openly about this. Because you're not supposed to be here much longer. Nice meeting you by the way. You're a great listener.
----------------------
Done at a restaurant on mobile, so forgive the writing. Feedback always welcome! Just wanted to sort of build the world I suppose. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| > Agent Jormundson walked down hallway leading into the briefing room awaiting what he thought would be a very boring briefing on the Japanese military. Agent Thor "Hammer" Jormundson was an old hand at these meetings. Last week it was the Korean Army vs. the North Koreans, and today it was the South Korean allies, the JSDF. He’d heard it all before, even though it was classified, it never meant it was interesting. The CIA had a thing about having a plan for a plan for a plan, and of course never using any of them. This was something that he sort of liked. Jormundson loved his on-the-spot planning, he felt the agency really came alive when he had to think on his feet.
>
> Not that he was going to do that for the next hour, instead he mentally prepared himself to read more graphs than anyone could remember, and pretend to write notes on goings on in the far east that he couldn’t possibly be less interested in. The Japanese were a stubborn and conservative people, very meticulous; but for someone who’s expertise was in Europe alone: absolutely boring. He walked into the room with a look of absolute boredom that he knew that the adviser was bound to expect. However the room was empty.
>
> Jormundsen turned around and looked at the room number, and found he was in the right room, but it was empty, save for the conference table, a large TV, and office chairs that probably cost more than he made in three months. As his eyes came down from the room sign, he saw an older man walking down the hallway flanked with two other men in very unusual uniform, he’d seen many, but these struck him, he’d never quite seen anything like it.
>
> Jormundsen who’d just sat down brushed himself off as he sat up and reached out for a handshake. “pleasure, I’m Jormundsen, you must be Jeremy Winton?”
>
> Jormundsen was thoroughly thrown off at this point, the two men wore what seemed to be a military uniform, but had what looked like balaclava’s up to their eyes, and small slits like gills alongside their necks, in these slits was some more cloth covered in red, white and blue stripes. On their shoulders were the usual camo United States Flag patches. They were in Military fatigues and seemed eerily quiet, almost as if while walking they were called to attention and floated down the hallway. They entered the room, like ghosts.
>
> “Pleasure Agent, sit, we have something a little different planned for today. I want you to understand that anything said here goes under the standard guidelines. This Is all Top Secret with repercussions that go beyond your time here in the CIA.” The old Asian man ignored his handshake and sat down closing the door as he entered the room.
>
> The two men at his sides taking other chairs across the table. The first who had brown eyes pulled the power plug of the TV, and sat down. The Blue eyes of the other, burned into the side of Jormundson’s head as he sat down, and continued his stare. Brown eyes seemed tired, and crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He seemed to be listening very intently, he then sat down murmuring “Damn NSA”.
>
> Jeremy crossed his hands on the table, speaking with reserve and a steady voice. “We’ve brought you here today to brief you on a job opportunity, that if accepted will put you in a very small group of interesting individuals.” He gazed at Jormundson who by now seemed thoroughly confused.
>
> “I don’t remember signing up for a new position, I do however remember that I have a report due on the Japanese Self Defense Force that won’t write itself.” Jormundson had regained his composure and was now getting annoyed at being led through this strangeness. He wanted to get through with it and get writing, so he could get home early for a change.
>
> Jeremy continued, uninterested with his irate tablemate’s report, “You’re a lot like your father, before we poached him from The Swedish Lightning.” He smiled at the puzzled look that immediately flashed across his face.
>
> “My father was a postmaster in Duluth, Minnesota until his dying day. So I wouldn’t presume you knew my father.” Jormundson rebutted, offended at the pretense.
>
> The old man gave out a small laugh and smiled. “Oh I knew old Jormund well, he was the best in class in Sweden, but Sweden doesn’t know war, so Sweden loses it’s best chess pieces.” He put his hand flat on the table towards Jormundson who looked like he was about to get up and walk out. “Did you ever wonder why a postmaster from Duluth would travel to Europe for government business? Did you ever wonder how a postmaster could afford to send his three sons to the most prestigious colleges? And then mysteriously disappear into Huron after a car crash on the Mackinac Bridge?”
>
> This was growing very unsettling for Jormundson who had just began to remember the solemn and quick and quiet funeral that the government had paid for. It was strange, though he said his teary goodbyes, it all felt so fast, almost as if there was no time or money for grieving. He had since grown to accept it since it was nearly twenty years ago now. It revived that wonder he had about why the Postmen always seemed nervous when he asked them what his father’s job was like at the office, since he was never allowed to go.
>
> “Son, I’m about to tell you something that about a hundred or more, or less, know in United States. We operate a small clandestine unit known as the “Lincoln Brigade”.” He stared at Jormundson with a deadly serious look on his face.
>
> Jormundson wanted to laugh, but it was strange how serious these three men were being about this subject. To Jormundson the “Lincoln Brigade” was a volunteer group of Americans who fought in the Spanish Civil War, and nothing more. “You mean like the Lincoln Brigade in Spain?” offered Jormundson.
>
> “This is where things get complicated son.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers and then setting them on his arm rests. “It is the same, and it’s not. We were founded at the behest of Lincoln during the Civil War, had we been there during his assassination we would have had our founder with us a little longer.” He closed his eyes almost as if he was remembering that time himself.
>
> “The LB were in Spain, alongside the “Lincoln Brigade” some drunk fool found the name from one of our more careless agents and loved it, though we are much older. But we were present there, and helped Franco become what he was, shame he didn’t stay as faithful to us after the war.” The implications of what Jeremy said were beginning to interest Jormundson.
>
> “So, you’re saying that Franco was a United States plot?” Jormundson said asking the question with all the doubt one could show on ones face.
>
> “Yes, when a political situation demands quick satisfaction, or a quick hand is needed to ensure the United States prospers, we can provide a quick answer. We don’t do prolonged struggle, we tip the teetering pyramid in the direction it needs to go.”
>
> “So, you are a bunch of assassins?” Jormundson seemed puzzled by strange interspersed vagueness in a lot of the words. “You guys are a bunch of Yankee Ninjas?”
>
> “Not ninjas, the Japanese paid dearly and still do for letting that get out. They had them first, but they were merely a prototype. They don’t call them that anymore.”
>
> “What do they call them now?” Jormundson asked.
>
> “The Hyaku, or the One Hundred.” Jeremy said matter-of-factly, and there are many more in the world. “The Russian Tyeni, and the Chinese YinYing, both have their home in the Russian Revolution, coming from the Tsarist Okhrana. The Germans never believed in them and paid for it at the end of WWII, Hitler didn’t kill himself son. The Tyeni made sure of that.” Jeremy offered each tidbit as though it were a reward for continued interest in the conversation, and Jormundson was biting.
>
> Jormundson could hardly believe the things he was hearing, being that they flew in the face of conventional knowledge. He knew a lot that the public didn’t, but this was really left field for even a Secret level CIA conference.
>
> Jeremy continued “The Indian Svajas face off nearly daily with the Pakistani Uqaab, These Japanese Hyaku face with the South Korean Gonghwadang Geulimja the North Korean Bulg-eun Geulimja, we just call them Gongs and Bulgans for short.”
>
> “Communist Ninjas?” Jormundson asked puzzled by how that sounded.
>
> “Yeah, Communist Ninjas.” Jeremy smiled at the naive question. “We don’t have an Ideology Jormundson, they are something any country can come up with given enough time.” Jeremy finished the point before he continued on. “Norway has the løvers, and Sweden the tändande. Løver is Norwegian for Lion, Son.” Brown eyes who has been quiet since his entrance earlier let out a chuckle. Blue eyes blinked, in what Jormundson was sure was the first time he had done so since they got here.
>
> ”Your father was the best the tändande ever had, and they paid him well, but it was a boring life in Sweden. I met him in Hong Kong, having just having been released from The Royal Army and her majesty’s service, and recently brough on by the LB in the US. We knew about him, and I approached him with an offer, he took it and moved to Minnesota.” Jeremy began to speak a little less seriously, and seemingly more personal. ”He was a good man, but in the Lincoln Brigade he was involved against the Soviet Tyeni, and got a bit too deep. They evened out the score on Mackinac Bridge twenty years ago.” Jeremy said this so matter of factly, it threw off Jormundson completely again.
>
> -Continued-
>
> |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Cold, bright stars shone through the thin mountain air like flickering candles by the time Kentaro-san built up the courage to approach the hut. Set in glade alone, ringed by silent pines, the the wooden hut looked ancient, and it was.
First built by the United Ninja Clans nearly four-hundred years ago, it was meant to be a place of quiet reflection and shared experience. A place where the clans of the world would gather once a decade and celebrate their skill and discuss the world-at-large. Now, in these dark times, the meetings that the hut hosted had taken on a new meaning.
The heavy wooden door groaned deafeningly as Kentaro-san swung it only wide enough for his thin, sinewy frame to slip through. The interior of the hut was silent and as cold as outside beneath the stars. In the center of the hut sat the great round table that so many of his ancestors and peers had sat at through the decades. A nightbird outside called out to no-one. He was early.
As the senior member of Clan Nihon, as well as its most learned, he was elected by his peers to attend this most grave of meetings. A representative from all of the clans would be in attendance: the Shogun-Cowboys of the Americas, the copper-and-cotton Hashassins of the Arabic nations, the brightly-patterned but silent Warrior-Priests of Africa, and the long-hidden tribesmen from the Amazons. Even the Voices of Valhalla from the cold north, who rarely came down from their blissful mountain sanctuaries, would be in attendance. Indeed, the threat from The Orange One was too great to ignore further.
To keep his early arrival to himself, Kentaro-san slipped into the shadows on his padded footwear. Wedging himself between a thick wooden stud and an eons-old chair, he prepared himself to meditate silently while awaiting the arrival of his fellow ninjas.
Just as he closed his eyes for prayer, he heard the deep, booming Voice of Valhalla call out from seemingly nowhere, and everywhere:
"Glad you could join us, Kentaro-san. Go ahead and dial in - the conference call number is on the table." | Ninja have been dead for centuries. That's what everyone out in the sunlight believes, and we make sure it remains that way to this day.
Ninja have been evolving in the 21st century. They're becoming skilled in more than just the arts of stealth and combat. Cyber warfare is huge, and we have all of the data.
Russian, American, British, Mexican, even the North Korean data comes to us, and if we see it fit it gets sent out under the mention of an anonymous tip, or filtered through some politicians.
Japan is the problem child in our great big family. The ninja there have yet to gather ANY useful information from the Japanese government. This is mostly due to them refusing to wear plainclothes and instead dressing in the stereotypical ninja wear that you'd see in movies. Black mask, black clothes, sword on hip, etc.
The Russian division is insisting we move in soon to take over, because currently Japan is our wildcard.
We move at daybreak. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Asla had never travelled this far east before. She chose to hike the last stretch of her journey, leaving her beat-up car under a tarpaulin, tucked behind a copse of trees. Nature had beat back man’s progress here, and all she had for company were the skittish wildlife, the rush of the waterfalls, the snowflakes cascading down belligerently. Walking rejuvenated her, but more importantly, it gave her a chance to attune her senses, probe for the Folkvarthr, the guardian of the town.
She found him perched on a rocky outcrop, just a couple of miles from Seydisfjordur. Asla knew she made no noise, left barely an imprint on the fresh snow beneath her feet, but before such an experienced master, she might as well have been beating a drum, strumming a lyre.
“Folkvarthr, I come in peace,” she said, keeping her distance. She used the honorific so that he would know that she was cut from the same cloth, another member of the ancient clan sworn to protect their country. Underneath her shawl, she gripped her twin knives, priming her defences. It never hurt to be prudent.
The older man turned then, and for a moment Asla wondered if the reports were embellished. There was a placid calmness to him, and none of the fire and brimstone she was cautioned about. His eyes, dulled with age, reminded her of the frozen orbs she sometimes had to scrape out of bowls she had left out.
“I don’t recall asking to be relieved,” he said. “I am not yet battle-weary. I intend to guard this town until I die.”
“Olafur, you have done us a great service,” Asla replied. “The records run with the great deeds you have accomplished. You have saved this town more times than anyone can count. You have more than earned your rest.”
Olafur scrounged on the ground, picked up a couple of smoothened pebbles. Asla narrowed her eyes, but this time she was over-suspicious – Olafur aimed the small missiles not at her, but at three spots away from them, one to the north and the others to the west. There was but a bleak light still illuminating the valley, so Asla relied instead on her hearing to determine where the pebbles landed.
“Those are where the rifts are,” said Olafur, dusting his palms off. “The monsters don’t come as often now, but they still can, and they still do. They are different from the ones you deal with back in Reykjavik, or wherever the hell you came from. Nature emboldens them. They don’t emerge at night, skulking in the shadows. No, these prefer the day, where they revel in being seen, being feared. There’s a sadism in these parts that only I can handle, young one.”
There’s a sadism alright, thought Asla, but instead she said, “I will be straightforward, Folkvarthr. This is not a request. The Council has asked that you retire, with immediate effect.”
“Oh? After all the good work I’ve done?”
“Too good, in fact,” said Asla. “Reports have come in that you no longer communicate with the town, that you have completely shut yourself off from them. The local children don’t even dare come near you anymore, and they have started calling you the Boogeyman, the Reaper. Even worse, the monsters that you slay… you’re not just putting them down, you’re *slaughtering* them. The Council has reason to believe that you-”
Olafur chose to move at that moment, streaking in a blur towards highground. Asla was ready, and so she followed closely behind, matching him step for step. She considered the possibility that he was leading her towards a trap, but pushed that thought away. She had to believe that there was humanity yet left in him.
Some hundred feet above the ground, a cave opened up alongside the hill, hidden if one were only looking in from the roads. Olafur paused there, then snapped his fingers, bringing to life the candles within. Asla discerned immediately the two urns on one side of the cave, and the heaps of ash on the other.
“They took my family, was that in your reports too?” Olafur asked. “I had just saved the town from another invasion, took down no less than three ghouls and two ogres on my own. They come in waves, so I thought we were safe for a while. But they were hiding, down by the waters when my daughter went to swim. My Hansa struggled with them, but she is no practitioner of glima that I am.”
In that moment, Asla understood why the Council had chosen her, of all the practitioners, and a tiny bit of the tension in her seeped away. She was not going to die here today, after all. “No words can convey my condolences,” she said, eventually.
Olafur didn’t seem to hear. “And everyday, everyday I add on to the ashes of my enemies. I think, maybe, when there’s enough of it, it will all make sense again, feel right again.”
“Has it worked?”
“No,” said Olafur, “not yet. And that is why I cannot stop, you see? I have to keep going. I have to keep-”
Asla lashed out, her knives glinting as they sung through the air. She was not given to surprise attacks, but this was an opponent far more skilled than she was, and she would have to take what the gods of chance gave her. Heck, she had only felled the one ogre in her life, and that was quite an anemic one at that.
Olafur caught her blows easily, striking at her wrists, deflecting her attacks. He stepped in, pushed his shoulder against her midriff, then lifted her legs. Asla tensed and recoiled, twisting in the air, landing on her feet. If she fell, it was over.
Round and round they went, like marbles in a cone, striking and rebounding, feinting and parrying. At times it seemed that Asla, with her youth and vigor and aggression, had the edge. But Olafur would come back, a crashing fjord of implacable power, brushing her off like a weevil. Then, a slip, as Asla’s foot caught on an uneven patch of ground, throwing her off just a couple of inches.
Olafur seized the moment, overwhelming her with a deathgrip. Asla kept still, quivering despite her best efforts. She was at his mercy.
“Why does the Council stop me?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Can a man not have his revenge?”
“You are showing signs of taint, Olafur! Do you not see that? In a year, or two, will your bloodlust have calmed?”
“I am *in control*!” he said. “Why do you think I have not snapped your neck?”
Asla sighed, then relinquished her knives, dropping them to the ground. Olafur had not yet yielded in the face of her surrender, so there was only one course of action left.
“I bring with me too another message from the Council,” she said. “Straight from your master’s mouth, the same one who assigned you here years ago. He bids me to remind you that you have done your part, that you deserve, at the least, some rest. ‘Any of us can quell the monsters, Olafur, but only you can tend to your wounds. Let Asla carry on your work for you.’ That is what he said.”
Asla waited, and eventually Olafur loosened his hold. She broke free, then turned to assess her opponent. The fight had deserted him, and the hunch in his back, the despair on his brows – there was no more duelling to be had. Olafur averted his gaze, but Asla caught the hint of moistness in his eyes.
“She… she would be around your age, if she were still alive, you know?” Olafur said, staring off into the distance.
You bastards, she thought. It’s not fair sending someone who reminds him of his daughter to fight him. That’s just underhanded.
“I know,” she said.
There they sat, as the sun completed its retreat, and the stars reclaimed their fair share of the heavens. From the distance they heard the merriment from the town – preparations were underway for the winter festivals, and Asla sensed that even the monsters would have the decency to stay away this night.
“Where’s good for dinner?” she asked, tentatively.
Olafur sighed. “I can show you, if you like.”
Asla smiled.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Ninja have been dead for centuries. That's what everyone out in the sunlight believes, and we make sure it remains that way to this day.
Ninja have been evolving in the 21st century. They're becoming skilled in more than just the arts of stealth and combat. Cyber warfare is huge, and we have all of the data.
Russian, American, British, Mexican, even the North Korean data comes to us, and if we see it fit it gets sent out under the mention of an anonymous tip, or filtered through some politicians.
Japan is the problem child in our great big family. The ninja there have yet to gather ANY useful information from the Japanese government. This is mostly due to them refusing to wear plainclothes and instead dressing in the stereotypical ninja wear that you'd see in movies. Black mask, black clothes, sword on hip, etc.
The Russian division is insisting we move in soon to take over, because currently Japan is our wildcard.
We move at daybreak. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | Ninja have been dead for centuries. That's what everyone out in the sunlight believes, and we make sure it remains that way to this day.
Ninja have been evolving in the 21st century. They're becoming skilled in more than just the arts of stealth and combat. Cyber warfare is huge, and we have all of the data.
Russian, American, British, Mexican, even the North Korean data comes to us, and if we see it fit it gets sent out under the mention of an anonymous tip, or filtered through some politicians.
Japan is the problem child in our great big family. The ninja there have yet to gather ANY useful information from the Japanese government. This is mostly due to them refusing to wear plainclothes and instead dressing in the stereotypical ninja wear that you'd see in movies. Black mask, black clothes, sword on hip, etc.
The Russian division is insisting we move in soon to take over, because currently Japan is our wildcard.
We move at daybreak. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| Ninja have been dead for centuries. That's what everyone out in the sunlight believes, and we make sure it remains that way to this day.
Ninja have been evolving in the 21st century. They're becoming skilled in more than just the arts of stealth and combat. Cyber warfare is huge, and we have all of the data.
Russian, American, British, Mexican, even the North Korean data comes to us, and if we see it fit it gets sent out under the mention of an anonymous tip, or filtered through some politicians.
Japan is the problem child in our great big family. The ninja there have yet to gather ANY useful information from the Japanese government. This is mostly due to them refusing to wear plainclothes and instead dressing in the stereotypical ninja wear that you'd see in movies. Black mask, black clothes, sword on hip, etc.
The Russian division is insisting we move in soon to take over, because currently Japan is our wildcard.
We move at daybreak. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | Asla had never travelled this far east before. She chose to hike the last stretch of her journey, leaving her beat-up car under a tarpaulin, tucked behind a copse of trees. Nature had beat back man’s progress here, and all she had for company were the skittish wildlife, the rush of the waterfalls, the snowflakes cascading down belligerently. Walking rejuvenated her, but more importantly, it gave her a chance to attune her senses, probe for the Folkvarthr, the guardian of the town.
She found him perched on a rocky outcrop, just a couple of miles from Seydisfjordur. Asla knew she made no noise, left barely an imprint on the fresh snow beneath her feet, but before such an experienced master, she might as well have been beating a drum, strumming a lyre.
“Folkvarthr, I come in peace,” she said, keeping her distance. She used the honorific so that he would know that she was cut from the same cloth, another member of the ancient clan sworn to protect their country. Underneath her shawl, she gripped her twin knives, priming her defences. It never hurt to be prudent.
The older man turned then, and for a moment Asla wondered if the reports were embellished. There was a placid calmness to him, and none of the fire and brimstone she was cautioned about. His eyes, dulled with age, reminded her of the frozen orbs she sometimes had to scrape out of bowls she had left out.
“I don’t recall asking to be relieved,” he said. “I am not yet battle-weary. I intend to guard this town until I die.”
“Olafur, you have done us a great service,” Asla replied. “The records run with the great deeds you have accomplished. You have saved this town more times than anyone can count. You have more than earned your rest.”
Olafur scrounged on the ground, picked up a couple of smoothened pebbles. Asla narrowed her eyes, but this time she was over-suspicious – Olafur aimed the small missiles not at her, but at three spots away from them, one to the north and the others to the west. There was but a bleak light still illuminating the valley, so Asla relied instead on her hearing to determine where the pebbles landed.
“Those are where the rifts are,” said Olafur, dusting his palms off. “The monsters don’t come as often now, but they still can, and they still do. They are different from the ones you deal with back in Reykjavik, or wherever the hell you came from. Nature emboldens them. They don’t emerge at night, skulking in the shadows. No, these prefer the day, where they revel in being seen, being feared. There’s a sadism in these parts that only I can handle, young one.”
There’s a sadism alright, thought Asla, but instead she said, “I will be straightforward, Folkvarthr. This is not a request. The Council has asked that you retire, with immediate effect.”
“Oh? After all the good work I’ve done?”
“Too good, in fact,” said Asla. “Reports have come in that you no longer communicate with the town, that you have completely shut yourself off from them. The local children don’t even dare come near you anymore, and they have started calling you the Boogeyman, the Reaper. Even worse, the monsters that you slay… you’re not just putting them down, you’re *slaughtering* them. The Council has reason to believe that you-”
Olafur chose to move at that moment, streaking in a blur towards highground. Asla was ready, and so she followed closely behind, matching him step for step. She considered the possibility that he was leading her towards a trap, but pushed that thought away. She had to believe that there was humanity yet left in him.
Some hundred feet above the ground, a cave opened up alongside the hill, hidden if one were only looking in from the roads. Olafur paused there, then snapped his fingers, bringing to life the candles within. Asla discerned immediately the two urns on one side of the cave, and the heaps of ash on the other.
“They took my family, was that in your reports too?” Olafur asked. “I had just saved the town from another invasion, took down no less than three ghouls and two ogres on my own. They come in waves, so I thought we were safe for a while. But they were hiding, down by the waters when my daughter went to swim. My Hansa struggled with them, but she is no practitioner of glima that I am.”
In that moment, Asla understood why the Council had chosen her, of all the practitioners, and a tiny bit of the tension in her seeped away. She was not going to die here today, after all. “No words can convey my condolences,” she said, eventually.
Olafur didn’t seem to hear. “And everyday, everyday I add on to the ashes of my enemies. I think, maybe, when there’s enough of it, it will all make sense again, feel right again.”
“Has it worked?”
“No,” said Olafur, “not yet. And that is why I cannot stop, you see? I have to keep going. I have to keep-”
Asla lashed out, her knives glinting as they sung through the air. She was not given to surprise attacks, but this was an opponent far more skilled than she was, and she would have to take what the gods of chance gave her. Heck, she had only felled the one ogre in her life, and that was quite an anemic one at that.
Olafur caught her blows easily, striking at her wrists, deflecting her attacks. He stepped in, pushed his shoulder against her midriff, then lifted her legs. Asla tensed and recoiled, twisting in the air, landing on her feet. If she fell, it was over.
Round and round they went, like marbles in a cone, striking and rebounding, feinting and parrying. At times it seemed that Asla, with her youth and vigor and aggression, had the edge. But Olafur would come back, a crashing fjord of implacable power, brushing her off like a weevil. Then, a slip, as Asla’s foot caught on an uneven patch of ground, throwing her off just a couple of inches.
Olafur seized the moment, overwhelming her with a deathgrip. Asla kept still, quivering despite her best efforts. She was at his mercy.
“Why does the Council stop me?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Can a man not have his revenge?”
“You are showing signs of taint, Olafur! Do you not see that? In a year, or two, will your bloodlust have calmed?”
“I am *in control*!” he said. “Why do you think I have not snapped your neck?”
Asla sighed, then relinquished her knives, dropping them to the ground. Olafur had not yet yielded in the face of her surrender, so there was only one course of action left.
“I bring with me too another message from the Council,” she said. “Straight from your master’s mouth, the same one who assigned you here years ago. He bids me to remind you that you have done your part, that you deserve, at the least, some rest. ‘Any of us can quell the monsters, Olafur, but only you can tend to your wounds. Let Asla carry on your work for you.’ That is what he said.”
Asla waited, and eventually Olafur loosened his hold. She broke free, then turned to assess her opponent. The fight had deserted him, and the hunch in his back, the despair on his brows – there was no more duelling to be had. Olafur averted his gaze, but Asla caught the hint of moistness in his eyes.
“She… she would be around your age, if she were still alive, you know?” Olafur said, staring off into the distance.
You bastards, she thought. It’s not fair sending someone who reminds him of his daughter to fight him. That’s just underhanded.
“I know,” she said.
There they sat, as the sun completed its retreat, and the stars reclaimed their fair share of the heavens. From the distance they heard the merriment from the town – preparations were underway for the winter festivals, and Asla sensed that even the monsters would have the decency to stay away this night.
“Where’s good for dinner?” she asked, tentatively.
Olafur sighed. “I can show you, if you like.”
Asla smiled.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| Asla had never travelled this far east before. She chose to hike the last stretch of her journey, leaving her beat-up car under a tarpaulin, tucked behind a copse of trees. Nature had beat back man’s progress here, and all she had for company were the skittish wildlife, the rush of the waterfalls, the snowflakes cascading down belligerently. Walking rejuvenated her, but more importantly, it gave her a chance to attune her senses, probe for the Folkvarthr, the guardian of the town.
She found him perched on a rocky outcrop, just a couple of miles from Seydisfjordur. Asla knew she made no noise, left barely an imprint on the fresh snow beneath her feet, but before such an experienced master, she might as well have been beating a drum, strumming a lyre.
“Folkvarthr, I come in peace,” she said, keeping her distance. She used the honorific so that he would know that she was cut from the same cloth, another member of the ancient clan sworn to protect their country. Underneath her shawl, she gripped her twin knives, priming her defences. It never hurt to be prudent.
The older man turned then, and for a moment Asla wondered if the reports were embellished. There was a placid calmness to him, and none of the fire and brimstone she was cautioned about. His eyes, dulled with age, reminded her of the frozen orbs she sometimes had to scrape out of bowls she had left out.
“I don’t recall asking to be relieved,” he said. “I am not yet battle-weary. I intend to guard this town until I die.”
“Olafur, you have done us a great service,” Asla replied. “The records run with the great deeds you have accomplished. You have saved this town more times than anyone can count. You have more than earned your rest.”
Olafur scrounged on the ground, picked up a couple of smoothened pebbles. Asla narrowed her eyes, but this time she was over-suspicious – Olafur aimed the small missiles not at her, but at three spots away from them, one to the north and the others to the west. There was but a bleak light still illuminating the valley, so Asla relied instead on her hearing to determine where the pebbles landed.
