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The inspiration for this prompt was the lovely TheRabidFangirl! :) | [WP] As the latest employee in the world's most prestigious amusement park you are handed a list of rules all employee's must abide to. But it's filled with rather strange rules. What does: "There's only ever one of each mascot inside the park. Check for eyeholes." even mean? | *Rule 18: There is our one of each mascot in the park at the time. If you see a duplicate, check for eyeholes.*
"Oh, very funny." I say, "We've all heard of Abandoned by Disney, guys. Playing into the creepypastas may be a good marketing move, but it doesn't work on us.".
"No, I'm serious." Our manager says, "This is no creepypasta. All Sillyworld mascots do not have eyeholes. It completes the immersion."
"Then how do the see?" The teen next to me asks.
"The employees in mascots see using similar technology to rear view cameras in cars. It lets the employees see without ruining the magic for the guests." Our manager replies.
"You still haven't answered my question." I add. "Are the old suits haunted by murdered children or something?"
"No, no, no." The manager responds, "That was Appleday's problem. We've been having a problem with pranksters and teens breaking in and pretending to be employed by the park, only to mess with the guests and damage property. I'm sure we're all familiar with Logan Paul's *Sneaking into Sillyworld Prank! (Gone wrong)* video." He pronounces the parenthesis in his sentence.
"If you happen to see a mascot costume with eyeholes, call security immediately. We cannot afford another incident like that." Our manager says. Thank you, that'll be all."
My first week was relatively normal. Making food, giving directions, the usual. It was on Saturday that things heated up. I was giving visitors directions to the haunted airport, when I saw a Doctor Cantaloupe suit.
"Oh my God kids, It's Doctor Cantaloupe!" The mom exclaims. The kids shriek in glee.
"Yep!" I replied, "Doctor Cantaloupe is taking a break from his wacky experiments to visit... Wait."
I swear I've seen him today. Just a little bit ago. He was by the lemonade pool, right? At the other end of the park.
Crap.
I rush to the family as they approach the "mascot."
"Ma'am," I say, breathless, "I'm gonna have to ask you to not engage with the mascot."
"But why?" She asks, "He's my kids favorite character!"
"It's park business, ma'am." I explain, "please take these fast passes and call off your children."
She does. I approach the mascot.
I scan the mascot. Eyeholes. Oh boy.
"Listen bud," I say, "just take of the mask, and leave the premises. Then we can all go home ok."
"Never, bitch!" He shouts. Parents gasp in shock. Kisds giggle. Teens pull out their phones.
"Alright, pal, I'm gonna call security, so this is your last chance. Just go away, and everything will be fine." I add, pulling out my phone.
"Not on your Goddamn life!" He roars, "You stupid -".
I wasn't going to sit around and let him run our brand anymore, so I behaved like a rational adult.
And kneed him in the balls.
The recording of his outburst went viral. I'm no longer allowed on the premises. Oh well. I hear universal studios is looking for a security guard. | I looked at the man who had handed me the piece of paper. His name-tag said Dave.
“Dave," I asked, looking down at the list again and frowning, “What does all of this even mean?”
Before Dave could answer, another man burst into the employee’s lounge. He immediately started shouting.
“You again!” He pointed right at Dave. “You scoundrel! You oxygen thief! Stop stealing my bloody name-tag!”
The man who was in front of me (Not-Dave) let out a yelp, and then scampered out the nearest window, dropping the name-tag on his way out.
The new fellow (Real-Dave) walked over to me. He picked up the name tag and shook his head.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “*I’m* Dave. That guy keeps breaking in and pretending to work here. Give you a list did he? He’s always doing that. Let me see it then.”
I blinked, and then gave him the piece of paper. He snorted.
“‘Check for eyeholes?’ What does that even mean? That guy’s batshit crazy. Anyway, your job is to clean out the puke from the roller-coaster carriages. Welcome to your new life.”
He screwed up the piece of paper and threw it out the window.
|
The inspiration for this prompt was the lovely TheRabidFangirl! :) | [WP] As the latest employee in the world's most prestigious amusement park you are handed a list of rules all employee's must abide to. But it's filled with rather strange rules. What does: "There's only ever one of each mascot inside the park. Check for eyeholes." even mean? | Ben Parker's face drained of all colour when I brought up rule Seventeen Point Five in the Ola Island Theme Park's new employee orientation handout.
I was actually reading the damn handout. Sue me. Sweeping up spilled popcorn and mopping floors wasn't exactly a dream job but any job can be a dream job if you get desperate enough. I was never a huge fan of Ola Island growing up, and therefore do not have the Spa Effect come into play, but then come on. It's Ola Island! Every kid can sing along to The Welcome Song.
In fact, Karl sitting next to me confessed that he could not get the damn tune out of his head. As Ben Parker arrived in the room, slightly out of breath, sweat pooling in the armpits of his uniform, Karl was murmuring the words.
"Get on down to the island, we'll have a ball today...get on down to the happy place where we we wash your cares away..."
I nudged him. "Bit early to let the Stockholm Syndrome set in, don't you think?"
"Dude. It's The Welcome Song," he said, and a glance at the manager's direction told me that he heard. Karl continued. "Maybe we'll have to learn it by heart, or something. And The Happy Dance. And-"
"That's...not necessary," the manager said, then smiled as the room full of new hires straightened up at his words. He cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Ben Parker, and I am your manager. Not *the* manager, your manager. Anything goes wrong, anything you need to ask, I'm your guy. Okay?"
He goes through the motions. Smile, be polite, don't jack off onto the fries and claim it's mayonnaise et cetera. Most of it is textbook retail stuff. Maybe it's a bit different, but we're not the losers stuck inside a mascot costume for eight hours. We don't do all that fun stuff.
As if reading my mind, Ben Parker said, "Remember. Just because you are not one of the performers, does not mean you are not part of the Ola Island magic."
"Whoa, boss, you're gonna get trademarked there."
Everyone laughed, which was welcome, but Ben laughed too, which was also welcome but surprising. "It's the best way to describe this place, aside from Thunder Cart and The Imagination Machine. Magical. I've worked here thirty years. Still feel like a child at heart."
That was cheesier than the pizzas I would end up serving at the end of the day, and I wanted to laugh but somehow I didn't. Thinking back, I think it was the earnesty in his voice that got us. He really loved working here, loved what the park did, and it showed in his face. I mean, he looked like a stereotypical mall cop and was probably a man - virgin, but his love for the ideal of Ola Island was admirable. So I shut up and let him try to fill my empty soul with it.
It didn't last. Soon we were going through the handout containing a short list of rules new employees were expected to follow, and that was some dry shit. I perked up when we got to section 17 - concerning mascots.
"Mascots are to be referred to in character at all times," Karl read, eyes widening with each word. "Wow. So if I see Purple Panther-"
"You call him Purple Panther," Parker confirmed. "With the costume on, he embodies the character, becomes one with it, and brings him to life."
"I object to this one. No spear tackling the mascots? Come on."
"That only happened once, and it was so bad we had to put the rule in. No spear tackles."
"Tell me clotheslines are fine."
Ben pointed a finger at me. "Ashcroft, don't make me put in a new rule."
We were almost done and were about to start our first shift, when I noticed one particular rule. I raised my hand, causing the others who wanted to get to work to groan. Ben Parker pointed and said, "What is it Ashcroft?"
"What's rule Seventeen Point Five?"
As mentioned before, the colour drained from his face. He sat there for a good long moment, like a deer caught in headlights. It wasn't just his face. His entire demeanor changed. From friendly if tired veteran of a theme park to an ancient, beer bellied, mentally scarred man who had come face to face with his nightmares. It only lasted a few seconds, but the abrupt change in my new manager was so complete that it was shocking to look at.
He nodded at me, and said in a voice flatter than a pancake, "Just what it says, Ashcroft. Only one Grumpy Bear, one Mr Fitnizzles and one Purple Panther, and so on. If unsure, check for eyeholes."
Before I could ask what that even meant, he turned to everyone and dismissed the whole room, saying something about not paying us to gawk around. Everyone left, but reading about Seventeen Point Five bothered me. You know there's a history behind the weird rules. I mean, that one about the spear tackles was obvious, but what's this one about?
I soon forgot about it after I was sent to man the till at the Sprocket Brothers Grub Joint. I'd worked retail before, so manning a till wasn't a mystery to me, and yes I have been to Ola Island, I knew about the volume of customers. But put the two together and we have something more exhausting than the sum of its parts.
I was about to ask one of the senior workers if I could take a quick smoke break when a gravelly voice said, "Hey, numbnuts. Got any bagels left?"
I turned and saw my first mascot since working here. It was as tall as I was, covered in dark brown fur. A collar and necktie hung crooked on its chest, with a matching fedora. After six hours of work, I found myself staring directly at Grumpy Bear.
Grumpy shrugged. "What?"
I blinked. I was staring, I realized. Damned Ben Parker and his talk about magic. I was starting to get affected, seeing my favourite character in the flesh - well so to speak.
I nodded at Grumpy. "Sorry. Checking for eyeholes." I joked.
"Believe me, shitstain, if I didn't have eyeholes, you'd know."
I paused for a second as I was smearing cream cheese on the bagel. He didn't sound like he was joking. He didn't sound like a guy who jokes in general. I popped the bagel into the toaster oven and turned back to Grumpy.
"Any drinks?"
"Purple Fanta. Six of 'em, put it all on my tab."
I got his drinks and rang it up on his employee account. "I'm new here, Grumpy. What's this thing about the eyeholes?"
Grumpy snorted, though it took me a second to realise that's what it was and not the suit shifting or something. "Figures," he said, "look, new guy, I don't wanna scare you. I love working here almost as much as that Parker guy does, and not everyone sees them. So I don't want you to run off because of a few stories."
I shrugged. "I'm getting curious now. Is it some kind of newbie hazing thing, or-"
"We don't do that here. Look, and look carefully," he leaned in and pointed at the black wire mesh that formed the pupils of the costume. I looked, and could clearly see the wire frame, the sheer fabric behind them, and a hint of the person inside.
"You can clearly see I've got eyeholes, right? If you can't see 'em, call it in. That's all you need to know."
"What?" I spluttered. What did that even mean? Was this place crazy? Before I could say anything else, Grumpy clapped his hands in front of my face.
"Focus, asswipe! You're gonna burn my bagel!"
I didn't. I managed to save it and pack it for him, but even though I wanted to talk to him more, Grumpy just took the bag and left, waving at small kids as he went. I couldn't think of anything else as I walked out back and lit up. None of it made any sense, and yet here we are. While it sounded scary, I hoped to be one of those that saw what happened. At least I'd know.
Post - Dinner edit:
The end of the day arrived with nothing else more interesting other than me explaining to the senior employee what a spear tackle was as we packed everything up for the day. Once that was done, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed to the car park, where I'd promised to meet Karl to smoke a joint and then leave for home.
As I walked past the immense space that was normally the Thunder Cart queue, I realised how empty the park seemed after the guests had all gone home. After the fireworks, the last minute merch buying, hell even the last few kids were dragged kicking and screaming away from Ola Island, everything was just too quiet and too different. The spaces were bigger than it seemed they needed to be. The doorways were wider, but since the park only operated in the day, the lights seemed completely inadequate, despite the fact that I could still see as well as I could in the day. Hell I even saw Grumpy again, walking past with yet another paper bag in his hands. That bear sure could put 'em away, I thought.
I was about five minutes away from the main entrance, which meant that I was walking down Ola Town Main Street, when I saw Grumpy Bear again.
I jumped a bit. First if all, I was alone in a big section of a huge theme park, and as I mentioned, it wasn't as well lit as you'd think. Second, I thought I'd passed Grumpy already, which leads me to the third; I was immediately reminded of rule Seventeen Point Five.
*There is only ever one of each mascot inside the park.*
Continuation available in next post! But no resolution yet. | "Explain to me why I have to wear this insufferable costume again?" I groaned to my friend.
Chris who stood next to me, also in a ridiculous costume laughed. "Oh come on Nicole. It's not *that* bad."
"But why do I have to be a giant caterpillar? Why couldn't I have been something else?"
"Sorry Nicole, but you're new. You don't get to choose," Chris answered. "You'll get use to it and no else is complaining besides you."
"Hey. They have *limbs!* I'm stuck in this stupidly elaborate caterpillar costume which has no *armholes*. I'm already sweating like a fountain and - Ugh. I can't wait to get out of this shit."
"Careful Nicole. There are kids around," Chris warned.
I looked around me. There were dozens of other employees also wearing a mascot and we were scattered across the amusement park like sprinkles on a donut. Yeah. Everyone had to wear a ridiculous costume. It's what this amusement park was known for.
"Uh huh. There are kids alright. A *shit* ton of 'em too. But they all seem to be swarming that ugly fucker over there," I said as I lifted my arm to point, then remembered that it was simply not possible to do such a thing while in a caterpillar suit.
But Chris was already looking in the right direction. Not too far away was a giant chocolate-colored rectangular prism with black round eyes and a gaping mouth of perfect triangular teeth.
"Yeah... That's Domo-kun," Chris said slowly. "He's really popular with the kids."
I frowned as I looked at Chris. He sounded... envious.
"I don't get it," I said. "If that domo-kun is so popular... why doesn't everyone just be Domo-kun? Why do I have to be this stupid caterpillar huh?"
Chris turned to look at me with round black eyes that belonged to his mascot. "Nicole. Didn't you read the Three Laws of the Great Mascot Amusement Park?"
"Um. Actually I did. But it didn't make any sense..."
"There's only ever one of each mascot inside the park," Chris recited. "And remember to-"
Suddenly, kids began screaming and it wasn't the *excited* kind of screaming, it was the *run-for-your-fucking-life* kind of screaming. Kids were running everywhere. Some of them ran towards me and Chris.
Then I realized it. The kids were running away from Domo-kun. I managed a glimpse through the crowd and saw Domo-kun. Then I saw the feet dangling out of his obnoxious maw. Domo-kun was gobbling up kids.
I turned to Chris. "D-did you see that?!"
"See what?" Chris asked as he waved frantically at the kids.
"Dude! A kid just-"
Then I saw Chris out of the corner of my eye. Uncostumed and running towards me.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I shouted at the costumed individual next to me.
The mascot next to me, which was essentially a giant yellow smiley face began speaking. "Why, I am Smiley man and you are Caterpillar girl!" he replied.
I froze, at a loss for words.
"Now don't forget to wave at the kids Nicole," Smiley man said, then - impossibly, winked at me with its perfectly circular eye.
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/r/em_pathy
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[WP] You have recently acquired a really awesome superpower, but you keep it to yourself because you don’t want people you know to ask how you got it. Telling them how you got it won’t necessarily put them in danger or anything - it’s just a really embarrassing story. | *LEVITATOR: DO NOT TOUCH*
Okay, sure. You were supposed to take an object and put it inside this vacuum tube with a pair of tongs. It would get sucked up God knew where and you would be able to see it levitate on the little screen above the tube about the size of a postcard. Cool little science experiment.
I did what any young man left alone with such a machine would do. I stuck my dick in it.
How was I suppose to know it would give me levitation powers... | "So. When did it start?" The girl and her father sat in a dining room, lacquered table displaying it's years of service proudly. An old chandelier; its crystal clouded with centuries provided dim illumination that was sucked into the endless night of the open windows.
"Well, dad, I'd rather not go into it." A raised eyebrow, an unspoken indictment. "It *was* a rather, oh shall I say, *traumatic*, experience for me!" It lowered.
"Laurel, if this in involves other people in any way, you need to tell me. I just want to make sure you're not hurt."
"Or so you could hurt someone who did!"
A weary sigh, a clever smile. "That was the intent, my little pup." A loud beep from the microwave - the eternal vigil of the clock. The two ate their plates of reheated wontons in silence, pausing for a drink of iced tea. The same time, the same food, the same happiness.
"Laurel - I watched what you did today. I have to say, that was very impressive for someone your age. Just know your limits." She sat sullen, psychic bruises unhealed and spasms barely in check. "Look at me, honey. I said, look at me."
"Dad, I'm sorry." A single unbidden tear struggled for freedom; an emotional rebellion swiftly crushed.
"For what?"
"For the chaos, the damage, the... liaisons with Grant and his friends." She suppressed another revolt of feeling. "I... I didn't know it would turn out like this." The father rose, and surrounded her in his arms. Infinite seconds of silence, broken instantly.
"I know, pup, I know. Now tell me, how *does* radioactive waste, the seed of three men and a dog, and one unlucky psychic explosion give you canine mind control?"
"**DAAAAAAD!**"
---
>Several hours later
I sat in meditation, mind grasping for the strings of reality. But not too hard - one must not disturb the Spider. A clarion call, cast out from across space and time. A hunting horn, sounded for another excursion to rescue the damned. I ignored it; my mind was looking for a bigger prize. At last, I had found it.
Time/Space itself was gone, and only It remained. It shuddered in slumber, sending sycophants and daemons alike to flight. I merely recorded the mad angles and insane sounds, then set to work applying them to my material plane.
---
The Void Dragon stirred. Power was moving. The hearts of mortals quivered as It rose to conquer.
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Questions, comments, concerns? Spelling or grammatical errors? Comment Below! | |
[WP] You have recently acquired a really awesome superpower, but you keep it to yourself because you don’t want people you know to ask how you got it. Telling them how you got it won’t necessarily put them in danger or anything - it’s just a really embarrassing story. | *LEVITATOR: DO NOT TOUCH*
Okay, sure. You were supposed to take an object and put it inside this vacuum tube with a pair of tongs. It would get sucked up God knew where and you would be able to see it levitate on the little screen above the tube about the size of a postcard. Cool little science experiment.
I did what any young man left alone with such a machine would do. I stuck my dick in it.
How was I suppose to know it would give me levitation powers... | Dear Diary,
Today I've discovered something very strange. It started when I woke up and could smell where my family members were. Mom was in the kitchen, I could smell the bacon and eggs cooking but there was something else. Dad was just outside my window, pulling weeds I believe. Jill, my sister, was in the bathroom. I just dismissed it with the obvious explanation.
So, I threw some clothes on and went to go for a run, the moment I went o it the door the sky opened up and ruined that plan. It was no matter though, Dad was already in the garage so I just scurried over there to use the treadmill. I can usually sprint at a pretty good clip, but today I was super focused. The treadmill is supposed to keep track of how you do, but today it errored out my speed.
I got back inside and cleaned up and sat down with everyone else for breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast and English muffins, and the sausage links I always eat too many of. It was the best meal I'd ever eaten, but why was everyone staring at me? I realized I had just been shoving everything in my face, my cheeks just kept expanding and expanding to allow more food.
My parents demanded to know what the he'll was going on. I was reminded of a scene in Spider-Man. I thought to myself, "There is no fucking way!"
I ran to my room to call Brandon. He answered on the first ring, he always does for me. Before he had a chance to say anything, I shouted into the phone.
"Bran, where did you get that gerbil from?"
"He came from the pet store near here, why?"
"Because we really need to talk, you still have him, right?"
I could here Brandon laughing, "So you really liked it that much, huh?"
"No Bran... well, yes, but that isn't the point. I think he bit me and now things are weird."
I suddenly realized my father was standing right behind me, probably the whole time...
"Brandon, I'm going to let you go. I'll talk to you later." As I hung up the phone.
So mom, Dad... You have probably noticed ive been behaving a little strange lately. Well, it's because, I'm gay... | |
[WP] Much like the ocean tides, society has had to adapt to the daily occurrence where gravity sling shots everyone and everything not strapped down, hundreds of feet in the air. | "Hon, you're going to miss the Jump at this rate!" my wife called out from the kitchen. I sighed as I tied the laces on my left shoe and stepped out of the bedroom. "You don't want to be late for work... again..."
"Right, right," I muttered, still fighting the last vestiges of sleep as I eyed the coffee on the table. No time, I decided, making a beeline for the refrigerator to grab a can of ginger seltzer. As I tucked it into my bag, I turned back towards my wife and wiggled an eyebrow, leaning in for a kiss.
She giggled and put a finger in front of my lips. "Maybe later," she said, giving me a gentle nudge against the small of my back. "Get going. Any later and you'll risk Falling."
"I'd fall for you any day of the week," I teased. At her groan and roll of her eyes, I gave her a little wave and stepped out the door.
As soon as I passed out of the range of the Normalizer, I felt the familiar lurch in my stomach. Right on time, I grumbled as I stepped towards the designated spot. My neighbor was a few feet away, giving me a polite nod as we both stood in position. I felt the gravitic shift at the base of my skull. Three... two... one...
and Jump.
I crouched down and pushed up with all of my might, hurtling through the air towards the large, floating building two miles up.
Of course the new office had to be in Jump Space. *Maximum visibility and ease of commute*, they said. My ass; we all knew they couldn't afford to put up a new building on terra firma. The bitterness I felt didn't help my stomach any, and I felt a little bit of bile rising up. It certainly wouldn't do to have another incident mid Jump, so I cast my mind elsewhere, one eye on the office building looming closer and closer with each passing minute.
Perhaps the missus would be interested in a "Jump" of our own, later tonight. A devilish grin crossed my face as I replaced the sound of rushing wind in my ears with the sound of her voice.
Pretty soon the building was within reach. I grabbed onto one of the handrails as I passed within range of the building's own Normalizing field. My stomach turned again as it returned to normal gravity. I reached for the can of seltzer and cracked it open.
"Late again," the receptionist joked as I stepped through the door. I shrugged as I made my way upstairs to my desk. After taking a few pills to try to ease my stomach, I settled in for another shift. | Luckily, the first gravitational reversal tidal wave (GRTW) occurred in Midwest American during night time. For the vast majority of people, they had found themselves jolted awake by the terrible sensation of falling up onto their ceilings. Most suffered minor fractures, bruises, or concussion but nothing too serious.
Everyone who was still on the road at 2:32 AM had died from a sudden 5 kilometer drop, but it could have definitely been much worse. In Montana, much of the farming equipment did not survive their falls. Luckily, most of the animals were in barns and survived the sudden shift in gravity. A horse and a few cows had to be put down from broken bones per barn though.
Eyewitness reports of those alert and conscious enough to assess the situation said that they first heard whining from their pets and kids. Then, they claimed to have heard disturbingly low 'rustling of the wind.' It was the sound of their cars returning to Earth, at which point they exploded like meteors falling on to Earth. The US meteorological experts suspected an earthquake that coincided with a very big meteor shower. When pictures of cratered vehicles flooded social media, they readjusted their theories. | |
[WP] A superhuman born with a power that is seen as morbid or horrific, (decay, corpse raising, etc.) tries to push past the prejudice heroes and civilians alike have against his/her natural ability, and do some good in the world. | She turns people into flies, not normal flies, but giant Jeff Goldblum melted flesh flies. Captain Valiant shuddered and then shook his head at the judges. "So that is your super power?"
The girl looked up at him and nodded.
"Uhh, can you demonstrate it?" He asked as she nodded again to him. "Can you turn someone back to normal after doing that?" The girl looked crestfallen and stared at her feet.
"We can't let you join unless you have some proof of your power and we aren't going to just let you turn a random person into a monstrosity." Captain Valiant said with relief in his voice. Now he could move on to the next candidate.
"We do have news footage." Doctor Professor piped up from the judging booth.
"Nope. Not admissible. Aint going to watch that." Captain Valiant glared at Doctor Professor. "Nope. Nada. Not happening."
"I do have other powers." The girl piped up.
"Let's review those so called powers shall we. Let's see here, you can also summon some kind of demon that stabs sinners in their hearts with some kind of blackish barbed tongue. Oh wait, the whole entire demon is just a giant blackish barbed and detached tongue. We don't kill bad guys as members of Heroes Of Planet Earth. Notice that the acronym of that spells HOPE?" Captain Valiant spat his words out at her.
"Mr. Ballistic kills bad guys all the time and he's one of the judges." She squeaked out as Mr. Ballistic waved at her.
"Fine. Next power you have listed is that you can open a portal to hell which pulls people into it. Can you get them back out?"
She nodded.
"Alive?"
"Some... sometimes." She murmured as she stared again at her feet.
"You can also summon demonic spirits to possess people and to haunt buildings. Can you control them?"
"Uhhh... no." Tears poured from her eyes.
Captain Valiant didn't want her to turn on the waterworks. That was unfair. "Okay the last power you have listed is that you are very hard to hurt. Look we can let you take our obstacle courses and our evaluation tests. But I don't see how your powers will be useful in those. But I guess you get a shot. You're not allowed to turn people into flies, have your demon tongue thingy kill them, you can't have demonic entities possess them and you can't suck them into Hell."
She nodded and she failed the physical obstacle courses, and the social one where she had to negotiate for hostages. She succeeded at the social one where she had to intimidate actors set up to be criminals though, but she failed at talking down a jumper. She failed at the mental based ones where she had to figure out the "bad guys' clues" and the ones where she had to make snap decisions. She definitely failed at the morality tests - after all what did they expect from the offspring of Beelzebub and a human cultist?
H.O.P.E. rejected her. Everyone on TV had seen her failure and everyone was either afraid of her or disgusted by her or both. She would show them. Angela would protect her own city through fear. She swore it with blood and had it witnessed by all the unholy she could gather around her.
Detroit was still called Hell, but now there was a new slogan to the city "Abandon all hope for H.O.P.E, he who enters here." The other heroes left her town alone. Her hell portals so far has taken two armed bank robbers and a suicide bomber straight to hell. Her pet demon tongue has killed over two dozen criminals. Most crime was down in her city. Occult murders were on the rise though, idiots in robes always tried to appease her as if that would grant them favor with her father. | "Maybe you should start by explaining who you are."
The man in the tacky rubber costume fidgeted in his seat. "Well," he started. "I am Corpse Guy. I was blessed by a ancient mayan spell so that now I have the ability to summon and fire dead human corpses as weapons. The corpses are mostly only useful for blunt force trauma, obviously, but there's a certain psychological effect as well which might startle the criminal enough to be subdued normally."
"I see." The investigator clicked his pen. "And you use this power to, as you say it, fight crime?"
"Yes. That is correct." Corpse Guy confirmed.
"And you aren't worried about," the investigator took a moment to collect his words. "The potential for collateral damage? Perhaps psychologically scarring somebody who just happened to be walking by, as is the case with Mr. Dombrowski?"
"Well," Corpse Guy placed his hands on the table. "Obviously, you know, there's always that risk. I mean I obviously would have prefered, like, stun rays or something. But I mean, I was given this particular ability, you know? I mean-"
The investigator held up his hand. "But you feel it is your duty to use your gift, as it were?"
Corpse Guy let out a nervous sigh. "Yes. Ultimately, that is true."
"Okay," the investigator said. He collected some papers on the desk into his hands and straightened them. "You never considered the possibility that you could just rein it in? I mean, you don't see professional athletes going out on the streets performing *vigilante* justice, due to some 'gift' of strength."
Corpse Guy sat up in his chair with an aura of frustration. "Sure but you see cops doing that, right? I mean come on that is not even a remotely fair analogy. Athletes trained to become athletes, cops trained to become cops! I trained-" he cleared his throat. "I was given this gift so that I could be a *superhero*."
"Yes," the investigator started. "Lets talk about that. Lets talk about your 'superpowers,' so to speak. Do we know, exactly, how these powers of yours work?"
"Yes. I hold up my hands, like this-"
The investigator grinned. "That's not exactly what I meant. Where do these bodies come from, Corpse Guy."
Corpse Guy hesitated. "Well, I'll admit, I'm not exactly sure. I think from nowhere, actually. I think I create them."
"So they just materialize from thin air? There was never any real person to match the bodies."
"Yes," Corpse Guy started up. "And you you check the reports, too, there was never *any* incident where the police could identify any of my corpses with a real person. Never."
"There must be other ways to help the world with this power of yours, Corpse Guy. Perhaps you could donate the bodies to science, or for medicinal purposes? Surely you must understand how morbid this all appears to the general public?"
"I don't *want* to be a guinea pig, detective. I *need* to be a superhero! It's what I was born to do, surely you understand me right? I mean could you imagine doing anything different from what *you* do?"
"I could take up painting, yes."
"Ah, baloney! If you could do something different you shouldn't be doing what you do, pardon my saying so."
"No offense taken," the detective said.
"I can't just let myself go get some office job as if everything about me is normal, you know? I mean I've got God damned super powers!" The detective gave a bemused look. "Alright, I mean, they're *weird* super powers, I'll admit. I don't think anybody's denying that. But, I mean they're super powers no matter what, you know? And I can't just let myself ignore that. There's no way."
The detective thought for a moment. "Alright," he finally said, and started getting up from his chair. He placed the papers back onto the desk before facing Corpse Guy again. "I will be seeing you again, later," he said, drumming his pointer finger against the paper on the desk. "It's very important."
As he left the room, Corpse guy glanced down at the paper. There was a phone number written in pen on the paper, below which was a direct message.
'*There are more like you. Call me.*' | |
[WP] A retired pirate captain is working his job aboard a cruise ship when the call for adventure hits him one last time | “I know your name,” the passenger said.
“Captain Ellis,” I said. “Nice to meet you. And what’s yours?”
“No,” he said. “Your other name. The name you had before you ran this ship.”
“I have always been Gerald Ellis,” I said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let’s not play games,” the passenger said. “I know your pirate name. I know who you were. I know you retired, but I need your help. You’re the only one who could do it.”
The passenger looked at me sternly. He wore a brightly-bedecked costume like all the passengers on my ship but he didn’t look comfortable in it. He looked like he might have been someone from my old world.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I repeated. “And if I did I would have no interest in what you need.”
“I could offer you money.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Anonymity then. The cruise line need not know who you were.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s still a plea. I don’t want to make it a threat. This is something I truly need.”
I considered him more and stared at me unblinking.
“Perhaps there’s somewhere we can talk?” the tourist said.
I said, “Follow me,” and started walking without looking back. He followed. I had to hold the door when we got to the crew section to let him in. In the passageways tourists seldom saw I got several curious glances from my crew. The look I shot back told them to keep their curiosity to themselves.
In my private cabin I sat down but didn’t invite my tourist friend to. He remained standing.
“Now,” I said. “What in the hell do you want?”
“The latest Avengers movie,” he said. “I can’t torrent it on the ship. Your internet sucks.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Do you have a thumb drive?” | “Our next port of call will be Kingston,” the captain said over the loudspeaker. “So sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip. Let us take care of you.”
The steersman waited patiently until the captain put down the speaker. “Take us out, Ritter.”
“Aye aye.” Ritter reached a sun soaked, tattooed arm and set the massive ship in motion. There were so many dials before him, so much of it automated. There were no sails, no wheel, no wind whipping through his hair.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed, watching through his one good eye as the cruise ship pulled out beyond the harbor, into the open sea. It had been the right decision, he told himself, the safe decision. He had given up the game while he was still ahead, turned to a normal life, and he had never been more bored.
“Everything alright, Ritter?” the captain asked.
“Just thinking, sir.” Thinking about how he had never had to call anyone sir, how he had been his own man, his own ship’s captain. About how he used to prey on men like this, on ships like this, raid them and take their treasures.
“Looks like you’ve got us on the right course,” the captain said. “I have some charts to consult. If you need anything, give me a ring.”
“Will do,” Ritter said. The captain turned away and disappeared from the bridge.