“Those are where the rifts are,” said Olafur, dusting his palms off. “The monsters don’t come as often now, but they still can, and they still do. They are different from the ones you deal with back in Reykjavik, or wherever the hell you came from. Nature emboldens them. They don’t emerge at night, skulking in the shadows. No, these prefer the day, where they revel in being seen, being feared. There’s a sadism in these parts that only I can handle, young one.”
There’s a sadism alright, thought Asla, but instead she said, “I will be straightforward, Folkvarthr. This is not a request. The Council has asked that you retire, with immediate effect.”
“Oh? After all the good work I’ve done?”
“Too good, in fact,” said Asla. “Reports have come in that you no longer communicate with the town, that you have completely shut yourself off from them. The local children don’t even dare come near you anymore, and they have started calling you the Boogeyman, the Reaper. Even worse, the monsters that you slay… you’re not just putting them down, you’re *slaughtering* them. The Council has reason to believe that you-”
Olafur chose to move at that moment, streaking in a blur towards highground. Asla was ready, and so she followed closely behind, matching him step for step. She considered the possibility that he was leading her towards a trap, but pushed that thought away. She had to believe that there was humanity yet left in him.
Some hundred feet above the ground, a cave opened up alongside the hill, hidden if one were only looking in from the roads. Olafur paused there, then snapped his fingers, bringing to life the candles within. Asla discerned immediately the two urns on one side of the cave, and the heaps of ash on the other.
“They took my family, was that in your reports too?” Olafur asked. “I had just saved the town from another invasion, took down no less than three ghouls and two ogres on my own. They come in waves, so I thought we were safe for a while. But they were hiding, down by the waters when my daughter went to swim. My Hansa struggled with them, but she is no practitioner of glima that I am.”
In that moment, Asla understood why the Council had chosen her, of all the practitioners, and a tiny bit of the tension in her seeped away. She was not going to die here today, after all. “No words can convey my condolences,” she said, eventually.
Olafur didn’t seem to hear. “And everyday, everyday I add on to the ashes of my enemies. I think, maybe, when there’s enough of it, it will all make sense again, feel right again.”
“Has it worked?”
“No,” said Olafur, “not yet. And that is why I cannot stop, you see? I have to keep going. I have to keep-”
Asla lashed out, her knives glinting as they sung through the air. She was not given to surprise attacks, but this was an opponent far more skilled than she was, and she would have to take what the gods of chance gave her. Heck, she had only felled the one ogre in her life, and that was quite an anemic one at that.
Olafur caught her blows easily, striking at her wrists, deflecting her attacks. He stepped in, pushed his shoulder against her midriff, then lifted her legs. Asla tensed and recoiled, twisting in the air, landing on her feet. If she fell, it was over.
Round and round they went, like marbles in a cone, striking and rebounding, feinting and parrying. At times it seemed that Asla, with her youth and vigor and aggression, had the edge. But Olafur would come back, a crashing fjord of implacable power, brushing her off like a weevil. Then, a slip, as Asla’s foot caught on an uneven patch of ground, throwing her off just a couple of inches.
Olafur seized the moment, overwhelming her with a deathgrip. Asla kept still, quivering despite her best efforts. She was at his mercy.
“Why does the Council stop me?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Can a man not have his revenge?”
“You are showing signs of taint, Olafur! Do you not see that? In a year, or two, will your bloodlust have calmed?”
“I am *in control*!” he said. “Why do you think I have not snapped your neck?”
Asla sighed, then relinquished her knives, dropping them to the ground. Olafur had not yet yielded in the face of her surrender, so there was only one course of action left.
“I bring with me too another message from the Council,” she said. “Straight from your master’s mouth, the same one who assigned you here years ago. He bids me to remind you that you have done your part, that you deserve, at the least, some rest. ‘Any of us can quell the monsters, Olafur, but only you can tend to your wounds. Let Asla carry on your work for you.’ That is what he said.”
Asla waited, and eventually Olafur loosened his hold. She broke free, then turned to assess her opponent. The fight had deserted him, and the hunch in his back, the despair on his brows – there was no more duelling to be had. Olafur averted his gaze, but Asla caught the hint of moistness in his eyes.
“She… she would be around your age, if she were still alive, you know?” Olafur said, staring off into the distance.
You bastards, she thought. It’s not fair sending someone who reminds him of his daughter to fight him. That’s just underhanded.
“I know,” she said.
There they sat, as the sun completed its retreat, and the stars reclaimed their fair share of the heavens. From the distance they heard the merriment from the town – preparations were underway for the winter festivals, and Asla sensed that even the monsters would have the decency to stay away this night.
“Where’s good for dinner?” she asked, tentatively.
Olafur sighed. “I can show you, if you like.”
Asla smiled.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh." | The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. |
Edit: mum im famous | [WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck. | Conventions are my favorite time of the year. We all knew we were killers, and knowing who all the other killers were helped people get along. Sold a secret? Everyone would hunt you down the next day.
Everyone had their flair out, so you could have as much fun as you wanted while still fitting in. The Japanese would dress all in earth tones, while the Italians would put on fantastically gauche suits. The British, as always, sent their best in a tuxedo. I wore my best denim.
Nobody ever expected a Canadian assassin. We were there in WWII, killing Hitler in his bunker before the other Allies even arrived. They had to burn the body and claim suicide to cover up their incompetence. We were there when Osama bin Laden was found. I'll bet the Navy Seals won't tell you they found him chained to his desk with a complimentary last meal of poutine.
Don't think we're friendly. We don't take anybody's side but Canada's. We were there when JFK was shot. It was so simple to play one superpower against another and score lucrative deals for the Canadarm project. It's nice to know we can smuggle a high-powered laser into space, even if it's only one shot.
Still, an assassin is only as good as his cover. We instill our children from an early age just how to act in public while we train them in private how to apply political pressure points as well as physical ones. We're the kindest, nicest people around when somebody is watching.
We train to be normal and accepting, while pushing the idea that a sneaky killer has to know kung fu and how to throw daggers. The Japanese popular culture has already been successfully subverted, and we're working with a mole at Ubisoft to produce more Assassin's Creed games to subvert Arab, British, Italian and now Egyptian cultures. They would never suspect us.
We could even get away with an assassination here at the convention, just for fun. I bump into another excited conventioneer dressed head-to-toe, embarassingly, in his mother's best black sheets. I pull the punch knife from his kidney slowly while the invisible needle in his neck stops him from screaming.
"Sorry."
EDIT: Got the Assassin's Creed publisher wrong. Changed "EA" to "Ubisoft."
EDIT: Thank you, kind stranger! | The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. |
[WP] A deadly drug-resistant bacteria is killing anyone infected within 24 hours. Your day is up, but if anything you feel stronger. | First signs of infection are hard to catch. Mostly because it varies from person to person, but common signs are: flushed skin, lethargy, congestion. It’s deceptive because by all accounts it looks more like a viral infection. Not much you can do but let it run its course, right? That kind of wishful thinking is what caused the first string of deaths. Not that it mattered. Even if you caught it in time it wouldn’t matter.
After a few hours the early symptoms get worse. The red skin moves from a localized area like the face or back and spreads across the body. It’s like your skin is on fire. Your body becomes so weak that you slowly begin to lose the energy and will to move. Your sinuses become so swollen your only option is to breath through your mouth. From there any number of things can happen. Most people die from rapid dehydration or asphyxiation as the swelling in the sinuses begins to spread to the throat. Severe seizures aren’t uncommon either. Regardless of a persons age, gender, shape, ethnicity, the common thread was that once infected you’d be dead within 24 hours.
My sister Julie is the one who caught it first. She came home from school saying she didn’t feel well. My mom had been the one to pick her up and as such she was infected next. My dad came home early from work when my mom called him about Julie. She’d gone from being tired and red faced to a fever and shakes. As such he was infected next. When I came home from school I saw my parents sitting on the couch and pained expressions. The news was talking about a new “super-bug” going around. The man on the tv was from the CDC and was explaining the severity of the situation, and that they were working diligently to figure out what was happening. Until then he informed the nation to take all precautions to avoid infection, and that if you were infected you would likely die by the next day. They looked back at me and began to cry even more. About an hour later I started to show the first symptoms. We all cried together.
Around 3 in the morning Julie passed in her sleep. I was grateful for that. She didn’t die in a terrible fashion like some other people. I think it’s because she was small. The sickness just spread through her so quick and just took over. My parents couldn’t move because their skin was so sensitive and their bodies so tired. I didn’t have the heart to tell them about Julie. I told them she was fine. Just resting. I lied through my teeth and bawled silently in the hallway. I don’t know when mom died. Sometime in the late morning I think. I did my best to console him but I couldn’t move him from the bed. All I could do was cover her with a sheet. Dad died about an hour after he made the discovery. I think it was probably grief rather than the bug. I thought that’s what I would die of as I lay sobbing in my bed.
What followed was the worst pain of my entire life. If I ever feel anything remotely like it again I may well die of shock. It felt like a thousand needles were being pressed across my body with slowly increasing pressure. Taking in air was a chore but I couldn’t help but follow my bodies instinct to breathe. I wanted to die. I was ready to die.
When I woke up in the morning I was in a daze. I felt groggy like I’d been put to sleep by anesthesia. When my faculties began to clear up everything felt sharper. All my senses felt keener. My body felt limber and strong. I was trying to process it all when I remembered what had happened. Looking outside my window I could see people dead on the streets being bagged up by guys in hazmat suits. They were sweeping houses. There were some survivors. They clung to one another having likely lost everything else. I could understand that. When they got to my house I let them in. When I told them what happened to my family they got to work. When I told them how I felt they whisked my outside to a medical van.
They told me that I not only have an immunity to the bacteria, but that it altered something in my body. Some guy in a lab coat mentioned that there others like me. That they felt the way I did. Stronger, faster, more in tune. I still don’t know the extent of what that all means, I’ve yet to meet anyone else like me. I just feel empty now. | “So, this is it?”, Jesse asked, as he started rewinding chaotic events that occurred in the last few months. For all you uninformed, and as the world is crumbling towards it’s inevitable fallout, I hope you do not exist, Maulophagia as they named it, stroke suddenly and without warning. Maybe some of you, who have played the game called Plague Inc. know approximately what I am talking about. New bacteria, unknown and unexpected killed it’s first victim in India on July 21, 2018. Few days later, well, few days later, people all around Asia started falling like sacks of potatoes (yes, I know this is inappropriate comparison in this moment of great grief, but in the end the time for kind and respectful words is long gone). Maulophagia had no side effects, no warnings at all. Now, I’m no expert, but as far as I am informed, as soon as it reaches victim’s brain (around 24h needed), it just flicks the switch off for all vital functions.
Later on, as Maulophagia spread to the west, all that was revealed was symptom that gave away the infected, nothing more.
“I am very sorry young man”, words hit Jesse’s ears with same velocity rubber bullets were breaking down riots just few blocks away.
“Try to live your last few hours the best you can.”
As long as he can remember, Jesse has always had very weak immune system. From his early age, every single disease payed him a visit.
“it was just a matter of time anyways...”, he said to himself.
So, what interesting there could be to do in a pre-apocalyptic world. Jesse didn’t feel like abiding the law. It is just not worth it, not when everyone around you is either weeping or abiding the law himself. He just wanted to be alone, far away from all this madness.
Jesse sat on his bike, and rode as far away from his town as he could. Eventually he ran out of gas. So, he sat next to the river, part happy to at least die with a beautiful sight.
“The last hour…”, Jesse closed his eyes, relaxing to the peaceful sound of stream. He felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper. Then, eventually, darkness…
When Jesse woke up from what he fell like the most beautiful nap ever, the day was long gone. He was still there alive, feeling stronger than ever before.
“What the…!?”, he jumped swiftly. As Jesse was on his legs again, a voice from inside of his head said one strange sentence:
“Installation failed, system rebooted.”
| |
Replace dad with mom if you're a female 😛 | [WP] Your entire life was just a dream. You wake up in your second grade classroom remembering most of the last (your age) years of your supposed dream life. Your dad picks you up after school and he turns out to be you from your "dream". You are confused and have no idea who you really are. | This subreddit is really cool. I just found it a few days ago and had to make this post. This topic has been a recurring thought in my mind ever since the second grade when I was in class with a fever and my teacher gave me a sleeping bag and let me rest in the back of the classroom. Ever since then for some reason I've wondered what would it be like if I just suddenly woke up one day in that sleeping bag and remembered the past 21 years of my life and re lived it all over. It keeps my imagination strong lol | The paths we take are not paved. The ground may be overtrodden, giving the illusion of direction, but the spaces between paint a broader and more surprising picture of choice. In those places, fresh grass spreads wildly, untouched. Neighbor kissing neighbor kissing dew and air and beetle. Moss sleeps on branches and stones. Nature does not deny entry, only disregards. It watches the single person as they diligently follow the stamped, brown earth to its conclusion. Not judging.
A curious thing, this child of mine. It has the propensity for order like my ants but it summits alone. Again and again, I watch them climb, proudly, as if they were the first discover the footfalls of the ones before them. What about the gardens I've grown? Eons of undiscovered beauty that have emerged, illuminated, bled, and curled up in the untrekked folds of World. And why up? Why not inside, around, between? What waits for them above? I've seen the top; it is me. For them, there is a universe on Earth. Heaven and hell made touchable. But this is the way they walk.
And so I challenged Nature. I stepped away from the path, into the immaculate unknown. I stood, single witness to the awesome beauty and horror that words can only mock. I've cried in harmonious bouts of joy and fear and sadness. I drank deeply the cruel wonders of life and death and held them within me, two treasures among a hoard of many. The sheer complexity and unity of all things seared itself into my mind. I rejoiced at my pitiless existence, a mere blade of grass in the midst of titanic forces beyond sight and thought. I bathed in the chaos. And in the end, it took me. I was undone by Nature. Back into the ground.
But Nature, in its mystery, was not finished. It left a seed.
I slowly opened my eyes. I was in Mrs. Castro's class. That familiar smell of crayons and glue flooded my senses. I looked at my arm. Short and squishy. My Super Mario backpack next to my feet. My feet. Little nubs of white leather and shoelace. Then, the bell rang.
"Line up, please!" She sang. And I did. And we walked. And I left a school I only merely remembered. And there, waiting, was the car. I stepped forward and opened the door.
And there was me. And I was smiling.
"Let's go home." |
[WP] Jesus wants Santa Klaus to return to his original role:Demon Slaying. | "Jesus H Christ, how the heck are you?!"
The Nazareen carpenter felt himself lifted off the workshop floor in a bear hug of cocoa and pine. "Nick, jolly as ever I see." he wheezed after Nick released him. "Look, you must know why I am here." Nick nodded and stroked his beard, gazing through the cozy cottage window. "Naughty lists getting longer every year. Rudolph's nose hasn't stopped glowing since Easter. Lucifer's influence is growing."
"Which is why we need you back" Jesus picked up a hammer from a workbench and turned it over gently in his hands, smiling to himself. "Don't you have archangels for that? Its only been a few centuries since the last purge, and I don't think we can pass it off as the plague again. Besides, I've grown fat and happy." Nick glanced up to his wife's office above the workshop floor.
Jesus shook his head "I'm afraid this isn't a request. Divine orders straight from father." Santa Claus's rosy cheeks flushed an angrier shade of red. "But aren't you the same..." Nick took a deep breath. "I understand."
Nick trudged toward the barn through the howling winds of the Arctic Circle, the furthest place from the fires of hell on the mortal plane. He stopped to pat Rudolf, his nose a confirmation of the growing demonic presence in the world. In the furthest part of the barn Nick hefted a dusty canvas tarpaulin off of a bulky object. The chrome had not been polished in years, but he could still make out the letters on the side of the vehicle. "Santa's Slay"
Nick turned to Rudolf. "Santas coming back to town."
| *Quick note: I threw in some hyperlinked stuff in case my story wasn't clear, but (I think) it'll work if you just read through.*
"It's been a long time, Nick."
I looked at him in silence, nursing my peppermint schnapps. He hadn't aged a day, but then... why would he?
"Not long enough, Jeshua."
He rolled his eyes. "Most of them don't call me that anym--"
I turned back to the bar, emptied the glass and motioned the bartender over. "Give me a double, Rudy. And wine, for him. [The most sour wine you've got](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+27%3A45-50&version=NIV)."
He stood so still that I almost had a moment of regret before I remembered why he must be here in the first place.
He took the stool next to me and nodded wordless thanks to the bartender. Without glancing at me, he picked up the glass and downed it in one go. He grimaced, fighting back a cough. Then he turned to me.
"Happy? Will you at least hear me out?"
I couldn't maintain eye contact with him. Other than his father, I didn't know anyone who could. I turned away, spoke gruffly to hide my discomfort.
"Speak your piece, J... Jesus. The sooner you start, the sooner you finish, and the sooner you can leave."
"I need your help. You know why."
"You might need my help, but you know what it cost me the last time I gave it to you. I've got nothing left to give."
"We all suffered in the wars. Do you think you're the only one who lost people? But they--"
The power burst out of me in a way that it hadn't in millennia, ice cold rage that I had spent every waking minute holding at bay.
"You want to talk to me about loss, boy? Me? My soldiers, my friends, history might have corrupted their true nature, turned them into characters, but The Eight were the most fearsome warriors that anyone had ever seen, on any plane. It was only treachery that caused their deaths. Your _Morningstar_ and the ones who he turned, they slaughtered my friends in their sleep. The cowards butchered them like animals and left their bodies on the frozen tundra--"
Jesus stood up then, trying to calm me down. Saying something that I couldn't hear through the rage, over and over.
"... Nick, _you're killing them_."
I looked around, saw that everyone and everything except for Jesus was encased in an ever-increasing layer of ice. I called the ice back with an effort of will. I noticed, grimly, that it was much more difficult than it used to be. I threw money at the bar and walked into the night. I knew Jesus would take care of them.
He came out a few minutes later. "Other than some mild frostbite, they're none the worse for wear. I've never known you to lose control that way."
"Very few people can anger me the way you can."
He nodded and took a deep breath. I held my hand up before he could start.
"I'm sorry for what I said back there. The wounds are still fresh for me. But you know that I don't fight. That last battle, what I lost... I can't do it again. I can't pick up sword and shield, in defense or attack." I stared deeply into his eyes, hoping that he would see the truth of what I spoke. But to my surprise, he turned away.
"I wouldn't ask you Nick. I promised that you would never wage war at my side again, and I meant it. But you only spoke of The Eight. I'm here for [The Ninth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krampus)."
I stared into the night sky for long minutes without speaking, without moving, barely daring to think.
"Have things become that dire?"
"You know I wouldn't be here if they hadn't."
"Do you understand once... once this happens, I have no more control. It takes everything I have to keep him at bay. I'll have to fully release him for you to talk to him, and it's out of my hands after that. If you can't bring him to heel, the consequences are yours and yours alone."
Jesus nodded resolutely.
I took a deep breath, and... *relaxed*. I felt a calmness that I had not felt since I had watched my brothers and sister fall to that deceitful angel, all that time ago. I could feel my vision changing, feel my fangs coming, feel the *rage* of the only demon who fought next to the light, back in the beginning. I had the presence of mind to say one more thing before I faded to sleep.
"_I hope you know what you're doing..._" | |
[WP] Jesus wants Santa Klaus to return to his original role:Demon Slaying. | "Jesus H Christ, how the heck are you?!"
The Nazareen carpenter felt himself lifted off the workshop floor in a bear hug of cocoa and pine. "Nick, jolly as ever I see." he wheezed after Nick released him. "Look, you must know why I am here." Nick nodded and stroked his beard, gazing through the cozy cottage window. "Naughty lists getting longer every year. Rudolph's nose hasn't stopped glowing since Easter. Lucifer's influence is growing."
"Which is why we need you back" Jesus picked up a hammer from a workbench and turned it over gently in his hands, smiling to himself. "Don't you have archangels for that? Its only been a few centuries since the last purge, and I don't think we can pass it off as the plague again. Besides, I've grown fat and happy." Nick glanced up to his wife's office above the workshop floor.
Jesus shook his head "I'm afraid this isn't a request. Divine orders straight from father." Santa Claus's rosy cheeks flushed an angrier shade of red. "But aren't you the same..." Nick took a deep breath. "I understand."
Nick trudged toward the barn through the howling winds of the Arctic Circle, the furthest place from the fires of hell on the mortal plane. He stopped to pat Rudolf, his nose a confirmation of the growing demonic presence in the world. In the furthest part of the barn Nick hefted a dusty canvas tarpaulin off of a bulky object. The chrome had not been polished in years, but he could still make out the letters on the side of the vehicle. "Santa's Slay"
Nick turned to Rudolf. "Santas coming back to town."
| Year 2028.
“I told you to never show up here again.”
“I wouldn’t have come unless I needed, *the world* needed you Mr. Claus.”
“Why would you need me? A third of the world believes in your existence. I’m just a fairy tale. You have your own religion. I’m just a fat, old man who likes to eat cookies. Why don’t you go walk on water or turn some water into Kool Aid, or whatever the fuck you do.”
“There’s no need to be bitter. I didn’t intend for things to turn out the way they did. Humans just didn’t feel comfortable about someone entering their home while they’re sleeping. Besides, the Christmas spirit is still alive.”
“If you think those low life posers sitting in the malls, handing out shitty toys made from China could ever replace me, then you’re delusional.”
“This is far more important than your fat, jolly ego Santa.”
The two men were standing inside of Santa’s reindeer stable. Jesus stood there, staring intently at Santa. The old man was next to Comet, holding his reins, looking down and thinking quietly.
“Lucifer has unleashed his demons upon the world. People are dying by the thousands every night. No one can tell the difference between man and demon. The church has done its best to protect everyone they can but our forces are too divided and weak. Pope Francis is slowly losing ground on the European front.”
“...”
“Only you have the army, the experience, and the skill to counter this evil. Do this and your name will be sung by every children around the world. Christmas songs will start to play in August and decorations won’t go down until May. ”
After a minute of silence, Santa spoke.
“God damn it all. I’ll do it you bastard. But not for you, but for the good children in this world.”
Jesus smiled, “May the heavens above bless you”. And then he disappeared in a puff of snow.
Santa angrily muttered to himself as he walked inside the Claus mansion. Mrs. Claus looked up from her knitting, sitting next to the fireplace in a comfortable chair.
“Where’s my super suit?”
“It’s in the armory dear. Stay safe, okay?”
Santa only grunted in reply as he walked to the North Polean Armory. The doors hissed as they slid open. He hasn’t stepped foot in here for over a millenia.
His footsteps echoed off of the large, icy walls as he approached the glass display. It looked as new as when he first crafted it.
The large, fluffy suit was impenetrable to even the sharpest hell-steel and was ice cold to the touch, resistant to all heat. The hat was equipped with a state of the art combat HUD, allowing him to see through thick snow and activate the dynamic camouflage woven into the fabric. His boots functioned as an all terrain trekker, allowing him to effortless glide across any surface, be it snow, water, or slippery roof tops.
The white suit was stained in blotches of red from the blood of the demons he had slain in the past.
Now fully dressed in battle armor, Santa walked over to the the weapons display. From it, he took his trusted IceSplicer™ blade and put the sheath on his belt. From head to toe, he was now equipped with the most lethal weaponry on this earth.
As he walked out to the Royal stables, his second in command elf general joined him.
“General Shinny Upatree, prepare our elven forces for worldwide land, air, and naval invasions. Activate all of our reconnaissance satellites and keep me updated on enemy movements. I want a comprehensive list of the locations and names of people with naughty levels higher than 10. Check it once. No, check it twice. We have to make sure who’s naughty or nice. We attack by tomorrow midnight.”
“Yes sir”, Shinny saluted and walled away to oversee his duties.
Santa walked down the stable. Comet, fast as starlight, and Dasher, quick and nimble, looked at him expectantly as he saddled them. No, they wouldn’t be the pack lead this time. He needed a special reindeer. He needed Rudolph the red nose reindeer. The light which would be able to reveal the true forms of the disguised demons.
As Santa positioned himself at the center of his sleigh, he took a deep breath. His bag of holy-water infused coal grenades was placed in the back. He turned on his HUD, transferred the coordinates to Rudolph, and began his flight towards his first target. | |
[WP] Jesus wants Santa Klaus to return to his original role:Demon Slaying. | "Jesus H Christ, how the heck are you?!"
The Nazareen carpenter felt himself lifted off the workshop floor in a bear hug of cocoa and pine. "Nick, jolly as ever I see." he wheezed after Nick released him. "Look, you must know why I am here." Nick nodded and stroked his beard, gazing through the cozy cottage window. "Naughty lists getting longer every year. Rudolph's nose hasn't stopped glowing since Easter. Lucifer's influence is growing."
"Which is why we need you back" Jesus picked up a hammer from a workbench and turned it over gently in his hands, smiling to himself. "Don't you have archangels for that? Its only been a few centuries since the last purge, and I don't think we can pass it off as the plague again. Besides, I've grown fat and happy." Nick glanced up to his wife's office above the workshop floor.
Jesus shook his head "I'm afraid this isn't a request. Divine orders straight from father." Santa Claus's rosy cheeks flushed an angrier shade of red. "But aren't you the same..." Nick took a deep breath. "I understand."
Nick trudged toward the barn through the howling winds of the Arctic Circle, the furthest place from the fires of hell on the mortal plane. He stopped to pat Rudolf, his nose a confirmation of the growing demonic presence in the world. In the furthest part of the barn Nick hefted a dusty canvas tarpaulin off of a bulky object. The chrome had not been polished in years, but he could still make out the letters on the side of the vehicle. "Santa's Slay"
Nick turned to Rudolf. "Santas coming back to town."
| A calm windy evening, as Jesus sat anxious by the pier the sun was just starting to set. Birds chirped in the distance and the water was as calm as it could be. Everything was peaceful.
Suddenly Santa Klaus landed near him, he didn't want to meet Jesus as he knew what the talk was going to be about but also knew that he could have delayed it only so much and it couldn't be delayed any longer, he took a deep breath.. donned a brave front and sat next to Jesus.
"Yet another successful Christmas huh.. " asked Jesus.
"Yes, I wait and prepare all year for this day and it passes by in a blink.. "
"I know how much this job means to you, but you know why I am here right?"
"Yes, I know.. This is the year.. The year our contract ends." said Santa with sadness in his voice.
"This is what we agreed, you got to get my birthday merged with you for a century and then you would go back to demon slaying.."
"I know what we agreed to, but think about the children... what will happen to them when suddenly there won't be any presents under the tree? "
"They will be fine, you know what I am worried about? The fact that if the rising demons tide is not stopped they will lose there parents, families and friends. How precious will your presents be then?"
"Damnit.. I hate it when you are always right.." said Santa looking down and with a tear in his eyes. "I will miss this, the cookies, the milk, the happiness."
"I know, I spent some of my best moments here too and I wish I never had to go but sometimes we have to make the hard choice and today you are making that.. " said Jesus looking at Santa. Jesus knew how tough it is to give up so much joy and to go fight demons who are only trying to kill you but it was important Santa agreed, he was the best guy for the job. "but you know, all through the future, you will always be part of my birthday and if I had to share my birthday with anyone I would want to share it with a guy who once single handedly killed 50 demons only so he could bring little childrens gifts and happiness for a century. .."
"Yea... my last job. I wanted this so much that I just went through those demons without a single thought."
"I remember.. It was the best thing I have ever seen.. "
"Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure buddy.."
"Can you let the parents know that they will have to buy the gifts from next year?"
"Sure.. and for what you have done for them I will let them know that they can dress just like you to deliver those gifts to their children. You will never be forgotten."