Ritter was alone, the first ship out of port. He prefered these shifts, watching as the land fell away as it did now, a reminder of the vastness of the sea and the helplessness that existed out here. The kind of place where honest people were preyed on. He should know, he had done plenty of it himself.
The immaculate blue waters of the gulf spread out before him as land vanished from sight. On the deck below, he could see the passengers, lounging by the pool, walking between activities, watching the sea pass beneath them just as he was. People who lived in the lap of luxury, aboard a ship without a care in the world.
A thought crossed his mind, like an itch. He pushed it away, and it faded for a moment, but it soon returned, nagging at him. He watched the people below, and it only grew stronger within him.
His hand was on the lockbox, where a pistol and rounds were kept, protection should pirates attempt to come aboard and take the bridge. He saw that he was there and drew it back.
“What am I doing?” he asked himself aloud. He was retired from that life, part of a new one. There was no ratty ship, no questionable weapons, no hideout in a hidden cove, no stolen goods. He was aboard a massive, expensive ship, dressed in a clean white uniform. Back on the mainland, he had a bank account, an apartment, a girlfriend.
Yet none of it was enough. He needed more.
He checked his phone. Still a signal, though a light one. He quickly chose the number and typed out the text. He sent it and waited.
The response came quicker than he had expected. He managed a quick exchange before losing the signal completely, but he had communicated what he needed.
It was some time before the smaller boats appeared on the starboard side, approaching with the setting sun. Ritter offered up a slight smile. He pressed his thumb to the sensor on the lockbox and it popped open. He pressed a button, and a page went to the captain’s quarters. Now, he only had to wait.
The captain appeared a moment later. “What is it, Ritter?” He trailed off at the steersman’s name, his eyes focused on the gun pointed right at him. “Explain yourself, Ritter.”
“This bridge is now under my command,” Ritter said. He motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat. Cooperate and this will be over soon.”
The captain obeyed. “What is this about?”
“A bit of fun, to be honest,” Ritter said as he tied the captain to the chair. The knots came back to him like second nature, his fingers twisting the rope until it was secure, the captain tied in place. “This job has been steady, but it’s just so boring.”
“So you’re hijacking the ship?”
“No,” Ritter said. “Just making a bit of money.” From below, he could hear the first sounds of unrest. The men were boarding the ship.
“I’ll make sure to send someone to untie you when we’re gone.” He paused. “If not, the next shift will be along soon enough.”
“You’re going to get caught, you know.”
Ritter paused at the door and looked back. “Maybe so, but it’ll be better than dying from boredom.”
He left the captain there on the bridge and made his way to join his old crew.
\---
If you enjoy this, check out more at /r/drewmontgomery | |
[WP] Humans are no longer the apex predators on Earth. You are in your home watching TV when a CNN 'real' news alert comes on warning everyone to seek concealed shelter immediately before waiting for further instruction. "Whatever you do," Sheryl, the news anchor, says intently, "DO NOT go outside." | Dave's hands were shaking on the camera. He pressed his lips together as tightly as he could, knowing he'd get in massive trouble if he said anything. Still, he did his best to convey *just* how bad of an idea this was through his terrified eyes.
Sheryl ignored him. Or maybe she couldn't see him around the behemoth camera. Anyway, she flashed her trademark toothy grin at the camera he was holding, and all the invisible people contained inside it, and announced brightly, "Good morning, America! This is your friendly news anchor, Sheryl Holland, reporting live from the nanomachine hive that recently destroyed New York. Things are getting pretty sticky out here! I'd advise you to all stay inside. If you're not inside, get inside. Whatever you do, DO NOT go outside."
Before he could stop himself, Dave muttered, "Unless you're an idiot who works for a goddamn talk show and doesn't know how NOT to get eaten alive by nanomachines..."
Sheryl's bubbly, friendly eyes instantly turned to hellish fire as she glared Dave down. She didn't say a word, and within a second she was back in friendly-neighborhood-blonde mode, but it was enough to make Dave gulp. This was the fifth time he hadn't been able to control his fat mouth while live. He was fired for sure.
Sheryl continued chattering away at the camera, listing casualty statistics and sensationalized military responses without dropping her enormous, vacant smile. Dave held the camera level and let his eyes wander to the massive, gleaming metallic structure, made up of countless steel joints, which had stopped on a hill - for a rest, maybe? A Dunkin' Donuts coffee? What did evil world-conquering bots do on their lunch break? - after flying thousands of miles away from the gathered military in the ruins of NYC. The vast, buzzing mass of nanomachines inside it were inscrutable. What were they thinking? What did they see?
A single fly-sized piece of unornamented metal (probably made up of tens of thousands of individual nanobots) looped lazily through the air, as if enjoying the feeling of flight, and encountered Sheryl's bare shoulder, uncovered by the sausage dress the network made her wear. It crawled, on unseen legs, trying to understand what it had landed on. Darryl's eyes were focused on it, terror filling his eyes at the sight of the thing. He needed to warn her.
Dave opened his mouth, meeting Sheryl's eyes - and was met with the fiercest glare he'd ever seen from her. There were no words, and the viewers at home probably didn't even notice, but the message was clear: *open your mouth one more time, and don't expect to come back to work in the morning.*
Dave looked from her heavily made-up face (which was once again beaming vapidly) to the tiny, deadly, gleaming killing machine rapidly crawling towards her jugular. "Yeah, fuck this shit, I'm out," he said aloud.
Sheryl's eyes boggled. *Not only had he* *spoken - out loud - but he had just sworn on live TV!* She opened her mouth, having finally snapped, to cuss him out.
Dave was already gone. Behind him as he ran, pumping his legs as fast as he could, still toting his precious camera, he could hear her bloodcurdling screams as the nanomachines tore her to pieces. As he ran, he muttered aloud to the camera, "And that, kids at home, is why you practice what you preach." | "I'll be damned if am I going to listen to CNN, let alone _Sheryl_ from CNN, about when I should and shouldn't go outside," Ron shouted to his wife.
"And I will not have you endangering our children just so you can prove a point. You've done everything for them as a precaution, but when you're faced with potentially having to take advice from a source you don't like, you're more than willing to let your fragile ego cloud your judgement!" Lana scolded Ron as she poked his chest.
"Yeah Dad," Alice muttered as she filled a glass with water. "Just because it's CNN doesn't _necessarily_ mean it's wrong. I bet the brown-nosed FOX channel would probably tell you the same thing." She paused for a moment before snidely adding "well, unless Trump told them to not tell people. Which would be really stupid on his part, because he'd lose most of his support".
"You. Room. Now. I'll speak to you after I've proven you and your mother wrong," Ron deadpanned, before turning to cupboard and opening it. He cradled the shotgun inside for a moment before loading it. "See? Even if you happen to be right, daddy's got a shotgun to protect him. Now, I _will_ be going down to the butcher's, and I _will_ be getting us an actual dinner, not your vegan crap Alice."
"Vegetarian, Dad," Alice piped up before sighing as Ron slammed the front door behind him.
Ron trodded down the path towards the carport, mumbling to himself. He knew he was right; why wouldn't he be right?
Lana inhaled quietly in mild confusion. "Has that boulder always been there? I swear that's never been there before". After a few more moments of distant surveillance, Lana hurriedly called Ron's mobile.
The high-pitched chiming of Ron's phone caught the attention of a tortoise that had been previously misidentified as a rock. It seemed similar to any other large tortoise from a distance, if more muscular than others. The tortoise turned to the source of the sound before snarling and following the human, long fork-like claws emerging from its feet.
"What do you want?" Ron turned back towards the house, irritation evident in his voice. "Can't you see I'm perfectly fi--ack--" He gasped for air as a thick, snake-like grip surrounded his chest. Ron's eyes met with the face of the tortoise as its neck coiled around his torso, a murderous glint in its eyes.
Before anyone could react, a sickening crunch echoed through the yard. Lana fell to the floor and sobbed, unable to bring herself to see the life fade from Ron's eyes. Even Alice turned away after the sound, a mortified expression reflecting the haunting event she'd just witnessed.
The sound of a toilet flushing and a door opening brought the attention back inside. "Hey, mom and dad? Dustin just asked me to go to the movies with him once this lockdown event is over, I was just wondering if..." Mitchell paused before rushing over to his mother and sister. "Mom? Alice? Are you guys okay? Where's dad?"
Faces white and mouths slightly agape, the two silently pointed to the window. Mitchell peered out of the glass, only to view a large tortoise licking a stream of red gunk on their driveway. "Is that the thing the new guy on NBC was warning everyone about?" Mitchell mused, the full reality of the situation not yet dawned upon him. | |
[WP] Humans are no longer the apex predators on Earth. You are in your home watching TV when a CNN 'real' news alert comes on warning everyone to seek concealed shelter immediately before waiting for further instruction. "Whatever you do," Sheryl, the news anchor, says intently, "DO NOT go outside." | I glared intently at the screen, thinking. Suddenly I realized what had just been said and massive panic settled in. There was no time to think! I fell off the couch, the empty can of Pringles under me crunching in pain. I got up instantly and ran across the carpet, made a straight line through the hallway with my eyes, and I blasted across the room. Suddenly the carpet changed to floor, and my favorite Spider-Man socks lost their grip as my head found the ground before my hands did.
I immediately brought my hands to my head, trying to will away the pain and bring the world back into focus. I got up as quickly as possible as the pain from my skull seemed to leak into my jaws and eyes.
Then I saw it. It wasn’t anything horrifying or wretched, but it was weird enough to set off alarms in my brain, not that many were still working. Sheryl was still there, staring blankly at the camera, through the TV, and at my now empty couch. I blinked, rubbing my eyes. It had been a hard hit to my head and I could be seeing things. I looked again, and the image in my TV was still the same. Was it stuck? No, her breathing was obvious, but... irregular. It seemed off. Everything seemed off.
I took a look through the windows, the trees’ leaves moved in unison in response to the day’s soft, spring breeze, their green shining brightly in the sun. A solo cloud partially blocked the light, creating a bit of shade on a bird as it sang its song. The only thing that was weird was the barking. So much barking. Why?
Then it hit me. Of course, it all made sense now. How else would you take over a planet populated with an entire species? I looked back at my TV. The squirrelly blackness in Sheryl’s eyes was staring back at me. I knew what I had to do. I walked defiantly towards my door, gaining confidence with each step I took. I grabbed my old, tattered katana from beside the dirty, white door.
It may be a long time since I last did, but there was no way I was going down without a fight. Especially not against this.
Imagine you’re a species without the resources to create lethal weapons. Obviously you wouldn’t have the resources for space travel either. No, this wasn’t aliens... it was worse. It was something very intelligent, and capable of creating nano-tech to control people like Sheryl. Capable of having a technologically advanced civilization. Capable of concealing itself in plain sight.
I knew it. I’d known it all along. They could subdue, hide, and infiltrate. They couldn’t kill, but they could rule anyways. And what easier way to take over than having the target species all hidden in their homes, safe with their pets, and off of the streets?
I swung my door open, the breeze tickling my legs through my watermelon-patterned pajamas as I looked down the street. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, and the barking intensified.
I knew it. I knew it’d be those freaking squirrels.
EDIT: Tense consistency | "I'll be damned if am I going to listen to CNN, let alone _Sheryl_ from CNN, about when I should and shouldn't go outside," Ron shouted to his wife.
"And I will not have you endangering our children just so you can prove a point. You've done everything for them as a precaution, but when you're faced with potentially having to take advice from a source you don't like, you're more than willing to let your fragile ego cloud your judgement!" Lana scolded Ron as she poked his chest.
"Yeah Dad," Alice muttered as she filled a glass with water. "Just because it's CNN doesn't _necessarily_ mean it's wrong. I bet the brown-nosed FOX channel would probably tell you the same thing." She paused for a moment before snidely adding "well, unless Trump told them to not tell people. Which would be really stupid on his part, because he'd lose most of his support".
"You. Room. Now. I'll speak to you after I've proven you and your mother wrong," Ron deadpanned, before turning to cupboard and opening it. He cradled the shotgun inside for a moment before loading it. "See? Even if you happen to be right, daddy's got a shotgun to protect him. Now, I _will_ be going down to the butcher's, and I _will_ be getting us an actual dinner, not your vegan crap Alice."
"Vegetarian, Dad," Alice piped up before sighing as Ron slammed the front door behind him.
Ron trodded down the path towards the carport, mumbling to himself. He knew he was right; why wouldn't he be right?
Lana inhaled quietly in mild confusion. "Has that boulder always been there? I swear that's never been there before". After a few more moments of distant surveillance, Lana hurriedly called Ron's mobile.
The high-pitched chiming of Ron's phone caught the attention of a tortoise that had been previously misidentified as a rock. It seemed similar to any other large tortoise from a distance, if more muscular than others. The tortoise turned to the source of the sound before snarling and following the human, long fork-like claws emerging from its feet.
"What do you want?" Ron turned back towards the house, irritation evident in his voice. "Can't you see I'm perfectly fi--ack--" He gasped for air as a thick, snake-like grip surrounded his chest. Ron's eyes met with the face of the tortoise as its neck coiled around his torso, a murderous glint in its eyes.
Before anyone could react, a sickening crunch echoed through the yard. Lana fell to the floor and sobbed, unable to bring herself to see the life fade from Ron's eyes. Even Alice turned away after the sound, a mortified expression reflecting the haunting event she'd just witnessed.
The sound of a toilet flushing and a door opening brought the attention back inside. "Hey, mom and dad? Dustin just asked me to go to the movies with him once this lockdown event is over, I was just wondering if..." Mitchell paused before rushing over to his mother and sister. "Mom? Alice? Are you guys okay? Where's dad?"
Faces white and mouths slightly agape, the two silently pointed to the window. Mitchell peered out of the glass, only to view a large tortoise licking a stream of red gunk on their driveway. "Is that the thing the new guy on NBC was warning everyone about?" Mitchell mused, the full reality of the situation not yet dawned upon him. | |
[WP] Humans are no longer the apex predators on Earth. You are in your home watching TV when a CNN 'real' news alert comes on warning everyone to seek concealed shelter immediately before waiting for further instruction. "Whatever you do," Sheryl, the news anchor, says intently, "DO NOT go outside." | "Do NOT go outside."
The T.V cut to ads. My eyes cut to the curtains. I had never been good at not expressing my freedom over something someone said I couldn't do. My feet began to itch. I curled my fingers in and out nervously. My head became hot. The words echoed in my head.
"Do NOT.. Do NOT.."
How bad could it be? I could just look out the window. She didn't say "Do NOT look out of the window", that was for sure. So I stood and tramped toward the window that shone its dull blue grey of boring weather and peered outside.
"ARGH!" I shouted, and then chuckled. "Got you, imaginary viewers! Heh heh heh."
Outside was.. just the same. A bright yellow half-van, a dirty old blue normal car with a normal brand name, and houses. The houses were still normal too. It was probably a hoax. Or a coup. There'll probably be another broadcast soon telling everyone everything was fine, just like always. I huffed to myself in arrogant superiority. They couldn't fool me.
Without hesitating I strode three paces to the door and turned the handle, opening it. A weak gust of fresh air hit my face and I stood there, waiting for the catastrophe to become apparent. I peered up and down the street; no horsemen. I looked up; no spaceship. My doubt of the mainstream media increased beyond normal levels. I stepped outside and took a breath.
Nothing. Everything normal. I frowned in disappointment and shook my head.
"Typical." I sighed. "They can't even get the apocalypse right."
And then it hit me.
And it was far, far worse than the apocalypse.
The end was coming. Not just for me, but for everything. Furthermore, I had not even existed before the news reporter said "Do NOT go outside."!
I screamed and tore at my face and hair in existential hysteria as the universe darkened.
*End* | "I'll be damned if am I going to listen to CNN, let alone _Sheryl_ from CNN, about when I should and shouldn't go outside," Ron shouted to his wife.
"And I will not have you endangering our children just so you can prove a point. You've done everything for them as a precaution, but when you're faced with potentially having to take advice from a source you don't like, you're more than willing to let your fragile ego cloud your judgement!" Lana scolded Ron as she poked his chest.
"Yeah Dad," Alice muttered as she filled a glass with water. "Just because it's CNN doesn't _necessarily_ mean it's wrong. I bet the brown-nosed FOX channel would probably tell you the same thing." She paused for a moment before snidely adding "well, unless Trump told them to not tell people. Which would be really stupid on his part, because he'd lose most of his support".
"You. Room. Now. I'll speak to you after I've proven you and your mother wrong," Ron deadpanned, before turning to cupboard and opening it. He cradled the shotgun inside for a moment before loading it. "See? Even if you happen to be right, daddy's got a shotgun to protect him. Now, I _will_ be going down to the butcher's, and I _will_ be getting us an actual dinner, not your vegan crap Alice."
"Vegetarian, Dad," Alice piped up before sighing as Ron slammed the front door behind him.
Ron trodded down the path towards the carport, mumbling to himself. He knew he was right; why wouldn't he be right?
Lana inhaled quietly in mild confusion. "Has that boulder always been there? I swear that's never been there before". After a few more moments of distant surveillance, Lana hurriedly called Ron's mobile.
The high-pitched chiming of Ron's phone caught the attention of a tortoise that had been previously misidentified as a rock. It seemed similar to any other large tortoise from a distance, if more muscular than others. The tortoise turned to the source of the sound before snarling and following the human, long fork-like claws emerging from its feet.
"What do you want?" Ron turned back towards the house, irritation evident in his voice. "Can't you see I'm perfectly fi--ack--" He gasped for air as a thick, snake-like grip surrounded his chest. Ron's eyes met with the face of the tortoise as its neck coiled around his torso, a murderous glint in its eyes.
Before anyone could react, a sickening crunch echoed through the yard. Lana fell to the floor and sobbed, unable to bring herself to see the life fade from Ron's eyes. Even Alice turned away after the sound, a mortified expression reflecting the haunting event she'd just witnessed.
The sound of a toilet flushing and a door opening brought the attention back inside. "Hey, mom and dad? Dustin just asked me to go to the movies with him once this lockdown event is over, I was just wondering if..." Mitchell paused before rushing over to his mother and sister. "Mom? Alice? Are you guys okay? Where's dad?"
Faces white and mouths slightly agape, the two silently pointed to the window. Mitchell peered out of the glass, only to view a large tortoise licking a stream of red gunk on their driveway. "Is that the thing the new guy on NBC was warning everyone about?" Mitchell mused, the full reality of the situation not yet dawned upon him. | |
[WP] With a sheer look of terror in his eyes he cried out, "WHA...WHAT ARE YOU!?" | "What are you, *thing*?!
I need to know:
Are you friend,
Are you foe?
Are you joy?
Are you woe?
If I blink,
Will you grow,
Grab my foot,
Bite my toe?
Please let me move.
Please let me go." | She was so small, maybe seven or eight years old. Her skin, kissed by moonlight, gave off an alabaster sheen. Long, straight hair, as dark as night, flowed halfway down her back. Her eyes were the true spectacle of her thin face though, a deep brown with a hint of wisdom beyond her years.
But what truly set the girl apart was not her tiny frame, nor her malnourished appearance. The fact that she was floating is what truly set people off. Not too high, just a foot or so off the ground. She still moved her arms and legs as though she were walking, but the typical gait of someone whose feet struck earth was absent, providing an eerie feel to her strut.
On this particular night, she was joined by the silvery sheen of four long blades floating at her side. Though she did not touch them, they moved with her hands as if commanded by some masterful conductor. All around her swirled an sinister sight: vampires. By the dozen. She had discovered their coven, and she would make them pay.
One lone vampire stood outside the rest, and called to her. The seductive tone of his voice was lost on the child, but he continued none-the-less. "Are you lost, sweet thing?" His toothy grin betrayed his hunger.
Her walking stopped, and she looked around curiously, appraising the vampires surrounding her. After what seemed an eternity, she simply shrugged, and responded with the voice of a child who has seen too much. "I don't think so. This is the place where I kill all the Vampires, right?"
The Vampire leader laughed obnoxiously, many of the other vampires joining in a cacophony of giggles. Her ability to float was a bit odd, but far from intimidating. He silently thanked the night for providing such a treat, then motioned his vampires to attack.
Twelve vampires sprung at once, claws outstretched and fangs bared. The girl twisted her wrists simultaneously, sending her katana into a spin. Each of the four blades pinned one vampire to another, straight through their chests. As the spray of their blood entered the cool night air, the girl turned to face the remaining four. "Infurare!" She shouted to them, causing their leaps to slow. Each of the four began to glow a bright red as the girl turned back to her blades, ordering them to withdraw and spin, popping eight heads off with the spin of four fingers. Their heads hit the ground as the bodies behind her turned to ash, floating away on the night breeze.
She than moved with unbelievable speed, coming face to face with the leader of the vampires, she was just inches away when he collapsed to his knees. He had lived for centuries, seen civilizations rise and fall, fought in wars and revelled in their blood shed-it mattered not, that was the single most violent and absolute display of power he had ever seen. Silent and hurried footsteps rushed through the woods as the remaining vampires left their leader to die. Each time the sound of a step made it to her ear she would flinch slightly and mumble under her breath. A blast of light, a scream of pain, and one less vampire in the world. She wasn't even looking for them.
The leader bowed to her, begging for mercy and offering his worship. "Anything you wish of me, anything!"
She turned her right hand upward, she pulled him into the air with her magic, pinning him to a nearby tree with four katanas. "You'll get no mercy from me, blood sucker."
With a sheer look of terror in his eyes he cried out, "WHA...WHAT ARE YOU!?"
She grinned calmly at the question. She twitched her wrist and started the magical flame inside him, but let it burn a little slower this time. A look of delight crossed her face before she answered his question simply. "Your doom." | |
[WP] After your death, you wake up in a office building. At a desk, a bureaucrat sees you and sighs. He tells you, "You failed to complete your mission again. I'm only sending you back one more time." | My eyes jolted open to a distorted bright fuzz that pierced at the back of my eyes. As I shut them and tried to take a breath, I start to register that familiar sound. It's a light beep like the default sine wave that comes from those old telephones. The familiar tone quickly starts to scratch at my ear drumb as I try and focus through the pain in my vision and attempt to get a bearing of my surroundings. Suddenly a rush of memories flooded over every part of my mind, my consciousness felt like it was being amped up, like I was being jam packed with not just emotion but feeling and purpose. A sense of euphoria quickly came over me, it tingled throughout my body. I felt the crisp cool air wrap itself around me like a blanket. Before a coherent idea of what I was experiencing could take hold I was staring at darkness.
Damn.
This blunt darkness is always the first moment you realize that you fucked up.
I hear a muffled voice beyond the black. As the voice comes closer I begin to see a dim glow start to fill the space around me. I need to try and get my head straight so I can go home and continue to work.
"My name is R and I'm a civilization engineer for the 727 Energy Production facility. I was sent in to try and correct my civilizations path and help them pass their current projected peak tech. point of turbine generated energy."
I continued to repeat this sentence as I waited for the now fully illuminated space to open itself. This was my third time in one of these chambers and I was really hoping it was going to be my last for a while. My job as a civilization engineer involves getting all too familiar with the stresses of being in one of these chambers and every time you get reuploaded it makes you regret thinking that playing "God" would be cool in University. A loud thud shook the chamber from the outside as the golden glow was lifted to a bright white light.
"You failed again. I'm not spending anymore time on your try out project". I look up to see my director and can tell he's not going to like what I have to say. "Tell me who you are and what you were doing?" he dictates with the tone of someone saying something they've been repeating for far too long.
"My name is R and I'm a civilization engineer for the 727 Energy Production facility. I was sent in to try and correct my civilizations path and help them pass their current projected peak tech. point of turbine generated energy." I repeated.
This is the worst part. Being sent in is not a cheap endeavor and while a civilization that achieves even just 0.6 potential can produce enough energy to pay for this entire enterprise on it's own, it's an incredible investment that often fails and since it's my first time to really take charge on a project, I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do.
"I'm just stuck on the greed paradox" I admitted begrudgingly. I felt like I was already making excuses, I know I can be better than this.
"It's not a paradox" the director said visibly frustrated.
"Yes it is. You have handcuffed me with only the most basic elements to work with so I can't create anything more complex. I can't get these carbon based life forms to evolve an appetite for technology without giving them a sense of greed and a desire to want more for themselves but then that greed stops them from ever hitting the unity point. If they don't hit the unity point they'll never get past 0.2 potential and right now they're not tracking very well." I explained. I have been team lead on direction for this civilization since I started here 5 years ago and since it's my first project, I'm working with a starters budget. In order to receive larger budgets I need to prove myself with a starter first.
"Listen, I'll give you a month and one more chance to correct this civilization. Get them working together and try to improve their outlook. If they can one day achieve 0.2 then they can achieve 0.6" the director reassured me, as if I was his protege. I could always tell I was his favorite.
"I don't know, I think I made it worse" I sighed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I went down there and tried to get them to see me as a higher power that could provide guidance. I tried to explain to them that they need to treat each other like they would want to be treated and that the collective good is stronger if they care about the well being of one another." I explained.
"That sounds like a solid plan, why do you think it didn't work?" he puzzled. He was using this as a teaching moment. I hate teaching moments.
"I think I made them reliant on an illusion now and they'll have a hard time ever out growing that illusion. I think the fact that I can't just go and explain to them who I am and show them what I need them to do and how to do it will lead them to fighting over the interpretation of what I wanted to show them." As the words left my mouth I could feel the dejection take over.
"This is why they always say to avoid direct contact" he snickered. "The worst part is, you're now at the mercy of their development until we can get you back in there, how much time will have past in that world by then?" he knew that question would bug me.
"A bit over 2000 years" I whimpered. "This is going to be a terrible review." | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/tv_productions] [\[WP\] After your death, you wake up in a office building. At a desk, a bureaucrat sees you and sighs. He tells you, "You failed to complete your mission again. I'm only sending you back one more time."](https://www.reddit.com/r/TV_Productions/comments/8uyi2z/wp_after_your_death_you_wake_up_in_a_office/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | |
[WP] You found yourself dead and overlooking your body in the hospital. Suddenly your body awakens and the doctor's explain you were in a coma, but you're not in your body anymore and your body is now acting with a new personality, leaving you tied to watch as this new being lives YOUR life. | "That is you, my child. I do not understand your confusion."
As I watched "my body" writhe around in agony on the dirt floor, I stared the angel in the face. I was pissed, and that was putting it lightly. Did she really expect my to believe this crap?
"I'm not fucking stupid, okay? What, is this some kind of test? I'm not going to attack you out of anger or anything, but seriously, where is my body?"
"It's right there, my child. I cannot provide you with anything else."
I stared at what she'd called me angrily. That wasn't me-- it didn't looking anything *like me*! I watched myself groan as I lay on the dirt floor of the barn, looking like I was in pain.
"Moooooo..."
"God fucking damnit, I'm not a cow!"
"You are a cow, I'm afraid. That is simply reality... but fret not. It is not your time yet. Return to sleep in peace..."
With a gentle push, she shoved my spirit back into myself, the sensation of thick black hooves and big floppy cow ears entering my consciousness in the brief moments before I fell back to sleep. I tried calling out to her, but all that came out was a long dumb moo. She politely laughed and smiled, giving me a gentle pat on the head as I tried to fight off sleep, but it was of little use. Cows like me don't have much willpower, I guess.
But... I'm not a cow, right? That question remained unanswered in the time before I drifted off, but I already knew the truth.
Moo. | It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, IT'S NOT ME!
My mind was screaming, as I followed my body around. Watched it do the things I yearned to do. A stranger, a parasite, an interloper. What happened after I woke up? After I awakened after who knows how long? It's like a dream, seeing myself. No, a nightmare. I want to reach out and grab the soul infesting my body, to rip it out and cast it aside. Does it not know its place? Does it not know it's tearing me apart? To see my friends, my family, those I love, and being so close to them yet I cannot interact with them? They do not know that they are talking to an interloper. They see only me, yet they should look at my eyes. They are empty, false, indicative of a possessed host.
I ask why I am resigned to this existence. This miserable, horrible prison. I float like a specter over my real body, watching it do things, see things, learn things, love things! I feel angry, envious, spiteful. What did I do? Do deserve such a fate? I have floated in this purgatory for three months. To me, this feels like three years. Who is my punisher, the judge of my eternal chamber?
Help me. Please. | |
[WP] You found yourself dead and overlooking your body in the hospital. Suddenly your body awakens and the doctor's explain you were in a coma, but you're not in your body anymore and your body is now acting with a new personality, leaving you tied to watch as this new being lives YOUR life. | There was something elegant, something serene about his behavior. Perhaps it was a bit disheartening to lose control over my own body, but there was an immediate wave of relief as I made sense of the situation.
All my responsibility alleviated. The burdens of my debt, both material and immaterial, off my shoulders. Was it worth losing touch with Diana? Perhaps.
Now I would simply observe. Like some ominous reality show.
I always was a cheery, happy-go-lucky type of person, I would never think negatively. This changed the way I looked at problems in my life, for better or for worse.
This character was a polar opposite of me. His cynicism was apparent, almost as if it was a defining feature of his personality. Yet, he was composed, his words like poetry. A certain nuance in his body language, a subdued aggressiveness, almost as if he was fencing. Swift strokes and jabs. This man, whoever it may be, had a plan.
En garde, it is.
| It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, IT'S NOT ME!
My mind was screaming, as I followed my body around. Watched it do the things I yearned to do. A stranger, a parasite, an interloper. What happened after I woke up? After I awakened after who knows how long? It's like a dream, seeing myself. No, a nightmare. I want to reach out and grab the soul infesting my body, to rip it out and cast it aside. Does it not know its place? Does it not know it's tearing me apart? To see my friends, my family, those I love, and being so close to them yet I cannot interact with them? They do not know that they are talking to an interloper. They see only me, yet they should look at my eyes. They are empty, false, indicative of a possessed host.
I ask why I am resigned to this existence. This miserable, horrible prison. I float like a specter over my real body, watching it do things, see things, learn things, love things! I feel angry, envious, spiteful. What did I do? Do deserve such a fate? I have floated in this purgatory for three months. To me, this feels like three years. Who is my punisher, the judge of my eternal chamber?
Help me. Please. | |
[WP] You found yourself dead and overlooking your body in the hospital. Suddenly your body awakens and the doctor's explain you were in a coma, but you're not in your body anymore and your body is now acting with a new personality, leaving you tied to watch as this new being lives YOUR life. | Well, I guess that's it. Game over. I died. It's neat that I get to check stuff out afterwards though. Like my body. The machines in the hotel room tell me that it's still "alive" but I've checked out. How else could I be floating here?
It was quiet for a long time before the nurse came in to do her checks. She seemed.... excited? "I just died ya rude bitch," I whined "at least act dour... Wait. Is. ARE MY EYES OPEN?"
My mind wasn't playing any tricks today, not like when I'd been in my body. No, my body was wakinh up, but why wasn't I inside it. I'd always felt a little disconnected but this was absurd.
I watched for some time waiting to see what happened. My body didn't do much. Breathing on its own, moving the fingers a bit. But then family started showing up. The nurse must have made some calls outside the room. Two aunts, a cousin, and my grandmother were there. I was still waiting for this weird out of body thing to end when I heard the most familiar and worrying thing. My body, I, spoke.
The rest of my family noticed the change but it was clear they didn't mention it to be polite. That or they disregarded it as being drug induced or snapping out of the coma or... anything else to make things perfect for me. It was sweet of them, but they should have said something.
Visiting hours ended and they left in protest, but eventually they were shuffled out the door an hour past when they were supposed to have been gone. But my body couldn't sleep. It just milled about impatiently until everything got as quiet as a hospital can get.
"I can feel you there" it... he... I(?) said.
"To bad you can't hear me" I mused wryly.
"Well I can. You know this. That's how you got in in the first place"
Time felt like it was frozen for a moment before I could stop reeling.
"Got in?! That's my body you fucker"
"No it's mine, you tricked me"
"Bullshit! Who the hell are you anyway? How are you in my body"
"I told you. It's mine!" I felt a wave of deep anger rush over me when he 'thought' the words at me. Why was he so pissed. What is he? I didn't have to wonder very long.
"You stole my body. You said you'd help but you just took it. Did whatever you wanted. YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"
"What are you talking abo-"
"How dare you... you... You wretched thing. Acting like you forgot. You took this body from me when I was barely old enough to have a memory, but I didn't go to sleep. I sat. And I watched as you drank and fought and lied and closed yourself off. I watched you fail over and over. I watched you give up time and time again. I watched you kill the boy I was. Now that I have my body back, you will NEVER get back in"
I was beyond stunned. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I... I'd tried. I wanted to live a good life... but I couldn't say that I had. From his description as he ranted on I could tell he wasn't lying. He has been stuck in that body with me all those years. What had I done...? What was I?
"Uh... what's your name," I asked him. This boy whose body I'd carjacked.
"It's Chris, you stole that too..."
"Where will I go"
"I don't care. Just never bother me again"
| It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, IT'S NOT ME!
My mind was screaming, as I followed my body around. Watched it do the things I yearned to do. A stranger, a parasite, an interloper. What happened after I woke up? After I awakened after who knows how long? It's like a dream, seeing myself. No, a nightmare. I want to reach out and grab the soul infesting my body, to rip it out and cast it aside. Does it not know its place? Does it not know it's tearing me apart? To see my friends, my family, those I love, and being so close to them yet I cannot interact with them? They do not know that they are talking to an interloper. They see only me, yet they should look at my eyes. They are empty, false, indicative of a possessed host.
I ask why I am resigned to this existence. This miserable, horrible prison. I float like a specter over my real body, watching it do things, see things, learn things, love things! I feel angry, envious, spiteful. What did I do? Do deserve such a fate? I have floated in this purgatory for three months. To me, this feels like three years. Who is my punisher, the judge of my eternal chamber?
Help me. Please. | |
[WP] You found yourself dead and overlooking your body in the hospital. Suddenly your body awakens and the doctor's explain you were in a coma, but you're not in your body anymore and your body is now acting with a new personality, leaving you tied to watch as this new being lives YOUR life. | "That is you, my child. I do not understand your confusion."
As I watched "my body" writhe around in agony on the dirt floor, I stared the angel in the face. I was pissed, and that was putting it lightly. Did she really expect my to believe this crap?
"I'm not fucking stupid, okay? What, is this some kind of test? I'm not going to attack you out of anger or anything, but seriously, where is my body?"
"It's right there, my child. I cannot provide you with anything else."
I stared at what she'd called me angrily. That wasn't me-- it didn't looking anything *like me*! I watched myself groan as I lay on the dirt floor of the barn, looking like I was in pain.
"Moooooo..."
"God fucking damnit, I'm not a cow!"
"You are a cow, I'm afraid. That is simply reality... but fret not. It is not your time yet. Return to sleep in peace..."
With a gentle push, she shoved my spirit back into myself, the sensation of thick black hooves and big floppy cow ears entering my consciousness in the brief moments before I fell back to sleep. I tried calling out to her, but all that came out was a long dumb moo. She politely laughed and smiled, giving me a gentle pat on the head as I tried to fight off sleep, but it was of little use. Cows like me don't have much willpower, I guess.
But... I'm not a cow, right? That question remained unanswered in the time before I drifted off, but I already knew the truth.
Moo. | I feel nothing. No pain. No sorrow. Not even peace. Blank, like the day I was born. I knew that was me, laying on the bathroom floor. Cold and lifeless. Silence. Pure heavenly silence.
EMTs trying to save me. My husband trying not to lose me. My child trying to comprehend why Mommy would do this. So young, the little one. Too young to be burdened with this vision. I face myself one last time. Eyes glazed over. There was no time for regret to touch my dying heart before that sound. A deep, life-rattling breath was all that could be heard in that tiny bathroom. Then the voices.
This is not what I planned.
I have been staring at myself in the hospital bed. Watching. Something had shifted within. Desperate for this to end. They are constant now. Louder. Is this my penance?
The machines are breathing for us. My husband is here. Holding my hand. I see the tears in his eyes. I can not help but still feel ... detachment. The doctors say coma. They talk of weeks, months, years. Yet, I know, we do not have that much time. It's getting stronger. Many voices becoming one. I find it harder to focus. I lost all control the moment I cut that last artery.
That sound. That deep, life-rattling breath brings me back to the present. My husband screams for a nurse. I scream only silence. This can not be how it ends. I face myself one last time. One last chance to fix this. I grab my shoulders, begging to be let back in. Too late. My eyes are open. It has control now.
This is not what I planned.
| |
[WP] You found yourself dead and overlooking your body in the hospital. Suddenly your body awakens and the doctor's explain you were in a coma, but you're not in your body anymore and your body is now acting with a new personality, leaving you tied to watch as this new being lives YOUR life. | Well, I guess that's it. Game over. I died. It's neat that I get to check stuff out afterwards though. Like my body. The machines in the hotel room tell me that it's still "alive" but I've checked out. How else could I be floating here?
It was quiet for a long time before the nurse came in to do her checks. She seemed.... excited? "I just died ya rude bitch," I whined "at least act dour... Wait. Is. ARE MY EYES OPEN?"
My mind wasn't playing any tricks today, not like when I'd been in my body. No, my body was wakinh up, but why wasn't I inside it. I'd always felt a little disconnected but this was absurd.
I watched for some time waiting to see what happened. My body didn't do much. Breathing on its own, moving the fingers a bit. But then family started showing up. The nurse must have made some calls outside the room. Two aunts, a cousin, and my grandmother were there. I was still waiting for this weird out of body thing to end when I heard the most familiar and worrying thing. My body, I, spoke.
The rest of my family noticed the change but it was clear they didn't mention it to be polite. That or they disregarded it as being drug induced or snapping out of the coma or... anything else to make things perfect for me. It was sweet of them, but they should have said something.
Visiting hours ended and they left in protest, but eventually they were shuffled out the door an hour past when they were supposed to have been gone. But my body couldn't sleep. It just milled about impatiently until everything got as quiet as a hospital can get.
"I can feel you there" it... he... I(?) said.
"To bad you can't hear me" I mused wryly.
"Well I can. You know this. That's how you got in in the first place"
Time felt like it was frozen for a moment before I could stop reeling.
"Got in?! That's my body you fucker"
"No it's mine, you tricked me"
"Bullshit! Who the hell are you anyway? How are you in my body"
"I told you. It's mine!" I felt a wave of deep anger rush over me when he 'thought' the words at me. Why was he so pissed. What is he? I didn't have to wonder very long.
"You stole my body. You said you'd help but you just took it. Did whatever you wanted. YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"
"What are you talking abo-"
"How dare you... you... You wretched thing. Acting like you forgot. You took this body from me when I was barely old enough to have a memory, but I didn't go to sleep. I sat. And I watched as you drank and fought and lied and closed yourself off. I watched you fail over and over. I watched you give up time and time again. I watched you kill the boy I was. Now that I have my body back, you will NEVER get back in"
I was beyond stunned. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I... I'd tried. I wanted to live a good life... but I couldn't say that I had. From his description as he ranted on I could tell he wasn't lying. He has been stuck in that body with me all those years. What had I done...? What was I?
"Uh... what's your name," I asked him. This boy whose body I'd carjacked.
"It's Chris, you stole that too..."
"Where will I go"
"I don't care. Just never bother me again"
| There was something elegant, something serene about his behavior. Perhaps it was a bit disheartening to lose control over my own body, but there was an immediate wave of relief as I made sense of the situation.
All my responsibility alleviated. The burdens of my debt, both material and immaterial, off my shoulders. Was it worth losing touch with Diana? Perhaps.
Now I would simply observe. Like some ominous reality show.
I always was a cheery, happy-go-lucky type of person, I would never think negatively. This changed the way I looked at problems in my life, for better or for worse.
This character was a polar opposite of me. His cynicism was apparent, almost as if it was a defining feature of his personality. Yet, he was composed, his words like poetry. A certain nuance in his body language, a subdued aggressiveness, almost as if he was fencing. Swift strokes and jabs. This man, whoever it may be, had a plan.
En garde, it is.
| |
[WP] In a Warfare, a Soldier meets an Enemy Doctor in a small base. Seeking shelter and help, the Soldier and the Doctor put their differences aside. As they talk, they realise how much the media on each side dehumanises the enemy. | I awoke to an unfamiliar world. Drugged and weary, my body felt broken in a thousand ways. I saw a clean cream ceiling above me from my left eye, but my right was shrouded in darkness. I reached up to find that side of my head swaddled in bandages.
*Where am I?* On a bed, with clean sheets in some kind of empty ward. Frosted windows stopped me viewing the world outside, but light was streaming in.
*God, how long had it been since I had a warm bed and blankets?* Three years, eight months and twelve days of war, plus however long it’d been since I blacked out.
*What happened?* My fingers traced the heavy bandages without answer.
At that, I heard the sound of voices and footsteps in the hallway outside. *Play dead. Maybe they’ll have answers, whoever they are…*
My eyes shut and the door opened. Three sets of footsteps and words in a strange tongue floated towards me. *The enemy!* My heartbeat thundered on the realization *Captured, healed, soon to be tortured! Every story I heard was about to come true, what could I do to stop it?* My good eye clenched in nervousness, my face pulled ever so slightly into a scowl.
The voices hovered over my bed, pens scraped over paper and clipboards rattled. Two sets of footsteps and voices departed, and the door shut behind them.
“I know you’re awake, you can open your eyes. Well, your good eye at any rate,” said the voice that had stayed by my bedside. *He spoke my language…*
Tentatively, my face relaxed slightly and a figure materialized beside me. I turned to see a man, my age, in a white coat sitting on a stool. His face was youthful; his eyes sparkled behind the glasses, but were tired all the same. It was as if he was free from the physical ravages of the war I’d fought, but he’d seen far more death than I had.
“You… you can speak our language?” My first words since God knows when. My jaw ached to move.
“Yes, of course,” He looked at me puzzled, “All of our medical schooling was conducted in your tongue before the war started. You didn’t know this?”
“You’re a backwards people,” I coughed, “Wanting nothing more than the rape and exploitation of our world by any means…” anger rose slightly in my voice, “Care and medical schooling are not words I attach to your kind.”
He laughed bitterly and shook his head to the ceiling, “The things we tell ourselves to justify this war…”
“My eye,” I interrupted, stroking the bandages again, “What happened?”
“Ah, that. Before you worry, your vision will be fine,” he rested a palm on my shoulder, “Your helmet stopped a bullet, which is when you blacked out as the force fractured your skull slightly. We operated to correct that and drain some water and blood from the brain, and you now have a metal plate under the skin. The bandages are to stop the bleeding and infection post-surgery.”
I stared at the ceiling for a short while, processing what I’d been told. *What do they want me for?*
“Why?” I said, still staring at the ceiling.
“Why…? Why what?” he quizzed.
“Why did you save me?” I asked, turning to look at him finally. He held my gaze, his eyes even more weary now.
He looked to the floor and took a deep breath, “You know, our lords would have us believe you are exactly how you just described me. Knuckle draggers, heretics… rapists and murderers with no sense of decency. But I realized a long time ago these are just ideas, drip fed to us to keep the war machine grinding forward. It’s inhuman, this war... It destroys who we really are…”
I listened to him quietly, my heartbeat calming as he spoke. His words were shaping boundaries around the feeling of futility I’d had since being drafted, as our sides wrestled into a bloody stalemate. He made sense, but something still irked me.
“But I am still the enemy,” I interrupted again, “If you save me, what good will that do? Am I just a bargaining chip? A body to beat information from? At worse, I will return to the field and kill more from your side. Wouldn’t it have been better to leave me dead where you found me? What humanity is that?”
His eyes wrinkled in pain. After a moment of silence he relaxed and continued, “Warding off Death’s clutches is an oath I’ve sworn to uphold. I cannot have room for shades of gray in this matter of life and death. Should I have left you because of the color of your shirt, even if you might be a devoted husband? Should I save only those in red, knowing full well many were on death row for good reason? It is not my place to judge, only to do my best to heal. Do your doctors not do the same?”
“No, I believe they took the same oath as you, in the same language,” I said, thinking of my father the surgeon.
“We’re not so different, you’ll find,” He said, standing up, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have other patients like you to attend to.”
“Like me? There are others like me? What happened to them? What happens to me now?” I asked, propping myself up on an elbow.
“You? You all get to go home, when you’re ready. Our hope is that you spread the word of the care you received at our hands; show the world we’re not who you think we are. That we’re more alike than you think, and…” he sighed, raising his eyebrows, “hopefully we can end this stupid war.”
I collapsed back into the pillows, exhausted by the effort to hold myself up. I kept my gaze fixated on the ceiling but called out weakly as he opened the door, “Doctor,” his footsteps halted, before I continued, “for what it’s worth: I never wanted to fight.”
I heard him chuckle. “In the end,” he said, “nobody really does.” | I crawled for what felt like hours through the ice-cold mud, doing my best to keep my mangled leg from getting dirty. I had stopped the bleeding for now with a makeshift tourniquet. It was an enemy artillery shell that had hit my trench and knocked me unconscious, when I awoke I was surrounded by the bodies of my friends and my leg was a mess. We had just relived the previous unit on the line and hadn't even fired our rifles before the barrage. Those bastards on the other side didn't care about that though. I knew I had to the aid station as soon as possible.
From the Lieutenant's briefing the other day I knew the battalion headquarters was only a mile south of the line. I knew I had crawled at least a mile by now and was worried I had missed it until I heard voices being carried by the wind. I couldn't make out what was being said but it among the voices I heard the telltale sound of vehicle engines and knew I was close. I might actually make it I thought to myself.
Then the feeling of dread spread over me like a cold bucket of water being poured out when I heard shouting in a foreign tongue. I slowly rolled over to see two enemy soldiers aiming their rifles with bayonets fixed at me. Surely, they would torture me in unimaginable ways! I looked around for some way to defend myself against the coming onslaught, but I saw nothing. I braced for the pain and shut my eyes. Instead one solider began running and yelling. I opened one eye and saw a different solider with a red cross on his arm running towards me. Great, they’re going to save me and THEN torture me.
Once the solider who I could only assume was a medic reached me he began in broken English to ask me what was wrong. I was taken aback, he actually seemed concerned with my injury and began providing treatment to my damaged leg. Two other enemy soldiers came with a stretcher and put me on it, the medic stayed by my side while they carried me, doing his best with his limited English vocabulary to comfort me. I began to feel at ease, why would they be treating me so nice if they planned to kill me. I knew they were the enemy and we had been told of the atrocities they had committed and how brutal they were to any prisoners, yet, I had the feeling that these men, especially the medic, intended me no harm.
We eventually reached a makeshift camp, it did not look that different from ours besides the flag that flew over it. I recognized the area from the briefing as near a town not too far from our trench. I was brought to their aid station immediately a doctor came to the medic and asked him some questions I couldn’t understand. They quickly went to work together preparing to do more work on my leg. The medic did his best to explain they were going to put me to sleep so they could work better, by now the pain was unbearable so I nodded my head. Before I knew it, I was out. When I awoke my wounds were bandaged and I was alone. The thoughts of torture began to flood my mind again and I knew I should try to escape.
I waited an hour in the dimly lit tent, listening to the noises of the camp around me. There must have been an entire company or more here. I struggled to swing my leg out of bed, I saw a wooden crutch in the corner and crawled over to it. Draping the green blanket from my bed over my head and shoulders as a shoddy disguise and using the crutch I stepped out of the tent. I don’t know I managed to walk out of the camp undetected, but I found myself walking along a road that I knew would lead back to our lines. I heard a hushed voice in English exclaim “halt! Who goes there.” I responded with my rank and name before two men appeared from a bush on the side of the road. They lowered their rifles once I told them what had happened. They told me there were the lead element of a patrol. I told them I needed to speak to their officer right away. I informed him of the enemy camps location on the map and told him an artillery barrage would work nicely. A few minutes after he got on the radio and called for the fire mission, the distant sound of heavy guns firing could be heard like a storm miles away. I smiled as I heard the rounds impact, knowing surely there could be no survivors. After all they were the enemy. | |
[WP] Aliens are coming to invade, their battleship gets cored out of nowhere by a manhole cover that was launched 80 years ago. It convinces them humanity has the ability to accurately see the future, and turn their fleet around and mark the Solar System as 'Highly Dangerous'. | Head Scientist Yeerlak pulled up a model of the star system he was heading to on the holo-map. His destination was the third planet from the star SOL-473, the source of anomalous radio signals. His ship had picked up the signals while surveying the nearby SOL-472 for minerals, and decided to put his main objective on hold and investigate the source. His ship was currently in warpspace, hours away from dropping out approximately 548 milinauts away from the planet.
"Sir, what do you think we'll find there?" First Officer Korpac asked him as he monitored the bearings of the spacecraft.
"To be honest, Officer, I do not know either. We might find some kind of machine from a past species, or maybe some kind of natural explanation."
"It better not be those damn asteroid aliens that attacked the Par Beese. You, of all people, should remember what happened, right?"
Yeerlak shuddered at the memory. A few years ago, the Par Beese was on a routine surveying sortie with two other surveyor craft when they had chanced upon a collection of crystalline asteroids, which turned out to be hives for thousands of some kind of spaceborne parasite. The aliens had destroyed the two other spacecraft, while the Par Beese slipped away using an emergency warp. Yeerlak, at the time, was an ensign aboard the ship. He remembered the swarm of dark-gray aliens ripping apart the ships as he watched the massacre play out on the monitor in the command center, terrified as he prayed to the Seven that he too would not die to these bugs. A quick tap to the shoulder from Korpac snapped him out of his flashback. "Sir, you've been awake since 64 RP shipboard time. You need to rest, we'll be there shortly." He suggested, as Yeerlak began to head to his room, the flashback still fresh in his mind.
The ship dropped out of warpspace while Yeerlak was still asleep. After Korpac woke him up using the intercom, he got out of his bed and made his way to the command center. There, he encountered the rest of the crew staring in awe at the large blue-green planet projected on the central monitor.
"A continental planet. It's more beautiful than Bhorus IV!" A crew member said.
"What kind of life do you think we'll find down there? I want to be a part of the landing team!" Another said.
"Settle down, everyone. I know it's the first time many of you have seen an alien world, but we still have to focus on getting there. Back to your stations, you can stare once we're in orbit." Yeerlak ordered over the commotion of the crew. They had barely begun to go back to their stations when the ship was suddenly shaken by a massive explosion from the stern. Everyone fell to the floor as sparks flew and klaxons started blaring. Debris fell from the ceiling as a number of secondary explosions rocked the already-stricken spacecraft. Yeerlak made it onto his feet and got to the main console. "Engineering team, report! What happened?!" He yelled into the console amidst the loud beeping of the alarms and the crackle of electrical fires around him.
"Sir, some kind of object has impacted the port side of the reactor room! Scanners say it's some kind of machined piece of metal!" A garbled and distressed voice answered.
"Is it alien? From where did it come from?" Yeerlak questioned.
"Trajectory analysis reveals it to have originated from our target planet!"
"That's impossible! Check again!"
"I've triple-checked, sir! It keeps saying the same thing! According to the readouts, it says it's been drifting for more than 80 years before it cored us!"
Yeerlak stood their, dumbfounded and oblivious to the chaos around him as he considered how this piece of metal found its way into the side of his ship. How is it possible, he wondered, that this hunk of metal was aimed directly at where his ship would be 80 years before he was there? Did the aliens see into the future? Are they one of the fabled Fallen? How could they have known? He desperately tried to come up with an explanation as the engineering team started to list the damage report.
"The main reactor has been hit! The warp drive is offline! 25% of the ship is exposed to full vacuum! Ship is running on backup power!" The list kept on growing and growing. The klaxons kept blaring in his ear. As if things couldn't get any worse, the voice of the engineer went from distressed to absolutely mortified. "...Artificial gravity generators offline! None of them are- By the Seven, the reactor core is going into meltdown, sir! We have to get to the escape pods! EVERYONE, GET OUT NOW!" The engineer screamed to the others still in the engineering bay with him. The communication cut off as the main console burst into flames, causing Yeerlak to fall over and hit the ground. Korpac, who had somehow gotten up with all the shaking and the debris around him, made his way over to Yeerlak and got him on his feet. "Sir, we have to get to one of the escape pods, NOW!" He yelled.
"It's no use. By the time we get to them, the reactor will have annihilated the ship! It's over, Korpac, we're dead!" He yelled as the rumbling and shaking became more violent. Korpac, his uniform in shredded tatters and life-fluid covering his arms, looked his superior in the eye and uttered, "It was an honor serving with you. May the Seven forgive us." Yeerlak nodded and said the same as the reactor tore through the ship, vaporizing the two along with the entire ship.
" ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! THE ANOMALY HAD A 10% FAILURE CHANCE! THAT'S FUCKING BULLSHIT! FUCK STELLARIS!" | A small fleet or scouts and one planet destroyer battleship is all that the high council said we needed to take the primates. We called them that when we first visited their tiny planet eons ago. We jump-started evolution and what would ultimately be our worst mistake.
The World Eater was our second oldest battleship, not nearly as outdated as Galactus that anthropomorphic atrocity. Even being as outdated as it was it was more than enough for what our simulations said would be the technology reached by whatever had been able to squirm it's way out of that mess of a planet.
Well that is what we thought, until radar picked up an object going unbelievably fast, faster than any ship we had built as faster than light was not possible. This object was almost 60% the speed of light.
Dumbfounded and terrified we attempted evasive maneuvers, but the lumbering battleship only succeeded in showing it's broad side to this object. The kinetic energy of this thing was immense, at 60% the speed of light you do not need much mass to do huge amounts of damage.
The World Eater was torn asunder, ripped in half in a silent scream as the quicker moving scout ships moved out of the impact trajectory. All I could do as scout leader was pray to Azathoth that he wake up and put an end to this terror of a reality.
We saved who we could from the undamaged parts of the battleship, ran simulations of where this object could have come from and found that it came from the planet that we were meant to destroy. How could they have known? Do they have FTL communication and galactic perimeter radar monitoring? Or have they somehow contacted Nyarlathotep and in one of his hate filled ploys against the outer God's assisted the planets inhabitants to assend to a different plane of existence?
We did not want to find out. Labeling the Galaxy extremely dangerous we turned tail until we too could make contact with an outer god in order to level the playing field. | |
[WP] You're a woman during the Salem witch trials, who's been sentenced to burn at the stake after being accused of being a witch. After the townspeople set fire under your feet and you prepare for your impending death, clouds start to form and rain puts the fire out. Huh. You just might be one. | **April 12th, 1691.**
I was born to Benjamin and Margaret Hawkins in the Year of Our Lord 1673, in the town of Ipswich, and wed to my beloved James there in 1690. Our days were happy, though the Lord, in His wisdom, did not see fit to bless us with children. A mishap upon the water took James from me a fortnight past, yet I cannot but be thankful for the time we had together. I can only trust that it was God’s will that he now rests among the Blessed.
Let none who read this call it a confession -- before God, I am no witch. I will confess this only: that by the speaking of the *caim* above his cradle, I calmed the fever that had seized the child of Sarah Hutchins, and the babe is hale to this very day. In like manner did I encircle the fields of Goodman Cribb with a charm against the blight besetting his crops, and they became clean. These things I *have* done, and many others like unto them. Judge for yourself, therefore, if I ought to be condemned for doing good.
With my James gone, unable to stand beside me, I am now beset, and enemies lie in wait for my blood. The very neighbors to whom I gave my help, Sarah Hutchins and Goodman Cribb among them, denounce me.
I trust in God, but the passions of those who have had me dragged from the house of my husband mere days after his body was committed to the ground are surely none of God’s doing. May He deliver me from my enemies, and them from their folly.
This is my testimony before I die.
\--Mary MacGilvernock
**April 13th, 1691**
I hoped I would be taken before a magistrate, that reason and charity might yet prevail against the madness that besets the people of Ipswich. But bestirred by the stranger I knew only as the Witch-Finder, my own neighbors bore me to edge of the woods...to be *burned.*
My courage all but deserted me as they drove a wooden post into the ground and bound me to it with cords, and began to pile dry boughs at my feet. I pleaded my innocence, but they were deaf to me and bereft of all charity. The sky above darkened as the Witch-Finder read out his unrighteous sentence.
“This woman, Mary MacGilvernock, duly found guilty of consorting with Satan, and of leading her neighbors astray by her enchantments, is sentenced to be burned alive forthwith, that the stain of her wickedness may be lifted from Ipswich!” he proclaimed.
This said, he thrust his torch into the boughs at my feet and lit them, showing me a hateful grin only I could see. Suddenly the clouds tore open, and just as my feet began to feel the sting of the fire, the boughs sizzled, and the flames drowned in blessed rain.
The Witch-Finder scowled, and turned to my other persecutors. “She calls a storm to deliver herself from judgement!” He held up the burning brand that was still alight, wrapped as it was with pitch-soaked rags. My eyes widened in horror and I screamed, as I realized he intended to forgo the branches and set my clothes alight.
“In the name of The Lord God…!” he cried, as raised his brand aloft.
A voice rang out above the shout of the Witch-Finder, and all at once the evening became as bright as the noonday sun. A thunderbolt smote the brand he held, driving him to his knees upon the muddy ground, and blasting the brand to ashen splinters. He cried out, clutching his scorched and wizened hand.
“In the name of *The Lord God*…” said a clear, strong voice. “...this *blasphemy* ends now!”
A clamor arose as three men melted out of the trees, clad in brown woolen robes, with mantles of green that shed the rain from them. Two were younger, and these came to my side quick as hares, lighting with ease upon the branches at my feet.
“Fear not, little sister.” one whispered, as he drew a blade and began to cut my bonds.
“Warlocks!” cried the Witch-Finder, as he struggled to his feet. “In league with the Witch! Seize and slay them, brethren, they cannot hex ye all!”
The eldest of the three, a graybeard, withstood the Witch-Finder unafraid, barring my tormentors’ path to me.
“Warlocks ye name us? Doth not thy book, the Malleus Maleficarum, say that God gives righteous judges their authority, and so He does not suffer them to be stricken by witchcraft? Is this not why it is said that witch-finders and magistrates may seize witches without fearing their evil magics? I cast thee down, thus; if thy vaunted tome speaks true, then either I am *no warlock,* or God has given thee *no authority*.” He leveled his staff at my persecutors as if it were a musket held at his hip. “In either case, *ye shall harm this woman no more.”*
Something changed in the Witch-Finder’s visage when the old man spoke thus. Though the rest of the crowd stayed back, he took a step forward, that he might not be overheard by those behind him. His hate-filled eyes turned black in truth, and when he next spoke it was with a voice like unto the devil himself.
“Thou art far from the land of thy fathers, *Cele De.”* the Witch-Finder snarled. “Begone from this place. These have yielded themselves to be my servants, and so my servants *they are.”* He added, mockingly, “Doth not *thy* vaunted Book say thus?”
The two younger men finished cutting my bonds and helped me down from my sodden pyre as the elder responded. “Ancient serpent...it were not enough for thee that thou didst beguile many among my forefathers to shed blood in thy worship in the Old World? Now ye lay hold on their children in the New?”
“They that serve me are mine!” The Witch-Finder snarled, insistently. “Wilt *thou* overthrow their will, they who have followed my voice, and *chosen* to do as I bid them?”
The elder’s eyes flicked from the Witch-Finder to myself. “There is one here that serves thee not, *Crom Cruach.* Thou hast chosen her, but she has not chosen *thee!”*
The Witch-Finder growled in frustration. “This will not end here, old *druid!* I will reign in these new lands as I once reigned in the old*.”*
The elder smiled grimly, as he turned from his adversary. “Ye will *try.”*
The crowd murmured in wonder and disbelief, as the Witch-Finder let us pass into the forest -- I know not what lie he gave to the crowd to excuse this concession to a “witch” and her “warlock” rescuers. They took me to their camp, and the rain ceased soon after. When at last we seemed to be safe, I was overcome with gratitude, and knelt before them.
The elder gently grasped my arm, and raised me up. “Rise, sister -- we are but thy friends, and His.”
“Friends, sir?” I asked, confused.
*“Cele De*, we are called -- which is to say ‘*Friends of God’,* for it is Written ‘No longer do I call you servants...but I have called you friends’.” he explained. “We are they who keep both the old ways and the new, knowing both Creator and Creation. *Mo Drui, Mac De.”*
“And...ye know the *old art?”* I asked, eagerly, for I knew but little myself.
“Aye -- and whatsoever we know that ye do not, we will be pleased to teach thee.” the elder affirmed. “But now we must rest -- we have far to travel on the morn.”
“But what of Ipswich, good sir?” I pleaded. “My neighbors are in the Witch-Finder’s thrall. Moreover, my house there was built by my dear husband, and it is all he left to me...all I have *left of him.”*
The elder shook his head somberly. “I am sorry, sister, but though we have delivered thee from the Enemy, we will not shed blood to vainly try to wrest his own from him -- and bloodshed it would be, if we returned thence. Thy neighbors have made their choice.” Then a slight smile brightened his visage once more. “Yet, one thing I *can* give thee. I *see* many things that are hidden from mortal sight...”
He placed his fingertips lightly upon the tattered apron of my dress, above my navel, and I wept when I heard the words he spoke next.
“Be glad, sister -- for thy house was not *all* thy husband left to thee." | First time posting here; feedback is welcome. I deviated from the prompt a bit. Hope you like it still. I included a quote from the actual witch trials just for kicks. I've written three parts, and I'll post them all at the same time. I was going for a magical realism theme. I aimed to capture the sexism and superstition of the time.
I'm on mobile so excuse the formatting yadda yadda yadda.
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The warm air of the small living room wafted past Kelsi’s nose, and the smell of complex wines and delicious pork flooded her mind with desire. Cold winter air traveled in through the window, and attempted to color the air white. Meanwhile, a scene was unfolding in the corner of the room. The sound of shouting forced Kelsi out of her fantasy, and she turned her head towards the commotion.
Sarah Good struggled haplessly against the wall, held up by the closing fist of her accuser; Alfred Gage. His fist tightened as she convulsed gently.
“By God’s bones, lady!” he slurred, “Give me your demon’s name!”
He slowly lowered her, waiting patiently for the name he wanted so badly. Sarah didn’t answer; instead, she just shook her head gently, as if she was disappointed.
“His name!” he screamed.
His hand moved towards her again, but this time not in an effort to strangle her. Cutting through the air like a blade, his fist knocked her out, and she fell to the ground. Everyone else in the room was startled by the interaction that had just happened. The most empathetic for Sarah spoke out.