"Thanks.. " Santa said standing up and with a smile on his face remarked.. "It's time to hit the gym.."
"Oh.. great.. I didn't want to bring it up. "
"Good you didn't.. I will see you soon." Santa left with an ambitious look on his face. These demons had made him end one of his best jobs ever and he was angry.. They were going to pay.
----------------------
My 3rd WP, Critiques, advice and feedback welcomed. | |
[WP] "We can't allow that, Mr. Hero. The evil villain employs far too many people as henchmen; his defeat would be disastrous for the local economy. Also, dragons are an endangered species and his castle is a heritage site." | Lord Wavr'x paced back and forth in the command center. "How many did you say were in the party, you insufferable clod?"
Corporal Jenkins blanched. "Tw- tw- tw- twelve, m'lord."
Lord Wavr'x's hands clenched the back of his chair. "And you say they've just penetrated..."
Corporal Jenkins shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. "...the, uh, Impenetrable Portcullis."
"Tell me, *tripe*," Lord Wavrx, turning to the Corporal, dropped his voice to a lethally calm whisper. "What is your definition of the word **im**penetrable?"
Corporal Jenkins hung his head, knowing better than to respond to any whispered question from the Commander of Shadowkeep. He instead turned his focus to keeping his breathing as steady as he could, waiting for Wavrx to continue.
Wavr'x began pacing. "It is clear what we must do, you intolerable sack of entrails. Release --"
The corporal raised his head. "--*Crimson Pyre*, m'lord?"
Wavr'x stopped short and turned to look at his underling, aghast. "Are you insane? The PETA people would have my head! No, no - release...the *bureaucrats*!"
The cracked lips of the Commander of Shadowkeep pulled up and back into a sadistic smirk at Jenkins' involuntary gasp.
"My...my lord, are you sure...that is to say...once unleashed, how would we..."
A guttural laugh echoed off the walls of the throne room. "Oh, do not worry about that, you fetid swamp puddle." Wavr'x walked over to one of the ebonwood cabinets that lined the walls and reached in, producing a gilded box. In a flash, a bone-handled dagger was in his hand, and as he murmured the sonorant lines of an incantation, he pulled the blade of the dagger across his open hand. Five drops of his blood fell onto the box, which then began to glow a sickly green color.
The lid was opened, and almost impossibly large stack of papers was retrieved.
"Look at this, you half-eaten jellyfish carcass. And fear me as you have never feared me before. For this...this is a Form FM-1097-X with Worksheets 12 and 29 and Schedules AA-BK attached..."
Blood continued to drop from the hand that clutched the papers, holding them aloft. Corporal Jenkins' eyes widened, then began darting around the room, looking for the nearest hiding place or exit.
"...fully notarized...*and filled out in triplicate*."
The sudden peal of thunder that echoed through the castle was nearly drowned out by the booming laughter emanating from the throne room. | "Wait, you're actually telling me to *stand down?*"
"I'm afraid my hands are tied, sir. This is why we have laws..."
"So... to be clear: you're telling me I *can't* execute my plan?"
"Unfortunately, yes sir, I am. The newest laws state that--"
"Fiddlesticks!" the hero cursed, interrupting. An angry blush rose to his cheeks. It seemed all of his planning had been for naught. He had even enlisted a few of his Dwarven friends' help to construct his motorized all-terrain catapult--which was sure to punch a hole or two in the Lord Villain's front doors...
"I can see by your eyes that you're still planning something, sir. I must inform you that, should you go after Lord Villain Drumph, the entire world would be upon you. Sure, some people may appreciate what you're trying to do--hell, between us, I would too. But still..."
"Still what? That slaver has taken my best friend's daughter--she's not yet 19! But *laws* protect him from the full weight of justice?"
"'fraid so, Mister Hero."
"Well... what about a night mission--you know, in the dark...?"
"That's still illegal, sir. Are you sure you've thought this through?"
The hero sighed. "No. Then again, I don't usually have to think this much before storming a castle or striking down a dragon. Ah well." He exited the H.R. office, angrily gripping the hilt of his +3 Ultima Weapon.
*To hell with this*, he thought. *Here I come, Mr. Villain.*
Outside, as he turned to head for Lord Villain's front door, Mr. Hero found a huge mass of people--rioters, other heroes--and had to find his place in line. "Oh, hey Carl," he said to another hero.
"Hiya, Frank! You headin' up to Lord VD's place, too?"
"Sure am... Think we've got time to stop and pick up my catapult?" | |
[WP] "We can't allow that, Mr. Hero. The evil villain employs far too many people as henchmen; his defeat would be disastrous for the local economy. Also, dragons are an endangered species and his castle is a heritage site." | “So… explain it to me one more time Rigel.”
“Certainly Mr. Luxnox, hero, sir.” said the Fairfax Kingdom’s chief economic minister. Sweat beaded and flowed down his head as he patted it dry.
“Well, you see sir, the villain, Mr. Reznick”--Rigel gestured over to Reznick who waved over--“also known as Dark Lord Death Winter”--Luxnox rolled his eyes-- “is not only vital to the economy, his castle is a heritage site that also doubles as a nature sanctuary for endangered dragons vital to the ecosystem.”
Luxnox glared at Reznick. After several moments, he drew his sword, moving to gut him.
Rigel ran hurriedly between them as the room full of the kingdom’s civil servants, administrators and soldiers alike tensed.
“You can’t kill him!” Exclaimed Rigel.
“And why not?! I’m going to gut the bastard and that’s that!” Yelled Luxnox. “I’ve a personal grudge to settle here that can’t be soothed by anything but his blood and flesh! I don’t give a damn about collateral damage! So what!”
“So what!?” Hollered Rigel. He threw his hands up. “SO WHAT!?” Luxnox stepped back from the furious man, taken aback from his previously demure and reserved demeanor.
Rigel pointed threatening at him as he advanced on him. “Let me tell you just what’s going to happen, Mr. hero, sir!” Rigel pointed back at Reznick who had shrunk in on himself. “First of all, this man directly employs tens of thousands of citizens for miles all around. That’s skilled craftsmen, laborers, gardeners, stone and metal workers, whatever you can name. He pays them vital coin that goes to keeping them sheltered under a roof, putting food on the table, and burning a fire in the hearth! Those tens of thousands of people spend money to allow hundreds of thousands of more people to earn a living! And those hundreds of thousands allow countless more to earn a living and so on and so forth! Guess what happens if those people suddenly lose their jobs! This kingdom will enter a depression where hundreds of thousands potentially might lose the roof over their head, the food on their tables, and the fires that keep them warm! They’ll be dying on the streets!
Rigel took heavy deep breaths as his face flushed over from the crimson that made him look as if like an angry war god.
“And you were going to destroy this castle! Destroy it!--Rigel frothed at the mouth--“How could you even think of such a thing!? This castle is a nature sanctuary for endangered dragons. Do you know what dragons hunt Mr. Luxnox!?”--Luxnox shook his head quickly--They hunt dangerous beasts! Abominable gigantic insects that you could swallow you whole in one bite. They hunt the terrors that reside in the shadows at night. And do you know what they eat!?”--Luxnox nodded his head quickly.“That’s right! They eat humans! They hunt down men, women, children! Old, young! And you were going to destroy the one place that sheltered the very dragons that were actually helping us from going extinct. If it weren’t for those dragons, I can’t even imagine how many young children would have been feasted on by now.”
Rigel rubbed his head, red lines streaking across his forehead. “And this castle! Goodness! It’s a priceless historical relic dating back to the very founding of this Kingdom Luxnox! Do you understand that!? When the Kingdom fought for its independence against the Xenith Empire, this place became the last refuge and hope for those freedom fighters. This was where they made their last stand, ready to die to the last, when a miracle happened and the back of the Xenith Empire was broken that day. You were going to destroy a national monument that has stood as a lasting symbol of freedom, justice, and liberty.”
The room had been silent during his speech and it stayed silent as he finished. Rigel walked over to a nearby table and sat down. He put his head between his arms on the table. After several moments, he sat up.
“What did Reznick even do to warrant a gutting again? Aside from his man childish hobbies of playing as a Dark Lord?” asked Rigel tiredly.
“He’s marrying my sister and I don’t like his man childish hobbies.”
“You can’t kill him.” Rigel sighed. “But you do know that you can interrupt your sister’s wedding right?”
“...Right. Ok.”
| "Wait, you're actually telling me to *stand down?*"
"I'm afraid my hands are tied, sir. This is why we have laws..."
"So... to be clear: you're telling me I *can't* execute my plan?"
"Unfortunately, yes sir, I am. The newest laws state that--"
"Fiddlesticks!" the hero cursed, interrupting. An angry blush rose to his cheeks. It seemed all of his planning had been for naught. He had even enlisted a few of his Dwarven friends' help to construct his motorized all-terrain catapult--which was sure to punch a hole or two in the Lord Villain's front doors...
"I can see by your eyes that you're still planning something, sir. I must inform you that, should you go after Lord Villain Drumph, the entire world would be upon you. Sure, some people may appreciate what you're trying to do--hell, between us, I would too. But still..."
"Still what? That slaver has taken my best friend's daughter--she's not yet 19! But *laws* protect him from the full weight of justice?"
"'fraid so, Mister Hero."
"Well... what about a night mission--you know, in the dark...?"
"That's still illegal, sir. Are you sure you've thought this through?"
The hero sighed. "No. Then again, I don't usually have to think this much before storming a castle or striking down a dragon. Ah well." He exited the H.R. office, angrily gripping the hilt of his +3 Ultima Weapon.
*To hell with this*, he thought. *Here I come, Mr. Villain.*
Outside, as he turned to head for Lord Villain's front door, Mr. Hero found a huge mass of people--rioters, other heroes--and had to find his place in line. "Oh, hey Carl," he said to another hero.
"Hiya, Frank! You headin' up to Lord VD's place, too?"
"Sure am... Think we've got time to stop and pick up my catapult?" | |
[WP] "We can't allow that, Mr. Hero. The evil villain employs far too many people as henchmen; his defeat would be disastrous for the local economy. Also, dragons are an endangered species and his castle is a heritage site." | “So… explain it to me one more time Rigel.”
“Certainly Mr. Luxnox, hero, sir.” said the Fairfax Kingdom’s chief economic minister. Sweat beaded and flowed down his head as he patted it dry.
“Well, you see sir, the villain, Mr. Reznick”--Rigel gestured over to Reznick who waved over--“also known as Dark Lord Death Winter”--Luxnox rolled his eyes-- “is not only vital to the economy, his castle is a heritage site that also doubles as a nature sanctuary for endangered dragons vital to the ecosystem.”
Luxnox glared at Reznick. After several moments, he drew his sword, moving to gut him.
Rigel ran hurriedly between them as the room full of the kingdom’s civil servants, administrators and soldiers alike tensed.
“You can’t kill him!” Exclaimed Rigel.
“And why not?! I’m going to gut the bastard and that’s that!” Yelled Luxnox. “I’ve a personal grudge to settle here that can’t be soothed by anything but his blood and flesh! I don’t give a damn about collateral damage! So what!”
“So what!?” Hollered Rigel. He threw his hands up. “SO WHAT!?” Luxnox stepped back from the furious man, taken aback from his previously demure and reserved demeanor.
Rigel pointed threatening at him as he advanced on him. “Let me tell you just what’s going to happen, Mr. hero, sir!” Rigel pointed back at Reznick who had shrunk in on himself. “First of all, this man directly employs tens of thousands of citizens for miles all around. That’s skilled craftsmen, laborers, gardeners, stone and metal workers, whatever you can name. He pays them vital coin that goes to keeping them sheltered under a roof, putting food on the table, and burning a fire in the hearth! Those tens of thousands of people spend money to allow hundreds of thousands of more people to earn a living! And those hundreds of thousands allow countless more to earn a living and so on and so forth! Guess what happens if those people suddenly lose their jobs! This kingdom will enter a depression where hundreds of thousands potentially might lose the roof over their head, the food on their tables, and the fires that keep them warm! They’ll be dying on the streets!
Rigel took heavy deep breaths as his face flushed over from the crimson that made him look as if like an angry war god.
“And you were going to destroy this castle! Destroy it!--Rigel frothed at the mouth--“How could you even think of such a thing!? This castle is a nature sanctuary for endangered dragons. Do you know what dragons hunt Mr. Luxnox!?”--Luxnox shook his head quickly--They hunt dangerous beasts! Abominable gigantic insects that you could swallow you whole in one bite. They hunt the terrors that reside in the shadows at night. And do you know what they eat!?”--Luxnox nodded his head quickly.“That’s right! They eat humans! They hunt down men, women, children! Old, young! And you were going to destroy the one place that sheltered the very dragons that were actually helping us from going extinct. If it weren’t for those dragons, I can’t even imagine how many young children would have been feasted on by now.”
Rigel rubbed his head, red lines streaking across his forehead. “And this castle! Goodness! It’s a priceless historical relic dating back to the very founding of this Kingdom Luxnox! Do you understand that!? When the Kingdom fought for its independence against the Xenith Empire, this place became the last refuge and hope for those freedom fighters. This was where they made their last stand, ready to die to the last, when a miracle happened and the back of the Xenith Empire was broken that day. You were going to destroy a national monument that has stood as a lasting symbol of freedom, justice, and liberty.”
The room had been silent during his speech and it stayed silent as he finished. Rigel walked over to a nearby table and sat down. He put his head between his arms on the table. After several moments, he sat up.
“What did Reznick even do to warrant a gutting again? Aside from his man childish hobbies of playing as a Dark Lord?” asked Rigel tiredly.
“He’s marrying my sister and I don’t like his man childish hobbies.”
“You can’t kill him.” Rigel sighed. “But you do know that you can interrupt your sister’s wedding right?”
“...Right. Ok.”
| Lord Wavr'x paced back and forth in the command center. "How many did you say were in the party, you insufferable clod?"
Corporal Jenkins blanched. "Tw- tw- tw- twelve, m'lord."
Lord Wavr'x's hands clenched the back of his chair. "And you say they've just penetrated..."
Corporal Jenkins shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. "...the, uh, Impenetrable Portcullis."
"Tell me, *tripe*," Lord Wavrx, turning to the Corporal, dropped his voice to a lethally calm whisper. "What is your definition of the word **im**penetrable?"
Corporal Jenkins hung his head, knowing better than to respond to any whispered question from the Commander of Shadowkeep. He instead turned his focus to keeping his breathing as steady as he could, waiting for Wavrx to continue.
Wavr'x began pacing. "It is clear what we must do, you intolerable sack of entrails. Release --"
The corporal raised his head. "--*Crimson Pyre*, m'lord?"
Wavr'x stopped short and turned to look at his underling, aghast. "Are you insane? The PETA people would have my head! No, no - release...the *bureaucrats*!"
The cracked lips of the Commander of Shadowkeep pulled up and back into a sadistic smirk at Jenkins' involuntary gasp.
"My...my lord, are you sure...that is to say...once unleashed, how would we..."
A guttural laugh echoed off the walls of the throne room. "Oh, do not worry about that, you fetid swamp puddle." Wavr'x walked over to one of the ebonwood cabinets that lined the walls and reached in, producing a gilded box. In a flash, a bone-handled dagger was in his hand, and as he murmured the sonorant lines of an incantation, he pulled the blade of the dagger across his open hand. Five drops of his blood fell onto the box, which then began to glow a sickly green color.
The lid was opened, and almost impossibly large stack of papers was retrieved.
"Look at this, you half-eaten jellyfish carcass. And fear me as you have never feared me before. For this...this is a Form FM-1097-X with Worksheets 12 and 29 and Schedules AA-BK attached..."
Blood continued to drop from the hand that clutched the papers, holding them aloft. Corporal Jenkins' eyes widened, then began darting around the room, looking for the nearest hiding place or exit.
"...fully notarized...*and filled out in triplicate*."
The sudden peal of thunder that echoed through the castle was nearly drowned out by the booming laughter emanating from the throne room. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Canadian wilderness, Tibetan temples, Japanese mountains, Russian wilderness. No word of this mystery man. I devoted myself to searching for the better half of a decade, but I finally found this him, something to grant my greatest wish. In rural Alabama, too. Go figure. I spoke with the folk in the nearest town, couldn't have had more than a hundred people, probably all worth less than my pocket lint. They all knew about him, they all tried to stop me.
I've lived my life how I wanted, achieved whatever goal I had, pushed my enemies to the bottom. I've made billions playing with stocks and have now gotten to the point where no matter how I spend money, my net worth rises. I've been all over the world, climbed mountains, seen the priceless "works of art", dove into the Mariana Trench, watched volcanoes erupt into lightning storms, even been to the International Space Station and seen the planet in its entirety. I tried giving back. I donated millions to whatever charity was first on the Google search, I wasn't doing anything with the money anyways. Everyone speaks of this feeling they get when they help someone, when they see someone they helped. I've seen everything this world has to offer and more, and I hated it. I hated all of it. I hated that none of it entertained me. None of it made me feel alive. It just all felt so... boring. It felt so real, yet I felt so distanced from it all. I've thought about offing myself, but that's not what I do. That's not what I was raised to do.
After a few hours of walking by a river, I saw a small wooden cabin, minuscule really. According to those townspeople, this should lead me there. I was finally here. I was not nervous, but I'd be lying if I said I could predict how this will play out. The cabin was shockingly small, run down even. The metal shingles that were left were covered with rust, the wooden steps flayed at the ends. Everything had that light grey dust that seems to follow everything a century past its prime. I knocked on the door, blowing off the dust from my knuckles afterward. I could've just wiped it on my suit since I'm not in public. Oh well, habit I suppose.
The door opened to a short bearded man in blue jean overalls. At least his hair seems to match the grey motif. Is he not wearing shoes? What species of animal- doesn't matter. He's holding a glass jar in his hand, what sort of alcohol IS that? What on Earth is that smell? Oh, God, that's his breath, isn't it?
"Can I -hruup- help ya son?" he says as he chokes on what I assume to be his own foul stench.
"You know what I'm here for. What other reason would anyone come out here?"
"The land ain't bad. Some good huntin' round these parts. Creak is pretty clean. Nice townsfolk."
"I'm here for your monkey's paw abilities old man."
"Damn, thought I mighta played dumb some more. Coulda got some good chucks outta ya, I betcha what."
"That's enough of that. I want you to grant me a wish. I can offer you more than you can demand."
"Welp, no use standin on my porch, come in. I'll fix ya some tea."
"None thank you."
At this point, the inside of the hallway was exactly as expected. Mounted kills, shabby paint, everything hand-made but nothing made well. I walked in but refused to sit. I stopped just passed the now closed door and look ahead at the man.
"I would like to skip your formalities and get to it, wish-man." I had nowhere to go, nothing I wanted to do, but still I got impatient.
"Even the introduction? The name's Cletus son." He extended his hand. I would rather not expose myself more than necessary. I pretend not to notice and continued onward.
"Bernard. My wish-" He turned around, cutting me off.
"I gotta grant ya somethin' for comin' out here an' findin' me, but I want you to know that yous what we call an asshole."
I continued. "My wish is to be entertained. I wish to have something that can make me feel enjoyment, happiness."
Cletus turned and faced me. His demeanor seemed much more serious than before, I can appreciate that.
"And what'll you give for that?"
I replied without hesitation. "All that I can."
There were a few moments of silence before he took a swig of his jar and responded. "Well it ain't up to either of us. That's just how it works. It's done. Go home, and don't you come back now."
I wan't quite sure if he was trying to fool me or just skipped the dramatics. I stood there thinking to myself whether or not I was just insulted. I reluctantly walked outside, and retreated to my plane located just outside of the local village.
As a walked, I thought to myself. I- I was furious. After all of this, all of my effort, all the resources poured, it amounted to a wild goose chase. I wanted buy every acre for miles and burn it to the ground. This redneck decided he would make a fool of me. ME! I am Robert Bernard, one of the most powerful men in the world! And I couldn't even make a filthy hillbilly respect me. No, I let him make a fool out of me. Believing that I could find another man to grant my wish, that was my mistake. Thinking something like that existed, ridiculous that I even considered it.
As I stormed through the town, I caught just a glimpse of her. I must've been too focused on my thoughts, there is no way someone that beautiful would be here. I turned around and rushed back. Something told me there was no way to let this chance slip by. I grabbed her by the arm in a desperate attempt to stop her. I introduced myself, asked her out for drinks in Paris. She accepted quickly.
Years passed into decades. I fell in love, got married, but never had a child. I finally found something I loved, something I enjoyed. I wanted to be with her as much as possible. Unfortunately, she was not so dependent on me. She had her hobbies, helping animals, finding gemstones, all of which she insisted on doing without my assistance, financial or otherwise. When she wasn't with me, I couldn't stand it. Before I knew it, I grew to hate myself. I was arrogant with no talent to back it up. My wealth came from sheer luck, nothing I have done was earned. The fact that she was with me could only be from pity. She doesn't need me, I need her. I couldn't stand it anymore. I was worse than garbage, nothing I've done I could be proud of. The fact that Chery was still with me... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. All I can do is hold you back. But it'll be ok. I won't do it anymore. I'll be out of your way. It'll be ok.
| The Poor Man lived in a small fishing village right at the base of a densely forested mountain. The Fall chill had taken hold in the air, and the nights were getting long now. The Poor Man had had a hard life. His wife died of the red fever in the spring. He had the strength of his back taken from him after the accident a few years prior, and he couldn't afford a doctor because of it. As he saw it, it was all his fault. He deserved his misery because he couldn't save her.
One day, The Poor Man was walking in the woods and remembered the old tale of the Man in the Woods. Legend has it that he would give you your greatest wish in exchange for your grandest treasure. For some, this was their material wealth. For others, it was their firstborn. Some lost their sunny disposition.
The Poor Man thought to himself, "I have nothing. I've no joy, no strength, no love, and no wealth. What could I possibly lose?"
So The Poor Man walked deeper into the woods, and the light began to fade before he knew it. Right as the ombré hues of orange and crimson began to fade, The Poor Man called out "Hello?" The Man in the Woods stepped out from behind a tree. The Poor Man couldn't believe his eyes. He had walked into the woods hoping, but he had never actually expected to find him.
"I know you, and I know why you are here" announced The Man in the Woods. "I have been called many names: Fey Beggar, Soul Poacher, The Old Hermit, The Man in the Woods, The Helpful Woodsman... Call me whatever you wish. Speaking of wishes, you wish for purpose in your life. You have no joy, no strength, no love, and no wealth. You don't even have an heir to your name. Still, I am sure you have something to trade, no? For instance, you may still walk, and talk, and see. Men don't usually come to me with vast wealth, but everyone always gets a fair share. What say you? Shall we strike a bargain?"
The Poor Man was taken aback. He could have purpose and through it, maybe even joy. What would it matter if he could not see if he had a reason to live again?
"Yes, let's get to it then. As you said, I wish for purpose. I have no reason to go on. I cannot work, I have no wife or children, and I don't have a penny to my name. If you must take my eyes or my legs in exchange for a reason to live, then so be it." The Poor Man sighed and closed his eyes as he reached out his hand.
The Man in the Woods shook his hand and began laughing. The Poor Man began laughing too. If he had known it would be this easy, he would have come years ago.
When The Poor Man opened his eyes again, he realized he was actually shaking hands with a glove on a tree branch. "Oh, that's right..." said The Poor Man wistfully.
"Hello?" A shout echoed, bouncing off of the many trees in the Woods.
I know you, and I know why you are here" announced The Poor Man. "I have been called many names: Fey Beggar, The Man in The Woods,..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "Y'know that the path you take leads to death, right?" spoke the shadow that followed me "I know what you feel, and know that you yearn to scream."
As I walked, the trees began to grow closer together, killing the light from the sky. A young man strode closer to me, breaking not one stick with his light steps.
"What do you seek, Wanderer?" he spoke, his face illuminated by a light that did not exist "Why do you seek?"
"To find the Bright lord of the woods, and to bargain for my life." I spoke, trusting that I had not been led astray by the Shadow.
"I have been found then. What do you desire?" spoke the youth, who I now knew as the Bright lord.
"I desire to be rid of this shadow, I care not how." I spoke, trusting the honor of a god.
"Granted, if you catch this stone." said the Bright lord.
I caught the stone, but was unprepared for the sensational burst. I felt knowledge flood my mind, and darkness leave my shoulder.
I had been betrayed, for I loved the pursuit of new knowledge more than any other mortal. That is what I lost. To never learn again.
The Bright lord walked away, speaking to the Dark lord as he did so. | The Poor Man lived in a small fishing village right at the base of a densely forested mountain. The Fall chill had taken hold in the air, and the nights were getting long now. The Poor Man had had a hard life. His wife died of the red fever in the spring. He had the strength of his back taken from him after the accident a few years prior, and he couldn't afford a doctor because of it. As he saw it, it was all his fault. He deserved his misery because he couldn't save her.
One day, The Poor Man was walking in the woods and remembered the old tale of the Man in the Woods. Legend has it that he would give you your greatest wish in exchange for your grandest treasure. For some, this was their material wealth. For others, it was their firstborn. Some lost their sunny disposition.
The Poor Man thought to himself, "I have nothing. I've no joy, no strength, no love, and no wealth. What could I possibly lose?"
So The Poor Man walked deeper into the woods, and the light began to fade before he knew it. Right as the ombré hues of orange and crimson began to fade, The Poor Man called out "Hello?" The Man in the Woods stepped out from behind a tree. The Poor Man couldn't believe his eyes. He had walked into the woods hoping, but he had never actually expected to find him.
"I know you, and I know why you are here" announced The Man in the Woods. "I have been called many names: Fey Beggar, Soul Poacher, The Old Hermit, The Man in the Woods, The Helpful Woodsman... Call me whatever you wish. Speaking of wishes, you wish for purpose in your life. You have no joy, no strength, no love, and no wealth. You don't even have an heir to your name. Still, I am sure you have something to trade, no? For instance, you may still walk, and talk, and see. Men don't usually come to me with vast wealth, but everyone always gets a fair share. What say you? Shall we strike a bargain?"
The Poor Man was taken aback. He could have purpose and through it, maybe even joy. What would it matter if he could not see if he had a reason to live again?
"Yes, let's get to it then. As you said, I wish for purpose. I have no reason to go on. I cannot work, I have no wife or children, and I don't have a penny to my name. If you must take my eyes or my legs in exchange for a reason to live, then so be it." The Poor Man sighed and closed his eyes as he reached out his hand.
The Man in the Woods shook his hand and began laughing. The Poor Man began laughing too. If he had known it would be this easy, he would have come years ago.
When The Poor Man opened his eyes again, he realized he was actually shaking hands with a glove on a tree branch. "Oh, that's right..." said The Poor Man wistfully.
"Hello?" A shout echoed, bouncing off of the many trees in the Woods.
I know you, and I know why you are here" announced The Poor Man. "I have been called many names: Fey Beggar, The Man in The Woods,..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Canadian wilderness, Tibetan temples, Japanese mountains, Russian wilderness. No word of this mystery man. I devoted myself to searching for the better half of a decade, but I finally found this him, something to grant my greatest wish. In rural Alabama, too. Go figure. I spoke with the folk in the nearest town, couldn't have had more than a hundred people, probably all worth less than my pocket lint. They all knew about him, they all tried to stop me.
I've lived my life how I wanted, achieved whatever goal I had, pushed my enemies to the bottom. I've made billions playing with stocks and have now gotten to the point where no matter how I spend money, my net worth rises. I've been all over the world, climbed mountains, seen the priceless "works of art", dove into the Mariana Trench, watched volcanoes erupt into lightning storms, even been to the International Space Station and seen the planet in its entirety. I tried giving back. I donated millions to whatever charity was first on the Google search, I wasn't doing anything with the money anyways. Everyone speaks of this feeling they get when they help someone, when they see someone they helped. I've seen everything this world has to offer and more, and I hated it. I hated all of it. I hated that none of it entertained me. None of it made me feel alive. It just all felt so... boring. It felt so real, yet I felt so distanced from it all. I've thought about offing myself, but that's not what I do. That's not what I was raised to do.
After a few hours of walking by a river, I saw a small wooden cabin, minuscule really. According to those townspeople, this should lead me there. I was finally here. I was not nervous, but I'd be lying if I said I could predict how this will play out. The cabin was shockingly small, run down even. The metal shingles that were left were covered with rust, the wooden steps flayed at the ends. Everything had that light grey dust that seems to follow everything a century past its prime. I knocked on the door, blowing off the dust from my knuckles afterward. I could've just wiped it on my suit since I'm not in public. Oh well, habit I suppose.
The door opened to a short bearded man in blue jean overalls. At least his hair seems to match the grey motif. Is he not wearing shoes? What species of animal- doesn't matter. He's holding a glass jar in his hand, what sort of alcohol IS that? What on Earth is that smell? Oh, God, that's his breath, isn't it?
"Can I -hruup- help ya son?" he says as he chokes on what I assume to be his own foul stench.