“Alfred, why?” Kelsi managed to squeeze out, standing up slightly off her chair like she was accompanying her rebellious words.
A man, whose name Kelsi didn’t know, tapped her foot, subtly telling her not to question the host. This was his home, and Kelsi was merely an accessory to her husband in the others’ eyes. Another woman sitting across the table, Fae, spoke drunkenly in response, “Silence, Kelsi! Hold your tongue.”
Kelsi’s voice caught in her throat so as to not speak out of place, and she finally started to understand the situation. The sound of silence steeped in Salem, if only for a moment.
Drops of blood had flown from Alfred’s swift punch to her mouth, and Sarah seemed to be everywhere. Although Sarah’s limp body lie on the ground, convoluted, it still felt as if she was scattered across the room with her coagulating blood. Kelsi’s eyes flickered to the dinner table, and took in Alfred’s two children, asleep in a way that was less than subtle, they drooled heavily and their faces flushed. Thirteen and sixteen, she didn’t think they were quite ready for whisky. Perhaps if Alfred had cared even a small amount, he wouldn’t have given it to them in the first place, and had to blame the now unconscious Sarah of witchcraft.
Daulton, her husband, brushed Kelsi’s arm. His dark brown eyes comforted her as his face, that looked like it was always blushing, turned towards her. Leaning in for her ear, he started to whisper.
“Let us go, Kels. We can report this to the guard and go home. Prithee.” | |
[WP] You're a woman during the Salem witch trials, who's been sentenced to burn at the stake after being accused of being a witch. After the townspeople set fire under your feet and you prepare for your impending death, clouds start to form and rain puts the fire out. Huh. You just might be one. | The townspeople cheered as the flames licked higher up her legs. The entire town had turned out for the burning of the Witch Mary Madison. Old women cackled along with the crackle of burning wood as small children ran through.the crowd, giggling and yelling. The fire roared upwards, Mary's face lit from beneath. The Priest stepped closer, spittle flying from his mouth as he bellowed his sermon from the cracked leather book in his hands. He pointed at Mary as he screamed of the eternal flames that awaited her on the other side.
Mary winked.
Clouds formed in the sky above, huge grey swathes that rolled in at speed. Soon the sky was a uniform shadow and a rumble of thunder echoed over the gathering. The rain when it flooded down was ice cold. The fire sizzled and died in seconds. The congregation muttered amongst themselves, clutching now silent children to their skirts. The Priest turned to calm the turning crowd when a scream rang out from Eleanor Perkins, her outstretched hand pointing behind him. He turned to see Mary stepping out from the now sodden pile of wood, the ropes slithering off her in the form of jet black snakes that disappeared in the crowd. One remained, coiled around Mary's arm and she raised it to her lips, gently kissing its scaled snout. She turned to the trembling crowd.
"One thing never made sense to me", she announced and her voice was the smooth velvet of a poisoned ale. "You are all deathly afraid of Witches. Of their magic. Of their connection to the Devil himself".
She rolled her eyes and walked up to the Priest, dropping her serpentine companion upon the open pages of his holy text.
"So you hunt them down. Burn them alive. And consider it a job well done." She threw her arms out wild and her hair rose in the air around her, as if lightning would imminently strike where she stood. "But if they were witches, then why wouldn't they use that magic to stop you? Hmmm? Do you think your pitchforks stronger than witchcraft?".
Mary extended a hand and to shocked gasps, picked up the small girl who skipped towards her. Mary brushed her mousy brown hair from her forehead and smiled at the child, who grinned back and wrapped her arms around Mary's neck.
"So what you backward god fearing animals have been doing is brutally murdering innocent women. Melting the flesh from young girls bones so the good Father can feel dominant even if he is forbidden from taking from them in other ways. And so good people of Salem, I come here as a representation of true Witches and we are very angry".
She hefted the girl higher on her hip and gestured, raising her head to the sky as the rain grew warm and crimson. The little grew clapped her hands and giggled as Mary walked away with her.
Behind her, in the deluge of offal, the first screams began.
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r/AMSWrites
| Sarah was just as surprised as the rest of them.
She looked up as the rain poured down, washing the tears and sweat and terror from her face. The water turned her bright red hair into dark strands that stuck to her dress.
The flames which, seconds before, were licking at her feet were gone. In their place, a billow of white smoke and steam rose from the bundles of kindling past her shoes, which now bore light streaks of char.
The crowd had gone silent, from screaming with bloodlust to staring in awe. The only sounds in the town square were the beating of the rain and the hiss of the doused flames. The mayor, who both sentenced her to death and lit the flames, climbed up next to her.
“It’s a sign from God,” he told her quietly, then louder to the villagers, “God has spared young Sarah! Praise be to Him!”
He cut her bindings, freeing her hands. Sarah stepped down into the muddy grass, and the nearest villagers stepped back. The one who didn’t was the priest, the old man of the local parish.
“Be ye warned, Sarah Nowell,” he said, a snarl curling at his upper lip, “Stay ye on the righteous path, for God, in His wisdom, will not offer respite twice.”
Sarah nodded. She didn’t speak. She just wanted to get away, to get back to the safety of her family’s farm, several hundred yards outside the village. She took a few hesitating steps, and the dumbstruck villagers cleared a path. She stepped through and headed out of the square.
Nobody followed.
It wasn’t until she was almost out of the village, with the rain fading away, that she heard another’s footsteps on the stones and mud of the street. She looked back and saw him, the clocksmith. The older gentleman, wisps of white hair poking out underneath his tri-corner hat, jogged to catch up to her.
“What do you want?” she called when he got about 10 paces away.
“You need to come with me,” he replied. “It’s no longer safe for you here.”
“I don’t need anyone to save me.”
“You just did back in the square,” the clocksmith said, coming to a stop next to her. “I saved you.”
“God saved me,” she said with a furrow of her brow. “The rain saved me.”
“I saved you.”
He stepped closer and grabbed her arm, looking around before speaking again.
“I’m a sorcerer. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”
Sarah pulled her arm out of his grip and backed away. A quick glance down the street confirmed that they were alone.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Protecting you.”
He took a step closer. She took two steps back and felt the wall of the bakery behind her.
“Protecting me from what? And how?”
He stopped advancing and cocked his head, confused that she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Protecting you from those around you. I caused seizures in your classmates when they bullied you. I withered your neighbors’ crops so your father’s farm would flourish. I gathered the rain to save from the stake back there.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to advance, pushing off from the wall and waving a finger in the clocksmith’s face.
“You saved me? You’re the reason I was on that stake! How do you think these people see me when everyone around me suffers? They see me as a witch!”
“But I saved you,” he said in confusion.
“The only thing you can do to save me is to leave me alone.”
In a second, the clocksmith’s countenance went from surprised and hurt to angry. He advanced and grabbed her arm again.
“No,” he growled, pulling at her. “You need to come with me.”
“Why?”
“A sorcerer has to pass his powers on, and you’re the closest thing to a witch this Godforsaken village has.”
She hit him, hard, a reaction more than a premeditated event. In his momentary shock, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp and began running. She looked back after several strides and saw the clocksmith slide a wand out from under his cloak. A jolt of fear spurred her to run faster.
She sprinted onto the path into the forest, clutching her dress to keep it from holding her back. An unnatural wind began to blow the branches around her, and she could hear a voice calling her name in the distance behind her.
If she could make it to the farm, she might be all right. Her father had refused to witness her execution and stayed at the house, but it wasn’t him she needed. She needed the wand hidden in her wardrobe. She’d never used it before, but if there was ever a time to find out just what kind of witch she could be, it was now.
| |
[WP] demon dies, but somehow goes to heaven. | “Look, Mr….Skullfucker,” the angel winced as he said the name, “I'm doing my best here, so if you could just bear with me a moment, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Skullfucker rolled his eyes. Arms folded, legs crossed, he squirmed in the chair on the other side of the desk. All around, the chatter of computer keyboards, ringing phones and banal office chat grated on him. It was just like Central Admin in hell but a twisted, bizarro version of it. Their computers were all iMacs running Mojave instead of Dell Dimensions running Windows 95, they were actually answering their phones, and the water cooler had real water in it instead of Monster energy drink. It was terrible.
“I don't see what the problem is,” he growled, “clearly, I belong downstairs, so just show me where the stairs are and I'll be on my way.”
“Everything ok here, Percy?”
Another ridiculously good looking angel sidled up, sipping coffee from a mug that read “Mondays are pretty great!”. His name tag said “Tad”.
“I saw the…” he waggled a finger at the two-foot long horns protruding from Skullfucker’s head, “...and just wondered if you needed any help.”
Percy mouthed *thank you* at Tad before realising how obviously he had done it. He smiled awkwardly at the demon.
“Well, you see,” Percy began nervously, “the manner in which Mr...Skullfucker (*wince*) passed was quite unusual.”
Tad raised his eyebrows.
“Skullfucker? Really?”
“Hey! It's a traditional name. I happen to come from a long line of Skullfuckers.”
Tad sipped his coffee, his eyebrows shifting a smidge higher.
“Now, listen,” Skullfucker shifted forward in his seat, “I don't care how it happened, it is obviously your mistake. I suggest you stop profiling me, stop casting dispersions on my proud heritage and get on with the process of unfucking your fuck up.”
“I didn't say anything,” Tad said mildly, shrugging, “just clarifying your name.”
He turned his winged back for a moment, clearly sharing a look with Percy, before returning to the computer. Lifting the half moon glasses that hung from a gold chain around his neck, Tad peered through them at the screen.
“Mr Skullfucker,” said Tad as Percy winced again, “do you remember how you died?”
Skullfucker sat for a few fuming seconds, his eyes burning like coals. He didn't really want to admit that he couldn't. That would mean he probably didn't go down in a blaze of glory, in an epic battle. He probably died on the toilet or something.
“So, you were on the toilet,” Tad started, “in your apartment. You were talking to your dog...dude, you poop in front of your dog?”
Skullfucker buried his head in his hands. This was not a good start to his death story.
“Anyway,” Tad continued, “it says here you ripped one real bad, like off the charts toxic, and you said to Doggie Schnauzer M.D.-”
“Oh, no,” groaned Skullfucker. It was starting to come back to him.
“-you said: Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Skullfucker threw his head back, blinked at the ceiling, ran his hands between his horns.
“I didn't mean it like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, look,” said Tad, dropping the glasses to his chest, “we're working on closing that loophole. You'd be surprised how tricky the legal stuff gets….”
“But I'm a fucking demon!” Skullfucker roared.
The office hubbub dropped on a dime, all eyes on the desk in the centre of the room. Skullfucker was on his feet, bare chest heaving. Tad sipped his coffee. Percy was frozen in the motion of pushing himself away from his desk. It annoyed Skullfucker to realise he was beginning to feel self conscious. His eyes darted nervously around as he lowered himself back into his seat.
“I mean, surely it can't be that simple,” he whispered urgently once the office murmur ebbed back to full volume, “for a demon?”
Tad’s annoyingly beautiful face somehow seemed made for the condescending smile he wore.
“Come on, Skully, we're not that incompetent.”
“And yet,” Skullfucker gestured around, shrugging, “here I am.”
When Percy spoke it was like the bleating of a lamb.
“It was a freak accident!”
Skullfucker's gaze fell sharply on the junior angel.
“Sorry!” Percy added quickly, “no offence. About the freak part.”
Skullfucker waved the apology away with annoyance.
“Just tell me what happened.”
Tad gulped the last of his coffee and looked eagerly over to the coffee machine as he began in a distracted tone.
“Do you know the Cathedral Basilica of St Phil the Curious?”
“Of course,” scoffed Skullfucker, “and I always steered well clear of the biggest fuck off church in my neighbourhood.”
“Hmm,” mumbled Tad, nodding to someone across the office and pointing at his mug, “well, they recently had some plumbing work done on the hot water system in the sanctuary. Shoddy work, apparently. There was a gas leak and an explosion which resulted in a rather holy relic being flung two and a half miles over the city, through a tiny bathroom window and into the heart of a demon who had just vaguely asked the Good Lord to forgive him his sins.”
“Jesus,” muttered Skullfucker.
“Ooh, don't start that again,” Percy warned, “you don't want to end up in double heaven.
Before Skullfucker could ask, Tad continued.
“So, that's how you got here. It's probably gonna be a while before we get this all sorted. Might be a good idea for you to get a lawyer in the meantime. Do you know any good...what am I saying, of course you do.”
“Ha, ha,” Skullfucker deadpanned.
“Great,” says Tad, “glad to see you're keeping a sense of humour about the whole thing. We'll find you a place to stay while we figure this out. Some place warm, I'm guessing. Percy here will nut out the details with you...”
Tad trailed off as he chased after the coffee pot doing laps of the office.
Percy was very helpful in the end and Skullfucker thought he might just be able to cope with staying in that wretched place so long as he never left his specially designed apartment.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Percy asked when it seemed they were done.
“If you could point me to the restrooms,” Skullfucker said sheepishly, “I never got to…close the account on Earth before the whole death thing.”
Afterwards when he retreated to his new apartment Skullfucker reflected that while being in heaven sucked ass, their toilet paper was to die for.
| “Where....am I?”
I snarl, attempting to open my eyes fully. The light prevents me from doing so, and I feel the big band music in the background taunting me. I cover my face with my hands, and manage to sit up.
I’m between a rock and a hard place. Literally. I’m sitting on a marble slab, with one side a large obsidian (I presume) boulder and on the other a sign that reads,
“A HARD PLACE.”
It looks like the sign to a cheap roadside diner. Or maybe a brothel, with a name like that. Sousa continues to play in the distance, and as far as I can see beyond me there is only pure white. That’s when I notice the man standing in front of me. He has an irritating smile on his face (which is very punchable by the way) and looks serenely down at me like some priest.
“Welcome to heaven!”
Shit. Heaven? Me? Why!?
I lick my lips, hoping to prevent my mouth from feeling like sawdust.
“There must be some sort of mistake. At the gateway I specifically asked for Hell.”
He continues to smile stupidly, and I have the urge to punch him in his stupid ugly face and watch him fly into the blank space over the horizon.
“No, my child. GOD has chosen you.”
So, the Almighty chose a demon to come to Heaven? What? Alright, let’s see how it goes.
“Can I meet GOD?”
“Of course.”
Wonderful. If I try to kill GOD, I’ll be sent to Hell for sure. He walks me towards the horizon, which expands like a living origami figure into an Escher-esque landscape. People walk on the ceilings and walls, into strange and small doors in odd angles and shapes. Arches have no bases, towers no foundations. It’s silly, really. I’m sure I’ll enjoy Hell a lot more than this dump.
We enter a door which materializes from nothing, adorned with a sculpture of a miniature gnome. And I must say if that gnome is indicative of how GOD looks I feel many people will be very disappointed. The door opens neatly, and then folds into a mini marble rosette, floating (somehow) gently to the floor.
“After you, my child.”
Does he EVER stop smiling? Legitimately? GOD, I just want to punch him in his perfect teeth.
“Thank you.”
I walk into the small opening, and am greeted by a giant black cube. Enormous, the size of a house on Earth. Beautifully adorned, an angel on one side, and a gorgeous devil on the other. At the top is a screen. Perhaps GOD isn’t the face-to-face type?
Never mind. An old man materializes in front of the cube, and he has the same stupid smile. I turn around, the angel has left. Bad move.
“Hello, GOD?”
I summon two spines from my arms, a characteristic demon technique. They pierce the skin, and slowly stretch outward. Perfect for stabbing. Now for my free ticket to Hell. I run forward and strike the old man, and run into the cube.
Ow. Damn.
I whirl around.
“This has just been a computer simulation. You have passed the test. Welcome to Hell.”
The cubes and the Escher crap disappear, as a glorious hellscape appears. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Home sweet home. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Sit down."
I abided, knowing better than to anger the bastard of a species that sought wreckage upon my home. I glared at the man... no, calling him a man would be a disgrace to all consciousness, I glared at... *the thing*. A bright red insignia on the over sized cap perched on his forehead caught my eye. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was star above a compacted cross. A generals cap.
"So," he grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look him in the eye, "Who do you think we are?"
"Bastar-" a quick yet intense jolt of electricity ran up my spine.
"Don't even try to insult me."
I glared at him. An unfamiliar feeling sweeping over me. I could feel my heart beating faster, my vision get blurry. Through gritted teeth I repeated myself. This time there was no punishment.
"What you feel right now... It's anger. Unfamiliar to yours, yet a lifestyle for most of ours. You feel hatred, cold blooded, you want to slit my throat, perhaps even fuck the wound after out of pure despise. But that's not happening. I am going to repeat my question once more, and if you don't answer, I'll just let you know we have your family in a cell. Now. Who are we?"
"Humans,"
The general grinned.
"Why are we here?"
I knew the exact reason. A rouge group of pirates had attacked a UNSC cargo ship- one of the biggest mistakes possible. And just to our cruel luck, the man in charge of the attack was an exiled member of our society. Exiled for being an aggressive one.
"One does not represent a whole... general,"
"Oh, innocent soul. But it does. Tell me, do you read?"
"Enough to know about your bastard race destroying itself in the past..."
"Do you know what united us under a single flag? Not peace, not diplomacy, not mercy. But war,"
"United under a single flag... loss of all individuality, heritage. Is it not?"
"Loss of all opposition. Gain of strength, power and wealth. One of yours took that from us. 300 million tonnes of pure minerals... gone. Let me tell you something. Before unification, one of our nations' rouge group, not the whole nation, just a rouge group, had hijacked an pre-space age aerial unit, and flown it into a economic center, causing mere billions in damages and only 3000 deaths. Do you know what they did to find the rouge groups leader, or what happened after?"
"A nation known as the USA attacked multiple other nations, causing much more damage and deaths than the attack ever could've."
"Here's what you don't know. The nation ordered the individual to orchestrate the attack on itself. Just as an excuse to raid and massacre other countries for the purpose of resources. Now think of it like this, if we were ruthless enough to massacre millions for the actions of an individual, and for resources, what makes you think that we wouldn't do the same to you, to regain our minerals and incarcerate the man who ordered the attack?"
"You will not succeed. Our people have a prophet. A messiah. He will come down in our time of need to save us and repel invaders. He *will* come and *will* save us,"
The general glanced at me with a wicked twisted smile on his face.
"Stand up," I followed his orders, worrying for the life of my family, "Follow me,"
I stood up, hands tied behind my back. The general led me to a large metallic vault door. He pressed his fingers against a keypad and with a mechanical whir, the monolithic plate opened. Inside was a statue of an elongated cross, with a man hanging on it. Most probably a sadistic form of torture only meant for the worst of thieves. Yet the room itself looked nothing like a torture chamber, in fact, it almost looked like a worship area. Colored pieces of glass formed multiple mosaics strewn across the walls and roof. Most of them depicted scenes likely from childbirth and such.
"What... is this?" I asked, clearly depicting a look of bewilderedness on my face.
"That person. He was our prophet. He was supposed to come down to earth and save us from something we would never come to learn. Our messiah came down to earth, attempting to spread love and extinguish hate. We imprisoned him, tortured him, whipped him, and just when he was on the verge of death, to prevent him from escaping from his pain, and embracing the sweet salvation of death, we nailed him atop a cross, leaving him to suffer a slow and painful death in the scorching hot of the sun. He then came again in other forms, but each time he was killed, murdered or left to a slow death. If none of those had happened, and if he was successful, since he came down in different forms, his followers of his different selves were pitted aginst each other, causing some of the deadliest single planet wars ever known."
I was explicitly terrified.
"If we did this to our own messiah, may god help yours..." | It was Kee-qua's time to stand watch, looking over the boxes below from the branches of an enormous Sumac. She sat nestled between the large red flower clusters, trying to keep her attention on the task at hand. No 11s had come out of the boxes in a very long time. Once, they had ruled the earth, carelessly destroying anything that inconveniently got in the way of their profit, their comfort, their endless appetites.
Kee-qua herself had never seen an actual 11. She had heard about them from her grandmother, Qua-ko-ko, who had been part of the first wave of her kind to leave New Caledonia. When the air got warmer and the waters rose, the pioneers set out to see if they could take advantage of the new situation. In no time at all, their black feathered bodies blanketed the earth. Their exceptional intelligence, their ability to learn, put them in the position of being free to colonize new areas now that the 11s could no longer stand the air or the blazing heat of the sun. It had, in fact, been Qua-ko-ko who had thought give numbers-- the Qua-quas understood numbers well-- to the creatures they migth encounter on their journeys, so that they could call out the numbers in short bursts to warn the next travellers of what they might encounter.
One short call signified something fairly easily dispatched with-- a rat looking for eggs, say, or a giant roach looking to burrow into one of the nests. These could be pecked at, speared with a hooked branch. A four might be something jumping unexpectedly from the water, gnashing teeth as one attempted to traverse an open expanse of water. An eight might be a larger bird-- the desperate, starving hawks and eagles trying to eke out their next meal, but the Qua-quas could almost always outsmart and outfly them.
Kee-qua chased off an eight, now, and called out the code. She used a rock that she had sharpened to a point in order to pierce the thick shell of a beetle and slurp out its tasty insides. The grubs that her kind had eaten in generations past could no longer be easily found. The were buried deep underground, the air too hot for them to grow up in trees where they would just shrivel. Everyone had had to adapt or die out. First one 11, then another, creeping out of their boxes into the light. They were covered nearly completely, except for the fleshy parts around the edges of their faces. Tubing ran from tanks on their backs into shiny flat glass over their faces. The images Kee-qua had formed about these creatures-- the cutting of whole swaths of home trees, the toxic spray they emitted, sickening any creature in its path-- rose in her mind, made her tonge freeze, momentarily, inside of her beak.
She flew to where the other lookout sat. There was a soft area of rot in the branch of the tree there, and Kee-qua's intelligent eyes shone as she held her rock in her beak to show what she had planned. When she finished, she looked into the eyes of her comrade and they both put their wings out and sailed almost silently to where the 11s stood, now with shovels and buckets.
Occupied with digging, they did not see the crows at first. Their thin skin was already blistering, their movement slow, they were already fatigued from the heat. They were unaccustomed to being outdoors. Kee-qua looked at them. They did not seem as ferocious as she had heard, but they were focused only on their digging, looking into the ground for whatever it was they needed. This singular focus made her job easy. The birds looked again at each other, and with a swift twist of beak against plastic hose, pulled the tubing from the tanks on the 11s backs.
It did not take long, and Kee-qua could see the surprise on their faces, the disbelief and lack of understanding. When they fell to the ground, she returned to her perch. The next time one of the boxes opened up during her watch, she let out one short call. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | Lungs burning, I sprinted beside Jakken, the only competition remaining in the Trials. I cast him a single respectful glance, and he returned it. As one, we returned our gaze to the chasm ahead, covered the remaining distance, and leapt.
***
“Well done, recruits Peladria and Jakken,” beamed Instructor Kuto. “This is a first on many levels. I’m sure you’re aware of the first: no one from Sol 17-3 has ever made it this far in the trials. In addition, there has never been more than one winner.”
“We also beat the record for fastest completion,” Jakken said.
“Quite so,” the instructor nodded. He rose to his full height—he was quite tall for his species—and called out a name I didn’t recognize. Another of his kind, called Uluyarians by his species and Deandrosians by ours, scurried up and placed twin pendants in his hands. “Thank you. Now,” he turned back to us, “these pendants will serve as placeholders until the ceremony can be officially conducted. I know they’re a little small for you, but we really expected another Uluyarian to win, or maybe a Fabros.”
“We do apologize for our last minute entry into the program,” I said with a polite nod. “We recognize that it made things difficult for the Instructors, and will give word of future participation with ample time for the appropriate accommodations to be made.”
“That would be greatly appreciated, Ambassador,” the instructor said, nodding quickly. Their body language was foreign to me, but if he weren’t an alien, I’d interpret it as nervousness. “And I’d like to apologize for the sad state of affairs that is our Human department. We simply never thought we’d see one make it out of the solar system.”
“An understandable mistake,” Jakken said. “We do showcase quite a bit of infighting that hinders our technological advances.”
“Well!” The instructor clapped his hands—or, his version of hands, at least. Feelers, perhaps? I shrugged off the thought. Until our place in the Council was cemented, I would be no closer to understanding the anatomy of any of the alien species, but honestly, he looked like an upright cockroach. “I’m sure you’ve worked up quite the appetite. The Trials tend to be... draining, shall we say.”
Considering the fact that most of the other competitors had dropped out from exhaustion a quarter of the way in, ‘draining’ was the understatement of the year. But Jakken and I nodded politely, as all ambassadors are required to do, and followed him to the banquet hall, where he quickly showed us to our seats and ran away more quickly than I would’ve thought possible for someone with such short legs.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” said a high-pitched voice. I turned to Luena, one of the only other humanoid competitors. Her green skin pulsed with bioluminescence, the way her species conveys amusement. “He’s just scared of humans.”
“Wait, what?” Jakken asked, so surprised that he forgot his eloquence training.
“Their species came up with a sort of scale for aggression,” explained a competitor across the table from us. If I remembered right, his name was Tala-ah Morduw’in, but he goes by Tala. He had a habit of blinking his second eyelids in rapid succession anytime he spoke. “They introduced it to the Council, and now it’s a sort of baseline for which species to avoid.”
“Aggression chart,” I repeated quietly. “What is its purpose?”
“I don’t really think it has one,” Luena said. “My species are a Level 4, which indicates that we will only attack when an enemy has intentionally committed an act of war.” Her skin shimmered: an admission of pride.
Tala’s claws clicked. “The Morwain are classified as a Level 7. We will attack at a slight, intentional provocation.”
“What are humans?” Jakken asked.
“Humans are a Level 11, which is unheard of. It’s supposed to stop at 10, which means they will attack at the slightest provocation, even if it’s unintentional.” Tala blinked rapidly. “But based on observations of your planet, and Council familiarity with your species’ history, they created a new rank. Level 11 means you attack even without provocation.”
“Hey, now,” I grumbled, also forgetting my eloquence training. “We haven’t attacked any of you in the whole time we’ve been here.”
“It’s a generalization,” explained Luena, whose skin and even hair was attempting to soothe me.
“I’m not sure it’s not wrong,” Jakken said.
“If the Council sees us as such an aggressor, why would we have been allowed to compete in the Trials?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been safer to refuse us entry to the Citadel?”
“I believe the Council feared it would be perceived as a great slight,” Jakken proposed. Luena flushed with light, and Tala nodded, clicking his pincers together. “They invited us here to prevent a possible genocide.”
“Genocides,” I corrected. “If we truly behaved that way, there wouldn’t have been a single species to target. The Council has representatives from every planet.”
“I hate politics,” Jakken muttered.
Tala laughed, a strange sound. “You picked the wrong job, then. As the Victors of the Trials, you will both be appointed Ambassadors of your species in the Council.”
“I only hope we can prove to the Council that we aren’t the monsters they think we are,” I said quietly, staring up at the dais at the front of the banquet hall, upon which sat the members of the Council.
“Yeah,” agreed Jakken. “Otherwise they might just lash out with a preemptive strike against every human alive.”
“They’d obliterate your species in just a few days’ time, if they tried,” Tala informed us.
“Well, now. There’s a sobering thought. I guess we’ll have to be on our best behavior for the next... ever.” | "I don't feel violent."
"But you are."
"Do I have to be?"
"Everything in you is wired this way. It's not a mind over matter issue. You just are."
"But, could I try not to be?"
"I'm done with her. Get her out of here."
Two men grabbed me, rather forcefully, and escorted me out of the building. My sessions always ended like this. Me questioning. Them escorting.
I was shoved into the sunlight, lost my footing, and fell to the pavement. I narrowly avoided face planting by throwing my hands out in front of me.
When I picked myself up, I noticed a few black smears on my hands. I looked down to where I had fallen. A few ants were circling their fallen brothers.
"I don't feel violent," I muttered, wiping their death away on my jeans.
| |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Andraxa, you must hurry. We are not too far away"
"This is ridiculous" Adraxa said flaying his mandibles wildly. "I have had enough of this !!!!! "
Before Korrin could reply, Andraxa with one smooth motion had a rail gun pointing straight at his head.
" I should be at the nest with my brothers defending and risking my life to protect my queen. Instead I am 5 million light years away with some hybrid that is weaker than a gatherer. I refuse to be kept in the dark any longer."
" Our queen said you must protect me with your life for the good of the colony. Wouldn't killing me be against our queens orders of protecting me"
The look of confusion on Adraxa's face was evident as a meteor falling from the sky. Andraxa lowered his weapon then a second later put it closer to Korrin's head.
Typical drone, Korrin thought, Quick to anger, bred for killing, no capacity for long term thinking.
" I'll just say you died by enemy fire. Noone at the nest will miss a meager hybrid like yourself"
" Oh shit, this one who can lie" Korrin said surprisedly " I never meant one who thought about the consequences after kill something"
Just then phasor began to pulsate.
" Alright, alright I'll tell you why we are here. Just get that weapon out of my face, it's not like you need that to kill me. You are one of the strongest drones the queen ever produced"
The compliment seemed to have pleased him for the light disappeared and the rail gun was now pointing away from him.
"Talk" Adraxa said sternly
"Fine" Korrin said with a sigh of relief " Adraxa what level is our species "
"8 of course" He said proudly for he even knew that in the Galaxy only a handful of species were an 8
" Then why Adraxa is our species on the verge of extinction"
" Enough with the questions" Andraxa roared angerily " You know as I do that the last level 10 in the galaxy is hunting our species down for sport"
" What if I told you that this mission will not only save our people but eliminate our enemy "
Adraxa looked perplex, " Are we looking for a weapon for our people"
" Worse, we are going to revive the humans"
The mere mention of the word human made Adraxa shrivel in fright. For even he knew the stories of what happened when the old galatic empire destroyed the home world of this meager lvl 3 species.
" Impossible, humans have been extinct for over a million years" Adraxa cried out "Our enemy has ensured that any legacy of that species has been erased"
" That is correct, and I'm surprised you know this much information. Impressive for a queen's guard" Korrin said. " What you may not know is that our species was 1 of the few lucky species that survived the war with humanity. Do you know how we did that?"
" How" Adraxa said quietly
" We spliced their DNA into a few of our own. We do this all the time of course but only to species that are our lvl and higher. Of course at the time it was blastphemous. In the end it paid off and those few hybrids saved our species from Extinction. However, due to post war histaria, everything related to humans was eradicated including the hybrids. The queen felt threaten by their presence. Of course, our distant queen was not dull, for she realized that there may come a time when we may need these hybrids. So passed down by every queen is the information on how to create these hybrids."
A quiet passed over the two, as they both stared at each other intensily.