"You know what I'm here for. What other reason would anyone come out here?"
"The land ain't bad. Some good huntin' round these parts. Creak is pretty clean. Nice townsfolk."
"I'm here for your monkey's paw abilities old man."
"Damn, thought I mighta played dumb some more. Coulda got some good chucks outta ya, I betcha what."
"That's enough of that. I want you to grant me a wish. I can offer you more than you can demand."
"Welp, no use standin on my porch, come in. I'll fix ya some tea."
"None thank you."
At this point, the inside of the hallway was exactly as expected. Mounted kills, shabby paint, everything hand-made but nothing made well. I walked in but refused to sit. I stopped just passed the now closed door and look ahead at the man.
"I would like to skip your formalities and get to it, wish-man." I had nowhere to go, nothing I wanted to do, but still I got impatient.
"Even the introduction? The name's Cletus son." He extended his hand. I would rather not expose myself more than necessary. I pretend not to notice and continued onward.
"Bernard. My wish-" He turned around, cutting me off.
"I gotta grant ya somethin' for comin' out here an' findin' me, but I want you to know that yous what we call an asshole."
I continued. "My wish is to be entertained. I wish to have something that can make me feel enjoyment, happiness."
Cletus turned and faced me. His demeanor seemed much more serious than before, I can appreciate that.
"And what'll you give for that?"
I replied without hesitation. "All that I can."
There were a few moments of silence before he took a swig of his jar and responded. "Well it ain't up to either of us. That's just how it works. It's done. Go home, and don't you come back now."
I wan't quite sure if he was trying to fool me or just skipped the dramatics. I stood there thinking to myself whether or not I was just insulted. I reluctantly walked outside, and retreated to my plane located just outside of the local village.
As a walked, I thought to myself. I- I was furious. After all of this, all of my effort, all the resources poured, it amounted to a wild goose chase. I wanted buy every acre for miles and burn it to the ground. This redneck decided he would make a fool of me. ME! I am Robert Bernard, one of the most powerful men in the world! And I couldn't even make a filthy hillbilly respect me. No, I let him make a fool out of me. Believing that I could find another man to grant my wish, that was my mistake. Thinking something like that existed, ridiculous that I even considered it.
As I stormed through the town, I caught just a glimpse of her. I must've been too focused on my thoughts, there is no way someone that beautiful would be here. I turned around and rushed back. Something told me there was no way to let this chance slip by. I grabbed her by the arm in a desperate attempt to stop her. I introduced myself, asked her out for drinks in Paris. She accepted quickly.
Years passed into decades. I fell in love, got married, but never had a child. I finally found something I loved, something I enjoyed. I wanted to be with her as much as possible. Unfortunately, she was not so dependent on me. She had her hobbies, helping animals, finding gemstones, all of which she insisted on doing without my assistance, financial or otherwise. When she wasn't with me, I couldn't stand it. Before I knew it, I grew to hate myself. I was arrogant with no talent to back it up. My wealth came from sheer luck, nothing I have done was earned. The fact that she was with me could only be from pity. She doesn't need me, I need her. I couldn't stand it anymore. I was worse than garbage, nothing I've done I could be proud of. The fact that Chery was still with me... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. All I can do is hold you back. But it'll be ok. I won't do it anymore. I'll be out of your way. It'll be ok.
| "Tea?" he asked me, sitting on a tree stump. I checked my watch, it had been an hour. I was getting nowhere.
"Listen, I know I've got nothing to lose mate, but I'd still rather if you didn't waste my time here. Can't you just grant my wish and take whatever my cherished shit is?"
He smiled, sipping the tea and held up a single finger. "One second." he muttered, placing down the tea, and standing up.
"So, you actually doing it?" bouncing with excitement, I stepped closer, "My life will finally be back on track!"
"I grant you your wish. Over the next 24 hours, you will find a job, a girlfriend. Your health will recover, as will your credit. You will lead a life again. Your addiction will fade. You will be normal, living the life you wanted to. You will be normal."
I remember this vividly now, in hindsight. The memory faded for the last 20 years, but now I sit in an ambulance watching my house burn. My wife is behind me, paramedics scrambling to save her. The old man walks down the street, slipping the lighter into his pocket as police try to work out what happened. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "Y'know that the path you take leads to death, right?" spoke the shadow that followed me "I know what you feel, and know that you yearn to scream."
As I walked, the trees began to grow closer together, killing the light from the sky. A young man strode closer to me, breaking not one stick with his light steps.
"What do you seek, Wanderer?" he spoke, his face illuminated by a light that did not exist "Why do you seek?"
"To find the Bright lord of the woods, and to bargain for my life." I spoke, trusting that I had not been led astray by the Shadow.
"I have been found then. What do you desire?" spoke the youth, who I now knew as the Bright lord.
"I desire to be rid of this shadow, I care not how." I spoke, trusting the honor of a god.
"Granted, if you catch this stone." said the Bright lord.
I caught the stone, but was unprepared for the sensational burst. I felt knowledge flood my mind, and darkness leave my shoulder.
I had been betrayed, for I loved the pursuit of new knowledge more than any other mortal. That is what I lost. To never learn again.
The Bright lord walked away, speaking to the Dark lord as he did so. | "Tea?" he asked me, sitting on a tree stump. I checked my watch, it had been an hour. I was getting nowhere.
"Listen, I know I've got nothing to lose mate, but I'd still rather if you didn't waste my time here. Can't you just grant my wish and take whatever my cherished shit is?"
He smiled, sipping the tea and held up a single finger. "One second." he muttered, placing down the tea, and standing up.
"So, you actually doing it?" bouncing with excitement, I stepped closer, "My life will finally be back on track!"
"I grant you your wish. Over the next 24 hours, you will find a job, a girlfriend. Your health will recover, as will your credit. You will lead a life again. Your addiction will fade. You will be normal, living the life you wanted to. You will be normal."
I remember this vividly now, in hindsight. The memory faded for the last 20 years, but now I sit in an ambulance watching my house burn. My wife is behind me, paramedics scrambling to save her. The old man walks down the street, slipping the lighter into his pocket as police try to work out what happened. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "Y'know that the path you take leads to death, right?" spoke the shadow that followed me "I know what you feel, and know that you yearn to scream."
As I walked, the trees began to grow closer together, killing the light from the sky. A young man strode closer to me, breaking not one stick with his light steps.
"What do you seek, Wanderer?" he spoke, his face illuminated by a light that did not exist "Why do you seek?"
"To find the Bright lord of the woods, and to bargain for my life." I spoke, trusting that I had not been led astray by the Shadow.
"I have been found then. What do you desire?" spoke the youth, who I now knew as the Bright lord.
"I desire to be rid of this shadow, I care not how." I spoke, trusting the honor of a god.
"Granted, if you catch this stone." said the Bright lord.
I caught the stone, but was unprepared for the sensational burst. I felt knowledge flood my mind, and darkness leave my shoulder.
I had been betrayed, for I loved the pursuit of new knowledge more than any other mortal. That is what I lost. To never learn again.
The Bright lord walked away, speaking to the Dark lord as he did so. | The dragon-marked warrior faced down the Green-Eyed Man, scarred tan face wild and flushed with passion. "Yes! It's what I truly wish!"
The Green-Eyed Man looks him up and down, taking in his Imperial armor and the loving polish on his chest insignia, the shortsword drawn for a duel. "Alright then. An equivalent exchange: If you can beat me in a fair fight, then I'll give up my powers to your people, forever. But first..." he winked "...you'll have to catch me."
In a blink, he took the form of a hawk and launched himself into the sky. The dragon-warrior took his ancestral form and followed.
The chase was rough. Up, then down, through cloud and rain, over field, between trees, across mountains. The old god took on form after form, always just out of the Warrior's reach. They darted by bridges and betwixt buildings, through native villiages and around Imperial bastions with their marble spires, across the fields where the dragon-warriors were allowed to practice their art, and back into the sky again. Always, just as the warrior thought his prey was tiring, he would have a new surge of energy, until finally they plunged upward at such speed, so far that something in his still-human mind snapped.
They broke through, to a place where the sky was a pure, unpolluted blue and the clouds were firm as ground, and the Green-Eyed Man set down, mantled his wings, and bowed. "Here we are, old friend. I have but one little request for you - see that hillock over there?" he said, gesturing to a gentle rise in the clouds, "when you have killed me... plant my heart under it, and your People will have control of my power."
And so the Warrior did as he was commanded. An immense golden tree sprung up, reaching for the sky, each branch crowned with a gem-fruit just begging to be harvested. But, as he watched it unfold, the corpse behind him began to talk. "By the way, enjoy watching the Dragonfolk rebel against the empire. It should be a wild ride." Mouth agape, the Warrior watched his adversaries' eyes dull and shut one last time. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | The last man in Darrow shook his head. His son had been the last to die, preceded by his wife, his daughter, and everyone else in the village. Anthem was similarly ravaged, and, he assumed, so was every village down the coast to Beren. It had come from nowhere- bleeding eyes, cold sweating, dreamless sleeping. They bled their tears of blood, and then the weakness took them, they lost their dreams and seemed to be dying more than sleeping. Until there was no more waking, just sleeping, and finally dying. And everyone who tried to help them slept and died in kind. Garen shook his head again. He hadn't done any differently than the others, he had kissed his wife as she laid in her last sleep, he had held his children as they left the world. He'd done nothing special, and still he found himself spared. Alone in the dead village of Darrow.
There was a story, brought back from the hunters who ranged inland into the Caredara, they spoke of a wild man who offered a demon bargain: the dearest thing to you, traded for what you want most dearly in the world. Garen had never thought much of it, always dismissing it as any fisher's tale of sea maids and living storms. He looked over at the body of his wife, sunken, sallow skin, her face locked in the pain of that last, grim sleep. The dreamless sleep. The weakness took their dreams, before it took everything else. He looked at her and remembered her energy, her glow- Dena was so full of life, so full of love, and now she laid as a wasted corpse in their bed. Same as every wife in Darrow, in every house of Darrow. Garen reached out to touch her face. He thought about what he would give, to have her alive again, to see her glow, and then he thought about what he had left to even give. Truly, there was nothing. And so he thought again, of the stories of Berent hunters, of the wild man in the Caredara. With nothing to trade, nothing to lose, he set his heart on the black bargain of the wild man.
And so Garen of Darrow walked out of his home and stepped through the silent village. The houses were graves, the temple had been burned, the ones without wives lay dead on the road. The man with nothing left to lose walked silently through the graveyard, and through Darrow's golden fields, and entered the darkness of the forest. And so Garen, husband to a dead wife and father to dead children, he left the dead village of Darrow and struck out into the Caredara.
It wasn't long before he found the wild man. The hunters had said that the wild man finds you, when he senses someone willing to make his trade. Garen found him in a clearing: a rough, dirty and wrinkled man, dressed in rags and sitting in the winter grasses. His eyes were wide, black, and fixed on Garen as he approached.
"Well met, stranger," the wild man said, in a way that belied his savage appearance.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the ember of wanting, as old as the oldest tree in this forest, I'm the darkness of envy and the dearness of having. I'm the wickedness of wishing and the truth at the bottom of men's hearts."
*So it was a demon.* They were always said to speak in riddles, and Garen hesitated before he spoke. But there was nothing left to lose, and everything to want, and so he said, "I've come to take your bargain." The wild man of the Caredara laughed, flashing his black teeth, and from his rotted mouth he spoke: "You, man with a dead family, come from a dead village, what could you want from me? Gold and glory and pretty women, what are pleasures when you're alone to have them?"
Garen swallowed. "I wish for my wife and children to be alive." The wild man laughed again and stood. He spoke harshly, "You do not. Life has left them, and I would not give you corpses with motion. Speak truly, man, and tell me what you want."
Garen stood silent for some time. No family, no village, what was the point in having anything? He thought, the demon's truth twisted through his mind, and he knew, without Dena, without Enger and Toma, there was no point in having anything at all. He knew, and so he said, "I wish to die."
A viara sang in the distance. The wind danced through the trees at the clearing's edge, and the grasses shined beneath the winter sun. Garen saw the beauty of the world, with all its pain and heartbreak, in all its wild turning, he saw that it was beautiful. The breeze and the birdsong rang in his ears, and he didn't see the wild man nod, he didn't hear him speak his demon's word of binding, and he didn't feel the chill as death washed over his body. And so the last man of Darrow earned his death, what he wanted most dearly, and lost his life, what he cherished most dearly. | It was a normal September afternoon and Jim came back from work. He was 19, a college dropout, and barely made enough money to pay off his apartment since his parents were so disappointed that he didnt go to college that they refused to support him.
Jim went into his apartment and saw everything was trashed. He had been robbed and he wondered why. He had nothing of value in there. Why rob him, of everyone living in the building he was probably the poorest. Jim cursed a few times and then went down to report the incidebt . He was pissed.
The next morning Jim went out for a walk in the woods, which just happened to be behind his building. He kept on walking to calm himself down since the theif also took his one pillow, blankets, and the mattress frame. He was forced to sleep on the ground with his mattress the night before. He kept walking when suddenly in the distance he saw an old man. The man looked like he was around the age of his grandpa (97). He ran over to the old man to try to see if he needed help
What would and old man be doing in the middle of the woods? The man turned around when Jim was within 3 ft from him. The old man said with a low voice, "Hello Jim, I am the man of the wise, I may grant you ONE wish, what would you like it to be?"
Jim was confused. He knew that there was no way this old and frail man could grant him a wish. He thought the man may have been crazy so he felt if he denied him he would be mad. So Jim went along with it. "I wish..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Broke, penniless, hungry, I headed into the woods, due north. I planned on walking until I met the Old Man, or I succumbed to the elements. My whole life up until this point had been an abject failure, one broken promise, to another unfulfilled requirement. My family had always told me growing up that suicide was a sin, an abomination and surely a cry to the devil, but I figured that the devil was already alive and well within me, if he existed at all.
So I walked, wandered, really, since I had no time in mind. The shadows began to creep around me, and the twilight softened the landscape with purple hues. I thought about making camp, but saw him up ahead, twisted, aged, leaning against his long staff. He noticed my footsteps approaching, and turned his head to great me. His face, though very old, somehow had a childlike quality to it. The disconnect between the lines and the twinkle in his eye was jarring and discomforting, quickening my heart.
I felt stuck in one spot, as he slowly walked towards me, picking his way over rock and root. He soon stood in front of me, small, gnarled and eternal.
“Your greatest wish,” he said in a quiet voice, “ is to be successful in the realm of man.” I nodded, surprised that I didn’t have to actually speak my heart’s desires. “If you say yes,” he continued, “ you shall have those things.”
I opened my mouth, wondering what the catch would be. He said nothing more.
“Yes.” I whispered.
“When you return to your home, you will find that you are well liked and admired by all those around you, and everyone will turn to you for your opinions. You will have money, real estate, everything you would ever want. You will have access to knowledge beyond your dreams. But, in return, I will take your most cherished possession.”
I nodded, knowing that this was to be expected of any wish of such nature.
“ Now leave.”
As I walked home, I wondered what I valued most in my life, what of the wretched mess I had created was worth anything to me. My miserable family, my squalid existence, these were of little importance to me.
My house, or what stood in the place of my house was a lavish mansion, exquisitely detailed, but not overdone. Though it was foreign to me, it felt familiar, as if I had lived there my whole life. My butler took my coat, and told me the menu for the evening, the distinguished guests that were to be present. I nodded, tired. The meetings would run through the evening, the business at hand was wearisome and anxiety provoking. I sighed, and took a puff of the cigar I instinctively found in the pocket of my shirt.
My accomplishments hung on the walls, though I knew they were mine and I somehow had the knowledge that they vouched for, they seemed dishonest, almost tarnished.
At dinner, my guests leaned towards me, hanging on each word. My opinion was paramount, and my words were lapped up like milk by unctuous little tongues. The disquiet grew in my chest. The charade, the play, went on with me as the principle role. I knew what to say, though the words were not mine. My taste was impeccable, though I had no previous refinement.
I tried to say that the man next to me was a tiresome fool, a narcissistic social engineer with no other merits than his wife’s checkbook. The words would not come out, instead a slight groan replaced them. My guests turned their heads to me, and I opened my mouth, to find an explanation seamlessly exit. They nodded and returned to their dessert.
My heart beat faster, and I felt myself rise to toast the evening. The script beckoned, unwritten. I followed it, unable to stop myself.
| It was a normal September afternoon and Jim came back from work. He was 19, a college dropout, and barely made enough money to pay off his apartment since his parents were so disappointed that he didnt go to college that they refused to support him.
Jim went into his apartment and saw everything was trashed. He had been robbed and he wondered why. He had nothing of value in there. Why rob him, of everyone living in the building he was probably the poorest. Jim cursed a few times and then went down to report the incidebt . He was pissed.
The next morning Jim went out for a walk in the woods, which just happened to be behind his building. He kept on walking to calm himself down since the theif also took his one pillow, blankets, and the mattress frame. He was forced to sleep on the ground with his mattress the night before. He kept walking when suddenly in the distance he saw an old man. The man looked like he was around the age of his grandpa (97). He ran over to the old man to try to see if he needed help
What would and old man be doing in the middle of the woods? The man turned around when Jim was within 3 ft from him. The old man said with a low voice, "Hello Jim, I am the man of the wise, I may grant you ONE wish, what would you like it to be?"
Jim was confused. He knew that there was no way this old and frail man could grant him a wish. He thought the man may have been crazy so he felt if he denied him he would be mad. So Jim went along with it. "I wish..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | She wouldn't even have left the house if she hadn't already drained the last bottle. "Great," she thought. "Now I have to deal with people."
The winter cold cut through, and she thought it par for the course. This world and it's misery. What else was there to offer? All these clueless saps walking the street under the lights strung for the season. "They have no idea, what it's like to live my life," she thought. "What it feels like to never know peace. To need it desperately, to beg for it from a God I no longer believe in only to be answered with more loss and heart ache."
It had been over ten years since her oldest stopped calling her. Her other children had given up years before. Her baby...her baby...
She clutched her chest, stopped and composed herself the best she could. She would not let the bastards see her cry.
Under the flickering lights of the liquor store aisles, she searched out the familiar patterns and grabbed three bottles of what she needed. The ache in her chest worsened, and she knew she had to get home and take her medicine.
Back on the sidewalk, her steps became more laboured and her she just couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked around, panicked, and all the people who were milling about earlier in the sway of the Christmas carols were nowhere to be found. The eerie quiet boomed around her and she knew.
"Perfect. Of course it would all come to this. Me dying alone in this street without the benefit of a last drink."
She didn't see the man sit next to her. She just looked over, and he there he was.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She sneered.
"Would you like my help?" He asked softly.
"I don't need your help." She snapped back and wrapped her contempt around her, seeking a warmth that was always just out of reach.
"I come from the forest." The man said matter of factly, as though everyone just trots out of the forest.
"He's crazier than I am," she thought.
"What do you want? What is the one thing you have always wanted?" His voice still gentle. Maybe if she answered him, he would go away and leave her alone. "All I want is one moment's peace in this world before I die. Can you do that for me?"
"I can," replied the old man. He sounded so sure, that for a second, she believed him. "In return, I need something from you."
"Typical," she said.
If the old man was offended by her response, he didn't show it. He continued speaking. "I need you to give up your most cherished possession."
The broken woman began to cackle. This old man wasn't going to get his mark today. "Crazy fool. I have nothing. I cherish nothing. My husband left me, my children left me, my baby died...I have nothing!"
"Really?" the old man asked and smiled. She was reminded of when she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum, and her father would look at her with a mixture of love and humour.
"What have you held onto longer than anything else in this world? What have you nurtured and watered and kept closer to your heart than anything else?"
As she thought of this cherished possession, she saw how she had reared it like a child, protected it, and refused to ever let it go. But now she could see she had to.
"Are you ready to give it up?" he asked.
She smiled. The first real smile in a long time. She could feel her breath slowing. She knew she had minutes left at best.
"Yes."
And in her last moments, she felt it. She felt peace. All she had to give up was her anger. | It was a normal September afternoon and Jim came back from work. He was 19, a college dropout, and barely made enough money to pay off his apartment since his parents were so disappointed that he didnt go to college that they refused to support him.
Jim went into his apartment and saw everything was trashed. He had been robbed and he wondered why. He had nothing of value in there. Why rob him, of everyone living in the building he was probably the poorest. Jim cursed a few times and then went down to report the incidebt . He was pissed.
The next morning Jim went out for a walk in the woods, which just happened to be behind his building. He kept on walking to calm himself down since the theif also took his one pillow, blankets, and the mattress frame. He was forced to sleep on the ground with his mattress the night before. He kept walking when suddenly in the distance he saw an old man. The man looked like he was around the age of his grandpa (97). He ran over to the old man to try to see if he needed help
What would and old man be doing in the middle of the woods? The man turned around when Jim was within 3 ft from him. The old man said with a low voice, "Hello Jim, I am the man of the wise, I may grant you ONE wish, what would you like it to be?"
Jim was confused. He knew that there was no way this old and frail man could grant him a wish. He thought the man may have been crazy so he felt if he denied him he would be mad. So Jim went along with it. "I wish..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | It was a normal September afternoon and Jim came back from work. He was 19, a college dropout, and barely made enough money to pay off his apartment since his parents were so disappointed that he didnt go to college that they refused to support him.
Jim went into his apartment and saw everything was trashed. He had been robbed and he wondered why. He had nothing of value in there. Why rob him, of everyone living in the building he was probably the poorest. Jim cursed a few times and then went down to report the incidebt . He was pissed.
The next morning Jim went out for a walk in the woods, which just happened to be behind his building. He kept on walking to calm himself down since the theif also took his one pillow, blankets, and the mattress frame. He was forced to sleep on the ground with his mattress the night before. He kept walking when suddenly in the distance he saw an old man. The man looked like he was around the age of his grandpa (97). He ran over to the old man to try to see if he needed help
What would and old man be doing in the middle of the woods? The man turned around when Jim was within 3 ft from him. The old man said with a low voice, "Hello Jim, I am the man of the wise, I may grant you ONE wish, what would you like it to be?"
Jim was confused. He knew that there was no way this old and frail man could grant him a wish. He thought the man may have been crazy so he felt if he denied him he would be mad. So Jim went along with it. "I wish..." | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | The last man in Darrow shook his head. His son had been the last to die, preceded by his wife, his daughter, and everyone else in the village. Anthem was similarly ravaged, and, he assumed, so was every village down the coast to Beren. It had come from nowhere- bleeding eyes, cold sweating, dreamless sleeping. They bled their tears of blood, and then the weakness took them, they lost their dreams and seemed to be dying more than sleeping. Until there was no more waking, just sleeping, and finally dying. And everyone who tried to help them slept and died in kind. Garen shook his head again. He hadn't done any differently than the others, he had kissed his wife as she laid in her last sleep, he had held his children as they left the world. He'd done nothing special, and still he found himself spared. Alone in the dead village of Darrow.
There was a story, brought back from the hunters who ranged inland into the Caredara, they spoke of a wild man who offered a demon bargain: the dearest thing to you, traded for what you want most dearly in the world. Garen had never thought much of it, always dismissing it as any fisher's tale of sea maids and living storms. He looked over at the body of his wife, sunken, sallow skin, her face locked in the pain of that last, grim sleep. The dreamless sleep. The weakness took their dreams, before it took everything else. He looked at her and remembered her energy, her glow- Dena was so full of life, so full of love, and now she laid as a wasted corpse in their bed. Same as every wife in Darrow, in every house of Darrow. Garen reached out to touch her face. He thought about what he would give, to have her alive again, to see her glow, and then he thought about what he had left to even give. Truly, there was nothing. And so he thought again, of the stories of Berent hunters, of the wild man in the Caredara. With nothing to trade, nothing to lose, he set his heart on the black bargain of the wild man.
And so Garen of Darrow walked out of his home and stepped through the silent village. The houses were graves, the temple had been burned, the ones without wives lay dead on the road. The man with nothing left to lose walked silently through the graveyard, and through Darrow's golden fields, and entered the darkness of the forest. And so Garen, husband to a dead wife and father to dead children, he left the dead village of Darrow and struck out into the Caredara.
It wasn't long before he found the wild man. The hunters had said that the wild man finds you, when he senses someone willing to make his trade. Garen found him in a clearing: a rough, dirty and wrinkled man, dressed in rags and sitting in the winter grasses. His eyes were wide, black, and fixed on Garen as he approached.
"Well met, stranger," the wild man said, in a way that belied his savage appearance.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the ember of wanting, as old as the oldest tree in this forest, I'm the darkness of envy and the dearness of having. I'm the wickedness of wishing and the truth at the bottom of men's hearts."
*So it was a demon.* They were always said to speak in riddles, and Garen hesitated before he spoke. But there was nothing left to lose, and everything to want, and so he said, "I've come to take your bargain." The wild man of the Caredara laughed, flashing his black teeth, and from his rotted mouth he spoke: "You, man with a dead family, come from a dead village, what could you want from me? Gold and glory and pretty women, what are pleasures when you're alone to have them?"
Garen swallowed. "I wish for my wife and children to be alive." The wild man laughed again and stood. He spoke harshly, "You do not. Life has left them, and I would not give you corpses with motion. Speak truly, man, and tell me what you want."
Garen stood silent for some time. No family, no village, what was the point in having anything? He thought, the demon's truth twisted through his mind, and he knew, without Dena, without Enger and Toma, there was no point in having anything at all. He knew, and so he said, "I wish to die."
A viara sang in the distance. The wind danced through the trees at the clearing's edge, and the grasses shined beneath the winter sun. Garen saw the beauty of the world, with all its pain and heartbreak, in all its wild turning, he saw that it was beautiful. The breeze and the birdsong rang in his ears, and he didn't see the wild man nod, he didn't hear him speak his demon's word of binding, and he didn't feel the chill as death washed over his body. And so the last man of Darrow earned his death, what he wanted most dearly, and lost his life, what he cherished most dearly. | With one foot incapable of supporting weight, her progress through the forest was slow. What little light of the moon managed to shine through the clouds was not sufficient to let her avoid stumbling over protruding roots and scratching her already-tattered clothing even further on the thorned bushes that frequently were in her way. She scarcely noticed. Her mind could not, *would not* focus on the present. All it could do was repeat the same memories over and over again, the same memories of the one part of her life of which she could say she had spent them truly *happy*. Only those memories, and the faintest, foolish glimmer of hope were what kept her placing one feet in front of the other.
 
It had begun with a tap and an outstreched hand. Huddled around herself amidst the absence of all of her belongings in that alleyway in a forgotten part of town, she did not expect to be awakened, let alone by someone with good intentions.
"Come on, you shouldn't sleep here. It's gonna be cold tonight and you deserve better than that."
The woman who had tapped her shoulder looked unremarkable. Late forties, with hair that the wind had blown out of its intended shape and clothes that, though clean, showed clear signs of wear. She did not look like a savior. But it was her expression that was betrayed her intent. For while her anger was quite clear, there was not a hint of derision or judgement to be seen.
"I've an empty room ever since my son moved out. You can stay there for the moment. What's your name?"
"... Nadia."
"Mine's Sharon."
 
At some point during her aimless path the clouds had become sparse, and moonlight was now finding its way through the boughs of the trees, illuminating the ground ahead of her as if offering guidance. Knowing not where she was headed, she followed it.
 
"Nadia. Nadia! Sharon's here, can we go?", Joseph's shout carried up the stairs.
"Awhweadhy?", she exclaimed, before spitting out the toothpaste. "Already? I need a few more minutes, why don't you pour her some tea?". A few minutes later the three of them and little Kelly took they place in Sharon's car.
"Have you ever been to the lake, Kelly?", Sharon asked as they drove off.
"No", a pause, "Are there big fish there?"
"Huuuuuge. Has Joseph never told you about them? Joseph, you did bring your fishing pole, right?"
"As if he would forget!", Nadia said, "You should really ask him whether he also thought to bring anything else!". They laughed, and Joseph smiled.
 