Adraxa broke the silence
" You are willing to revive the species that killed 60 percent of life in the Galaxy"
"I am willing to revive the species that exterminated 2 lvl 10 species, 18 lvl 9 species, 123 lvl 8 species, 1873 lvl 7 species, and billions of lower lvl species just to save my own" Korrin said solemnly
Another quiet came over them. Again Adraxa broke it
" And how are we finding these humans"
"Simple" Korrin smiled " Follow the music"
With that Korrin turned around and began moving, with Adraxa not to far behind him.
| Sub-Galactic Species Catalogue
Name:Humanity
Mental Capacity:Sapient
Danger Class: 11
Research Results: While the theoretical existence of a Class-11 species seemed impossible in a sapient species, humanity is a perfect example of the horror evolution can produce. This species has existed for approximately 4,000 Galactic Cycles but within that time frame they seem to have a developed a warrior culture unparalleled in most Galactic Life. The reason they are so dangerous is the Warlords of Earth’s obsession with making more effective lead to them discovering nuclear weapons before they had colonized the nearest star system. Their entire history had been driven by war over one concept that is alien to us, Ideology and Religion. While most species scud have a built in sense of how they should be governed, humans appear to be blank slates and need to be told what to believe by charismatic figures. This disunity and obsession with war-related tech, leads me to suggest the isolation of the six nearest star systems to create the illusion of being disconnected from the wider universe for the safety of the Intergalactic Community. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Humans are the only species in existence to break the traditionally know Limit of Violence, being the only Class 11 race" I began, lecturing my Intergalactic Biology 101 class. "However, physically speaking, they are generally as strong as a Class 6 to Class 8, depending on personal preference of lifestyle, and several *behave* as if they were Class 1." Several thoughtful looks formed among my students, always a good sign. "Is anyone able to tell me why Humans are Class 11?"
No one was immediately ready to answer the question, which was again a good sign. It means they are thinking and carefully processing.
"Is it because of their various styles of combat?" Toyg, one of my Relintian students, asked.
I shook my head. "No, but that is a good guess. If it were that, and every human partook in combat training, they would be Class 8, probably 9 if you factored their military armaments. No, it's because of something their bodies produce, chemical compound C9H13NO3. Can anyone tell me what that is ?" Good, the spark of realization in their eyes.
Fendo, another of my Relintian students, raised a padded tentacle slowly, which I of course gestured to. "It's called *adrenaline*, and is a highly expensive drug used by most races to artificially boost their Limit of Violence by a factor of *four*..." Fendo started to trail off, understandably so.
"That is correct, Fendo," I answered, nodding to his direction. Cracking my sore back against my chair, I continued. "Humans produce this substance naturally, but the most surprising aspect about adrenaline is that nearly every animal that I can think of from Earth also produces this compound. Most omnivores and carnivores of the planet would place Class 11 if they had the same intellect as Humanity."
Every year I wait for this day, just to see the scared look on my students faces.
"Professor Henderson... sir?" Ogetu, I think that was. Insect-like species she is, easily from one of the most powerful species present.
"Yes," I started, already answering the question, "I naturally produce adrenaline." God I love teaching here. | Sub-Galactic Species Catalogue
Name:Humanity
Mental Capacity:Sapient
Danger Class: 11
Research Results: While the theoretical existence of a Class-11 species seemed impossible in a sapient species, humanity is a perfect example of the horror evolution can produce. This species has existed for approximately 4,000 Galactic Cycles but within that time frame they seem to have a developed a warrior culture unparalleled in most Galactic Life. The reason they are so dangerous is the Warlords of Earth’s obsession with making more effective lead to them discovering nuclear weapons before they had colonized the nearest star system. Their entire history had been driven by war over one concept that is alien to us, Ideology and Religion. While most species scud have a built in sense of how they should be governed, humans appear to be blank slates and need to be told what to believe by charismatic figures. This disunity and obsession with war-related tech, leads me to suggest the isolation of the six nearest star systems to create the illusion of being disconnected from the wider universe for the safety of the Intergalactic Community. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Andraxa, you must hurry. We are not too far away"
"This is ridiculous" Adraxa said flaying his mandibles wildly. "I have had enough of this !!!!! "
Before Korrin could reply, Andraxa with one smooth motion had a rail gun pointing straight at his head.
" I should be at the nest with my brothers defending and risking my life to protect my queen. Instead I am 5 million light years away with some hybrid that is weaker than a gatherer. I refuse to be kept in the dark any longer."
" Our queen said you must protect me with your life for the good of the colony. Wouldn't killing me be against our queens orders of protecting me"
The look of confusion on Adraxa's face was evident as a meteor falling from the sky. Andraxa lowered his weapon then a second later put it closer to Korrin's head.
Typical drone, Korrin thought, Quick to anger, bred for killing, no capacity for long term thinking.
" I'll just say you died by enemy fire. Noone at the nest will miss a meager hybrid like yourself"
" Oh shit, this one who can lie" Korrin said surprisedly " I never meant one who thought about the consequences after kill something"
Just then phasor began to pulsate.
" Alright, alright I'll tell you why we are here. Just get that weapon out of my face, it's not like you need that to kill me. You are one of the strongest drones the queen ever produced"
The compliment seemed to have pleased him for the light disappeared and the rail gun was now pointing away from him.
"Talk" Adraxa said sternly
"Fine" Korrin said with a sigh of relief " Adraxa what level is our species "
"8 of course" He said proudly for he even knew that in the Galaxy only a handful of species were an 8
" Then why Adraxa is our species on the verge of extinction"
" Enough with the questions" Andraxa roared angerily " You know as I do that the last level 10 in the galaxy is hunting our species down for sport"
" What if I told you that this mission will not only save our people but eliminate our enemy "
Adraxa looked perplex, " Are we looking for a weapon for our people"
" Worse, we are going to revive the humans"
The mere mention of the word human made Adraxa shrivel in fright. For even he knew the stories of what happened when the old galatic empire destroyed the home world of this meager lvl 3 species.
" Impossible, humans have been extinct for over a million years" Adraxa cried out "Our enemy has ensured that any legacy of that species has been erased"
" That is correct, and I'm surprised you know this much information. Impressive for a queen's guard" Korrin said. " What you may not know is that our species was 1 of the few lucky species that survived the war with humanity. Do you know how we did that?"
" How" Adraxa said quietly
" We spliced their DNA into a few of our own. We do this all the time of course but only to species that are our lvl and higher. Of course at the time it was blastphemous. In the end it paid off and those few hybrids saved our species from Extinction. However, due to post war histaria, everything related to humans was eradicated including the hybrids. The queen felt threaten by their presence. Of course, our distant queen was not dull, for she realized that there may come a time when we may need these hybrids. So passed down by every queen is the information on how to create these hybrids."
A quiet passed over the two, as they both stared at each other intensily.
Adraxa broke the silence
" You are willing to revive the species that killed 60 percent of life in the Galaxy"
"I am willing to revive the species that exterminated 2 lvl 10 species, 18 lvl 9 species, 123 lvl 8 species, 1873 lvl 7 species, and billions of lower lvl species just to save my own" Korrin said solemnly
Another quiet came over them. Again Adraxa broke it
" And how are we finding these humans"
"Simple" Korrin smiled " Follow the music"
With that Korrin turned around and began moving, with Adraxa not to far behind him.
| Gerzert had always been a bit of a thrill seeker, according to his colleagues anyway, but either way he was truly fascinated by the reports about the incredibly dangerous blue planet he now parked in orbit above. He was just about to start a visual scan when the alarm for an impending collision began blaring. No big deal, the ship was in automatic mode and could move out of the way on its own, but the shipboard computer flashed a second warning, the collision would be unavoidable. Surprised, he shot a glance through the window, he could hardly believe his eyes at the size of the thing barreling towards his craft. It was mostly cylindrical with two enormous rectangular attachments on each of its sides they almost looked like archaic solar energy gathering panels. But there was no time to ponder, he quickly attempted to hail the fast approaching vessel but no response came. Out of desperation Gerzert pushed the throttle all the way forward in a feeble attempt to dodge it, but the giant craft slammed into his ship, hard. He was thrown against a wall in his ship and everything went fuzzy for a while, he heard distant alarms and orange warning lights hazily flashing somewhere far off. Slowly his head started to clear and he realized his ship was falling towards the planet that no other being in the universe dared to step foot on, let alone make contact with.
The fail-safe landing apparatus deployed and barely managed to slow the ship enough to hit the ground at an awkward angle. The power went out and Gerzert was left bruised and sore in his dead craft. He lay there for a moment contemplating what to do when he heard a jarring scraping noise on the remains of the hull. From the cracked cockpit window he saw a creature attempting to climb over the ship. The thing was about the size of his own pet derglerod (which came up to his waist) it was black and had six legs. In it's mouth it carried a large chuck of... possibly plant matter? in it's mandibles. Luckily the thing simply wandered around his ship and continued along with its heavy load. How could such a beast carry that much weight? Gerzert pondered what to do next and decided the only thing to do was carefully explore while the ship's auto-repair attempted to make the craft space worthy again. He donned the highly specialized suit for hazardous environments and exited.
The environment of this planet was extremely hostile, long tall stalks of spiked green plant life grew densely all around him. He attempted to climb one of them to get a better view but the fierce winds were too much. He stayed on the relative safety of the rocky ground. He spotted another six legged beast carrying an even heavier load than the last one, it trudged past without noticing Gerzert, thankfully. Suddenly he heard a loud bellowing noise from somewhere far above him, he squinted his three eyes and tried to peer up through the dense forest and that's when he saw it. An impossibly colossal creature towered above, it hadn't seemed to notice Gerzert and was looking the other way, almost like it was anticipating something. It called something out in it's booming native dialect, his helmets translating software echoed the words in his own language, "throw the ball already!" the ground shook as the giant moved just a few steps backward... toward Gerzert's ship! "It got it! I got it!" The translator picked up. Panicking he ran toward his only means of escape, but it was too late, the giant's foot crushed the ship like an egg shell. Gerzert despaired, falling to his knees. He looked up, only to see the huge monster turning to inspect what it had stepped on, only to bring down one of its massive feet on Gerzert.
\-
"Ouch!" winced Bobby as the baseball hit him. He had been caught off guard when he'd stepped on something that crunched. The other boys laughed. Bobby looked down and saw a what looked like a little toy space ship smashed into the ground. "Come on Bobby! we're up to bat next!" One of the boys called, he shrugged and ran to the dugout, forgetting about the toy. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Humans are the only species in existence to break the traditionally know Limit of Violence, being the only Class 11 race" I began, lecturing my Intergalactic Biology 101 class. "However, physically speaking, they are generally as strong as a Class 6 to Class 8, depending on personal preference of lifestyle, and several *behave* as if they were Class 1." Several thoughtful looks formed among my students, always a good sign. "Is anyone able to tell me why Humans are Class 11?"
No one was immediately ready to answer the question, which was again a good sign. It means they are thinking and carefully processing.
"Is it because of their various styles of combat?" Toyg, one of my Relintian students, asked.
I shook my head. "No, but that is a good guess. If it were that, and every human partook in combat training, they would be Class 8, probably 9 if you factored their military armaments. No, it's because of something their bodies produce, chemical compound C9H13NO3. Can anyone tell me what that is ?" Good, the spark of realization in their eyes.
Fendo, another of my Relintian students, raised a padded tentacle slowly, which I of course gestured to. "It's called *adrenaline*, and is a highly expensive drug used by most races to artificially boost their Limit of Violence by a factor of *four*..." Fendo started to trail off, understandably so.
"That is correct, Fendo," I answered, nodding to his direction. Cracking my sore back against my chair, I continued. "Humans produce this substance naturally, but the most surprising aspect about adrenaline is that nearly every animal that I can think of from Earth also produces this compound. Most omnivores and carnivores of the planet would place Class 11 if they had the same intellect as Humanity."
Every year I wait for this day, just to see the scared look on my students faces.
"Professor Henderson... sir?" Ogetu, I think that was. Insect-like species she is, easily from one of the most powerful species present.
"Yes," I started, already answering the question, "I naturally produce adrenaline." God I love teaching here. | Gerzert had always been a bit of a thrill seeker, according to his colleagues anyway, but either way he was truly fascinated by the reports about the incredibly dangerous blue planet he now parked in orbit above. He was just about to start a visual scan when the alarm for an impending collision began blaring. No big deal, the ship was in automatic mode and could move out of the way on its own, but the shipboard computer flashed a second warning, the collision would be unavoidable. Surprised, he shot a glance through the window, he could hardly believe his eyes at the size of the thing barreling towards his craft. It was mostly cylindrical with two enormous rectangular attachments on each of its sides they almost looked like archaic solar energy gathering panels. But there was no time to ponder, he quickly attempted to hail the fast approaching vessel but no response came. Out of desperation Gerzert pushed the throttle all the way forward in a feeble attempt to dodge it, but the giant craft slammed into his ship, hard. He was thrown against a wall in his ship and everything went fuzzy for a while, he heard distant alarms and orange warning lights hazily flashing somewhere far off. Slowly his head started to clear and he realized his ship was falling towards the planet that no other being in the universe dared to step foot on, let alone make contact with.
The fail-safe landing apparatus deployed and barely managed to slow the ship enough to hit the ground at an awkward angle. The power went out and Gerzert was left bruised and sore in his dead craft. He lay there for a moment contemplating what to do when he heard a jarring scraping noise on the remains of the hull. From the cracked cockpit window he saw a creature attempting to climb over the ship. The thing was about the size of his own pet derglerod (which came up to his waist) it was black and had six legs. In it's mouth it carried a large chuck of... possibly plant matter? in it's mandibles. Luckily the thing simply wandered around his ship and continued along with its heavy load. How could such a beast carry that much weight? Gerzert pondered what to do next and decided the only thing to do was carefully explore while the ship's auto-repair attempted to make the craft space worthy again. He donned the highly specialized suit for hazardous environments and exited.
The environment of this planet was extremely hostile, long tall stalks of spiked green plant life grew densely all around him. He attempted to climb one of them to get a better view but the fierce winds were too much. He stayed on the relative safety of the rocky ground. He spotted another six legged beast carrying an even heavier load than the last one, it trudged past without noticing Gerzert, thankfully. Suddenly he heard a loud bellowing noise from somewhere far above him, he squinted his three eyes and tried to peer up through the dense forest and that's when he saw it. An impossibly colossal creature towered above, it hadn't seemed to notice Gerzert and was looking the other way, almost like it was anticipating something. It called something out in it's booming native dialect, his helmets translating software echoed the words in his own language, "throw the ball already!" the ground shook as the giant moved just a few steps backward... toward Gerzert's ship! "It got it! I got it!" The translator picked up. Panicking he ran toward his only means of escape, but it was too late, the giant's foot crushed the ship like an egg shell. Gerzert despaired, falling to his knees. He looked up, only to see the huge monster turning to inspect what it had stepped on, only to bring down one of its massive feet on Gerzert.
\-
"Ouch!" winced Bobby as the baseball hit him. He had been caught off guard when he'd stepped on something that crunched. The other boys laughed. Bobby looked down and saw a what looked like a little toy space ship smashed into the ground. "Come on Bobby! we're up to bat next!" One of the boys called, he shrugged and ran to the dugout, forgetting about the toy. | |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy is assigned a danger level, between 1 and 10. Level 1 are species that cannot hurt you and would not try to hurt you. Level 10 are species that can rip you apart at the slightest provocation. Humans are a level 11 species. | "Humans are the only species in existence to break the traditionally know Limit of Violence, being the only Class 11 race" I began, lecturing my Intergalactic Biology 101 class. "However, physically speaking, they are generally as strong as a Class 6 to Class 8, depending on personal preference of lifestyle, and several *behave* as if they were Class 1." Several thoughtful looks formed among my students, always a good sign. "Is anyone able to tell me why Humans are Class 11?"
No one was immediately ready to answer the question, which was again a good sign. It means they are thinking and carefully processing.
"Is it because of their various styles of combat?" Toyg, one of my Relintian students, asked.
I shook my head. "No, but that is a good guess. If it were that, and every human partook in combat training, they would be Class 8, probably 9 if you factored their military armaments. No, it's because of something their bodies produce, chemical compound C9H13NO3. Can anyone tell me what that is ?" Good, the spark of realization in their eyes.
Fendo, another of my Relintian students, raised a padded tentacle slowly, which I of course gestured to. "It's called *adrenaline*, and is a highly expensive drug used by most races to artificially boost their Limit of Violence by a factor of *four*..." Fendo started to trail off, understandably so.
"That is correct, Fendo," I answered, nodding to his direction. Cracking my sore back against my chair, I continued. "Humans produce this substance naturally, but the most surprising aspect about adrenaline is that nearly every animal that I can think of from Earth also produces this compound. Most omnivores and carnivores of the planet would place Class 11 if they had the same intellect as Humanity."
Every year I wait for this day, just to see the scared look on my students faces.
"Professor Henderson... sir?" Ogetu, I think that was. Insect-like species she is, easily from one of the most powerful species present.
"Yes," I started, already answering the question, "I naturally produce adrenaline." God I love teaching here. | "This is highly unusual"
"Indeed, but we exist in highly unusual times"
"Why have you called this meeting?"
"Another has fallen to Humanity"
"Xalthid. She destroyed a paltry 500,000 of their drones, and they respond with her total destruction. Why could they not simply take 500,000 of hers? Or get other trade goods rather than simple biomass? Humanity is truly ruthless. To kill a Sentient over the loss of so little."
"This is why I have contacted you. I have tried to find their Sentient, and I know you have too. Xalthid and the others surely pondered about this mysterious Humanity, the Sentient who would command drones and workers to act so erratically, who never would speak to other Sentients directly. I have a theory about the nature of Humanity."
"Go on"
"Their Sentient is not a single being, but rather distributed throughout each unit of the colony"
"Like the Pjith? The fungal things that are all part of their Sentient?"
"No, worse. I do not think that Humanity is a single Sentient. Each unit of the colony appears to **be** a Sentient"
"...."
"Though Humanity has specialized units for different tasks, each can also operate autonomously. I have observed units move from one specialty to another with relative ease. I have observed a unit separated from all others operating autonomously, making logical choices, and able to solve complex problems on its own. This includes going against the operations of other units."
"Perhaps Humanity is simply a colony in disarray."
"That old theory is highly unlikely. They are able to coordinate strikes on aggressors, and continue to grow and consume resources for the colony. No, a colony in disarray the size of Humanity would have more than likely destroyed itself decades ago."
"But they do destroy themselves, and at a much higher rate than any other functioning colony seen before"
"True, much like the Wars of Ascension in my ancient past, when hundreds of Sentients of the same species on my planet fought over what was left. I am the descendant of the victor, a lineage that began with a Sentient who made allies, starved foes and consumed friends, much like Humanity as we know it."
"The implications of your theory are truly disturbing. For each unit to be its own Sentient, would mean that when Xalthid destroyed 500,000 drones..."
"It would be equivalent to a massacre of galactic size. Half a million Sentients destroyed. An act of aggression that could only be answered by--"
"Total destruction of the aggressor"
"It is the only way I can explain the behavior of Humanity; not as a *single* Sentient, *but as a collective of Sentients working together*"
"... I will need to ruminate on this"
"It is a radical theory. But if it is true, all non-Humanity Sentients are in terrible danger"
"Then let us hope it is not true. Until next time"
"Until next time" | |
Bonus points if you can end the story with a person being alone.
Double bonus points if you can attribute them being alone and symbolically contrast it with being “unique” . | [WP] We live in a universe where only the like minded coexist. At the end of every discussion, if there are differences in opinion, each individual is transported to a parallel universe with others who think similarly in every way. | July 11th 2018, exactly three days ago when the world changed . The one known as The Vassal appeared before everyone, of every dialect. Many believe it was god, and in a way it was. But he introduces himself as The Vassal.
"This has gone on enough. You people bicker over the most petty of subjects, when there is confrontation it is bought to my attention. I am meant to rule on these matters, but for you people it is easier to try and ignore the constant bleating of arguments. Now I have decided a new system."
"If you ever have a disagreement of opinion with another, you will be sent to a new world. One that will cater for the population, but it will only be for those that share the same opinions as yourself."
They were the rules he made up, which at first everyone thought was a joke, until half the population almost vanished. The opinion that divided the world? Dogs or Cats, which is better? The system seemed wonderful, only being with those you shared an opinion with, and getting to live in a world suitable for like minded individuals. That's when The Vassal returned.
"It took three days. Three days, and each Human has there own damn planet! What the hell is wrong with all of you? That not even two of you people share the exact same opinions? Oh one likes red curtains another likes blue? One is religious and another is not? One prefers hotdogs, and the other burgers? One believes in me and another does not! Seriously I am addressing you all here right now, and Timothy Harinnet doesn't think I exist!?! How is that even debatable! I've had it! I can't sustain a single planet for each person! I can't let your stupid, whiny race die out like that!"
Then "poof" we were all back in our homes, everyone returned back to our own world. It took three days for the uniqueness of humanity to almost be its own demise. It took three days for humanity to make something all powerful, quit in frustration. Some of humanity may share similar values, beliefs and virtues, but no two humans are truly the same. It is what makes us human, to perceive, feel, experience and accept things in a different manner to one another. At least, that's my opinion. | I'm tired of all this world hopping. It's been far too long since this system was implemented, but no matter how much I try to agree with someone, I slip up just a little and poof like that I'm off to another world. Every time I have to start over get a job and find a family try to live with the opinions around me if anyone disagrees they are just teleported away that's how it works.
This whole thing was started to bring about world peace, enough people thought it was a great idea and the scientific community started working on the trial run. They tested the program on 1,000 people to start, the question was simple do you prefer pineapple on pizza if you didn't you were teleported to a separate room with people like you.
It didn't go so well the question though simple had to many variables, there were people who liked it but only on a Hawaiian style pie, or the ones who preferred it to be with anchovies, and even though rare there were about 50 or so people who preferred the crust be stuffed with it and the pizza was plain. The scientists didn't know what happened to that group for 60 years, it wasn't pretty, so the whole thing was put on hold for human testing till they could figure out how to ensure everyone was safe when teleported.
When the final product was unveiled we all thought it was the greatest thing since full dive VR, those that didn't well they were teleported away and never seen again, what fools we were to think it so grand. Crime cleared up over almost overnight, most prisons were emptied of all inmates just because they had different opinions, the ones that stayed were released because they "had to be innocent since they thought like us".
Peace lasted until the criminals figured out the systems weakness as long as you lied about your opinion well enough you could get away scottfree. When news got out loads of people were teleported away while the scientific community tried to confirm this, this too didn't go well as the system was in full swing and the only scientists left after about a week only had this to say to the media.
"Clearly the only way we can do anything to solve this is to lie about how we feel as any method of shutting the system off was lost with the original team."
There was a time right after my first jump I felt welcome on the new world they even had cross dimension communication to get news from the home world about the shut down of the system and other things, that lasted about a year till I told a friend what I thought about a woman I saw at the bar one day.
"Hey Dave you have you seen the girl I told you about?"
"The one who enjoyed Treasure Planet when they were younger?"
"Yes"
"The one with fiery red hair, wore glasses, and was about 5'7"?"
"YES!"
"Well I'm sorry to say she vanished a little bit ago"
"WHAT?!?"
"Well after she came in looking for you I told her you be here in a few because of an errand you had to run." Dave continued "She said ok and that she would just go use the bathroom while she waited."
"Dave please get to the part as to why she vanished you are rambling."
"Right sorry, well she bumped into someone after leaving and the told her she looked fine and hoped they were d2f and well she told the guy where to stick it and poof she was gone."
"where is that asshole now?"
"Over there" said Dave pointing to a very heavyset man sitting alone near the wemon's restroom.
I went over and promptly told the guy off *poof* I'm in a new world full of people who hated that guy for making his one chance at love in that world vanish before he even got there. Population 131 what had that guy been doing with his life to make that many people come here? I didn't last long on that world turns out not many did it was a quick in quick out for most, only the few who still hated him were there for longer. In the years that followed I managed to make my way from universe to universe trying to find her, in a lot of ways it felt like that old pc game "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?", in many others it just felt like hell I would catch word of someone like her from time to time with no real lead as to what happened to her or where she was.
After years of searching I found out she had settled down in universe 7,369 a lbgtq world as a lesbian she had a wife and had adopted a few of the kids that wound up there due to the system. I grew deeply depressed ended back on the world of people who hated that one guy though I never got a name the people just called him Flash because of how fast you ended up in this world after telling him off.
I left that world later after growing out of my depressed state, and found myself hopping around again trying to find a life for myself. Eventually I settled down on a world of nerds with a girl I fell in love with, world 1337. We had so much fun till the system got an update...
The scientists found a way to tell if you were lying. |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | "Will he ever wake up?"
She asked, begging for a 'yes'.
"We've been through this, Mrs. Clancy. Your husband is brain dead. So no, he won't."
"But...but medicines are so advanced nowadays. And... And... sciences, too. You have good doctors, right?"
Little self assurances broke into quiet sobbings.
"Think of the cost, too. A bed for your husband means one less bed for someone else. The room, too, and the machines."
Quiet sobbings turned into tearing torrents.
"You want me to let him die?"
"I want you to accept the fact that he is already dead, whether here or six feet under ground."
I slid the form on the table.
"I'll give you a moment to think about it. Just sign the papers, I'll take care of the rest."
I hurried outside. I was not the sentimental type. I was not cut out to deliver the bad news to people. In fact, I became a doctor because doctors know how to save lives. To do so, one would need to understand the many ways in which man can die. Each and every single of them.
The case of Mr. Clancy was far from my favorite. All I did was pulling the plug. There is nothing thrilling or exciting about it. But then, I was in dire need of years.
It was a few days later when I was finishing the paperwork with the widow did I notice a tiny life bursting from inside her.
"Are you pregnant, Mrs. Clancy?"
The sudden question startled the weeping widow.
"No... I don't know... I'm not sure... Why did you ask that?"
"Just a hunch, I've been a doctor for quite a while. Here, let me get the test stick."
The confused Mrs. Clancy excused herself to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I wondered if I should let intervene and save the unborn from a miscarriage. On one hand, the kid's dead would free its mother from her old relationship. On the other, the woman just lost her husband. She might not survive mentally.
The widow returned, amazed with little sparkles in her once dead eyes.
"I'm pregnant."
She held her belly like a little treasure.
"It makes me feel like he is still here. A part of him."
Damn. She wouldn't survive the miscarriage. I handed her my business card.
"Here's my contact details. In the back I've also written my private number. If there is anything wrong with your body or the child's, feel free to call me. I'll do my best to help."
She stared at me wide-eyed. I put my hands upon hers.
"Let's just say that a friend of mine used to be in the same position."
From one surprise to another, she was still in a trance.
"I... I didn't know you were this..."
"Emotional?"
She nodded.
"Well, people often view me that way. I'm not good at expressing myself. But enough about that. I need to ask you something."
"Yes, Doc?"
She seemed a little creeped out. Kind of a bad way to treat your saviour, not that she would know.
"Can I come to Mr. Clancy's funeral?"
"S..Sure... It's two weeks from now and... I'll send you the details later."
"Thank you."
That very night, I pondered where could I get some years. I had spent the father's at another patient. Should I visit the emergency ward? That's place was fifty-fifty. I'd got two weeks, but time flew fast. My feet took me to my second least favorite kind of patients. Infants.
I looked down on the frowned face of a lovely little angel. He had trouble breathing.
"Sorry, love, but I really need that lifetime."
| "After my mom found out what I was doing, she killed herself. That wasn't a really bright part of my life, and when my dad found out he wanted to go to the cops; I didn't stop him. I just told him I loved him as he walked out the door, and watched the final minute of his life start ticking down as a heart attack crept up on him as he slowed to a crawl on the driveway, and then stopped moving. A self pitying grin caught tears as I hiccuped a laugh thinking of the irony that I would be calling 911 now.
They couldn't understand, they didn't even try. They didn't ask who all the people were or what I did with their bodies. It didn't matter to my parents that they were criminals, or that I didn't do anything sick with their bodies, simply disposed of them as best I could to be respectful without ever getting caught. My parents never even asked me if I liked to do it, they just assumed I did, and I guess that hurt the most because I don't. I don't like doing it, I hate doing it. I wish they would have talked to me about it so I could explain I wasn't doing it for myself."
The man dangling from the manacles on my wall looked up at me, "please just kill me now," he rasped out at me.
I bent down and cupped his face with a hand, "James, I would never," I gently reassured him, "I love you, you're the one I'm doing this for. Maybe you'll understand tomorrow."
I put the gag back into James's mouth and kissed him on the forehead before I stood up. I walked to the basement door and with my hand on the light switch, turned my head back to whisper, "I'll love you forever."
*Click* | |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | The people I killed didn't deserve to live.
"When I first received this gift, I didn't know what was going on. Dates would pop up in my head when I would see a person. There is one above my head too. A date that is fifty years from now. I only found out what the numbers meant after visiting my sick father in the hospital. The number over his head was a date that was a week from now. I realized what the dates meant. They were the dates of a person's death.
I knew that this was coming, and I thought that there was no hope for my father. I felt defeated. As I walked home from the hospital, I decided to take the shortcut, walking through a somewhat shady alley. And, when I did just this, a man walked out in front of me. He asked me for some money, and I refused to give him any. That is when he pulled the knife out of his coat.
If it were any other day, I'd be scared of the blade and hand over my wallet. But, this was no other day. I knew that today was not the day I die, and the man had another five years of life in him. We would both walk out of this encounter alive. So I lunged at him. He wasn't expecting it, obviously, and I was able to get him to give up the knife. He tried fighting back, and I, in the heat of the moment, stabbed the man in the chest. he writhed on the ground, trying to pull the knife out, and when he did, blood started pouring out of the wound. He kept squirming on the ground until he stopped, and the number above his head faded away. He was dead. I knew the police would find the blade, so I concealed it on myself and resumed my walk home.
The next time I visited my father in the hospital, my father's death was delayed by five years, and I finally understood the power of my gift.
I started spending my time studying the shadier aspects of town. I started hiring informants that would find out who exactly is involved in evil activity. And, when I finally would decide that I have enough information, I would pay these people visits and take their life, which I would donate to those I believed worthy of it. Philanthropists, innovators, the Queen of England, and the like.
Yesterday, I finally finished gathering information about someone who would be my biggest kill yet. A bigwig in the criminal underworld, someone with enough money to rival the richest people on this Earth. I went to his home to kill him. When I arrived there, I saw flashing lights and police cars parked outside his home. One of your boys saw me and pointed a gun at me. I didn't want to accidentally kill an innocent man, so I let him arrest me. I suppose you know the rest, Inspector."
The Inspector looked at me with his dead and apathetic eyes. "So, you claim that your murders were justified because you were dealing with criminals?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'm afraid that I may be the only one who would believe your death date story, Mr. Hoover. You will most likely be sentenced to death by lethal injection."
I was shocked. Did he just say that he believes that I have a special power? "I'm sorry, but why would you be the only one to believe me?"
The inspector grinned. "Lets just say that you... explained some dates I've been seeing to me."
Oh.
The inspector put one hand under the table. I heard a some sort of clicking. "Now, as much as I would love to let you go and kill more criminals, as you haven't exactly killed anyone innocent yet, but the law is the law. If it's any comfort to you, I'll do my best to be able to administer the injection myself."
No. They're going to kill me, or lock me up at best. I have to get out of here, and I'm afraid I will have to kill innocent people to do it.
I lunged at the Inspector. He took his hand out from under the table, holding a pistol. He aimed it right at my chest, and fired it twice. I fell over, bleeding out. My vision was fading away. The Inspector knelt over my body. "Don't worry, those fifty years will go to someone who deserves them."
-------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.**
r/WrittenText | "After my mom found out what I was doing, she killed herself. That wasn't a really bright part of my life, and when my dad found out he wanted to go to the cops; I didn't stop him. I just told him I loved him as he walked out the door, and watched the final minute of his life start ticking down as a heart attack crept up on him as he slowed to a crawl on the driveway, and then stopped moving. A self pitying grin caught tears as I hiccuped a laugh thinking of the irony that I would be calling 911 now.