Tears formed in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks following the dried paths formed earlier that night. The moonlight up ahead appeared to be getting brighter.
 
Only four things registered on her senses as they drove through the night. First was the headlights of Sharon's car illuminating the road ahead. Second was the low rumble of the engine. The third was Kelly snoring into Joseph's shoulder. But it was the fourth that occupied her thoughts: a profound sense of contentment, and from there, gratitude.
"Sharon."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Oh you're welcome dear, I enjoyed this weekend as much as you did."
"No, for everything."
"Oh.", a pause, "you're still welcome."
A fifth thing intruded harshly upon her senses. A bright light approaching rapidly.
 
She could get it back. She could get them back. She had to. She'd heard the stories about the man in the forest, about how he could see and grant your deepest wish, but took things in return. She didn't care about the things he'd take. There was nothing left he *could* take from her. A babbling sound registered in her mind, returning her to the present with a start. The forest had given way to a clearing, and ahead of her lay a pool at the bottom of a tiny waterfall which poured out of a cliff that suddenly seemed to loom all around her. She was suddenly very tired. Be it blood loss, trauma or the sudden obstance presented by the cliffs, her feet would no longer move on their own as they had. Lightheaded and fatigued, she forced herself to approach the pool.
 
Standing unnervingly still in the middle of the pool was what looked like a man, but was unmistakably not a man. A desperate hope surged within her. Its voice, as unnatural as its posture, carried to her ears with the sound of the waterfall:
"What would you have?"
"You...", speaking was difficult, "You know what I want. Bring them back!", she stammered as she walked the last unsteady steps to the edge of the pool. "They... they deserve better." With a pained grunt and a soft splash, she fell to her knees.
"And what would I take in return?"
"A-anything. I have nothing I care for."
A silence fell, and even the waterfall seemed to cease its gurgle momentarily.
"There is but one thing left for me to take, but I cannot do so while granting your wish." Her stomach turned to ice. "I cannot help you.", it said, and it sank into the pool without a ripple.
"No!", she exclaimed, but she had not the energy to scream it. "No...", and her vision slowly faded to black as the gurgling of the waterfall dimmed.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sunlight was shining brightly on her back, the comfort of which kept her drowsy. A pitter-patter of footsteps, followed by a urgent tugging on her hand awoke her.
"Mommy, mommy come look! Daddy caught a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge fish!"
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | My son had Leukemia.
About 3 years ago I set out to find the man in the woods. My trips typically lasted weeks, sometimes months as I would spend as long as possible sifting through pines and shrubs. Hoping, just hoping against all hope to stumble upon him.
I imagined it would happen gracefully. As like to a hunter drifting off, on the cusp of sleep when suddenly a twig snaps clearly and quietly within earshot.
A slender doe steps precariously into the clearing, weary of its next move. Almost something out of a story.
Instead I was greeted with headlights and a momentary loss of movement as the car came racing toward me.
For months I believed myself the hunter, never considering I might be the deer about to embrace the front end of an 18-wheeler.
While I was out searching for a hopeless cure, Jonathan passed. They buried him weeks before I had come back.
I left for the woods the instant I had come back. There was nothing left anymore, only a fabled chance at redemption. An opportunity to fix this, fix myself. Save my son.
And so for two years I shambled along paths I'd walked a hundred times over. Never knowing if the next instant or tomorrow or never would bring forth this man.
I had nothing left. What does a man with only his life left to lose actually have to lose when his life means nothing to him? Nothing I suppose.
Suddenly a twig snapped behind me.
Afraid to turn around, fearful to dissapoint myself for the umpteenth time, I stood there. Yet again affirming my position in all of this, a scared deer waiting for the lights to-
"I imagine, judging by the state of your clothes and your rather rugged looking condition that you've been at this for quite some time now. Well, spit it out then"
I let out a yelp.
"You're right indeed, his suffering was unjust and far too tragic. If you'd let me I would be more than happy to help you"
I said nothing. I simply had nothing to say. Clearly I didn't need to.
"Well if you're certain then thats the way of it. He'll miss you, you know? Everyday he'll ask where you are, and what became of you. Shame, he'll never know that the one thing you cared for more than anything in this world was time spent with him"
As my last breath escaped from my lips I couldnt help but smile. Jonathan is alive. | With one foot incapable of supporting weight, her progress through the forest was slow. What little light of the moon managed to shine through the clouds was not sufficient to let her avoid stumbling over protruding roots and scratching her already-tattered clothing even further on the thorned bushes that frequently were in her way. She scarcely noticed. Her mind could not, *would not* focus on the present. All it could do was repeat the same memories over and over again, the same memories of the one part of her life of which she could say she had spent them truly *happy*. Only those memories, and the faintest, foolish glimmer of hope were what kept her placing one feet in front of the other.
 
It had begun with a tap and an outstreched hand. Huddled around herself amidst the absence of all of her belongings in that alleyway in a forgotten part of town, she did not expect to be awakened, let alone by someone with good intentions.
"Come on, you shouldn't sleep here. It's gonna be cold tonight and you deserve better than that."
The woman who had tapped her shoulder looked unremarkable. Late forties, with hair that the wind had blown out of its intended shape and clothes that, though clean, showed clear signs of wear. She did not look like a savior. But it was her expression that was betrayed her intent. For while her anger was quite clear, there was not a hint of derision or judgement to be seen.
"I've an empty room ever since my son moved out. You can stay there for the moment. What's your name?"
"... Nadia."
"Mine's Sharon."
 
At some point during her aimless path the clouds had become sparse, and moonlight was now finding its way through the boughs of the trees, illuminating the ground ahead of her as if offering guidance. Knowing not where she was headed, she followed it.
 
"Nadia. Nadia! Sharon's here, can we go?", Joseph's shout carried up the stairs.
"Awhweadhy?", she exclaimed, before spitting out the toothpaste. "Already? I need a few more minutes, why don't you pour her some tea?". A few minutes later the three of them and little Kelly took they place in Sharon's car.
"Have you ever been to the lake, Kelly?", Sharon asked as they drove off.
"No", a pause, "Are there big fish there?"
"Huuuuuge. Has Joseph never told you about them? Joseph, you did bring your fishing pole, right?"
"As if he would forget!", Nadia said, "You should really ask him whether he also thought to bring anything else!". They laughed, and Joseph smiled.
 
Tears formed in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks following the dried paths formed earlier that night. The moonlight up ahead appeared to be getting brighter.
 
Only four things registered on her senses as they drove through the night. First was the headlights of Sharon's car illuminating the road ahead. Second was the low rumble of the engine. The third was Kelly snoring into Joseph's shoulder. But it was the fourth that occupied her thoughts: a profound sense of contentment, and from there, gratitude.
"Sharon."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Oh you're welcome dear, I enjoyed this weekend as much as you did."
"No, for everything."
"Oh.", a pause, "you're still welcome."
A fifth thing intruded harshly upon her senses. A bright light approaching rapidly.
 
She could get it back. She could get them back. She had to. She'd heard the stories about the man in the forest, about how he could see and grant your deepest wish, but took things in return. She didn't care about the things he'd take. There was nothing left he *could* take from her. A babbling sound registered in her mind, returning her to the present with a start. The forest had given way to a clearing, and ahead of her lay a pool at the bottom of a tiny waterfall which poured out of a cliff that suddenly seemed to loom all around her. She was suddenly very tired. Be it blood loss, trauma or the sudden obstance presented by the cliffs, her feet would no longer move on their own as they had. Lightheaded and fatigued, she forced herself to approach the pool.
 
Standing unnervingly still in the middle of the pool was what looked like a man, but was unmistakably not a man. A desperate hope surged within her. Its voice, as unnatural as its posture, carried to her ears with the sound of the waterfall:
"What would you have?"
"You...", speaking was difficult, "You know what I want. Bring them back!", she stammered as she walked the last unsteady steps to the edge of the pool. "They... they deserve better." With a pained grunt and a soft splash, she fell to her knees.
"And what would I take in return?"
"A-anything. I have nothing I care for."
A silence fell, and even the waterfall seemed to cease its gurgle momentarily.
"There is but one thing left for me to take, but I cannot do so while granting your wish." Her stomach turned to ice. "I cannot help you.", it said, and it sank into the pool without a ripple.
"No!", she exclaimed, but she had not the energy to scream it. "No...", and her vision slowly faded to black as the gurgling of the waterfall dimmed.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sunlight was shining brightly on her back, the comfort of which kept her drowsy. A pitter-patter of footsteps, followed by a urgent tugging on her hand awoke her.
"Mommy, mommy come look! Daddy caught a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge fish!"
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Broke, penniless, hungry, I headed into the woods, due north. I planned on walking until I met the Old Man, or I succumbed to the elements. My whole life up until this point had been an abject failure, one broken promise, to another unfulfilled requirement. My family had always told me growing up that suicide was a sin, an abomination and surely a cry to the devil, but I figured that the devil was already alive and well within me, if he existed at all.
So I walked, wandered, really, since I had no time in mind. The shadows began to creep around me, and the twilight softened the landscape with purple hues. I thought about making camp, but saw him up ahead, twisted, aged, leaning against his long staff. He noticed my footsteps approaching, and turned his head to great me. His face, though very old, somehow had a childlike quality to it. The disconnect between the lines and the twinkle in his eye was jarring and discomforting, quickening my heart.
I felt stuck in one spot, as he slowly walked towards me, picking his way over rock and root. He soon stood in front of me, small, gnarled and eternal.
“Your greatest wish,” he said in a quiet voice, “ is to be successful in the realm of man.” I nodded, surprised that I didn’t have to actually speak my heart’s desires. “If you say yes,” he continued, “ you shall have those things.”
I opened my mouth, wondering what the catch would be. He said nothing more.
“Yes.” I whispered.
“When you return to your home, you will find that you are well liked and admired by all those around you, and everyone will turn to you for your opinions. You will have money, real estate, everything you would ever want. You will have access to knowledge beyond your dreams. But, in return, I will take your most cherished possession.”
I nodded, knowing that this was to be expected of any wish of such nature.
“ Now leave.”
As I walked home, I wondered what I valued most in my life, what of the wretched mess I had created was worth anything to me. My miserable family, my squalid existence, these were of little importance to me.
My house, or what stood in the place of my house was a lavish mansion, exquisitely detailed, but not overdone. Though it was foreign to me, it felt familiar, as if I had lived there my whole life. My butler took my coat, and told me the menu for the evening, the distinguished guests that were to be present. I nodded, tired. The meetings would run through the evening, the business at hand was wearisome and anxiety provoking. I sighed, and took a puff of the cigar I instinctively found in the pocket of my shirt.
My accomplishments hung on the walls, though I knew they were mine and I somehow had the knowledge that they vouched for, they seemed dishonest, almost tarnished.
At dinner, my guests leaned towards me, hanging on each word. My opinion was paramount, and my words were lapped up like milk by unctuous little tongues. The disquiet grew in my chest. The charade, the play, went on with me as the principle role. I knew what to say, though the words were not mine. My taste was impeccable, though I had no previous refinement.
I tried to say that the man next to me was a tiresome fool, a narcissistic social engineer with no other merits than his wife’s checkbook. The words would not come out, instead a slight groan replaced them. My guests turned their heads to me, and I opened my mouth, to find an explanation seamlessly exit. They nodded and returned to their dessert.
My heart beat faster, and I felt myself rise to toast the evening. The script beckoned, unwritten. I followed it, unable to stop myself.
| With one foot incapable of supporting weight, her progress through the forest was slow. What little light of the moon managed to shine through the clouds was not sufficient to let her avoid stumbling over protruding roots and scratching her already-tattered clothing even further on the thorned bushes that frequently were in her way. She scarcely noticed. Her mind could not, *would not* focus on the present. All it could do was repeat the same memories over and over again, the same memories of the one part of her life of which she could say she had spent them truly *happy*. Only those memories, and the faintest, foolish glimmer of hope were what kept her placing one feet in front of the other.
 
It had begun with a tap and an outstreched hand. Huddled around herself amidst the absence of all of her belongings in that alleyway in a forgotten part of town, she did not expect to be awakened, let alone by someone with good intentions.
"Come on, you shouldn't sleep here. It's gonna be cold tonight and you deserve better than that."
The woman who had tapped her shoulder looked unremarkable. Late forties, with hair that the wind had blown out of its intended shape and clothes that, though clean, showed clear signs of wear. She did not look like a savior. But it was her expression that was betrayed her intent. For while her anger was quite clear, there was not a hint of derision or judgement to be seen.
"I've an empty room ever since my son moved out. You can stay there for the moment. What's your name?"
"... Nadia."
"Mine's Sharon."
 
At some point during her aimless path the clouds had become sparse, and moonlight was now finding its way through the boughs of the trees, illuminating the ground ahead of her as if offering guidance. Knowing not where she was headed, she followed it.
 
"Nadia. Nadia! Sharon's here, can we go?", Joseph's shout carried up the stairs.
"Awhweadhy?", she exclaimed, before spitting out the toothpaste. "Already? I need a few more minutes, why don't you pour her some tea?". A few minutes later the three of them and little Kelly took they place in Sharon's car.
"Have you ever been to the lake, Kelly?", Sharon asked as they drove off.
"No", a pause, "Are there big fish there?"
"Huuuuuge. Has Joseph never told you about them? Joseph, you did bring your fishing pole, right?"
"As if he would forget!", Nadia said, "You should really ask him whether he also thought to bring anything else!". They laughed, and Joseph smiled.
 
Tears formed in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks following the dried paths formed earlier that night. The moonlight up ahead appeared to be getting brighter.
 
Only four things registered on her senses as they drove through the night. First was the headlights of Sharon's car illuminating the road ahead. Second was the low rumble of the engine. The third was Kelly snoring into Joseph's shoulder. But it was the fourth that occupied her thoughts: a profound sense of contentment, and from there, gratitude.
"Sharon."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Oh you're welcome dear, I enjoyed this weekend as much as you did."
"No, for everything."
"Oh.", a pause, "you're still welcome."
A fifth thing intruded harshly upon her senses. A bright light approaching rapidly.
 
She could get it back. She could get them back. She had to. She'd heard the stories about the man in the forest, about how he could see and grant your deepest wish, but took things in return. She didn't care about the things he'd take. There was nothing left he *could* take from her. A babbling sound registered in her mind, returning her to the present with a start. The forest had given way to a clearing, and ahead of her lay a pool at the bottom of a tiny waterfall which poured out of a cliff that suddenly seemed to loom all around her. She was suddenly very tired. Be it blood loss, trauma or the sudden obstance presented by the cliffs, her feet would no longer move on their own as they had. Lightheaded and fatigued, she forced herself to approach the pool.
 
Standing unnervingly still in the middle of the pool was what looked like a man, but was unmistakably not a man. A desperate hope surged within her. Its voice, as unnatural as its posture, carried to her ears with the sound of the waterfall:
"What would you have?"
"You...", speaking was difficult, "You know what I want. Bring them back!", she stammered as she walked the last unsteady steps to the edge of the pool. "They... they deserve better." With a pained grunt and a soft splash, she fell to her knees.
"And what would I take in return?"
"A-anything. I have nothing I care for."
A silence fell, and even the waterfall seemed to cease its gurgle momentarily.
"There is but one thing left for me to take, but I cannot do so while granting your wish." Her stomach turned to ice. "I cannot help you.", it said, and it sank into the pool without a ripple.
"No!", she exclaimed, but she had not the energy to scream it. "No...", and her vision slowly faded to black as the gurgling of the waterfall dimmed.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sunlight was shining brightly on her back, the comfort of which kept her drowsy. A pitter-patter of footsteps, followed by a urgent tugging on her hand awoke her.
"Mommy, mommy come look! Daddy caught a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge fish!"
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | She wouldn't even have left the house if she hadn't already drained the last bottle. "Great," she thought. "Now I have to deal with people."
The winter cold cut through, and she thought it par for the course. This world and it's misery. What else was there to offer? All these clueless saps walking the street under the lights strung for the season. "They have no idea, what it's like to live my life," she thought. "What it feels like to never know peace. To need it desperately, to beg for it from a God I no longer believe in only to be answered with more loss and heart ache."
It had been over ten years since her oldest stopped calling her. Her other children had given up years before. Her baby...her baby...
She clutched her chest, stopped and composed herself the best she could. She would not let the bastards see her cry.
Under the flickering lights of the liquor store aisles, she searched out the familiar patterns and grabbed three bottles of what she needed. The ache in her chest worsened, and she knew she had to get home and take her medicine.
Back on the sidewalk, her steps became more laboured and her she just couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked around, panicked, and all the people who were milling about earlier in the sway of the Christmas carols were nowhere to be found. The eerie quiet boomed around her and she knew.
"Perfect. Of course it would all come to this. Me dying alone in this street without the benefit of a last drink."
She didn't see the man sit next to her. She just looked over, and he there he was.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She sneered.
"Would you like my help?" He asked softly.
"I don't need your help." She snapped back and wrapped her contempt around her, seeking a warmth that was always just out of reach.
"I come from the forest." The man said matter of factly, as though everyone just trots out of the forest.
"He's crazier than I am," she thought.
"What do you want? What is the one thing you have always wanted?" His voice still gentle. Maybe if she answered him, he would go away and leave her alone. "All I want is one moment's peace in this world before I die. Can you do that for me?"
"I can," replied the old man. He sounded so sure, that for a second, she believed him. "In return, I need something from you."
"Typical," she said.
If the old man was offended by her response, he didn't show it. He continued speaking. "I need you to give up your most cherished possession."
The broken woman began to cackle. This old man wasn't going to get his mark today. "Crazy fool. I have nothing. I cherish nothing. My husband left me, my children left me, my baby died...I have nothing!"
"Really?" the old man asked and smiled. She was reminded of when she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum, and her father would look at her with a mixture of love and humour.
"What have you held onto longer than anything else in this world? What have you nurtured and watered and kept closer to your heart than anything else?"
As she thought of this cherished possession, she saw how she had reared it like a child, protected it, and refused to ever let it go. But now she could see she had to.
"Are you ready to give it up?" he asked.
She smiled. The first real smile in a long time. She could feel her breath slowing. She knew she had minutes left at best.
"Yes."
And in her last moments, she felt it. She felt peace. All she had to give up was her anger. | With one foot incapable of supporting weight, her progress through the forest was slow. What little light of the moon managed to shine through the clouds was not sufficient to let her avoid stumbling over protruding roots and scratching her already-tattered clothing even further on the thorned bushes that frequently were in her way. She scarcely noticed. Her mind could not, *would not* focus on the present. All it could do was repeat the same memories over and over again, the same memories of the one part of her life of which she could say she had spent them truly *happy*. Only those memories, and the faintest, foolish glimmer of hope were what kept her placing one feet in front of the other.
 
It had begun with a tap and an outstreched hand. Huddled around herself amidst the absence of all of her belongings in that alleyway in a forgotten part of town, she did not expect to be awakened, let alone by someone with good intentions.
"Come on, you shouldn't sleep here. It's gonna be cold tonight and you deserve better than that."
The woman who had tapped her shoulder looked unremarkable. Late forties, with hair that the wind had blown out of its intended shape and clothes that, though clean, showed clear signs of wear. She did not look like a savior. But it was her expression that was betrayed her intent. For while her anger was quite clear, there was not a hint of derision or judgement to be seen.
"I've an empty room ever since my son moved out. You can stay there for the moment. What's your name?"
"... Nadia."
"Mine's Sharon."
 
At some point during her aimless path the clouds had become sparse, and moonlight was now finding its way through the boughs of the trees, illuminating the ground ahead of her as if offering guidance. Knowing not where she was headed, she followed it.
 
"Nadia. Nadia! Sharon's here, can we go?", Joseph's shout carried up the stairs.
"Awhweadhy?", she exclaimed, before spitting out the toothpaste. "Already? I need a few more minutes, why don't you pour her some tea?". A few minutes later the three of them and little Kelly took they place in Sharon's car.
"Have you ever been to the lake, Kelly?", Sharon asked as they drove off.
"No", a pause, "Are there big fish there?"
"Huuuuuge. Has Joseph never told you about them? Joseph, you did bring your fishing pole, right?"
"As if he would forget!", Nadia said, "You should really ask him whether he also thought to bring anything else!". They laughed, and Joseph smiled.
 
Tears formed in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks following the dried paths formed earlier that night. The moonlight up ahead appeared to be getting brighter.
 
Only four things registered on her senses as they drove through the night. First was the headlights of Sharon's car illuminating the road ahead. Second was the low rumble of the engine. The third was Kelly snoring into Joseph's shoulder. But it was the fourth that occupied her thoughts: a profound sense of contentment, and from there, gratitude.
"Sharon."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Oh you're welcome dear, I enjoyed this weekend as much as you did."
"No, for everything."
"Oh.", a pause, "you're still welcome."
A fifth thing intruded harshly upon her senses. A bright light approaching rapidly.
 
She could get it back. She could get them back. She had to. She'd heard the stories about the man in the forest, about how he could see and grant your deepest wish, but took things in return. She didn't care about the things he'd take. There was nothing left he *could* take from her. A babbling sound registered in her mind, returning her to the present with a start. The forest had given way to a clearing, and ahead of her lay a pool at the bottom of a tiny waterfall which poured out of a cliff that suddenly seemed to loom all around her. She was suddenly very tired. Be it blood loss, trauma or the sudden obstance presented by the cliffs, her feet would no longer move on their own as they had. Lightheaded and fatigued, she forced herself to approach the pool.
 
Standing unnervingly still in the middle of the pool was what looked like a man, but was unmistakably not a man. A desperate hope surged within her. Its voice, as unnatural as its posture, carried to her ears with the sound of the waterfall:
"What would you have?"
"You...", speaking was difficult, "You know what I want. Bring them back!", she stammered as she walked the last unsteady steps to the edge of the pool. "They... they deserve better." With a pained grunt and a soft splash, she fell to her knees.
"And what would I take in return?"
"A-anything. I have nothing I care for."
A silence fell, and even the waterfall seemed to cease its gurgle momentarily.
"There is but one thing left for me to take, but I cannot do so while granting your wish." Her stomach turned to ice. "I cannot help you.", it said, and it sank into the pool without a ripple.
"No!", she exclaimed, but she had not the energy to scream it. "No...", and her vision slowly faded to black as the gurgling of the waterfall dimmed.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sunlight was shining brightly on her back, the comfort of which kept her drowsy. A pitter-patter of footsteps, followed by a urgent tugging on her hand awoke her.
"Mommy, mommy come look! Daddy caught a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge fish!"
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | With one foot incapable of supporting weight, her progress through the forest was slow. What little light of the moon managed to shine through the clouds was not sufficient to let her avoid stumbling over protruding roots and scratching her already-tattered clothing even further on the thorned bushes that frequently were in her way. She scarcely noticed. Her mind could not, *would not* focus on the present. All it could do was repeat the same memories over and over again, the same memories of the one part of her life of which she could say she had spent them truly *happy*. Only those memories, and the faintest, foolish glimmer of hope were what kept her placing one feet in front of the other.
 
It had begun with a tap and an outstreched hand. Huddled around herself amidst the absence of all of her belongings in that alleyway in a forgotten part of town, she did not expect to be awakened, let alone by someone with good intentions.
"Come on, you shouldn't sleep here. It's gonna be cold tonight and you deserve better than that."
The woman who had tapped her shoulder looked unremarkable. Late forties, with hair that the wind had blown out of its intended shape and clothes that, though clean, showed clear signs of wear. She did not look like a savior. But it was her expression that was betrayed her intent. For while her anger was quite clear, there was not a hint of derision or judgement to be seen.
"I've an empty room ever since my son moved out. You can stay there for the moment. What's your name?"
"... Nadia."
"Mine's Sharon."
 
At some point during her aimless path the clouds had become sparse, and moonlight was now finding its way through the boughs of the trees, illuminating the ground ahead of her as if offering guidance. Knowing not where she was headed, she followed it.
 
"Nadia. Nadia! Sharon's here, can we go?", Joseph's shout carried up the stairs.
"Awhweadhy?", she exclaimed, before spitting out the toothpaste. "Already? I need a few more minutes, why don't you pour her some tea?". A few minutes later the three of them and little Kelly took they place in Sharon's car.
"Have you ever been to the lake, Kelly?", Sharon asked as they drove off.
"No", a pause, "Are there big fish there?"
"Huuuuuge. Has Joseph never told you about them? Joseph, you did bring your fishing pole, right?"
"As if he would forget!", Nadia said, "You should really ask him whether he also thought to bring anything else!". They laughed, and Joseph smiled.
 
Tears formed in her eyes, making their way down her cheeks following the dried paths formed earlier that night. The moonlight up ahead appeared to be getting brighter.
 
Only four things registered on her senses as they drove through the night. First was the headlights of Sharon's car illuminating the road ahead. Second was the low rumble of the engine. The third was Kelly snoring into Joseph's shoulder. But it was the fourth that occupied her thoughts: a profound sense of contentment, and from there, gratitude.
"Sharon."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Oh you're welcome dear, I enjoyed this weekend as much as you did."
"No, for everything."
"Oh.", a pause, "you're still welcome."
A fifth thing intruded harshly upon her senses. A bright light approaching rapidly.
 
She could get it back. She could get them back. She had to. She'd heard the stories about the man in the forest, about how he could see and grant your deepest wish, but took things in return. She didn't care about the things he'd take. There was nothing left he *could* take from her. A babbling sound registered in her mind, returning her to the present with a start. The forest had given way to a clearing, and ahead of her lay a pool at the bottom of a tiny waterfall which poured out of a cliff that suddenly seemed to loom all around her. She was suddenly very tired. Be it blood loss, trauma or the sudden obstance presented by the cliffs, her feet would no longer move on their own as they had. Lightheaded and fatigued, she forced herself to approach the pool.
 