They couldn't understand, they didn't even try. They didn't ask who all the people were or what I did with their bodies. It didn't matter to my parents that they were criminals, or that I didn't do anything sick with their bodies, simply disposed of them as best I could to be respectful without ever getting caught. My parents never even asked me if I liked to do it, they just assumed I did, and I guess that hurt the most because I don't. I don't like doing it, I hate doing it. I wish they would have talked to me about it so I could explain I wasn't doing it for myself."
The man dangling from the manacles on my wall looked up at me, "please just kill me now," he rasped out at me.
I bent down and cupped his face with a hand, "James, I would never," I gently reassured him, "I love you, you're the one I'm doing this for. Maybe you'll understand tomorrow."
I put the gag back into James's mouth and kissed him on the forehead before I stood up. I walked to the basement door and with my hand on the light switch, turned my head back to whisper, "I'll love you forever."
*Click* | |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | "Will he ever wake up?"
She asked, begging for a 'yes'.
"We've been through this, Mrs. Clancy. Your husband is brain dead. So no, he won't."
"But...but medicines are so advanced nowadays. And... And... sciences, too. You have good doctors, right?"
Little self assurances broke into quiet sobbings.
"Think of the cost, too. A bed for your husband means one less bed for someone else. The room, too, and the machines."
Quiet sobbings turned into tearing torrents.
"You want me to let him die?"
"I want you to accept the fact that he is already dead, whether here or six feet under ground."
I slid the form on the table.
"I'll give you a moment to think about it. Just sign the papers, I'll take care of the rest."
I hurried outside. I was not the sentimental type. I was not cut out to deliver the bad news to people. In fact, I became a doctor because doctors know how to save lives. To do so, one would need to understand the many ways in which man can die. Each and every single of them.
The case of Mr. Clancy was far from my favorite. All I did was pulling the plug. There is nothing thrilling or exciting about it. But then, I was in dire need of years.
It was a few days later when I was finishing the paperwork with the widow did I notice a tiny life bursting from inside her.
"Are you pregnant, Mrs. Clancy?"
The sudden question startled the weeping widow.
"No... I don't know... I'm not sure... Why did you ask that?"
"Just a hunch, I've been a doctor for quite a while. Here, let me get the test stick."
The confused Mrs. Clancy excused herself to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I wondered if I should let intervene and save the unborn from a miscarriage. On one hand, the kid's dead would free its mother from her old relationship. On the other, the woman just lost her husband. She might not survive mentally.
The widow returned, amazed with little sparkles in her once dead eyes.
"I'm pregnant."
She held her belly like a little treasure.
"It makes me feel like he is still here. A part of him."
Damn. She wouldn't survive the miscarriage. I handed her my business card.
"Here's my contact details. In the back I've also written my private number. If there is anything wrong with your body or the child's, feel free to call me. I'll do my best to help."
She stared at me wide-eyed. I put my hands upon hers.
"Let's just say that a friend of mine used to be in the same position."
From one surprise to another, she was still in a trance.
"I... I didn't know you were this..."
"Emotional?"
She nodded.
"Well, people often view me that way. I'm not good at expressing myself. But enough about that. I need to ask you something."
"Yes, Doc?"
She seemed a little creeped out. Kind of a bad way to treat your saviour, not that she would know.
"Can I come to Mr. Clancy's funeral?"
"S..Sure... It's two weeks from now and... I'll send you the details later."
"Thank you."
That very night, I pondered where could I get some years. I had spent the father's at another patient. Should I visit the emergency ward? That's place was fifty-fifty. I'd got two weeks, but time flew fast. My feet took me to my second least favorite kind of patients. Infants.
I looked down on the frowned face of a lovely little angel. He had trouble breathing.
"Sorry, love, but I really need that lifetime."
| “How much will it be?”
I smiled, doing my best to console the couple, who both had tears streaming down their faces.
“Four payments of $25,000. I must remind you that this is highly experimental stuff, but we have had a 93% success rate among our sample size of 72 patients,”
The husband nodded, and turned to his wife, stroking her face. She had cancer, a high stage. Metastasized to her brain. Unfortunate, but what she needed most I had. With my treatment, I could give her years to live, years to love. That is in contrast to the months the cruel mistress known as fate has given her.
The husband turned to me.
“I’ve seen the details you gave me, and I understand this hasn’t been verified by any medical boards. You have to understand that’s it’s our last chance.”
He begins to cry again, and I pat him on the shoulder tentatively.
“I’ll have you run in through my receptionist, all right. We’ll schedule a date sometime on the next week. Stay strong, both of you.”
Later, I walked down to the basement of my facility. The basement contained at least 25 vaults, all for the purpose of keeping our “saviors”. You see, I have a strange power. I call it Ouruboros. I can kill someone, and the years I have taken to them, I can give to another. It provides for a lucrative business.
I rapped on the sealed glass door on one of the lighted vaults. The resident of this vault was a prostitute named “Pixie”, and we have given her the means to become a real member of society, to give her life to another.
“Rise and shine, my dear. We have a procedure scheduled for later today. You have center stage, so put on a show.”
I smile.
All is well with the world. | |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | The people I killed didn't deserve to live.
"When I first received this gift, I didn't know what was going on. Dates would pop up in my head when I would see a person. There is one above my head too. A date that is fifty years from now. I only found out what the numbers meant after visiting my sick father in the hospital. The number over his head was a date that was a week from now. I realized what the dates meant. They were the dates of a person's death.
I knew that this was coming, and I thought that there was no hope for my father. I felt defeated. As I walked home from the hospital, I decided to take the shortcut, walking through a somewhat shady alley. And, when I did just this, a man walked out in front of me. He asked me for some money, and I refused to give him any. That is when he pulled the knife out of his coat.
If it were any other day, I'd be scared of the blade and hand over my wallet. But, this was no other day. I knew that today was not the day I die, and the man had another five years of life in him. We would both walk out of this encounter alive. So I lunged at him. He wasn't expecting it, obviously, and I was able to get him to give up the knife. He tried fighting back, and I, in the heat of the moment, stabbed the man in the chest. he writhed on the ground, trying to pull the knife out, and when he did, blood started pouring out of the wound. He kept squirming on the ground until he stopped, and the number above his head faded away. He was dead. I knew the police would find the blade, so I concealed it on myself and resumed my walk home.
The next time I visited my father in the hospital, my father's death was delayed by five years, and I finally understood the power of my gift.
I started spending my time studying the shadier aspects of town. I started hiring informants that would find out who exactly is involved in evil activity. And, when I finally would decide that I have enough information, I would pay these people visits and take their life, which I would donate to those I believed worthy of it. Philanthropists, innovators, the Queen of England, and the like.
Yesterday, I finally finished gathering information about someone who would be my biggest kill yet. A bigwig in the criminal underworld, someone with enough money to rival the richest people on this Earth. I went to his home to kill him. When I arrived there, I saw flashing lights and police cars parked outside his home. One of your boys saw me and pointed a gun at me. I didn't want to accidentally kill an innocent man, so I let him arrest me. I suppose you know the rest, Inspector."
The Inspector looked at me with his dead and apathetic eyes. "So, you claim that your murders were justified because you were dealing with criminals?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'm afraid that I may be the only one who would believe your death date story, Mr. Hoover. You will most likely be sentenced to death by lethal injection."
I was shocked. Did he just say that he believes that I have a special power? "I'm sorry, but why would you be the only one to believe me?"
The inspector grinned. "Lets just say that you... explained some dates I've been seeing to me."
Oh.
The inspector put one hand under the table. I heard a some sort of clicking. "Now, as much as I would love to let you go and kill more criminals, as you haven't exactly killed anyone innocent yet, but the law is the law. If it's any comfort to you, I'll do my best to be able to administer the injection myself."
No. They're going to kill me, or lock me up at best. I have to get out of here, and I'm afraid I will have to kill innocent people to do it.
I lunged at the Inspector. He took his hand out from under the table, holding a pistol. He aimed it right at my chest, and fired it twice. I fell over, bleeding out. My vision was fading away. The Inspector knelt over my body. "Don't worry, those fifty years will go to someone who deserves them."
-------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.**
r/WrittenText | “How much will it be?”
I smiled, doing my best to console the couple, who both had tears streaming down their faces.
“Four payments of $25,000. I must remind you that this is highly experimental stuff, but we have had a 93% success rate among our sample size of 72 patients,”
The husband nodded, and turned to his wife, stroking her face. She had cancer, a high stage. Metastasized to her brain. Unfortunate, but what she needed most I had. With my treatment, I could give her years to live, years to love. That is in contrast to the months the cruel mistress known as fate has given her.
The husband turned to me.
“I’ve seen the details you gave me, and I understand this hasn’t been verified by any medical boards. You have to understand that’s it’s our last chance.”
He begins to cry again, and I pat him on the shoulder tentatively.
“I’ll have you run in through my receptionist, all right. We’ll schedule a date sometime on the next week. Stay strong, both of you.”
Later, I walked down to the basement of my facility. The basement contained at least 25 vaults, all for the purpose of keeping our “saviors”. You see, I have a strange power. I call it Ouruboros. I can kill someone, and the years I have taken to them, I can give to another. It provides for a lucrative business.
I rapped on the sealed glass door on one of the lighted vaults. The resident of this vault was a prostitute named “Pixie”, and we have given her the means to become a real member of society, to give her life to another.
“Rise and shine, my dear. We have a procedure scheduled for later today. You have center stage, so put on a show.”
I smile.
All is well with the world. | |
[WP] You’re a serial killer, but with a twist: You see when everyone on earth will die. And for every year of life you take from your victims prematurely, you gift those years to other people to save them. Without them ever knowing. | The people I killed didn't deserve to live.
"When I first received this gift, I didn't know what was going on. Dates would pop up in my head when I would see a person. There is one above my head too. A date that is fifty years from now. I only found out what the numbers meant after visiting my sick father in the hospital. The number over his head was a date that was a week from now. I realized what the dates meant. They were the dates of a person's death.
I knew that this was coming, and I thought that there was no hope for my father. I felt defeated. As I walked home from the hospital, I decided to take the shortcut, walking through a somewhat shady alley. And, when I did just this, a man walked out in front of me. He asked me for some money, and I refused to give him any. That is when he pulled the knife out of his coat.
If it were any other day, I'd be scared of the blade and hand over my wallet. But, this was no other day. I knew that today was not the day I die, and the man had another five years of life in him. We would both walk out of this encounter alive. So I lunged at him. He wasn't expecting it, obviously, and I was able to get him to give up the knife. He tried fighting back, and I, in the heat of the moment, stabbed the man in the chest. he writhed on the ground, trying to pull the knife out, and when he did, blood started pouring out of the wound. He kept squirming on the ground until he stopped, and the number above his head faded away. He was dead. I knew the police would find the blade, so I concealed it on myself and resumed my walk home.
The next time I visited my father in the hospital, my father's death was delayed by five years, and I finally understood the power of my gift.
I started spending my time studying the shadier aspects of town. I started hiring informants that would find out who exactly is involved in evil activity. And, when I finally would decide that I have enough information, I would pay these people visits and take their life, which I would donate to those I believed worthy of it. Philanthropists, innovators, the Queen of England, and the like.
Yesterday, I finally finished gathering information about someone who would be my biggest kill yet. A bigwig in the criminal underworld, someone with enough money to rival the richest people on this Earth. I went to his home to kill him. When I arrived there, I saw flashing lights and police cars parked outside his home. One of your boys saw me and pointed a gun at me. I didn't want to accidentally kill an innocent man, so I let him arrest me. I suppose you know the rest, Inspector."
The Inspector looked at me with his dead and apathetic eyes. "So, you claim that your murders were justified because you were dealing with criminals?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'm afraid that I may be the only one who would believe your death date story, Mr. Hoover. You will most likely be sentenced to death by lethal injection."
I was shocked. Did he just say that he believes that I have a special power? "I'm sorry, but why would you be the only one to believe me?"
The inspector grinned. "Lets just say that you... explained some dates I've been seeing to me."
Oh.
The inspector put one hand under the table. I heard a some sort of clicking. "Now, as much as I would love to let you go and kill more criminals, as you haven't exactly killed anyone innocent yet, but the law is the law. If it's any comfort to you, I'll do my best to be able to administer the injection myself."
No. They're going to kill me, or lock me up at best. I have to get out of here, and I'm afraid I will have to kill innocent people to do it.
I lunged at the Inspector. He took his hand out from under the table, holding a pistol. He aimed it right at my chest, and fired it twice. I fell over, bleeding out. My vision was fading away. The Inspector knelt over my body. "Don't worry, those fifty years will go to someone who deserves them."
-------------------------
**Thanks for reading, feedback and criticism is very appreciated.**
r/WrittenText | Standing here, water that once felt cold feels as warm as spring sun. It's a continuing wonder I can feel anything at all but as the sand erodes beneath my feet with the turning of the tide I am elsewhere, sinking slowly.
There's a strange freedom in knowing you can never please those you love. That you can do anything, anything at all and the result will still be the same. You can bend over backwards, break yourself in half, fold yourself into a thousand origami shapes or cut yourself into a ticker tape parade on someone's behalf and the same general issues will end you every damn time. I've heard every excuse, every rationalization, and that's not hyperbole; I listen, really I do. You're stuck in a rut, you just need a chance, we both misunderstood the rules to varying degrees, I can't hold you hostage like this...you make me sound like an asshole and I wonder which of us deserves it more.
You don't know. You don't know what I've done for you and you never will. Maybe you'd understand, but it's not my place to guess. The consequence might be too much to bear, and I've borne a lot heavier loads than your disapproval. I've watched eyes as shaded as sunrise on the foggy Blue Ridge mountains go dim, then yellow at the edges all while laughter still whispers between graying lips. What six year old do you know that deserves to fade like fabric in the harsh desert sun while her body destroys itself? While some sick fuck who rapes and murders lives a long life thanks to a backlog of evidence and a carefully cultivated but tenuous form of luck? But I can't fix everything. There's a limit to the effect of my murderous empathy. I can't just wish shit perfect and you've never forgiven me for it no matter how many times I've shown up and tried to communicate with you.
I've done my level best to be fair. Given and taken with both hands equally, granted you my body, blood, sweat, tears but you just keep on rolling like an unstoppable tsunami consuming every aspect of me and spitting it out in twisted splinters and paraphrased words. You're not all bad, you have good qualities and I will never stop loving you for them...the things you do are just hard to balance out. You've taken too much.
As I look down the shore, watch the waves lap gently and shine like liquid glass, I search the faces before me. Old, young, big, small, some undeniably human and others too far removed and distant from shore to say distort rhythmically beneath the sea's sheen. Most are peaceful, dreaming, but some seem to writhe and cry out for deliverance that will never come. Not anymore. With heavy heart I turn my eyes away from the expanse I've sifted and sieved as long as I can remember and toward the setting sun, regarding it as words come unbidden and familiar. I feel myself begin to unravel and there is peace in the unfamiliar.
"I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep, while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
Authors note: this is the first piece I've written that didn't immediately get trashed in probably ten years. Reddit commenters said I should write more and I literally spat this out in maybe 20 minutes. No editing really aside from basic re-arreangement because I don't want to make myself hate this. The only one other than me who read it before posting was my partner, so if there are any mistakes let me know! As to meaning, I know what I mean here but I'm curious how YOU guys take my concept before I start elucidating :p
Edit:looks like my formatting may be off but I'm not sure how to fix it >~< heeelp? | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | "Helicopter pilot?" I leaned forward, even more intrigued.
"Died, Afghanistan 2005." No emotion, just another checked off the list. "The Marine version lasted a little longer...Fallujah was a bitch. Actually Fallujah got you fifteen times."
"Well I graduated after 9/11, that makes sense, but certainly I'm not the only one that chose a different path...what about them? What about CVS, I always thought that was promising had I stayed, certainly one of them made it past Assistant Manager."
"Oh yeah, a lot of those ended in messy robberies. You always thought you were the hero. Too many times you were wrong."
The glass slipped some in my hand as he filled it again. I gripped harder, trying to hide my growing unease with a gulp that ended with him filling it again.
"What about the environmental job?"
"Oh, those got messy. Why on earth would you stand on a waste tank without your PPE? Anyways, I'm telling you every single one has died. Accidents, driving too fast, those times you drove and knew you shouldn't have made it home, every risk that made your heart leap into your throat. Each one a thread burnt out, and now the fabric is gone. You are the last thread."
The man leaned forward, offering another drink but I waved my glass away. *Why?* This man coming to me at the middle of the night, a bottle of my favorite whiskey and a promise to tell me a story I wouldn't believe until I heard it.
"Why then, why am I all that's left?"
The man leaned back against the couch, "You are the one that gave up. You are the one that sat idly by as each of those chances came and past you like a breeze. You won the race because you never took a step that wasn't taken for you. I mean, the prize isn't so grand?" He motioned to the ragged furniture around me, the stale dirty walls, "But it is yours nonetheless."
"So what's the point then? All these others, they fought and they succeeded, they overcame obstacles that keep me to this day. What can I do that they didn't?"
"Well, I guess that depends on who you ask. Some of my friends think it doesn't matter if you know or not. I like to think that it does." He looked at his watch, and back up to me. "But tomorrow, you are going to get on a bus."
I laughed and shook my head. "I have a car, I don't think you'll see me on a bus any time soon, and certainly not tomorrow."
He slammed the open bottle on the table, and his gaze seemed to flicker in and out of focus. As quickly as it came it fades, and the man shook his head.
"Tomorrow, you will get on a bus..." he leaned forward, and this time his smile was more condescension than friendliness, "...And you always thought you were the hero." | *I woke up gasping, my throat raw and heart pounding. My husband had his hands on my shoulders, as if he had been shaking me, and his face was pale.*
"You were screaming," *he whispered, his eyes wide,* "as if you were being murdered."
*His assertion wasn't that far from the truth. The dream... That horrible nightmare... How could I ever explain it to him? For years, I had nightmares of my death, with so many variations it was hard to tell one from the other. This one, however, would haunt me for the rest of my life.*
*So much blood, and pain. I looked down at my wrists, my torso and threw off the blanket to gaze at my legs, no longer bound and wretched. My hands touched my face, finding it wet with tears. It felt so real, so horrifyingly real, I could not seem to accept that I was alive and whole.*
"I'm sorry I scared you," *I whispered back, my voice a hoarse croak*.
*He only shook his head and pulled me to him, as if he too could not believe I was alive. I lay awake for hours that night, listening to his steady, even breathing, and not daring to let myself drift back into the nightmare. Little did I know what was coming.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Three days later, I sat in my psychiatrists office, hands clasped and shaking in my lap. I could not bring myself to tell even her what had transpired in that nightmare. All I could manage to say was that my nightmares were escalating. I had a history of PTSD, and years of treatment had allowed me to work and socially interact with others in a more normal manner, but I still had not overcome what I saw as a flaw in my own character.*
"These aren't just nightmares, Lydia," *she said, startling me out of my reverie.* "You are experiencing the deaths of multiple versions of yourself, in parallel dimensions to ours."
*For a moment, I simply stared at her, as if she were the damaged one instead of me. I blinked twice, very slowly, as if I were replaying her words in my head, but there were no thoughts. It was gray there, and full of static. The static almost drowned out her next words.*
"You are the last, Lydia. I have to be honest with you, I hoped the others would make it, could carry on, but too many things went wrong for them. It's only you now, and I swear I will do anything in my power to protect you."
"The last what?" *I murmured, not really sure if I wanted to know.*
"The last you."
*Her voice was soft and sad, and gazing into her eyes it seemed as if she knew more about me than a mere psychiatrist would. Sometimes, I considered if parallel universes could actually exist, simply because it seemed foolish not to think that people were a fixed point and their choices were similarly shrouded in permanence. Having someone tell me that they were truly real, and more to the point, all of the me's that ever existed were gone, seemed too ludicrous, too fanciful.*
"I understand that this is a lot to take in, especially with your unique medical condition."
*I scoffed but she spoke on, as if she had not noticed.*
"This is real, Lydia, and very serious. That nightmare you had a few nights ago... You were kidnapped, tortured, and eventually killed when the monster who took you could not get anymore screams from your ruined body."
*I shuddered violently to hear her say the words I had tried so hard to avoid.*
"I know about all of your deaths. The self inflicted, the accidental, and the tragic. I need you to believe me, so that we can focus our attention on keeping you alive." | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | "Constants and variables, Mr Wilson. I trust you know there are many universes in our reality, and though there are many differences, some things are maintained." The man speaks these words slowly, and with authority. He wears a charcoal grey suit, with a cane topped with a silver dragon. He lights a cigarette once he finishes speaking.
"There's no need to lecture me, fixer, I have studied basic multi-physics. Some universes have one or more world wars, some, like this one, do not; all universes, however, see the first atomic explosion on earth occur on July 16th 1945, one way or another." The young student replies, trying to mask the fear he feels at meeting those one hopes never to meet.
"It has come to our attention that there is one such constant in your timeline. It's the case, you see, that you always exist. In every universe there is a James Michael Wilson, not always in the same place, though always at the same time. But unfortunately, I must inform you that isn't the full extent of the constant."
James ran his fingers through his hair, trying to process what was being said. "Go on, then."
"In every universe, every last one of them, you are killed by your father. In most, don't worry, it is a pure accident; he knocks over a ladder you're stood on or forgets to tell you about a live wire he's working on. Occasionally, yes, he murders you, but try not to fixate on that, such is the nature of so many simultaneous existences."
James is confused by this revelation. "But my..."
"Yesterday, at 22:00 exactly, your father died of cardiac arrest."
"So it's not a constant, then, right?" James was desperate, now; hoping to get out of this situation.
"I'm afraid it certainly is, and that's why I'm here. You surely know the destruction and chaos caused by the last existential break, don't you?"
"Seven universes were destroyed, four more were wiped of all trace of life, over three thousand were in some way damaged, hundreds badly so." James states, remembering the statistics told to him.
"There there, kid, I promise you, it's going to be..."
At that moment, James started to cough heavily. He looked at the back of his hand, noticing the blood. "What... what did..."
"Cherry juice, in the soda you drank earlier, I'm dreadfully sorry." The fixer replied, somewhat coldly.
"But then you killed me! This doesn't..."
"You inherited your allergy from your father, Mr Wilson, it was the best we could do."
| I am asleep.
In my dreams, I walk through a forest of impossibly tall trees. This dream has been a recurring one for as far as I can remember. The forest's trees are familiar to me now. I have taken every possible path that there is and ever will be. However, this dream is different. A new path has appeared. It is thick with thorny bushes, and my clothes are torn as I struggle to pass through their spiky embrace.
I emerge, gasping, onto a beach. This is utterly unnatural. The forest, in both directions, stops abruptly, the border between wood and sand stretching in a straight line until it reaches the horizon on either size of me. The beach comprises pale white sand, and water laps against the shore just a few metres away.
Between myself and the water stands a man. He is holding a book in one hand, and a bowler hat in the other.
"I am sorry to interrupt your dreams like this. I have grave news."
"I've dreamt the same dream every night for fifteen years. Why has it changed now?" I stare at the man. He is rather strange.
"Your subconscious has placed you in this forest every night to prevent the fate that has met your brethren. This beach should not exist, and you should not be here. Your brethren are dead."
"What?" Instinctively, I understand what he meant. I am a particle physicist when I am in the conscious world. My team and I have been aware for some time of the existence of parallel worlds. We use the term "brethren" to mean our parallel selves. One of my team is currently researching how to make contact with the brethren, with limited success. "Why?"
"Your research is valuable. More than you know. It will simultaneously destabilise and balance your world, in due time."
He flips through the pages of his book, landing on a page which has half a page missing. "Page three-hundred and forty six. Remember those words."
"I don't understa-"
A huge crash in the distance startles me. My head jolts around towards the sound. A fog has appeared in the distance, and it is moving in my direction. Far faster than what is natural.
"My child, you must run. The forest will protect you."
"But what do you mean by page thr-"
*RUN!*
The voice *thunders* through my head. Terrified, I glance once more at the advancing fog, and turn around, sprinting into the forest. The path is clear, but as I reach the beginning of the path, there is rustling, and branches grow across the path in an instant. They rustle, as if to comfort me.
*"Page three-hundred and forty six."*
I awake with a start, sweat covering my body in the darkened room.
(Thanks for reading! I read the WP and thought it was a really cool way to write about a character from a short story I'm currently writing. You can find it at /r/ToastyStories, if you're interested.) | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | Paul dug his fingers into the cool soil for extra leverage, then sat himself up. He felt loose soil crumble down his back and he exhaled a contented sigh through a broad smile he did not realize he wore.
"Intense," he said with awe. He stood slowly, brushing the soil off himself, then he stepped out of the soil pit. He walked through a narrow, shallow pool of water to rinse his feet on his way out of the mudroom towards the kitchen. Paul flipped on the light then noticed a small dark circle hovering in the air in front of the refrigerator. He initially thought it looked like a black ball, but he walked closer to examine it. No matter how he looked at it, it appeared to be flat and facing him dead on. The color was darker than any black he'd ever seen. He used a nearby switch over the marble counters to turn the lights off again; but, he could still see the dark hole perfectly clear. After a moment he registered what it could be. "NO WAY!" he yelled then flipped the switch to get the lights back on again.
His smile somehow grew, and a nervous energy overtook him. He started to rush back to the mudroom, but then went back to the hole. He paced back and forth a couple of times, unsure what course of action to take before the hole answered for him. It grew as large as him, and clapped with glee. Immediately he turned a bar stool to face the large black hole, then sat down on it. Just as he hoped, someone stepped out of the hole. Two someones, both women. A tall, lean dark haired woman with a severe porcelain face, and a shorter, stockier woman with a bald head. They both noticed Paul, and the taller one smiled at him.
"I don't know if you've realized this yet, but you're naked," she said to him. Paul's large, pale body turned beet red instantly. He bolted to the bedroom door, across from his mudroom, and after a plethora of rustling he returned wearing jogging pants and dark torn t-shirt. He sat down on the bar stool again and smiled at the women.
"Sorry. Instructions said that's the best way to get a connection with the soil," he said. He offered a half shrug as an apology. The tall woman nodded.
"Of course. Are you,..." as she spoke, she turned her head to the bald woman. She stepped forward to finish the tall woman's question.
"Drizz'tUchiha12," she said with a soft voice. Paul doubted he would have heard her if it were not three in the morning with the city sleeping. He nodded.
"That's me!"
"Paul Wilkins?" the bald woman asked in a near whisper.
"YES!" he said. He sat up straighter in his seat, his body vibrating with excitement. He met one. A real Unique! "Can I ask? I mean. Sorry, I don't know why you're here, but I know what you are. Which Uniques are you?" The bald woman took a step back, and the dark-haired woman answered Paul's question.
"My name's Dana Sharp, I'm actually a Zero just like you," she smiled, then gestured at her companion. "Janet's #14, La Muerte." The shorter woman nodded slightly as an acknowledgment.
"Whooooa. You're a Zero and you get to hang around with a Celestial??" Paul was instantly impressed. He'd only learned about Uniques earlier in the day when he first logged into the AlterNet. He hoped he'd get to meet one someday, but did not expect it to be the same day he learned about them. Dana nodded and gave Paul a wink with her right eye, the side opposite Janet.
"She works for me," Dana said. "As for why I'm here, I'd like you to work for me too." Paul's eyes went wide, and he pointed at himself.
"Me?" He looked at Janet, but she did not even blink when their eyes met. She continued to stare through him with her light pink eyes. He looked back at Dana.
"I study Uniques, and naturally that means I have to study Zeroes too. You're a very unique zero, and I have a great interest in learning why." Paul's mind raced past the mention of studying and focused on him being special.
"I'm special? How am I special? I'm just a Zero, there's thousands of me," he shrugged. Dana shook her head.
"That's the thing. There isn't even another *one* of you." She took a deep breath to prepare for a long explanation. "The AlterNet has systems in place to ensure that Zeroes and Uniques are on even playing fields. One of those systems registers your soul signature and checks it against all other AlterNet servers. If more of you are found, you have the option of communicating with them," she said. A look of confusion clouded Paul's face.
"Really?" He scratched his scraggly beard as he went through his time logged in. "I don't remember anything like that." Dana nodded.
"It didn't activate for you, because you're the only you that's ever logged into the AlterNet. I run a corporation across several universes, and I have more sophisticated equipment for tracking soul signatures. Whenever a new Zero logs in, my team starts tracking down other versions. If their Earth is at a certain level, we begin marketing the AlterNet there," she said. She spread her hands out to indicate Paul's kitchen. "Like here, you guys only got the AlterNet last week, but it's been around a lot longer than that." Paul nodded, but his eyes seemed to be glazed over. Dana smiled at him, then stepped closer to put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"But we couldn't find any more of you. What's your favorite number, Paul?" she asked. He shrugged.
"I dunno, never thought about it. 7? No wait 46! I wanna be a Sol!" Dana chuckled. "Don't we all. It doesn't work like that, but I am curious about how you came to be. You'll get to meet way more Uniques than Janet." Dana winked at him. "I've got a Spider that you have to meet."
"I'm in!" Paul said. He hopped off his stool ready to go.
"Janet. Earth 1 please." The bald woman made a gesture in the air, and a black hole opened up wide enough to let Paul through. He jumped in without hesitation.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #199. You can find the first 6 months worth of stories collected on my old [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html) until I make the full move to my new blog at [Hugoverse.info](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe(the Hugoverse) you can visit the[ Guidebook](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/hugoverse-guidebook.html) to see what's what and who's who, or the[ Timeline](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/hugoverse-timeline.html) to find the stories in order. | I am asleep.
In my dreams, I walk through a forest of impossibly tall trees. This dream has been a recurring one for as far as I can remember. The forest's trees are familiar to me now. I have taken every possible path that there is and ever will be. However, this dream is different. A new path has appeared. It is thick with thorny bushes, and my clothes are torn as I struggle to pass through their spiky embrace.
I emerge, gasping, onto a beach. This is utterly unnatural. The forest, in both directions, stops abruptly, the border between wood and sand stretching in a straight line until it reaches the horizon on either size of me. The beach comprises pale white sand, and water laps against the shore just a few metres away.
Between myself and the water stands a man. He is holding a book in one hand, and a bowler hat in the other.
"I am sorry to interrupt your dreams like this. I have grave news."
"I've dreamt the same dream every night for fifteen years. Why has it changed now?" I stare at the man. He is rather strange.
"Your subconscious has placed you in this forest every night to prevent the fate that has met your brethren. This beach should not exist, and you should not be here. Your brethren are dead."
"What?" Instinctively, I understand what he meant. I am a particle physicist when I am in the conscious world. My team and I have been aware for some time of the existence of parallel worlds. We use the term "brethren" to mean our parallel selves. One of my team is currently researching how to make contact with the brethren, with limited success. "Why?"
"Your research is valuable. More than you know. It will simultaneously destabilise and balance your world, in due time."
He flips through the pages of his book, landing on a page which has half a page missing. "Page three-hundred and forty six. Remember those words."
"I don't understa-"
A huge crash in the distance startles me. My head jolts around towards the sound. A fog has appeared in the distance, and it is moving in my direction. Far faster than what is natural.
"My child, you must run. The forest will protect you."
"But what do you mean by page thr-"
*RUN!*
The voice *thunders* through my head. Terrified, I glance once more at the advancing fog, and turn around, sprinting into the forest. The path is clear, but as I reach the beginning of the path, there is rustling, and branches grow across the path in an instant. They rustle, as if to comfort me.
*"Page three-hundred and forty six."*
I awake with a start, sweat covering my body in the darkened room.
(Thanks for reading! I read the WP and thought it was a really cool way to write about a character from a short story I'm currently writing. You can find it at /r/ToastyStories, if you're interested.) | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | The heat outside is like nothing I've experienced before. I know what triple digits feels like, or at least I thought I did - when even the breeze is uncomfortably warm. But you can still get through your day...it's unpleasant, but not the end of the world.
The current temperature feels hazardous. I brace myself when I touch the metal of my front door, trying to get it open as quickly as possible without burning myself. I am sweating in places I didn't even know had sweat glands. I head straight for the kitchen and look for something to drink.
A short man in a three-piece suit is waiting for me by the counter. He is mostly bald, with a ring of short, dark hair around the three-quarters of his scalp like some sort of poorly-maintained fence. His eyes appear to bulge behind the thick glasses on his face.
"Ah, good, Mr. Jacoby. Sorry to intrude on you like this, but I am from The Agency and we are obligated under United Multiverse Law to give you the following official notice. You --"
"I'm sorry. Who are you?" I'm staring at him as I reach in the refrigerator for something cold to drink, grabbing the first thing my hands come across.
"Sir, I have a number of appointments today, and I would really rather not...my name is Bob. And I need to give you --"
"Bob what?"
Bob's eyes narrow. "What does it -- Bob Bobson. Or any -- listen, this is an official notice that you are the last instance of Mr. Jacobi in the multiverse."
I blinked at him, trying to make sense of this as I opened the bottle of the beverage I have retrieved. He opens his attache case and begins rummaging as I take a swig. It tastes disgusting...maybe I grabbed one of those vitamin drinks?
"Here. This is for you." He hands me a tri-fold brochure. I gulp down some more of the contents of the bottle as I look it over. The front panel says **So You're The Last You in Existence...** with a sub-heading that reads *A Guide to Managing Existential Dread and Coping with Your Imminent Non-Existence*.
"What happened to the other mes?"
The sound that comes out of him is a mixture of a groan and a sigh. He pulls a manila folder out of his case and begins leafing through the contents irritably. "Let's see...fell off a roof...died in a fire...died in a fire...car accident...motorcycle accident...died in a fire...ooo, exsanguinated due to stab wounds -- that you certainly lived an interesting life! -- fell off a roof...fell off a rock...fell off a slightly larger rock...mauled by bear, trampled by bull...oh, this is an interesting one, it just says 'unfortunate turtle incident'...died in a fire...gun-shot wound whilst backpacking...gun-shot wound whilst parasailing...and most of the rest say 'self-induced' or 'poor judgment.' Mr. Jacoby, you'll forgive me saying so, but you sound like...an idiot. I don't see 'natural causes' on here once. I would do my best to be *extremely* cautious in your day-to-day..."
Mr. Bobson freezes, his eyes wide. "Mr. Jacoby, are...are you drinking *rat poison*?"
I blink, frowning, and look down at the bottle in my hands. "Well, sure enough. Now that you mention it, it did seem strange that my stomach felt like it was burning. I...uh...huh. I think I'm going to sit down for a second."
My vision dims as I slump to the floor. The last thing I hear is a muttered, "He couldn't have done it fifteen minutes earlier?"
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
| I am asleep.
In my dreams, I walk through a forest of impossibly tall trees. This dream has been a recurring one for as far as I can remember. The forest's trees are familiar to me now. I have taken every possible path that there is and ever will be. However, this dream is different. A new path has appeared. It is thick with thorny bushes, and my clothes are torn as I struggle to pass through their spiky embrace.
I emerge, gasping, onto a beach. This is utterly unnatural. The forest, in both directions, stops abruptly, the border between wood and sand stretching in a straight line until it reaches the horizon on either size of me. The beach comprises pale white sand, and water laps against the shore just a few metres away.
Between myself and the water stands a man. He is holding a book in one hand, and a bowler hat in the other.
"I am sorry to interrupt your dreams like this. I have grave news."
"I've dreamt the same dream every night for fifteen years. Why has it changed now?" I stare at the man. He is rather strange.
"Your subconscious has placed you in this forest every night to prevent the fate that has met your brethren. This beach should not exist, and you should not be here. Your brethren are dead."
"What?" Instinctively, I understand what he meant. I am a particle physicist when I am in the conscious world. My team and I have been aware for some time of the existence of parallel worlds. We use the term "brethren" to mean our parallel selves. One of my team is currently researching how to make contact with the brethren, with limited success. "Why?"
"Your research is valuable. More than you know. It will simultaneously destabilise and balance your world, in due time."
He flips through the pages of his book, landing on a page which has half a page missing. "Page three-hundred and forty six. Remember those words."
"I don't understa-"
A huge crash in the distance startles me. My head jolts around towards the sound. A fog has appeared in the distance, and it is moving in my direction. Far faster than what is natural.
"My child, you must run. The forest will protect you."
"But what do you mean by page thr-"
*RUN!*
The voice *thunders* through my head. Terrified, I glance once more at the advancing fog, and turn around, sprinting into the forest. The path is clear, but as I reach the beginning of the path, there is rustling, and branches grow across the path in an instant. They rustle, as if to comfort me.
*"Page three-hundred and forty six."*
I awake with a start, sweat covering my body in the darkened room.
(Thanks for reading! I read the WP and thought it was a really cool way to write about a character from a short story I'm currently writing. You can find it at /r/ToastyStories, if you're interested.) | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | “I’m the last? No more?”
She nods.
“All the rest died of the same thing. They were erased, from the very fabric of the String.”
I wince, knowing exactly what she meant. Erasure like that was no easy thing to go through. One would be spaghettified, which is to say ripped apart into millions of strands and reassembled back into assorted atoms. Poof.
“Any idea who is behind the deletions?”
She looks at me for a moment, and stands up to look for something in a back drawer. She hands me a file and sits back down.
“This is Leslie Lamont Jr., a wanted suspect in numerous erasures. We believe he travels through the stable fissures, into various paths and deletes away at his disposal. Since this universe is somewhat isolated from the rest, it appears you were spared.”
I shudder, knowing all too well what she’s going to say next. I had heard about erasures on the news too often these days.
“He’s coming after you himself. It’s not going to be pretty.”
I take the file, to try to see what my hunter looked like. To my surprise and disappointment, it was blank.
She recognizes my dismay, and takes the file back.
“We are stilllooking through the database. Have faith, Mr. Ferguson.”
I’m still confused. What does someone have against Stephen Ferguson? To erase me in all universes? To erase my fabric from the String?
At that moment, the door slams open, and she pulls out a gun.
I whirl around around in surprise, and see five individuals holding heavy-duty weapons. Advanced machinery, it seemed. They wore armor, government issued.
She points it at them, confidently.
“Mr. Ferguson, I can handle this.”
The middle of the five steps into the room a bit farther.
“Don’t listen to her. Do you know what her name is?”
I looked blankly at them, while I feel the gun at my head.
The group all point their weapons towards her.
“Don’t even think about it, Leslie.” | I am asleep.
In my dreams, I walk through a forest of impossibly tall trees. This dream has been a recurring one for as far as I can remember. The forest's trees are familiar to me now. I have taken every possible path that there is and ever will be. However, this dream is different. A new path has appeared. It is thick with thorny bushes, and my clothes are torn as I struggle to pass through their spiky embrace.
I emerge, gasping, onto a beach. This is utterly unnatural. The forest, in both directions, stops abruptly, the border between wood and sand stretching in a straight line until it reaches the horizon on either size of me. The beach comprises pale white sand, and water laps against the shore just a few metres away.
Between myself and the water stands a man. He is holding a book in one hand, and a bowler hat in the other.
"I am sorry to interrupt your dreams like this. I have grave news."
"I've dreamt the same dream every night for fifteen years. Why has it changed now?" I stare at the man. He is rather strange.
"Your subconscious has placed you in this forest every night to prevent the fate that has met your brethren. This beach should not exist, and you should not be here. Your brethren are dead."
"What?" Instinctively, I understand what he meant. I am a particle physicist when I am in the conscious world. My team and I have been aware for some time of the existence of parallel worlds. We use the term "brethren" to mean our parallel selves. One of my team is currently researching how to make contact with the brethren, with limited success. "Why?"
"Your research is valuable. More than you know. It will simultaneously destabilise and balance your world, in due time."
He flips through the pages of his book, landing on a page which has half a page missing. "Page three-hundred and forty six. Remember those words."
"I don't understa-"
A huge crash in the distance startles me. My head jolts around towards the sound. A fog has appeared in the distance, and it is moving in my direction. Far faster than what is natural.
"My child, you must run. The forest will protect you."
"But what do you mean by page thr-"
*RUN!*
The voice *thunders* through my head. Terrified, I glance once more at the advancing fog, and turn around, sprinting into the forest. The path is clear, but as I reach the beginning of the path, there is rustling, and branches grow across the path in an instant. They rustle, as if to comfort me.
*"Page three-hundred and forty six."*
I awake with a start, sweat covering my body in the darkened room.
(Thanks for reading! I read the WP and thought it was a really cool way to write about a character from a short story I'm currently writing. You can find it at /r/ToastyStories, if you're interested.) | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | The heat outside is like nothing I've experienced before. I know what triple digits feels like, or at least I thought I did - when even the breeze is uncomfortably warm. But you can still get through your day...it's unpleasant, but not the end of the world.
The current temperature feels hazardous. I brace myself when I touch the metal of my front door, trying to get it open as quickly as possible without burning myself. I am sweating in places I didn't even know had sweat glands. I head straight for the kitchen and look for something to drink.
A short man in a three-piece suit is waiting for me by the counter. He is mostly bald, with a ring of short, dark hair around the three-quarters of his scalp like some sort of poorly-maintained fence. His eyes appear to bulge behind the thick glasses on his face.
"Ah, good, Mr. Jacoby. Sorry to intrude on you like this, but I am from The Agency and we are obligated under United Multiverse Law to give you the following official notice. You --"
"I'm sorry. Who are you?" I'm staring at him as I reach in the refrigerator for something cold to drink, grabbing the first thing my hands come across.
"Sir, I have a number of appointments today, and I would really rather not...my name is Bob. And I need to give you --"
"Bob what?"
Bob's eyes narrow. "What does it -- Bob Bobson. Or any -- listen, this is an official notice that you are the last instance of Mr. Jacobi in the multiverse."
I blinked at him, trying to make sense of this as I opened the bottle of the beverage I have retrieved. He opens his attache case and begins rummaging as I take a swig. It tastes disgusting...maybe I grabbed one of those vitamin drinks?
"Here. This is for you." He hands me a tri-fold brochure. I gulp down some more of the contents of the bottle as I look it over. The front panel says **So You're The Last You in Existence...** with a sub-heading that reads *A Guide to Managing Existential Dread and Coping with Your Imminent Non-Existence*.
"What happened to the other mes?"
The sound that comes out of him is a mixture of a groan and a sigh. He pulls a manila folder out of his case and begins leafing through the contents irritably. "Let's see...fell off a roof...died in a fire...died in a fire...car accident...motorcycle accident...died in a fire...ooo, exsanguinated due to stab wounds -- that you certainly lived an interesting life! -- fell off a roof...fell off a rock...fell off a slightly larger rock...mauled by bear, trampled by bull...oh, this is an interesting one, it just says 'unfortunate turtle incident'...died in a fire...gun-shot wound whilst backpacking...gun-shot wound whilst parasailing...and most of the rest say 'self-induced' or 'poor judgment.' Mr. Jacoby, you'll forgive me saying so, but you sound like...an idiot. I don't see 'natural causes' on here once. I would do my best to be *extremely* cautious in your day-to-day..."
Mr. Bobson freezes, his eyes wide. "Mr. Jacoby, are...are you drinking *rat poison*?"
I blink, frowning, and look down at the bottle in my hands. "Well, sure enough. Now that you mention it, it did seem strange that my stomach felt like it was burning. I...uh...huh. I think I'm going to sit down for a second."
My vision dims as I slump to the floor. The last thing I hear is a muttered, "He couldn't have done it fifteen minutes earlier?"
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
| "Excuse me?"
"Sir, once again, you are the last version of yourself. The one, only, and last Thomas D. Ellis."
The slate gray walls and fluorescent light beamed onto Thomas's face. His eyes darted back and forth between the woman in front of him and the door behind her.
"This is a joke, right? Can you please let me go?"
"Not until you have gone through orientation and sign the agreement at the end, Sir."
Thomas smiled, but only with his mouth. The woman across from him looked into his eyes and saw skepticism. More importantly, she saw his pupils dart back and forth as he scooted closer to the edge of his seat, looking for an opportunity to run. She sighed.
"Sir, I assure you. You are not first. You will not be the last. This happens more often than you think. This is merely procedure."
Thomas slouched back into his chair, his eyes glossed over. His smile broke, a sagging frown replacing it. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
"...Okay. Orientate me."
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
//
I'm new to writing fiction and would appreciate any and all criticism. Thank you! | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | “I’m the last? No more?”
She nods.
“All the rest died of the same thing. They were erased, from the very fabric of the String.”
I wince, knowing exactly what she meant. Erasure like that was no easy thing to go through. One would be spaghettified, which is to say ripped apart into millions of strands and reassembled back into assorted atoms. Poof.
“Any idea who is behind the deletions?”
She looks at me for a moment, and stands up to look for something in a back drawer. She hands me a file and sits back down.
“This is Leslie Lamont Jr., a wanted suspect in numerous erasures. We believe he travels through the stable fissures, into various paths and deletes away at his disposal. Since this universe is somewhat isolated from the rest, it appears you were spared.”
I shudder, knowing all too well what she’s going to say next. I had heard about erasures on the news too often these days.
“He’s coming after you himself. It’s not going to be pretty.”
I take the file, to try to see what my hunter looked like. To my surprise and disappointment, it was blank.
She recognizes my dismay, and takes the file back.
“We are stilllooking through the database. Have faith, Mr. Ferguson.”
I’m still confused. What does someone have against Stephen Ferguson? To erase me in all universes? To erase my fabric from the String?
At that moment, the door slams open, and she pulls out a gun.
I whirl around around in surprise, and see five individuals holding heavy-duty weapons. Advanced machinery, it seemed. They wore armor, government issued.
She points it at them, confidently.
“Mr. Ferguson, I can handle this.”
The middle of the five steps into the room a bit farther.
“Don’t listen to her. Do you know what her name is?”
I looked blankly at them, while I feel the gun at my head.
The group all point their weapons towards her.
“Don’t even think about it, Leslie.” | "Excuse me?"
"Sir, once again, you are the last version of yourself. The one, only, and last Thomas D. Ellis."
The slate gray walls and fluorescent light beamed onto Thomas's face. His eyes darted back and forth between the woman in front of him and the door behind her.
"This is a joke, right? Can you please let me go?"
"Not until you have gone through orientation and sign the agreement at the end, Sir."
Thomas smiled, but only with his mouth. The woman across from him looked into his eyes and saw skepticism. More importantly, she saw his pupils dart back and forth as he scooted closer to the edge of his seat, looking for an opportunity to run. She sighed.
"Sir, I assure you. You are not first. You will not be the last. This happens more often than you think. This is merely procedure."
Thomas slouched back into his chair, his eyes glossed over. His smile broke, a sagging frown replacing it. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
"...Okay. Orientate me."
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
//
I'm new to writing fiction and would appreciate any and all criticism. Thank you! | |
[WP] There are millions of different timelines that contain versions of everyone in it. You have been notified that you are the last existing version of yourself across all timelines. | “I’m going to keep you alive if it kills me,” the sprite hissed.
Eddie ignored the buzzing in his ear and focused on the task at hand. He was on a roll, he couldn’t break his winning streak now.
“Did you hear me?! I’m talking to you!”
Eddie felt a series of tiny thuds against his graying temple. He absentmindedly batted a hand at the source. This elicited an enraged squeal from his assailant.
“Fine! Die, then. See if I care.”
The thudding stopped. Eddie heard the sound of wings fluttering away.
Finally, some peace and quiet. He resumed typing into the search window.
“Evel...Knievel…Snake...River...Canyon...Jump.”
By his right shoulder, he heard a soft groan. She hadn’t left him alone after all.
“Not THIS again. I TOLD you--this stupid stunt is what killed the rest of you. All 10,237 of you.”
Eddie knew this. He knew the odds. But he didn’t care.
Sensing his resolve, the sprite sighed in frustration.
“Look. I’ve been stuck with versions of you for the past five freaking years. And each one of you is dumber than the last. I’ve seen you try this stupid jump over and over again. And guess what? Every single time, you end up getting scraped off the side of the canyon.”
She really wasn’t going to leave him alone. Eager to get rid of her, Eddie faced her.
“Why don’t you leave, then, little lady?”
“First, don’t call me that, you overgrown hairy oaf. I’m over a thousand years old and could vaporize you instantly. Second, I don’t want to be here. I have to. I screwed up my last assignment, so this is my punishment.”
Eddie turned back to his laptop. “Not my problem.”
She swooped down to block his view. She hovered a few inches from his nose, all four inches of her radiating fury.
“See, that’s the thing. It IS your problem. You’re the last one left. After you smash yourself against the side of Snake River Canyon and turn yourself into jelly, that’s it. And once you’re gone, you’re gone. No more afterlife, no more reincarnation, none of that.”
She could see that Eddie wasn’t getting it. She sighed in frustration.
“Let me spell things out so that they get through your thick monkey skull. The universe needs at least one of you to die of natural causes. It’s very particular about that. The universe needs a divergence in the timelines to preserve the balance. If you go through this stunt, you’ll be the first man in history to die the exact same way in all of his possible existences. That’d be bad for you. Very bad.”
Eddie considered this. “First man? Not, ‘first human’?”
To Eddie’s surprise, her cheeks flushed a pale pink.
“My last assignment. Don’t ask.”
Eddie let the matter drop. Then, he had an idea.
“Okay, okay, I hear you. But, I need to do this. Evel Knievel..he has been my hero since I was a boy. This was the one big jump that he couldn’t finish. He left this unfinished, and it kills me. Myself, I’m not getting any younger, I feel it in my bones. I don’t have much to look forward to, other than this. So...I can see why the rest all decided to take the leap. And I respect them for it.”
The sprite started to protest, so he cut in.
“--But, it doesn’t mean that I have to do it exactly the way they did. Maybe I just need a little help. From you.”
Her eyes became as wide as saucers.
“F-from me? What do you mean?”
“Okay, so apparently you, in all of your pintsized glory, can vaporize a full-sized human. What else do you have under the hood? You can fly, but how strong are you? Can you lift a car?”
“Easily.”
Eddie barked a laugh.
“Well then, there you go! See, I have this sweet rocket-powered rig, Knievel style. One of my buddies helped me build it. I’ve done test jumps, but nothing as long as the canyon. Maybe all I need is a little boost.”
The sprite considered this. What she hadn’t told Eddie was that she had grown fond of the grizzled man, all 10,238 versions of him. She admired his tenacity in attempting the impossible. Every time she witnessed his death, it tore at her. She really wanted to save him, if she could.
Sure, she’d have to bend, or break, a few rules. But it could be done.
“I may be able to help. Let’s go out back and take a look at your rig.”
Eddie’s gray eyes lit up. “Right this way, my lady.”
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Six months later, newspapers across the country announced to the world:
>Eddie Braun does what Evel Knievel could not: make successful jump over Snake River Canyon | "Excuse me?"
"Sir, once again, you are the last version of yourself. The one, only, and last Thomas D. Ellis."
The slate gray walls and fluorescent light beamed onto Thomas's face. His eyes darted back and forth between the woman in front of him and the door behind her.
"This is a joke, right? Can you please let me go?"
"Not until you have gone through orientation and sign the agreement at the end, Sir."
Thomas smiled, but only with his mouth. The woman across from him looked into his eyes and saw skepticism. More importantly, she saw his pupils dart back and forth as he scooted closer to the edge of his seat, looking for an opportunity to run. She sighed.
"Sir, I assure you. You are not first. You will not be the last. This happens more often than you think. This is merely procedure."
Thomas slouched back into his chair, his eyes glossed over. His smile broke, a sagging frown replacing it. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
"...Okay. Orientate me."
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I'm new to writing fiction and would appreciate any and all criticism. Thank you! | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | Puglsey writhed in torment, yet another one of his plans foiled. Fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into his palms, he cursed beneath his breath. Things hadn't always been this grim; so how, he wondered, had his peak of glory plummeted so far?
Esteemed heroes had greeted their end at his feet. All of Earth grew to fear his name; the Mighty Puglsey. No more snickers at its mention, only pale faces and averted gazes.
He returned home, lips curling in disgust at the piles of fan mail and boxes that sat outside his door. There had been a time when no one dared to find him nor disturb him. But *now*...
It had all started with his pursuits of the neighborhood villains. It was reasonable, he assured himself, to protect the position as the top supervillain of his City. But when he had turned his attention back to terrorizing the public, the horrors had begun.
Knocking began at his door before his strides brought him to the kitchen. "Reporters?" He mumbled, cocking his head to listen. A shiver raised the hairs on his arms — it was worse. *Children.*
"Mister Puglsey!" One called. "Mister Puglsey, just one picture?"
"I'm supposed to interview you for my school project!" Another squealed.
Puglsey clapped both hands over his ears, gritting his teeth. The awful voices drove needles beneath his skin, igniting a fearsome irritation. If he could only plot one more evil plan, he might survive the looming years.
But every evil plot somehow left another good deed done in its place, another fellow villain accidentally felled. Out of his control, the public had began to recognize the repeated actions, crowing that the Mighty Puglsey had experienced a wondrous change of heart. If only they knew.
"How could this have failed?" He slumped into his armrest, surrounded by framed newspaper clippings of his glory days. Buildings burned. Panic ensued. This ploy had drained his remaining savings, and without hope of stealing it back, Puglsey's head drooped. "I didn't work my way up to be called a *hero*," he spat bitterly. He went into every situation with a plan perfectly intact and somehow still found the day to be a haze. The sharpest memories came at the end when every villain fell at his feet, betrayal riddled across their face. A certain respect came with falling to a greater villain, but to a villain turned hero? There was no worse fate.
The room was quiet and dark, and he found himself jealous of its ease. Everything in his heart ached to return to his dark ways, and yet his plans sprouted good. He had successfully knocked every villain off of his block, only to burn his throne, too.
He sat in the crumbled remains of his glory for years, every vicious attempt only encouraging the City's hope in him; mistaken hope. As age weakened his body, his attempts grew fewer and farther between until new villains gained the courage to rise, convinced his days of justice were over.
*"Several villains have fallen again, leaving civilians to wonder who has taken the esteemed Puglsey's place as protector of our city? Stay tu*—"
Puglsey flipped off the news, tapping a wrinkled finger on the armrest. The framed newspaper clippings around him wore layers of dust, and his gray beard grew wild and unkempt. "Esteemed?" he harrumphed. Stories of his 'redemption' brought entertainment, but the curious reporters and children with admiration in their eyes had long ago stopped visiting his humble home. On the outskirts of the City, he waited out the days. Even ex-villains experience loneliness; and so when a firm knock finally came at the front door, he fumbled to his feet, wrinkled fingers smoothing his beard and scraggily hair as best he could.
"A reporter?" he muttered excitedly under his breath. Whoever it was, a friendly voice would be welcome —
The man at the door was certainly not a reporter.
"Do I know you?" asked Puglsey, white brows furrowed.
The man stepped past Puglsey, thin lips pulling into a frown as he examined the home. "The villains are growing out of control in this City, Mister Puglsey. I'm disappointed. But look at you, you've grown gray on me. How... Unfortunate."
Puglsey clenched his fists, veins bulging through the thin skin of his arms as he hobbled after the man. "You aren't a reporter."
"No." He pushed Puglsey into the chair, opening his briefcase on a coffee table. He shifted through an array of tools.
"Some sort of Doctor?" Puglsey mumbled. "I don't remember having an appointment today." He shivered as a hungry smile spread over the man's face. Before he could flinch, the man stabbed a syringe into his arm. Even as his mind fumbled for words, he felt his thinking dull and body grow numb. Helpless, Puglsey watched as the man brought a knife behind his ear. "Enemies?" he managed to splutter.
The man snorted.
A sharp pain. Warm liquid trickled down his neck. The man withdrew holding a metal chip wet with blood —
He placed it into a bag, wiping his instruments and returning everything into his briefcase. The numbness began to fade from Puglsey's body, his thoughts growing clearer.
Memories returned; a day many years ago filled with screaming, the man eagerly watching as he fine-tuned his device. A metal chip implanted in his head; how had he forgotten?
"There's only room for one," the man had hissed, greed dripping from his tongue. "But you, you'll serve me well, Mister Pugsley." The chip brought a terrible buzzing that brought the fogginess, redirecting his thoughts, his actions...
The man patted him on the shoulder, still wearing the same smirking grin. "Mere efficiency, my puppet. Nothing personal."
note: sorry for any typos, I should be sleeping right now... but reddit. | ‘It was a shout. Like it was some sort of impossibility to move the company on. “Make the shareholders wait!!” She shouted me as if I had the responsibility to this plateau the company has taken since we bought our last competitor. Can you believe it??? And it’s not like she doesn’t know what the next step’s going to be like, it’s rather clear as water. Her advisors have told her thousands of times: as soon as we don’t have any competitor left, and virtually everyone is a customer of ours, you should kick the table and start making some damn profit!!. But she just ain’t gonna listen. You know? The first year she was named CEO of the company I had a feeling we were in the right hands. First she published that sexual scandal that ended on the firing of that rival CEO, then she just lowered the prices so much no other company could sustain afloat, oh and if you’ve seen the way she manipulated the jury after that nasty move. She was a damn chess player. And right when we’re all set to check mate the entire market BUM! She freezes and does nothing for a whole semester!! Can you believe her??’
Shawn Aldereen monologued while his wife kept pouring his glass of wine and listened his after office stories late that afternoon. His work as a secretary was always demanding. But with his new boss, and the growing sensation that the company could not sustain like this for much longer, he was starting to panic. | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | "Rando, the lair is done, we can finally start enacting crime upon all these ignorant civilians."
"Yes! It is our time to take this city! I do have a few things I need to mention first though Lord Reason"
"What is it Rando? Be quick we have evil to enact! hahahahahaha"
"Well Lord, I heard a rumor that Mr Untamed has also moved to LA as account of the weather being more suitable for his evil deeds.""WHAT!? Mr Untamed! has he done anything yet, I have to be the first villain to act to lay claim to LA"
"Well he's been here for a while you see. I heard he gassed a pensioners grocery market the other day."
"Dammit! Okay, everything is put on hold until we teach that fool a lesson for coming to LA! We need to set an example. They've been warned already, I mean I sent that mail out months ago to let all the villains know LA will be my city once I get the water and cabling sorted out at my secret lair! This is just preposterous. I was sure that the dying cat gif showed I meant business."
A few days later Mr Untamed was arrested as he was caught in the act of walking a elderly lady across the road, but then leaving her in the middle of the street as he ran away. The city rejoiced as the man was sent behind bars, it even made headline news.
Back in Lord Reason's lair he began plotting
"Finally, we can begin! Now Rando, I was thinking we start by getting a..." Only to be interrupted by Rando
"Actually, Lord... I'm terribly sorry, but you know the news of the other day about the buses which got blown up? Colonel Parrot has just said it was his doing. I'm terribly sorry."
"WHAT!!!" shouted Lord Reason as he slammed his fist straight through his granite table in fury.
"MY OWN DAM COUSIN! Hah, he thinks he can come do his own thing on my turf. Well I show him."
The next day the newspaper headlines:"A Mysterious and very detailed tip off leads to arrest of notorious villain Colonel Parrot"
"Now we can finally get back to work on shutting down all the b..." said Lord Reason as Rando pulled a strained face
"What is it Rando? I hope it's good news this time" Lord Reason said, nearing the end of his patience.
"Well you see Lord, Farlonber The Bomber just recently set off that bomb at the pizza joint you really like."
"AAAAHHHHH!! shouted lord reason as he threw his desk across the room, watching it shatter on the wall.
"I'll show him!! Come Rando."
News headlines:
2020/05/03: "Farlonber The Bomber found in his underwear on main street"2020/05/07: "Mexican Mustard thrown through police station by man with super strength"2020/05/09: "More Villains landing in police lap, who is this mysterious new hero"2020/06/27: "LA is villain free, citizens rejoice!"
Back at lord Reasons Lair
"Rando I think it's time we left LA All these villains have just ruined the city for me and everything is just stupid expensive and I don't like the people. I sent a mail out to the villain association, we are heading to New York, that's where the money is."
"Wise move Lord, I'll get our things ready." | ‘It was a shout. Like it was some sort of impossibility to move the company on. “Make the shareholders wait!!” She shouted me as if I had the responsibility to this plateau the company has taken since we bought our last competitor. Can you believe it??? And it’s not like she doesn’t know what the next step’s going to be like, it’s rather clear as water. Her advisors have told her thousands of times: as soon as we don’t have any competitor left, and virtually everyone is a customer of ours, you should kick the table and start making some damn profit!!. But she just ain’t gonna listen. You know? The first year she was named CEO of the company I had a feeling we were in the right hands. First she published that sexual scandal that ended on the firing of that rival CEO, then she just lowered the prices so much no other company could sustain afloat, oh and if you’ve seen the way she manipulated the jury after that nasty move. She was a damn chess player. And right when we’re all set to check mate the entire market BUM! She freezes and does nothing for a whole semester!! Can you believe her??’
Shawn Aldereen monologued while his wife kept pouring his glass of wine and listened his after office stories late that afternoon. His work as a secretary was always demanding. But with his new boss, and the growing sensation that the company could not sustain like this for much longer, he was starting to panic. | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | "Rando, the lair is done, we can finally start enacting crime upon all these ignorant civilians."
"Yes! It is our time to take this city! I do have a few things I need to mention first though Lord Reason"
"What is it Rando? Be quick we have evil to enact! hahahahahaha"
"Well Lord, I heard a rumor that Mr Untamed has also moved to LA as account of the weather being more suitable for his evil deeds.""WHAT!? Mr Untamed! has he done anything yet, I have to be the first villain to act to lay claim to LA"
"Well he's been here for a while you see. I heard he gassed a pensioners grocery market the other day."
"Dammit! Okay, everything is put on hold until we teach that fool a lesson for coming to LA! We need to set an example. They've been warned already, I mean I sent that mail out months ago to let all the villains know LA will be my city once I get the water and cabling sorted out at my secret lair! This is just preposterous. I was sure that the dying cat gif showed I meant business."
A few days later Mr Untamed was arrested as he was caught in the act of walking a elderly lady across the road, but then leaving her in the middle of the street as he ran away. The city rejoiced as the man was sent behind bars, it even made headline news.