Standing unnervingly still in the middle of the pool was what looked like a man, but was unmistakably not a man. A desperate hope surged within her. Its voice, as unnatural as its posture, carried to her ears with the sound of the waterfall:
"What would you have?"
"You...", speaking was difficult, "You know what I want. Bring them back!", she stammered as she walked the last unsteady steps to the edge of the pool. "They... they deserve better." With a pained grunt and a soft splash, she fell to her knees.
"And what would I take in return?"
"A-anything. I have nothing I care for."
A silence fell, and even the waterfall seemed to cease its gurgle momentarily.
"There is but one thing left for me to take, but I cannot do so while granting your wish." Her stomach turned to ice. "I cannot help you.", it said, and it sank into the pool without a ripple.
"No!", she exclaimed, but she had not the energy to scream it. "No...", and her vision slowly faded to black as the gurgling of the waterfall dimmed.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Sunlight was shining brightly on her back, the comfort of which kept her drowsy. A pitter-patter of footsteps, followed by a urgent tugging on her hand awoke her.
"Mommy, mommy come look! Daddy caught a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge fish!"
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | The last man in Darrow shook his head. His son had been the last to die, preceded by his wife, his daughter, and everyone else in the village. Anthem was similarly ravaged, and, he assumed, so was every village down the coast to Beren. It had come from nowhere- bleeding eyes, cold sweating, dreamless sleeping. They bled their tears of blood, and then the weakness took them, they lost their dreams and seemed to be dying more than sleeping. Until there was no more waking, just sleeping, and finally dying. And everyone who tried to help them slept and died in kind. Garen shook his head again. He hadn't done any differently than the others, he had kissed his wife as she laid in her last sleep, he had held his children as they left the world. He'd done nothing special, and still he found himself spared. Alone in the dead village of Darrow.
There was a story, brought back from the hunters who ranged inland into the Caredara, they spoke of a wild man who offered a demon bargain: the dearest thing to you, traded for what you want most dearly in the world. Garen had never thought much of it, always dismissing it as any fisher's tale of sea maids and living storms. He looked over at the body of his wife, sunken, sallow skin, her face locked in the pain of that last, grim sleep. The dreamless sleep. The weakness took their dreams, before it took everything else. He looked at her and remembered her energy, her glow- Dena was so full of life, so full of love, and now she laid as a wasted corpse in their bed. Same as every wife in Darrow, in every house of Darrow. Garen reached out to touch her face. He thought about what he would give, to have her alive again, to see her glow, and then he thought about what he had left to even give. Truly, there was nothing. And so he thought again, of the stories of Berent hunters, of the wild man in the Caredara. With nothing to trade, nothing to lose, he set his heart on the black bargain of the wild man.
And so Garen of Darrow walked out of his home and stepped through the silent village. The houses were graves, the temple had been burned, the ones without wives lay dead on the road. The man with nothing left to lose walked silently through the graveyard, and through Darrow's golden fields, and entered the darkness of the forest. And so Garen, husband to a dead wife and father to dead children, he left the dead village of Darrow and struck out into the Caredara.
It wasn't long before he found the wild man. The hunters had said that the wild man finds you, when he senses someone willing to make his trade. Garen found him in a clearing: a rough, dirty and wrinkled man, dressed in rags and sitting in the winter grasses. His eyes were wide, black, and fixed on Garen as he approached.
"Well met, stranger," the wild man said, in a way that belied his savage appearance.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the ember of wanting, as old as the oldest tree in this forest, I'm the darkness of envy and the dearness of having. I'm the wickedness of wishing and the truth at the bottom of men's hearts."
*So it was a demon.* They were always said to speak in riddles, and Garen hesitated before he spoke. But there was nothing left to lose, and everything to want, and so he said, "I've come to take your bargain." The wild man of the Caredara laughed, flashing his black teeth, and from his rotted mouth he spoke: "You, man with a dead family, come from a dead village, what could you want from me? Gold and glory and pretty women, what are pleasures when you're alone to have them?"
Garen swallowed. "I wish for my wife and children to be alive." The wild man laughed again and stood. He spoke harshly, "You do not. Life has left them, and I would not give you corpses with motion. Speak truly, man, and tell me what you want."
Garen stood silent for some time. No family, no village, what was the point in having anything? He thought, the demon's truth twisted through his mind, and he knew, without Dena, without Enger and Toma, there was no point in having anything at all. He knew, and so he said, "I wish to die."
A viara sang in the distance. The wind danced through the trees at the clearing's edge, and the grasses shined beneath the winter sun. Garen saw the beauty of the world, with all its pain and heartbreak, in all its wild turning, he saw that it was beautiful. The breeze and the birdsong rang in his ears, and he didn't see the wild man nod, he didn't hear him speak his demon's word of binding, and he didn't feel the chill as death washed over his body. And so the last man of Darrow earned his death, what he wanted most dearly, and lost his life, what he cherished most dearly. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | She wouldn't even have left the house if she hadn't already drained the last bottle. "Great," she thought. "Now I have to deal with people."
The winter cold cut through, and she thought it par for the course. This world and it's misery. What else was there to offer? All these clueless saps walking the street under the lights strung for the season. "They have no idea, what it's like to live my life," she thought. "What it feels like to never know peace. To need it desperately, to beg for it from a God I no longer believe in only to be answered with more loss and heart ache."
It had been over ten years since her oldest stopped calling her. Her other children had given up years before. Her baby...her baby...
She clutched her chest, stopped and composed herself the best she could. She would not let the bastards see her cry.
Under the flickering lights of the liquor store aisles, she searched out the familiar patterns and grabbed three bottles of what she needed. The ache in her chest worsened, and she knew she had to get home and take her medicine.
Back on the sidewalk, her steps became more laboured and her she just couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked around, panicked, and all the people who were milling about earlier in the sway of the Christmas carols were nowhere to be found. The eerie quiet boomed around her and she knew.
"Perfect. Of course it would all come to this. Me dying alone in this street without the benefit of a last drink."
She didn't see the man sit next to her. She just looked over, and he there he was.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She sneered.
"Would you like my help?" He asked softly.
"I don't need your help." She snapped back and wrapped her contempt around her, seeking a warmth that was always just out of reach.
"I come from the forest." The man said matter of factly, as though everyone just trots out of the forest.
"He's crazier than I am," she thought.
"What do you want? What is the one thing you have always wanted?" His voice still gentle. Maybe if she answered him, he would go away and leave her alone. "All I want is one moment's peace in this world before I die. Can you do that for me?"
"I can," replied the old man. He sounded so sure, that for a second, she believed him. "In return, I need something from you."
"Typical," she said.
If the old man was offended by her response, he didn't show it. He continued speaking. "I need you to give up your most cherished possession."
The broken woman began to cackle. This old man wasn't going to get his mark today. "Crazy fool. I have nothing. I cherish nothing. My husband left me, my children left me, my baby died...I have nothing!"
"Really?" the old man asked and smiled. She was reminded of when she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum, and her father would look at her with a mixture of love and humour.
"What have you held onto longer than anything else in this world? What have you nurtured and watered and kept closer to your heart than anything else?"
As she thought of this cherished possession, she saw how she had reared it like a child, protected it, and refused to ever let it go. But now she could see she had to.
"Are you ready to give it up?" he asked.
She smiled. The first real smile in a long time. She could feel her breath slowing. She knew she had minutes left at best.
"Yes."
And in her last moments, she felt it. She felt peace. All she had to give up was her anger. | I paced through the forest, the only sounds filling my ears those of dead leaves crushing underneath my step and owls hooting in the distance.
It was an eerily dark night, silhouettes of trees only visible through the moon's reflection.
I'd been a desperate man, one wizened by the years that seemed to pass me faster than I could count them, and had lived seeing my loved ones pass before my eyes, my wealth turn to debt, my home burn to ashes, the rags that loosely hung from my pale skin the only comforting hug I'd have left.
As if by magic, the air around me swept the decaying leaves up and changed color and they assembled themselves into what appeared to be an old man; his hollow, silvery eyes staring directly into mine, gray strands of hair flowing down his face.
He spoke in a calm, deep voice, both frightening yet comforting, commanding yet humble.
"You stand before Roch, though some would call me the voice of the forest.. And I can see in your eyes that you desire something you'd lost long ago."
"Pleased to meet, Roch. I'm Jack. I'd question your ability to manifest before me and read me like a book, but I'd wager the answer might be unsatisfactory."
"So I am correct?" Answered Roch.
"You are." I replied.
"I will give you what it is that I see you so long for.. But in return, you owe me the last of your possessions."
"My rags?" I answered mockingly. "You may have them."
"Perhaps", said the man, "Perhaps not."
"Well.. I'll go with it. Give me what it is you think I desire."
Without hesitation, the man snapped his fingers and he exploded in a rain of leaves.
I finally felt warmth, for the first time in what felt like a hundred years - a loving embrace and I smelled her perfume.
"Anna.." I whispered.
The warmth faded to cold as my muscles fell limp, my vision grew dark and my breathing stopped.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | I paced through the forest, the only sounds filling my ears those of dead leaves crushing underneath my step and owls hooting in the distance.
It was an eerily dark night, silhouettes of trees only visible through the moon's reflection.
I'd been a desperate man, one wizened by the years that seemed to pass me faster than I could count them, and had lived seeing my loved ones pass before my eyes, my wealth turn to debt, my home burn to ashes, the rags that loosely hung from my pale skin the only comforting hug I'd have left.
As if by magic, the air around me swept the decaying leaves up and changed color and they assembled themselves into what appeared to be an old man; his hollow, silvery eyes staring directly into mine, gray strands of hair flowing down his face.
He spoke in a calm, deep voice, both frightening yet comforting, commanding yet humble.
"You stand before Roch, though some would call me the voice of the forest.. And I can see in your eyes that you desire something you'd lost long ago."
"Pleased to meet, Roch. I'm Jack. I'd question your ability to manifest before me and read me like a book, but I'd wager the answer might be unsatisfactory."
"So I am correct?" Answered Roch.
"You are." I replied.
"I will give you what it is that I see you so long for.. But in return, you owe me the last of your possessions."
"My rags?" I answered mockingly. "You may have them."
"Perhaps", said the man, "Perhaps not."
"Well.. I'll go with it. Give me what it is you think I desire."
Without hesitation, the man snapped his fingers and he exploded in a rain of leaves.
I finally felt warmth, for the first time in what felt like a hundred years - a loving embrace and I smelled her perfume.
"Anna.." I whispered.
The warmth faded to cold as my muscles fell limp, my vision grew dark and my breathing stopped.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | It's cold, but it doesn't bother me. Nothing really does.
A few days ago, I was doing the same thing as always- cleaning the dorm, sitting in lecture, going back. What changed was my roommate, Dave, told me of an old folklore.
"Hey"
"Yeah?"
"Have you heard about the man in the forest?" I nod my head no.
"Well, they say that he is wise. A man who has wrinkles older than time. Apparently, he had once lived as a normal guy, but came across wealth after learning of his royal heritage. That was great, but he became consumed with wealth.
"He had a wife, but instead of giving her the care he needed, he ignored her. She left him after months of this. It took a while, but eventually he felt the weight of what he lost. Overtime, he fell into depression, and died alone.
"But he came back, deep within a forest, and now will grant people what they believe to be their greatest wishes in exchange for their greatest, most cherished possession.
"Pretty cool, huh? We were learning about him in class today."
We talked a bit after that, and I kept asking him questions, such as where this supposed man dwelled. I was intrigued.
I never put much value on anything, life was simply dull moving through the motions. My family wasn't something to be proud of, and being with my friends was just bothersome. My entire existence was just lethargic, dull, and bothersome.
So that is why I wondered what this man could possibly take from me. I had nothing else to do, so here I am wondering in a cold forest, searching for such a man.
The trees all look similar to the one next to it, the only difference being their spacing. The farther I moved in the forest, the more thinned out the trees were, until I came upon a clear patch. I assume this is where I should be meeting.
"Hello, are you here?"
" You came all the way out here for me?"
A woman emerged, young and beautiful, nothing like the old man that Dave described. No matter.
"Hm, I was expecting your husband-at least I assume as much"
"Why, you're such a smart child. Now, what is it you wish for?"
"Well, the thing is. I really don't care much for anything. I'm here in curiosity of what you would take. But I presume you won't just tell me, so I wish to know the true purpose of life."
"Is that so? Well, then it shall be done. You know, you're an odd one. I like you, so I apologize in advance for this."
She began to murmur something, then put her hand on my head. I felt a surge go through me. Then whispers in my mind. I felt my head tilt as I processes what I was told. I truly did not expect this answer. But nevermind that, I can ponder it later. For now...
"What did you take?"
"Your ability to die, or age past 30. Your most cherished possession was knowing that, one day, this would all end. You wouldn't have to just wander in life anymore. Or that old age would change how you see life. And now, neither of those will happen."
I think on this, and find myself disappointed. I was expecting something more... tangible.
"Ah, well it is true I would like to know something other than this, I believe I am doing just fine in life. And also, thank you. While I can't use this to benefit me, I at least can recognize that which those around me feel. I will use this to make their lives more enjoyable."
The lady smiled. "Such an odd boy. Make sure to visit me again sometime in this trap of time."
"Of course."
I left. Getting out was much easier than coming in. I should be back to campus by tomorrow. May as well do some Chemistry on my way to the dorm. | I paced through the forest, the only sounds filling my ears those of dead leaves crushing underneath my step and owls hooting in the distance.
It was an eerily dark night, silhouettes of trees only visible through the moon's reflection.
I'd been a desperate man, one wizened by the years that seemed to pass me faster than I could count them, and had lived seeing my loved ones pass before my eyes, my wealth turn to debt, my home burn to ashes, the rags that loosely hung from my pale skin the only comforting hug I'd have left.
As if by magic, the air around me swept the decaying leaves up and changed color and they assembled themselves into what appeared to be an old man; his hollow, silvery eyes staring directly into mine, gray strands of hair flowing down his face.
He spoke in a calm, deep voice, both frightening yet comforting, commanding yet humble.
"You stand before Roch, though some would call me the voice of the forest.. And I can see in your eyes that you desire something you'd lost long ago."
"Pleased to meet, Roch. I'm Jack. I'd question your ability to manifest before me and read me like a book, but I'd wager the answer might be unsatisfactory."
"So I am correct?" Answered Roch.
"You are." I replied.
"I will give you what it is that I see you so long for.. But in return, you owe me the last of your possessions."
"My rags?" I answered mockingly. "You may have them."
"Perhaps", said the man, "Perhaps not."
"Well.. I'll go with it. Give me what it is you think I desire."
Without hesitation, the man snapped his fingers and he exploded in a rain of leaves.
I finally felt warmth, for the first time in what felt like a hundred years - a loving embrace and I smelled her perfume.
"Anna.." I whispered.
The warmth faded to cold as my muscles fell limp, my vision grew dark and my breathing stopped.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | She wouldn't even have left the house if she hadn't already drained the last bottle. "Great," she thought. "Now I have to deal with people."
The winter cold cut through, and she thought it par for the course. This world and it's misery. What else was there to offer? All these clueless saps walking the street under the lights strung for the season. "They have no idea, what it's like to live my life," she thought. "What it feels like to never know peace. To need it desperately, to beg for it from a God I no longer believe in only to be answered with more loss and heart ache."
It had been over ten years since her oldest stopped calling her. Her other children had given up years before. Her baby...her baby...
She clutched her chest, stopped and composed herself the best she could. She would not let the bastards see her cry.
Under the flickering lights of the liquor store aisles, she searched out the familiar patterns and grabbed three bottles of what she needed. The ache in her chest worsened, and she knew she had to get home and take her medicine.
Back on the sidewalk, her steps became more laboured and her she just couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked around, panicked, and all the people who were milling about earlier in the sway of the Christmas carols were nowhere to be found. The eerie quiet boomed around her and she knew.
"Perfect. Of course it would all come to this. Me dying alone in this street without the benefit of a last drink."
She didn't see the man sit next to her. She just looked over, and he there he was.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She sneered.
"Would you like my help?" He asked softly.
"I don't need your help." She snapped back and wrapped her contempt around her, seeking a warmth that was always just out of reach.
"I come from the forest." The man said matter of factly, as though everyone just trots out of the forest.
"He's crazier than I am," she thought.
"What do you want? What is the one thing you have always wanted?" His voice still gentle. Maybe if she answered him, he would go away and leave her alone. "All I want is one moment's peace in this world before I die. Can you do that for me?"
"I can," replied the old man. He sounded so sure, that for a second, she believed him. "In return, I need something from you."
"Typical," she said.
If the old man was offended by her response, he didn't show it. He continued speaking. "I need you to give up your most cherished possession."
The broken woman began to cackle. This old man wasn't going to get his mark today. "Crazy fool. I have nothing. I cherish nothing. My husband left me, my children left me, my baby died...I have nothing!"
"Really?" the old man asked and smiled. She was reminded of when she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum, and her father would look at her with a mixture of love and humour.
"What have you held onto longer than anything else in this world? What have you nurtured and watered and kept closer to your heart than anything else?"
As she thought of this cherished possession, she saw how she had reared it like a child, protected it, and refused to ever let it go. But now she could see she had to.
"Are you ready to give it up?" he asked.
She smiled. The first real smile in a long time. She could feel her breath slowing. She knew she had minutes left at best.
"Yes."
And in her last moments, she felt it. She felt peace. All she had to give up was her anger. | My son had Leukemia.
About 3 years ago I set out to find the man in the woods. My trips typically lasted weeks, sometimes months as I would spend as long as possible sifting through pines and shrubs. Hoping, just hoping against all hope to stumble upon him.
I imagined it would happen gracefully. As like to a hunter drifting off, on the cusp of sleep when suddenly a twig snaps clearly and quietly within earshot.
A slender doe steps precariously into the clearing, weary of its next move. Almost something out of a story.
Instead I was greeted with headlights and a momentary loss of movement as the car came racing toward me.
For months I believed myself the hunter, never considering I might be the deer about to embrace the front end of an 18-wheeler.
While I was out searching for a hopeless cure, Jonathan passed. They buried him weeks before I had come back.
I left for the woods the instant I had come back. There was nothing left anymore, only a fabled chance at redemption. An opportunity to fix this, fix myself. Save my son.
And so for two years I shambled along paths I'd walked a hundred times over. Never knowing if the next instant or tomorrow or never would bring forth this man.
I had nothing left. What does a man with only his life left to lose actually have to lose when his life means nothing to him? Nothing I suppose.
Suddenly a twig snapped behind me.
Afraid to turn around, fearful to dissapoint myself for the umpteenth time, I stood there. Yet again affirming my position in all of this, a scared deer waiting for the lights to-
"I imagine, judging by the state of your clothes and your rather rugged looking condition that you've been at this for quite some time now. Well, spit it out then"
I let out a yelp.
"You're right indeed, his suffering was unjust and far too tragic. If you'd let me I would be more than happy to help you"
I said nothing. I simply had nothing to say. Clearly I didn't need to.
"Well if you're certain then thats the way of it. He'll miss you, you know? Everyday he'll ask where you are, and what became of you. Shame, he'll never know that the one thing you cared for more than anything in this world was time spent with him"
As my last breath escaped from my lips I couldnt help but smile. Jonathan is alive. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | My son had Leukemia.
About 3 years ago I set out to find the man in the woods. My trips typically lasted weeks, sometimes months as I would spend as long as possible sifting through pines and shrubs. Hoping, just hoping against all hope to stumble upon him.
I imagined it would happen gracefully. As like to a hunter drifting off, on the cusp of sleep when suddenly a twig snaps clearly and quietly within earshot.
A slender doe steps precariously into the clearing, weary of its next move. Almost something out of a story.
Instead I was greeted with headlights and a momentary loss of movement as the car came racing toward me.
For months I believed myself the hunter, never considering I might be the deer about to embrace the front end of an 18-wheeler.
While I was out searching for a hopeless cure, Jonathan passed. They buried him weeks before I had come back.
I left for the woods the instant I had come back. There was nothing left anymore, only a fabled chance at redemption. An opportunity to fix this, fix myself. Save my son.
And so for two years I shambled along paths I'd walked a hundred times over. Never knowing if the next instant or tomorrow or never would bring forth this man.
I had nothing left. What does a man with only his life left to lose actually have to lose when his life means nothing to him? Nothing I suppose.
Suddenly a twig snapped behind me.
Afraid to turn around, fearful to dissapoint myself for the umpteenth time, I stood there. Yet again affirming my position in all of this, a scared deer waiting for the lights to-
"I imagine, judging by the state of your clothes and your rather rugged looking condition that you've been at this for quite some time now. Well, spit it out then"
I let out a yelp.
"You're right indeed, his suffering was unjust and far too tragic. If you'd let me I would be more than happy to help you"
I said nothing. I simply had nothing to say. Clearly I didn't need to.
"Well if you're certain then thats the way of it. He'll miss you, you know? Everyday he'll ask where you are, and what became of you. Shame, he'll never know that the one thing you cared for more than anything in this world was time spent with him"
As my last breath escaped from my lips I couldnt help but smile. Jonathan is alive. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | Broke, penniless, hungry, I headed into the woods, due north. I planned on walking until I met the Old Man, or I succumbed to the elements. My whole life up until this point had been an abject failure, one broken promise, to another unfulfilled requirement. My family had always told me growing up that suicide was a sin, an abomination and surely a cry to the devil, but I figured that the devil was already alive and well within me, if he existed at all.
So I walked, wandered, really, since I had no time in mind. The shadows began to creep around me, and the twilight softened the landscape with purple hues. I thought about making camp, but saw him up ahead, twisted, aged, leaning against his long staff. He noticed my footsteps approaching, and turned his head to great me. His face, though very old, somehow had a childlike quality to it. The disconnect between the lines and the twinkle in his eye was jarring and discomforting, quickening my heart.
I felt stuck in one spot, as he slowly walked towards me, picking his way over rock and root. He soon stood in front of me, small, gnarled and eternal.
“Your greatest wish,” he said in a quiet voice, “ is to be successful in the realm of man.” I nodded, surprised that I didn’t have to actually speak my heart’s desires. “If you say yes,” he continued, “ you shall have those things.”
I opened my mouth, wondering what the catch would be. He said nothing more.
“Yes.” I whispered.
“When you return to your home, you will find that you are well liked and admired by all those around you, and everyone will turn to you for your opinions. You will have money, real estate, everything you would ever want. You will have access to knowledge beyond your dreams. But, in return, I will take your most cherished possession.”
I nodded, knowing that this was to be expected of any wish of such nature.
“ Now leave.”
As I walked home, I wondered what I valued most in my life, what of the wretched mess I had created was worth anything to me. My miserable family, my squalid existence, these were of little importance to me.
My house, or what stood in the place of my house was a lavish mansion, exquisitely detailed, but not overdone. Though it was foreign to me, it felt familiar, as if I had lived there my whole life. My butler took my coat, and told me the menu for the evening, the distinguished guests that were to be present. I nodded, tired. The meetings would run through the evening, the business at hand was wearisome and anxiety provoking. I sighed, and took a puff of the cigar I instinctively found in the pocket of my shirt.
My accomplishments hung on the walls, though I knew they were mine and I somehow had the knowledge that they vouched for, they seemed dishonest, almost tarnished.
At dinner, my guests leaned towards me, hanging on each word. My opinion was paramount, and my words were lapped up like milk by unctuous little tongues. The disquiet grew in my chest. The charade, the play, went on with me as the principle role. I knew what to say, though the words were not mine. My taste was impeccable, though I had no previous refinement.
I tried to say that the man next to me was a tiresome fool, a narcissistic social engineer with no other merits than his wife’s checkbook. The words would not come out, instead a slight groan replaced them. My guests turned their heads to me, and I opened my mouth, to find an explanation seamlessly exit. They nodded and returned to their dessert.
My heart beat faster, and I felt myself rise to toast the evening. The script beckoned, unwritten. I followed it, unable to stop myself.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | She wouldn't even have left the house if she hadn't already drained the last bottle. "Great," she thought. "Now I have to deal with people."
The winter cold cut through, and she thought it par for the course. This world and it's misery. What else was there to offer? All these clueless saps walking the street under the lights strung for the season. "They have no idea, what it's like to live my life," she thought. "What it feels like to never know peace. To need it desperately, to beg for it from a God I no longer believe in only to be answered with more loss and heart ache."
It had been over ten years since her oldest stopped calling her. Her other children had given up years before. Her baby...her baby...
She clutched her chest, stopped and composed herself the best she could. She would not let the bastards see her cry.
Under the flickering lights of the liquor store aisles, she searched out the familiar patterns and grabbed three bottles of what she needed. The ache in her chest worsened, and she knew she had to get home and take her medicine.
Back on the sidewalk, her steps became more laboured and her she just couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked around, panicked, and all the people who were milling about earlier in the sway of the Christmas carols were nowhere to be found. The eerie quiet boomed around her and she knew.
"Perfect. Of course it would all come to this. Me dying alone in this street without the benefit of a last drink."
She didn't see the man sit next to her. She just looked over, and he there he was.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She sneered.
"Would you like my help?" He asked softly.
"I don't need your help." She snapped back and wrapped her contempt around her, seeking a warmth that was always just out of reach.
"I come from the forest." The man said matter of factly, as though everyone just trots out of the forest.
"He's crazier than I am," she thought.
"What do you want? What is the one thing you have always wanted?" His voice still gentle. Maybe if she answered him, he would go away and leave her alone. "All I want is one moment's peace in this world before I die. Can you do that for me?"
"I can," replied the old man. He sounded so sure, that for a second, she believed him. "In return, I need something from you."
"Typical," she said.
If the old man was offended by her response, he didn't show it. He continued speaking. "I need you to give up your most cherished possession."
The broken woman began to cackle. This old man wasn't going to get his mark today. "Crazy fool. I have nothing. I cherish nothing. My husband left me, my children left me, my baby died...I have nothing!"
"Really?" the old man asked and smiled. She was reminded of when she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum, and her father would look at her with a mixture of love and humour.
"What have you held onto longer than anything else in this world? What have you nurtured and watered and kept closer to your heart than anything else?"
As she thought of this cherished possession, she saw how she had reared it like a child, protected it, and refused to ever let it go. But now she could see she had to.
"Are you ready to give it up?" he asked.
She smiled. The first real smile in a long time. She could feel her breath slowing. She knew she had minutes left at best.
"Yes."
And in her last moments, she felt it. She felt peace. All she had to give up was her anger. | |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "A trip to Paris."
My voice echoed through the forest. The old man cackled. "That's a meager wish," he said, his face flickering in the fire's light. "Why?"
"My true love has always been painting. I always wanted to see the great works at the Louvre before I died, and now..." My voice cracked; I coughed. "I don't have much longer, now."
"Very well," he said. His spindly, cracked hands took mine, and he recited some incantations in Latin. "You will now find you have all the money and resources for your trip. Go on."
"That was easier than I thought," I said, smiling to myself.
I walked away from the man.
But with each step, the flickering firelight faded, and the shadows grew darker. I looked up at the sky; it was now deep indigo, almost indistinguishable from the black, crisscrossing branches. I squinted at the trail before me, but it was all shifting grays and blacks.
I fell to the ground.
"Good luck enjoying the Louvre," the old man called behind me, in a voice filled with mirth, "as a blind man." | I woke up to the birds chirping in the morning. The rays of sun reached my feet, as I lay on the park bench. I coughed a little as I stretched, awaking, and dreamed of a yesterday, where I would wake up warm and cozy in the comfort of blankets and arms.
But today I was going to try something I had never had the nerve to do before.
I was at a local bar a few nights ago, a kind fella had spotted me outside, and invited me in for a beer. In a mist of a drunken stupor, he pulled out the last year of my life, in a twisted tongue, through a tale I dreaded to give away. It was precious to me. He was precious to me. Anton.
Anton was the love of my life. We had met young, and married quick. We honeymooned at the beach, and worked hard for a home. We adopted three dogs, and raised them to be kind with to the calico cat that Anton had come with.
“What happened to Anton,” the friendly stranger had pressed, handing me another beer.
I told him about the downward spiral. The alcohol, the pressure I laid onto him to sober up.
“Nice,” the had stranger commented, aptly suggesting my own drunkenness.
I told him about the bottles I would find hidden, about the arguments that we had.
I also explained to him about the nights we fell asleep huddled together, angry, but content at the end of the day in each other's arms.
Then I told him about the day that I left the house.
About how he had gone on a bender. About how it was the first time he hurt me. How he didn’t even remember pressing his hands around my neck, squeezing. How I hoped he wouldn’t stop. And how did stop.
The day I left, I was inconsolable. I told him I was still his. I told him that I just needed a little distance. Space. And he needed to sober up. He agreed.
And I was still his. We spoke everyday, when I woke up I would call him, when he went to bed, he would call me.
And if there were any stories to be told, the phone would be in my hand, ready to call my best friend to tell it all.
But that was before he was diagnosed. He was diagnosed soon after. It all had happened in a matter of months.
See, he had stomach cancer.
The day he was on his deathbed, I cried inconsolably. I lost everything. From my job, to my apartment, my love, my love. I lost everything. I had it all, and it had slipped through my fingers like water.
“There is a man,” the stranger told me, “who lives in the woods. He grants wishes, in return for the most cherished thing that you possess.”
I sat up, watching the world whirl around me, traffic, people, so many stories, so many lives all in one place. Today I would go see this man.
The climate was calm, not too cold, not too warm, not a hint of breeze. The air lingered with the thick scent of juniper. As I followed the detailed directions that the stranger had given me, I came upon a house that seemed like the earth had swallowed it whole. It was made of stone, and moss crept up on in from the base upwards, vines spiraling in every crevice. A tree seemed to peak out of the roof itself.
Hesitantly, I knocked. A raven perched on a tree watched me thoughtfully.
The door swung open. The first thing to take note of was the age of this man. He must have been at least ninety. His beard hung down to his pot bellied stomach, and his cheeks were pinched with roses.
“Hello dear,” he said, “I had an inkling that you would be coming,”
He ushered me into the cottage, and sat me at a heavy wooden circular table, with a steaming cup of tea before me.
“I believe you came to request something of me, yes?”
I sat mute, surprised, unsure of how to begin.
“Darling, it is okay. I already know what it is you want, but I do need you to verbalize it to make it so. I know that you have also been told that there is a price to pay, yes?”
“I have nothing left to lose,” I said, my voice so low that it could hardly be caught.
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. We always have something left to lose.”
I looked up at him, and said the words. I envisioned Anton’s smile, that the world had had to live without. I told him I wanted Anton alive again.
“Are you positive? There is only one thing you have left to offer to make such a thing happen,” He said. And I knew it then. I understood. My existence.
I nodded, and the world went black.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | It's cold, but it doesn't bother me. Nothing really does.
A few days ago, I was doing the same thing as always- cleaning the dorm, sitting in lecture, going back. What changed was my roommate, Dave, told me of an old folklore.
"Hey"
"Yeah?"
"Have you heard about the man in the forest?" I nod my head no.
"Well, they say that he is wise. A man who has wrinkles older than time. Apparently, he had once lived as a normal guy, but came across wealth after learning of his royal heritage. That was great, but he became consumed with wealth.
"He had a wife, but instead of giving her the care he needed, he ignored her. She left him after months of this. It took a while, but eventually he felt the weight of what he lost. Overtime, he fell into depression, and died alone.
"But he came back, deep within a forest, and now will grant people what they believe to be their greatest wishes in exchange for their greatest, most cherished possession.
"Pretty cool, huh? We were learning about him in class today."
We talked a bit after that, and I kept asking him questions, such as where this supposed man dwelled. I was intrigued.
I never put much value on anything, life was simply dull moving through the motions. My family wasn't something to be proud of, and being with my friends was just bothersome. My entire existence was just lethargic, dull, and bothersome.
So that is why I wondered what this man could possibly take from me. I had nothing else to do, so here I am wondering in a cold forest, searching for such a man.
The trees all look similar to the one next to it, the only difference being their spacing. The farther I moved in the forest, the more thinned out the trees were, until I came upon a clear patch. I assume this is where I should be meeting.
"Hello, are you here?"
" You came all the way out here for me?"
A woman emerged, young and beautiful, nothing like the old man that Dave described. No matter.
"Hm, I was expecting your husband-at least I assume as much"
"Why, you're such a smart child. Now, what is it you wish for?"
"Well, the thing is. I really don't care much for anything. I'm here in curiosity of what you would take. But I presume you won't just tell me, so I wish to know the true purpose of life."
"Is that so? Well, then it shall be done. You know, you're an odd one. I like you, so I apologize in advance for this."
She began to murmur something, then put her hand on my head. I felt a surge go through me. Then whispers in my mind. I felt my head tilt as I processes what I was told. I truly did not expect this answer. But nevermind that, I can ponder it later. For now...
"What did you take?"
"Your ability to die, or age past 30. Your most cherished possession was knowing that, one day, this would all end. You wouldn't have to just wander in life anymore. Or that old age would change how you see life. And now, neither of those will happen."
I think on this, and find myself disappointed. I was expecting something more... tangible.
"Ah, well it is true I would like to know something other than this, I believe I am doing just fine in life. And also, thank you. While I can't use this to benefit me, I at least can recognize that which those around me feel. I will use this to make their lives more enjoyable."
The lady smiled. "Such an odd boy. Make sure to visit me again sometime in this trap of time."
"Of course."
I left. Getting out was much easier than coming in. I should be back to campus by tomorrow. May as well do some Chemistry on my way to the dorm. | I woke up to the birds chirping in the morning. The rays of sun reached my feet, as I lay on the park bench. I coughed a little as I stretched, awaking, and dreamed of a yesterday, where I would wake up warm and cozy in the comfort of blankets and arms.
But today I was going to try something I had never had the nerve to do before.
I was at a local bar a few nights ago, a kind fella had spotted me outside, and invited me in for a beer. In a mist of a drunken stupor, he pulled out the last year of my life, in a twisted tongue, through a tale I dreaded to give away. It was precious to me. He was precious to me. Anton.
Anton was the love of my life. We had met young, and married quick. We honeymooned at the beach, and worked hard for a home. We adopted three dogs, and raised them to be kind with to the calico cat that Anton had come with.
“What happened to Anton,” the friendly stranger had pressed, handing me another beer.
I told him about the downward spiral. The alcohol, the pressure I laid onto him to sober up.
“Nice,” the had stranger commented, aptly suggesting my own drunkenness.
I told him about the bottles I would find hidden, about the arguments that we had.
I also explained to him about the nights we fell asleep huddled together, angry, but content at the end of the day in each other's arms.
Then I told him about the day that I left the house.
About how he had gone on a bender. About how it was the first time he hurt me. How he didn’t even remember pressing his hands around my neck, squeezing. How I hoped he wouldn’t stop. And how did stop.
The day I left, I was inconsolable. I told him I was still his. I told him that I just needed a little distance. Space. And he needed to sober up. He agreed.
And I was still his. We spoke everyday, when I woke up I would call him, when he went to bed, he would call me.
And if there were any stories to be told, the phone would be in my hand, ready to call my best friend to tell it all.
But that was before he was diagnosed. He was diagnosed soon after. It all had happened in a matter of months.
See, he had stomach cancer.
The day he was on his deathbed, I cried inconsolably. I lost everything. From my job, to my apartment, my love, my love. I lost everything. I had it all, and it had slipped through my fingers like water.
“There is a man,” the stranger told me, “who lives in the woods. He grants wishes, in return for the most cherished thing that you possess.”
I sat up, watching the world whirl around me, traffic, people, so many stories, so many lives all in one place. Today I would go see this man.
The climate was calm, not too cold, not too warm, not a hint of breeze. The air lingered with the thick scent of juniper. As I followed the detailed directions that the stranger had given me, I came upon a house that seemed like the earth had swallowed it whole. It was made of stone, and moss crept up on in from the base upwards, vines spiraling in every crevice. A tree seemed to peak out of the roof itself.
Hesitantly, I knocked. A raven perched on a tree watched me thoughtfully.
The door swung open. The first thing to take note of was the age of this man. He must have been at least ninety. His beard hung down to his pot bellied stomach, and his cheeks were pinched with roses.
“Hello dear,” he said, “I had an inkling that you would be coming,”
He ushered me into the cottage, and sat me at a heavy wooden circular table, with a steaming cup of tea before me.
“I believe you came to request something of me, yes?”
I sat mute, surprised, unsure of how to begin.
“Darling, it is okay. I already know what it is you want, but I do need you to verbalize it to make it so. I know that you have also been told that there is a price to pay, yes?”
“I have nothing left to lose,” I said, my voice so low that it could hardly be caught.
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. We always have something left to lose.”
I looked up at him, and said the words. I envisioned Anton’s smile, that the world had had to live without. I told him I wanted Anton alive again.
“Are you positive? There is only one thing you have left to offer to make such a thing happen,” He said. And I knew it then. I understood. My existence.
I nodded, and the world went black.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | "What is your name, sir? I have come to make a deal."
"You will learn my name. But you've come here to outsmart me, haven't you?" He smirked.
"I'm 65 years old, i have $43 in the bank, no family, no house. You are free to take whatever possession of mine that you wish."
"Well I suppose we must make a deal then. Just write what you desire on the first four lines, sign it, and then I will fulfill the bottom line with what i choose to take from you. I assure you it will be a physical possession."
*i want to be the most powerful man in the world, with infinite riches and infinite influence*
"Ah, excellent choice. It can be done, of course. Now sign there."
"My turn."
*P-A-C-E...*
"What on earth?"
*...M-A-K-E-R*
"No..."
"The name is Lucifer, my good sir."
| Emmit wondered if anyone in history had experienced a worse week than he just had. "Probably not" he said to himself to break the silence around him. The woods were eerily quiet, with only Emmit's foot falls and breathing interrupt the nothingness in his ears. It felt unnatural. "I am just looking for The Merchant" he declared, as if to explain to the trees why he was intruding. The trees gave no response.
Four days before, Emmit had gotten in his car to go to work only to find he had a flat tire. After putting the spare on, Emmit drove to make up for lost time. He pulled out his phone to call work so that they would know that he would be a little late. Gary, his boss, was a good guy and very understanding about such things. But the call never got made, and Emmit never made it to work. Instead he spent the day in the hospital and dealing with insurance. He had slammed into a school bus.
“MERCHANT!” Emmit screamed. He might as well yell. Frustration and anger needed venting and no one but the trees were around. But his cry was absorbed in the leaves around him. His voice, even screaming, felt small and insignificant. Emmit gave a quick and ashamed “Sorry” to the trees. Perhaps this was stupid.
Three days before, Emmit woke up sore and guilt stricken. He hadn’t killed anyone, but nearly a dozen of the kids in bus had serious enough injuries that they required hospitalization. He needed to get to work today, but he didn’t have a car. Uber was a life saver. He should have just gotten an Uber yesterday he thought regretfully. Or taken his time. Gary wasn’t going to fire him over being late. Or he could have called before he left. Or he could have texted. Or used his phone at a red light. The thoughts swirled in his head, showing him all the better options. The whole ride to work he couldn’t leave his own head. The driver even had to let him know he was at his destination. He got to his cubicle, trying to clear his mind. Gary came over and fired him.
“If I don’t find him in fifteen minutes, I’ll leave.” Emmit felt like he was promising the trees and much as himself. He had been wandering for at least a few hours. He was hungry and lonely. He was normally a fan of hiking, but normally he hadn’t just had the work stretch of life possible, he thought. Last time he went hiking was with his fiancé. Emmit and Myka were outdoors people. Emmit loved to camp, and Myka loved kayaking and hiking. They had made a good pair.
Two days before, Emmit started his job hunt. Gary told him that he had made a mistake on the safety equipment he had bought. Emmit worked for wind farm and was in charge of purchasing. He felt like he’d be getting a raise for how much he saved on the new harnesses. But those harnesses didn’t meet safety requirements. One of those harnesses let a technician fall to his death. Emmit wondered how he would answer why he left his last job. Emmit typed “Killed a man” under special skills. Feeling sick, he quickly deleted it. The safety inspector should have caught that the harnesses were up to snuff, Emmit argued in his head. This wasn’t his fault he told himself. But he didn’t believe it.
Emmit thought he saw something. Someone? “Hello?” he asked tentatively. The shape turned to face him. Emmit called out “Are you him?” The old man nodded his head. He wore jeans, a baby blue shirt, and a tan jacket. He looked kindly, like he could play Santa Claus if he gained weight. Emmit began to walk to him, and asked “You are The Merchant?” The old man nodded again, smiling like he just wanted to help.
Yesterday, Emmit was ready for a good day. Myka was coming back from the coffee convention she had gone to with her mother. Then Emmit realized he couldn’t pick her up without a car. Uber again. At the airport he check the arrivals board. Flight 757… Cancelled. He went to a ticketing agent to ask for an update, frustrated that he’d have to wait or leave and return. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you know what is going on with Flight 757 from Chicago?” “Oh, um, Flight 757, well, it crashed over Iowa.” Emmit pulled out his phone and found the story quickly. The story was everywhere. All the headlines agreed: Flight 757 lost, 98 dead.
When Emmit got close enough, he felt a warmth, like the old man was a space heater. The old man didn’t say a word, so Emmit screwed up his courage and asked “Is it true to can give me the gift of my greatest wish?” The old man nodded. “And it costs me my most cherished possession?” The old man nodded again. “But I don’t have anything left that I cherish. I’ve lost everything. Is there anything I can give you?” Again, the old man nodded. “What do you want? Take it! Take my life if you must, or my sight, or anything. Please, I just want Myka to be ok” The old man nodded.
Emmit finally found his way out of the woods. He had a surreal feeling, like he had been in a waking dream. He had seen an old man there who gave him directions on how to get out. Emmit had no memory of going into the woods, so he imagined that without the old man, he’d still be lost. But stepping into the parking lot, he didn’t remember where he parked. Or what his car looked like. Or where he lived. “Crap” he said to the air.
Myka stood, waiting at the airport, her flight had been delayed overnight. She couldn’t wait to see her fiancé.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Michael stood face to face with the old man. "I know the deal," he said. "My greatest wish for my most treasured possession. Thing is, I don't have anything left."
The old man raised his eyebrows. He'd heard it all before.
Michael continued. "I know what you're thinking. Yeah, I lost my job, my house, all that crap. But my family isn't dead. Well, not all of them. That's what I'm here for. I..I just want Jen to love me again. I want another chance."
The old man smiled and started to speak, but Michael interrupted him again. "Look. I know what you do to guys like me. You take away their memories, who they are. Well, go ahead. You're getting the rotten end of the deal. I don't have anything in this head of mine that's worth keeping. A new start might be good, if I have Jen by my side. So do your worst."
The old man hid his smirk as he touched Michael's forehead and pronounced, "It is done."
As Michael walked away, his heart began to sink. He could remember everything. The doctor's visits, the drunken arguments, the final slamming of the door before everything went to hell. What had the old man taken from him, if not his memories?
It must have been something incredible to make Jen want him again. Jen...Jen...as he thought of her, the familiar feeling of warmth was gone. A numb void sat in its place. What was so special about Jen? She had left him. He cursed himself for wasting his wish on such an insignificant person. He realized that he didn't even love her. Maybe he never had.
Back in the forest, the old man laughed.
| Emmit wondered if anyone in history had experienced a worse week than he just had. "Probably not" he said to himself to break the silence around him. The woods were eerily quiet, with only Emmit's foot falls and breathing interrupt the nothingness in his ears. It felt unnatural. "I am just looking for The Merchant" he declared, as if to explain to the trees why he was intruding. The trees gave no response.
Four days before, Emmit had gotten in his car to go to work only to find he had a flat tire. After putting the spare on, Emmit drove to make up for lost time. He pulled out his phone to call work so that they would know that he would be a little late. Gary, his boss, was a good guy and very understanding about such things. But the call never got made, and Emmit never made it to work. Instead he spent the day in the hospital and dealing with insurance. He had slammed into a school bus.
“MERCHANT!” Emmit screamed. He might as well yell. Frustration and anger needed venting and no one but the trees were around. But his cry was absorbed in the leaves around him. His voice, even screaming, felt small and insignificant. Emmit gave a quick and ashamed “Sorry” to the trees. Perhaps this was stupid.
Three days before, Emmit woke up sore and guilt stricken. He hadn’t killed anyone, but nearly a dozen of the kids in bus had serious enough injuries that they required hospitalization. He needed to get to work today, but he didn’t have a car. Uber was a life saver. He should have just gotten an Uber yesterday he thought regretfully. Or taken his time. Gary wasn’t going to fire him over being late. Or he could have called before he left. Or he could have texted. Or used his phone at a red light. The thoughts swirled in his head, showing him all the better options. The whole ride to work he couldn’t leave his own head. The driver even had to let him know he was at his destination. He got to his cubicle, trying to clear his mind. Gary came over and fired him.
“If I don’t find him in fifteen minutes, I’ll leave.” Emmit felt like he was promising the trees and much as himself. He had been wandering for at least a few hours. He was hungry and lonely. He was normally a fan of hiking, but normally he hadn’t just had the work stretch of life possible, he thought. Last time he went hiking was with his fiancé. Emmit and Myka were outdoors people. Emmit loved to camp, and Myka loved kayaking and hiking. They had made a good pair.
Two days before, Emmit started his job hunt. Gary told him that he had made a mistake on the safety equipment he had bought. Emmit worked for wind farm and was in charge of purchasing. He felt like he’d be getting a raise for how much he saved on the new harnesses. But those harnesses didn’t meet safety requirements. One of those harnesses let a technician fall to his death. Emmit wondered how he would answer why he left his last job. Emmit typed “Killed a man” under special skills. Feeling sick, he quickly deleted it. The safety inspector should have caught that the harnesses were up to snuff, Emmit argued in his head. This wasn’t his fault he told himself. But he didn’t believe it.
Emmit thought he saw something. Someone? “Hello?” he asked tentatively. The shape turned to face him. Emmit called out “Are you him?” The old man nodded his head. He wore jeans, a baby blue shirt, and a tan jacket. He looked kindly, like he could play Santa Claus if he gained weight. Emmit began to walk to him, and asked “You are The Merchant?” The old man nodded again, smiling like he just wanted to help.
Yesterday, Emmit was ready for a good day. Myka was coming back from the coffee convention she had gone to with her mother. Then Emmit realized he couldn’t pick her up without a car. Uber again. At the airport he check the arrivals board. Flight 757… Cancelled. He went to a ticketing agent to ask for an update, frustrated that he’d have to wait or leave and return. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you know what is going on with Flight 757 from Chicago?” “Oh, um, Flight 757, well, it crashed over Iowa.” Emmit pulled out his phone and found the story quickly. The story was everywhere. All the headlines agreed: Flight 757 lost, 98 dead.
When Emmit got close enough, he felt a warmth, like the old man was a space heater. The old man didn’t say a word, so Emmit screwed up his courage and asked “Is it true to can give me the gift of my greatest wish?” The old man nodded. “And it costs me my most cherished possession?” The old man nodded again. “But I don’t have anything left that I cherish. I’ve lost everything. Is there anything I can give you?” Again, the old man nodded. “What do you want? Take it! Take my life if you must, or my sight, or anything. Please, I just want Myka to be ok” The old man nodded.
Emmit finally found his way out of the woods. He had a surreal feeling, like he had been in a waking dream. He had seen an old man there who gave him directions on how to get out. Emmit had no memory of going into the woods, so he imagined that without the old man, he’d still be lost. But stepping into the parking lot, he didn’t remember where he parked. Or what his car looked like. Or where he lived. “Crap” he said to the air.
Myka stood, waiting at the airport, her flight had been delayed overnight. She couldn’t wait to see her fiancé.
| |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | Michael stood face to face with the old man. "I know the deal," he said. "My greatest wish for my most treasured possession. Thing is, I don't have anything left."
The old man raised his eyebrows. He'd heard it all before.
Michael continued. "I know what you're thinking. Yeah, I lost my job, my house, all that crap. But my family isn't dead. Well, not all of them. That's what I'm here for. I..I just want Jen to love me again. I want another chance."
The old man smiled and started to speak, but Michael interrupted him again. "Look. I know what you do to guys like me. You take away their memories, who they are. Well, go ahead. You're getting the rotten end of the deal. I don't have anything in this head of mine that's worth keeping. A new start might be good, if I have Jen by my side. So do your worst."
The old man hid his smirk as he touched Michael's forehead and pronounced, "It is done."
As Michael walked away, his heart began to sink. He could remember everything. The doctor's visits, the drunken arguments, the final slamming of the door before everything went to hell. What had the old man taken from him, if not his memories?
It must have been something incredible to make Jen want him again. Jen...Jen...as he thought of her, the familiar feeling of warmth was gone. A numb void sat in its place. What was so special about Jen? She had left him. He cursed himself for wasting his wish on such an insignificant person. He realized that he didn't even love her. Maybe he never had.
Back in the forest, the old man laughed.
| "What is your name, sir? I have come to make a deal."
"You will learn my name. But you've come here to outsmart me, haven't you?" He smirked.
"I'm 65 years old, i have $43 in the bank, no family, no house. You are free to take whatever possession of mine that you wish."
"Well I suppose we must make a deal then. Just write what you desire on the first four lines, sign it, and then I will fulfill the bottom line with what i choose to take from you. I assure you it will be a physical possession."
*i want to be the most powerful man in the world, with infinite riches and infinite influence*
"Ah, excellent choice. It can be done, of course. Now sign there."
"My turn."
*P-A-C-E...*
"What on earth?"
*...M-A-K-E-R*
"No..."
"The name is Lucifer, my good sir."
|
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