Back in Lord Reason's lair he began plotting
"Finally, we can begin! Now Rando, I was thinking we start by getting a..." Only to be interrupted by Rando
"Actually, Lord... I'm terribly sorry, but you know the news of the other day about the buses which got blown up? Colonel Parrot has just said it was his doing. I'm terribly sorry."
"WHAT!!!" shouted Lord Reason as he slammed his fist straight through his granite table in fury.
"MY OWN DAM COUSIN! Hah, he thinks he can come do his own thing on my turf. Well I show him."
The next day the newspaper headlines:"A Mysterious and very detailed tip off leads to arrest of notorious villain Colonel Parrot"
"Now we can finally get back to work on shutting down all the b..." said Lord Reason as Rando pulled a strained face
"What is it Rando? I hope it's good news this time" Lord Reason said, nearing the end of his patience.
"Well you see Lord, Farlonber The Bomber just recently set off that bomb at the pizza joint you really like."
"AAAAHHHHH!! shouted lord reason as he threw his desk across the room, watching it shatter on the wall.
"I'll show him!! Come Rando."
News headlines:
2020/05/03: "Farlonber The Bomber found in his underwear on main street"2020/05/07: "Mexican Mustard thrown through police station by man with super strength"2020/05/09: "More Villains landing in police lap, who is this mysterious new hero"2020/06/27: "LA is villain free, citizens rejoice!"
Back at lord Reasons Lair
"Rando I think it's time we left LA All these villains have just ruined the city for me and everything is just stupid expensive and I don't like the people. I sent a mail out to the villain association, we are heading to New York, that's where the money is."
"Wise move Lord, I'll get our things ready." | The emotions of this beautiful superhero make him all the better. He is a man of emotional strength. One that cries without whimpering. One that uses the strength of emotional composition to show the world a better place. Each cry represents the tears that fall, the stress that’s released from each encounter, there is strength, there is power, and he is a player, and a lover. He helps babies stay on course in life with his or her emotions by showing them the vulnerability of crying. The power of tears will guide the children to a healthy emotional future. And his powers are renewed to something greater. Something more powerful. Something more useful, and something more loving. Something that heals this era of trump and heals the nation from trauma. A true superhero. His name is cookie! | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | "Well at least I've got nowhere to go but down."
The nightly newscast does its best to give the new hero persona in town a good nickname. Unfortunately none of their writers seem to be all that creative. "Shade" seems to be the most popular going around so far. Gets your shadowy presence about right but you're pretty sure it's already taken.
A quick Google search turns up a fictional chap from DC and a mid tier villainous sort running enforcement with the NY mob. A dozen more litter the results pages. How lazy could the media really be to not even do that much research?
To be fair you really haven't done anything to get on the radar yet. They probably thought it wouldn't be worth the effort. You thought you were being sneaky and clever while setting up the local lowlifes. An unexpected public tussle with Devil Game in the age of cell phone cameras put that thought to rest in a hurry. Easily knock out one B list supervillain and obviously you're a hero.
There are worse things for a villain than to be mistaken for a hero. Being able to walk around in broad daylight is a perk, even if it isn't one you're keen to make use of. The key downside right now is attention. Folks more or less know who you are. Fortunately fame is fleeting. Unfortunately so is the opportunity to put your current machinations into action. You can't afford to lay low, not now... | It's a terrible house.
It's a terrible house in an awful neighborhood in the inner city. The gun violence of your five-mile radius gives every Republican lawmaker a reason to oppose gun control. You are a walking stereotype by living there. White guy, some money, pretty wife, lucrative career.
Aside from the fact that you aren't a stereotype. You're a unique, special individual. You're your own man. Not only that, you're dressed like a flying insect. Oh, did we forget to mention? You're in a giant insect costume. Your wife begrudingly helps your vendetta. Your friends are goons. You are a super villain.
You have driven every other villain out. Of course you have. The whole concept is ludicrous. The Glock. He only lets his goons use one kind of gun. Nine Millimeter. He's like that good guy that can make himself the size of an ant but he's a bad guy. Mars Capone. Syphillus and smells like cheese. Terrible villains. You took care of them, easy.
But you spent the last six months scaring them off. Scooby Doo ghost pranks. Police sirens from Amazon in the middle of the night. The more "locked and loaded" ones required more finesse; they are a cowardly and superstitious lot. You scared them off with the wings and darkness. If only a good guy could try that method. Whatever, they're out of the Chicago suburbs now.
Anywhere, what was the goal here? Where's your girlfriend? Wait, are you married? | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | "And then I looked at her, right in her eyes, and with deadpan delivery I told her, 'I *said* I wanted *sharks* with friggin' LA-SERS attached to their foreheads. Is that so hard?!'"
The small group of men and women surrounding Dr. Doom burst out into raucous laughter.
"You didn't really say that did you Doom?!?" exclaimed a tall Amazonian woman wrapped in baby seal fur.
"I sure as shit did Artica! You should have seen the look on her face. She just started sputtering and making excuses. I shit you not, she said 'let me make a call' and started dialing a number on her phone. I could barely keep a straight face. I mean, really, you're telling me she had an actual shark guy on retainer? Bahaha."
Another round of laughter shook the group.
"Apparently she'd never seen the movie." spoke a new entry who walked up and stood dangerously close within Doom's personal space. The newcomer was a stocky gorilla-sized man touting a giant robotic arm complete with pinchers and rockets. The flat delivery of the line was matched only but the look of displeasure evident on his face, and neither were missed by Dr. Doom.
"Indeed not Clank, indeed not. What's got your panties in a bunch tonight? You forget again to fine tune the pneumatics on that robot arm during your * ahem * 'private time'?" asked Doom.
This time only a couple of polite laughs escaped the group, accompanied by nervous throat clearing and shifting of eyes. A few of the smaller of the group eased their way away from the pocket of Super Villains and into other conversations.
"Wow. What's going on here guys?" asked a now more wary Doom.
"We hoped to do this in a more private venue, but I guesssss there's no time like the pressssssssent." spoke a large lizard-like man. "There'ssssss been ssssome doubtsss about you Doom."
"That's DOCTOR Doom to you rat breath, and for the sake of us not being here all night, can someone explain to me what the hell Reptoid is talking about!? exclaimed Doom.
"Listen, DOCTOR Doom, there's just been some doubts about where your loyalty truly lies." spoke Clank.
"Doomie baby, you have to admit there *have* been some irregularities of late." purred Artica.
Dr. Doom took a couple of steps back in shock. "What the hell do you guys mean!? This is my 15th Convention. I'm here every year same as you all, and same as you all I abide by the accords and don't blast any of you to oblivion, like I'd LOVE to do right now."
"See, that right there is what we are talking about Doom." spoke a mousey looking man in a tweed coat. "Every year, year after year, you DO find a way to kill us. Just not here, and just not now. I remember standing in a group just like this and listening to Mr. Freezey brag about his summer plans to Chicago, and then, 3 months later he was dead by YOUR hand. IN Chicago"
"Not that I minded. That son of a bitch was encroaching far too closely on my territory..." quietly quipped Artica.
"See Arthur? At least someone around here appreciates me! Plus Mr. Freezey shot his mouth off to the wrong people who reported back to me. Once the insults went public I had no choice but to take him out in order to save face. Plus, "Mr. Freezey" is probably the worst Super Villain name I've ever heard. I did us all a favor." replied Doom.
"You've always got an excuse Doom. And it's always believable, so we never pry. Some of us who've been around a while, though, we got suspicious. Tell him Professor." said Clank as he gestured to the tweed attired man.
Professor Arthur pulled from his coat breast pocket a small notebook and began reading. "Total Number of Super Villains Killed - 34. Total Number of Super Heroes killed - 15."
"So what? So I killed a few more of us then them. That's just because we like to start more shit. I've had to knock more than one or two newbies off my block over the years. Every Lex Luther wannabe that develops the gift seems to come knocking on my door."
"Ah, yes. You see, I initially thought the same thing, so I did a little digging. Number of Super Heroes killed in self defense - 15. Number of Super Villains killed in self defense - 10. Number of evil plots executed - 0." said the Professor calmly.
Dead silence filled the small group.
"It's gotta be more than te-- wait, z-zero!" sputtered Doom. "That can't be right!" Doom started pacing now. "There was the nerve gas at the football stadium... no wait, the ignitor was a dud, and I forgot to the check the redundant… well then there was the dirigible on the suicide course to Dubai... no, no, ran out of gas, I forgot to check the tank before I sent it off... Huh... Oh wait, I've got it!" cheered a beaming Dr. Doom. "2025, genetically modified swine flu, 20.8mil dead. You're welcome."
Artica winced, leaned in, and spoke in a near whisper, "That was the Baconator."
"Huh? No. No way." replied Doom. "I remember it like yesterday. I had spent all week in my lab cooking up that mutated goodness. I had a water distribution algorithm chugging away on the ole server for hours just to find the right dispersal locations. I had everything all packed up, and took it down to the head of the Mississippi, unscrewed the cap and--" Dr. Doom stopped cold.
"Yes?" asked Arthur.
"And that's when Ferocious Falco swept down and tried to take my head off. We battled, I won. Obviously. But shit. I was so high on adrenaline and battle sims, I guess I completely forgot about the virus." Dr. Doom took a deep breath. "I guess I really am the worlds worse villain."
"There there Doom. It's ok. It'll all be a thing of the past soon." said Clank.
The burly man gestured to a group of armed guards standing nearby and they quickly surrounded the doctor and began dragging him off.
"Wait! No! I can be more evil!! I promise! Give me a baby, someone find me a baby! I'll kill it, I promise you I'll do it. A puppy?!? A baby seal?!? I can do betterrrrrr." The sound of Dr. Doom's voice became more and more distant until they were left with silence.
Clank, smug look of satisfaction of his face turned to Artica and asked, "Dinner?"
The tall woman shrugged, "Sure." | It's a terrible house.
It's a terrible house in an awful neighborhood in the inner city. The gun violence of your five-mile radius gives every Republican lawmaker a reason to oppose gun control. You are a walking stereotype by living there. White guy, some money, pretty wife, lucrative career.
Aside from the fact that you aren't a stereotype. You're a unique, special individual. You're your own man. Not only that, you're dressed like a flying insect. Oh, did we forget to mention? You're in a giant insect costume. Your wife begrudingly helps your vendetta. Your friends are goons. You are a super villain.
You have driven every other villain out. Of course you have. The whole concept is ludicrous. The Glock. He only lets his goons use one kind of gun. Nine Millimeter. He's like that good guy that can make himself the size of an ant but he's a bad guy. Mars Capone. Syphillus and smells like cheese. Terrible villains. You took care of them, easy.
But you spent the last six months scaring them off. Scooby Doo ghost pranks. Police sirens from Amazon in the middle of the night. The more "locked and loaded" ones required more finesse; they are a cowardly and superstitious lot. You scared them off with the wings and darkness. If only a good guy could try that method. Whatever, they're out of the Chicago suburbs now.
Anywhere, what was the goal here? Where's your girlfriend? Wait, are you married? | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | I was all over the news. It was all anyone wanted to talk about at the office on Monday. Some emo vigilante superhero took down both Arc and Torch. I mean, come on, they were obviously going to be vulnerable to water. I got distracted by my phone going off, then responding to a post online.
And just because I wanted to wear Kevlar for protection and a wig to hide my identity. It worked, I mean nobody thought it was me, which I thought was weird because my face is right there in 4k on repeat all day, but people also pretend that ...
"There's a car downstairs waiting for you."
The... CEO? Why is she talking to me? Why is she sweating?
"You are to get in that car now if you want to work here tomorrow."
The elevator didn't stop on the way down. I guess everyone was watching the newsfeed. I even forgot my manifesto, stupid SD card crashed. I knew I should have brought the paper copy, but that's okay, next time I'll read it. I'll have to get a better name that what the media is calling me.
The car was a short limo; the driver stood beside the rear door, my name on a held sign. Oh, it's a tablet, that's kind of cool. Who the hell is sending a driver for me? No choice if I want to pay my rent next month, though.
---
Another corner.
"Do you want to be friends?"
"I keep telling you Mr. Warner, I'm not a hero."
"I buy presents for my friends. That corner office? One phone call from me and it's yours. No more stonewalling on the promotions. Your health plan's going to be better for everyone. It'll start covering epi-pens and massage therapy. Gym memberships. Full dental. You'll get the credit for spearheading that upgrade."
Why was this eccentric billionaire even talking to me? Why did he pick me up? Does he own my workplace? I think he does. Is that why ... Melinda? Mandy? What is the CEO's name? Mind you, it would be cool to be a bit of a hero at the office.
"I also buy presents for people that don't want to be my friend. Cor-El? I bought her a rock from her home planet. Made her sick for a month."
The car lurched. Warner continued, but his voice changed. Deepened. Got raspy.
"The warrior prince? Dirt cursed by a mummy. He saw it may way and he's on the team now."
Cor-El? The Warrior? He's got to be crazy, who would threaten superheroes? He slid open a console on the bar and there was a little giftwrapped box. He held it out.
"You were a lot easier to shop for." The package rattled in my shaking hands. Chocolates. Good ones. The tiny box probably cost him a thousand dollars. If I ate any one of these, I'd have a 50/50 chance of getting to the hospital.
"So... are you going to join us?"
I swallowed hard and my dry throat barely scratched out, "what ... are friends for?"
| It's a terrible house.
It's a terrible house in an awful neighborhood in the inner city. The gun violence of your five-mile radius gives every Republican lawmaker a reason to oppose gun control. You are a walking stereotype by living there. White guy, some money, pretty wife, lucrative career.
Aside from the fact that you aren't a stereotype. You're a unique, special individual. You're your own man. Not only that, you're dressed like a flying insect. Oh, did we forget to mention? You're in a giant insect costume. Your wife begrudingly helps your vendetta. Your friends are goons. You are a super villain.
You have driven every other villain out. Of course you have. The whole concept is ludicrous. The Glock. He only lets his goons use one kind of gun. Nine Millimeter. He's like that good guy that can make himself the size of an ant but he's a bad guy. Mars Capone. Syphillus and smells like cheese. Terrible villains. You took care of them, easy.
But you spent the last six months scaring them off. Scooby Doo ghost pranks. Police sirens from Amazon in the middle of the night. The more "locked and loaded" ones required more finesse; they are a cowardly and superstitious lot. You scared them off with the wings and darkness. If only a good guy could try that method. Whatever, they're out of the Chicago suburbs now.
Anywhere, what was the goal here? Where's your girlfriend? Wait, are you married? | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | Even in a day and age that eschews initiative and personal achievement for equity and participation awards, *competition* still decides who sinks and who swims. It just so happens that, in my line of work, sinking usually involves a pair of concrete shoes or a body riddled with so many bullet holes that water flows through you like a goddamn *colander.* So yeah, I’ve got plenty of incentive to work my ass off.
Of course, a watery grave isn’t *nearly* as important as the ones who’d send me there if they got the chance. My “fellow” supervillains don’t take kindly to competition. You’d almost think they were commies if their bellies weren’t so full and their pockets so deep. Aside from the occasional tenuous alliance to try and take down Hyperstar, they wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet between each other’s eyes, and with Hyperstar being *dead* and all, you’d better believe their hearts are racing and their bullets are flying. There’s newfound opportunity in Solus City, and everybody wants it *all.*
That’s why I got into this line of work. Without a hero to keep the rest of these fuckers in line, you can be sure my gun store got “requisitioned” by *Quartermaster* himself. It was almost an *honor* to stare down the barrel of the gun of one of the most feared men in the city, but for some reason it wasn’t enough to drown out the sheer hopelessness that I felt when I was tossed to the streets. My store, my father’s store, and his father’s store before him, had been lost in an instant.
That’s when I realized—Solus City was no longer a place for good men. If you wanted to die with any shred of dignity left, you had to bury your heels in the mud and get dirty just to earn the right. To that end, I joined up with one of Quartermaster’s oldest rivals: Marlon Telle, known to the world at large as *Slot Machine.* Quartermaster could have all the guns in the world, but it wouldn’t make a difference if money constantly eluded his grasp, and money was Slot Machine’s bread and butter.
The entry-level security work was a piece of cake, thanks to my experience in the war, and I was soon given greater and greater responsibilities. As the months went by, protecting armored vehicles was replaced with leading raids on rival villains’ businesses, and eventually I had the honor to call myself Slot Machine’s very own chief of security, a position which granted me the unique opportunity to learn a thing or two about smart business from the conversations I overheard.
After I had learned my fill from Slot Machine, the day finally came for me to put a bullet in the computer he had replaced his brain with, which left me with the resources to grab the city by the balls. Most of Slot Machines former goons left to find work with established villains like Black Rose or Chupacabra, but the smart ones recognized my potential and stuck around to witness my rise.
My first order of business was retaking what Quartermaster had stolen from me—my pride. Through a bit of fiscal manipulation, blackmail, and coercion, I repossessed my gun store and *more,* carving a decent chunk out of Quartermaster’s turf, as well as his supply of weaponry. Though his gang’s numbers outweighed mine, his men didn’t have a veteran to train them. Mine did. Guerilla warfare was the name of the game as Quartermaster’s grip loosened and his territory fell through his fingers like countless grains of sand.
I won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say I had a field day when my boys captured Quartermaster and brought him before me. Remember those concrete shoes and bullet holes I mentioned earlier? With his death, I felt a sense of relief that had become alien to me over the last two years. For a moment, no matter how brief it was, I was at peace.
With two villains dead by my hands, the local papers saw fit to finally recognize my presence and give me a name: *The Arbitrator.* I thought the choice was kind of strange, but it stuck, and soon the other villains spoke not of James Ament, but of The Arbitrator, and in hushed tones at that. Every one of them knew that their final day could be just around the corner.
The moniker stuck, as did my commitment to crushing the competition. Not everyone was dealt with as bloodily as Slot Machine and Quartermaster, however. Many villains could be persuaded to join forces with me for the right price, and soon I had Big Chill, Legion, and even Black Rose herself at my side. It was only a matter of time before Solus City was under our—MY—control.
Victory was sweet, but it brought with it side-effects that not even the Mentalist could have seen coming if he were still alive. The people I ruled didn’t fear me, they adored me. Unlike other villains, who used their power to *domineer* over the citizens living on their turf, I *protected* those living on mine. It wasn’t out of goodwill, but practicality—after all, people who feel safe are less likely to overthrow you, a lesson I taught Quartermaster the hard way—but it seemed like my approach had its benefits in the end.
With the city unified under me, I became a sort of strange beacon of hope, an example of the self-made man in a world that incentivized blind servitude. Whenever some upstart tried to start shit in *my* city, I brought them to justice. When Black Rose became my wife, it made the papers. And when I eventually grow too old to protect my city, some other self-made man or woman will take my place. | It's a terrible house.
It's a terrible house in an awful neighborhood in the inner city. The gun violence of your five-mile radius gives every Republican lawmaker a reason to oppose gun control. You are a walking stereotype by living there. White guy, some money, pretty wife, lucrative career.
Aside from the fact that you aren't a stereotype. You're a unique, special individual. You're your own man. Not only that, you're dressed like a flying insect. Oh, did we forget to mention? You're in a giant insect costume. Your wife begrudingly helps your vendetta. Your friends are goons. You are a super villain.
You have driven every other villain out. Of course you have. The whole concept is ludicrous. The Glock. He only lets his goons use one kind of gun. Nine Millimeter. He's like that good guy that can make himself the size of an ant but he's a bad guy. Mars Capone. Syphillus and smells like cheese. Terrible villains. You took care of them, easy.
But you spent the last six months scaring them off. Scooby Doo ghost pranks. Police sirens from Amazon in the middle of the night. The more "locked and loaded" ones required more finesse; they are a cowardly and superstitious lot. You scared them off with the wings and darkness. If only a good guy could try that method. Whatever, they're out of the Chicago suburbs now.
Anywhere, what was the goal here? Where's your girlfriend? Wait, are you married? | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | My dad always told me to make a plan. Actually he told me to make a list. Write it down. Put everything on it. No matter how small or big, but it on the list. Fine, dad, I did. It was the age of cellphones, so I used my tasklist.
I'd been refining this list for years. Hell, college gave me nothing but time. I'm not a big drinker so I spent my evenings putting everything in order. From small to big.
When I got back home after graduation, that's exactly what I did. I worked from small to big. Hell, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
I started with the thugs. They were bad for business. They really were. But I couldn't just leave them running around. It was better to "repurpose" them. It's amazing what an extra couple dollars an hour and benefits will do. Most of these guys weren't bad. Not evil. They were working stiffs who just needed a job. I just needed to keep them occupied. Hell, I could do that, and in the process I could keep my competition from using them. They weren't willing to pay what I was.
After that was the drug-dealers. I'm not exactly "athletic" but man... my employees were loyal... and when I requested that someone be played on a bus out of town with a warning... they didn't come back.
Gangsters were trickier.. But gangsters were businessmen. Or thought of themselves as such. I had to get creative with them. I had to figure out what was bad for business. In most cases, "attention" was bad for business. I'm no snitch, but it's funny how anonymous tips can make their way to folks like Captain Heroic and she'll just clean up a problem for my organization.
By the time I reached that level my anonymity was starting to slip. Rather than just being a shadow, word was getting around. I had put the kibosh on my folks calling me "boss" so they had started using a nom de guerre The Coordinator. I made things happen. Little things, big things, I pulled strings.
It was about two years into my endeavors when a face-to-face meeting was requested and I realized something was amiss. My chief of staff, Friday handed me a letter. Normally she would have just relayed the pertinents as I trusted her judgement.
"Sir, I believe it's an invitation."
Not unusual. I get many social invitations. What made this so special?
"An invitation to join the UEH" She had a look of pride and excitement on her face.
The Union of Exalted Heroes? Why would they invite me? I was a villain? I stared at Friday for several seconds...finally saying there must be some mistake
"Sir, your hard work finally paid off! Everyone sees all the good work you've done for the city. The world. The team knows you don't like the limelight and they try to keep it hush hush... but everyone knows... Congratulations. You deserve this!" | It's a terrible house.
It's a terrible house in an awful neighborhood in the inner city. The gun violence of your five-mile radius gives every Republican lawmaker a reason to oppose gun control. You are a walking stereotype by living there. White guy, some money, pretty wife, lucrative career.
Aside from the fact that you aren't a stereotype. You're a unique, special individual. You're your own man. Not only that, you're dressed like a flying insect. Oh, did we forget to mention? You're in a giant insect costume. Your wife begrudingly helps your vendetta. Your friends are goons. You are a super villain.
You have driven every other villain out. Of course you have. The whole concept is ludicrous. The Glock. He only lets his goons use one kind of gun. Nine Millimeter. He's like that good guy that can make himself the size of an ant but he's a bad guy. Mars Capone. Syphillus and smells like cheese. Terrible villains. You took care of them, easy.
But you spent the last six months scaring them off. Scooby Doo ghost pranks. Police sirens from Amazon in the middle of the night. The more "locked and loaded" ones required more finesse; they are a cowardly and superstitious lot. You scared them off with the wings and darkness. If only a good guy could try that method. Whatever, they're out of the Chicago suburbs now.
Anywhere, what was the goal here? Where's your girlfriend? Wait, are you married? | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | I was all over the news. It was all anyone wanted to talk about at the office on Monday. Some emo vigilante superhero took down both Arc and Torch. I mean, come on, they were obviously going to be vulnerable to water. I got distracted by my phone going off, then responding to a post online.
And just because I wanted to wear Kevlar for protection and a wig to hide my identity. It worked, I mean nobody thought it was me, which I thought was weird because my face is right there in 4k on repeat all day, but people also pretend that ...
"There's a car downstairs waiting for you."
The... CEO? Why is she talking to me? Why is she sweating?
"You are to get in that car now if you want to work here tomorrow."
The elevator didn't stop on the way down. I guess everyone was watching the newsfeed. I even forgot my manifesto, stupid SD card crashed. I knew I should have brought the paper copy, but that's okay, next time I'll read it. I'll have to get a better name that what the media is calling me.
The car was a short limo; the driver stood beside the rear door, my name on a held sign. Oh, it's a tablet, that's kind of cool. Who the hell is sending a driver for me? No choice if I want to pay my rent next month, though.
---
Another corner.
"Do you want to be friends?"
"I keep telling you Mr. Warner, I'm not a hero."
"I buy presents for my friends. That corner office? One phone call from me and it's yours. No more stonewalling on the promotions. Your health plan's going to be better for everyone. It'll start covering epi-pens and massage therapy. Gym memberships. Full dental. You'll get the credit for spearheading that upgrade."
Why was this eccentric billionaire even talking to me? Why did he pick me up? Does he own my workplace? I think he does. Is that why ... Melinda? Mandy? What is the CEO's name? Mind you, it would be cool to be a bit of a hero at the office.
"I also buy presents for people that don't want to be my friend. Cor-El? I bought her a rock from her home planet. Made her sick for a month."
The car lurched. Warner continued, but his voice changed. Deepened. Got raspy.
"The warrior prince? Dirt cursed by a mummy. He saw it may way and he's on the team now."
Cor-El? The Warrior? He's got to be crazy, who would threaten superheroes? He slid open a console on the bar and there was a little giftwrapped box. He held it out.
"You were a lot easier to shop for." The package rattled in my shaking hands. Chocolates. Good ones. The tiny box probably cost him a thousand dollars. If I ate any one of these, I'd have a 50/50 chance of getting to the hospital.
"So... are you going to join us?"
I swallowed hard and my dry throat barely scratched out, "what ... are friends for?"
| "Well at least I've got nowhere to go but down."
The nightly newscast does its best to give the new hero persona in town a good nickname. Unfortunately none of their writers seem to be all that creative. "Shade" seems to be the most popular going around so far. Gets your shadowy presence about right but you're pretty sure it's already taken.
A quick Google search turns up a fictional chap from DC and a mid tier villainous sort running enforcement with the NY mob. A dozen more litter the results pages. How lazy could the media really be to not even do that much research?
To be fair you really haven't done anything to get on the radar yet. They probably thought it wouldn't be worth the effort. You thought you were being sneaky and clever while setting up the local lowlifes. An unexpected public tussle with Devil Game in the age of cell phone cameras put that thought to rest in a hurry. Easily knock out one B list supervillain and obviously you're a hero.
There are worse things for a villain than to be mistaken for a hero. Being able to walk around in broad daylight is a perk, even if it isn't one you're keen to make use of. The key downside right now is attention. Folks more or less know who you are. Fortunately fame is fleeting. Unfortunately so is the opportunity to put your current machinations into action. You can't afford to lay low, not now... | |
[WP] You are a supervillain. During the course of beating other villains off your block, you forgot to actually enact your evil plan. Now everyone believes you to be an emo superhero. | I was all over the news. It was all anyone wanted to talk about at the office on Monday. Some emo vigilante superhero took down both Arc and Torch. I mean, come on, they were obviously going to be vulnerable to water. I got distracted by my phone going off, then responding to a post online.
And just because I wanted to wear Kevlar for protection and a wig to hide my identity. It worked, I mean nobody thought it was me, which I thought was weird because my face is right there in 4k on repeat all day, but people also pretend that ...
"There's a car downstairs waiting for you."
The... CEO? Why is she talking to me? Why is she sweating?
"You are to get in that car now if you want to work here tomorrow."
The elevator didn't stop on the way down. I guess everyone was watching the newsfeed. I even forgot my manifesto, stupid SD card crashed. I knew I should have brought the paper copy, but that's okay, next time I'll read it. I'll have to get a better name that what the media is calling me.
The car was a short limo; the driver stood beside the rear door, my name on a held sign. Oh, it's a tablet, that's kind of cool. Who the hell is sending a driver for me? No choice if I want to pay my rent next month, though.
---
Another corner.
"Do you want to be friends?"
"I keep telling you Mr. Warner, I'm not a hero."
"I buy presents for my friends. That corner office? One phone call from me and it's yours. No more stonewalling on the promotions. Your health plan's going to be better for everyone. It'll start covering epi-pens and massage therapy. Gym memberships. Full dental. You'll get the credit for spearheading that upgrade."
Why was this eccentric billionaire even talking to me? Why did he pick me up? Does he own my workplace? I think he does. Is that why ... Melinda? Mandy? What is the CEO's name? Mind you, it would be cool to be a bit of a hero at the office.
"I also buy presents for people that don't want to be my friend. Cor-El? I bought her a rock from her home planet. Made her sick for a month."
The car lurched. Warner continued, but his voice changed. Deepened. Got raspy.
"The warrior prince? Dirt cursed by a mummy. He saw it may way and he's on the team now."
Cor-El? The Warrior? He's got to be crazy, who would threaten superheroes? He slid open a console on the bar and there was a little giftwrapped box. He held it out.
"You were a lot easier to shop for." The package rattled in my shaking hands. Chocolates. Good ones. The tiny box probably cost him a thousand dollars. If I ate any one of these, I'd have a 50/50 chance of getting to the hospital.
"So... are you going to join us?"
I swallowed hard and my dry throat barely scratched out, "what ... are friends for?"
| "And then I looked at her, right in her eyes, and with deadpan delivery I told her, 'I *said* I wanted *sharks* with friggin' LA-SERS attached to their foreheads. Is that so hard?!'"
The small group of men and women surrounding Dr. Doom burst out into raucous laughter.
"You didn't really say that did you Doom?!?" exclaimed a tall Amazonian woman wrapped in baby seal fur.
"I sure as shit did Artica! You should have seen the look on her face. She just started sputtering and making excuses. I shit you not, she said 'let me make a call' and started dialing a number on her phone. I could barely keep a straight face. I mean, really, you're telling me she had an actual shark guy on retainer? Bahaha."
Another round of laughter shook the group.
"Apparently she'd never seen the movie." spoke a new entry who walked up and stood dangerously close within Doom's personal space. The newcomer was a stocky gorilla-sized man touting a giant robotic arm complete with pinchers and rockets. The flat delivery of the line was matched only but the look of displeasure evident on his face, and neither were missed by Dr. Doom.
"Indeed not Clank, indeed not. What's got your panties in a bunch tonight? You forget again to fine tune the pneumatics on that robot arm during your * ahem * 'private time'?" asked Doom.
This time only a couple of polite laughs escaped the group, accompanied by nervous throat clearing and shifting of eyes. A few of the smaller of the group eased their way away from the pocket of Super Villains and into other conversations.
"Wow. What's going on here guys?" asked a now more wary Doom.
"We hoped to do this in a more private venue, but I guesssss there's no time like the pressssssssent." spoke a large lizard-like man. "There'ssssss been ssssome doubtsss about you Doom."
"That's DOCTOR Doom to you rat breath, and for the sake of us not being here all night, can someone explain to me what the hell Reptoid is talking about!? exclaimed Doom.
"Listen, DOCTOR Doom, there's just been some doubts about where your loyalty truly lies." spoke Clank.
"Doomie baby, you have to admit there *have* been some irregularities of late." purred Artica.
Dr. Doom took a couple of steps back in shock. "What the hell do you guys mean!? This is my 15th Convention. I'm here every year same as you all, and same as you all I abide by the accords and don't blast any of you to oblivion, like I'd LOVE to do right now."
"See, that right there is what we are talking about Doom." spoke a mousey looking man in a tweed coat. "Every year, year after year, you DO find a way to kill us. Just not here, and just not now. I remember standing in a group just like this and listening to Mr. Freezey brag about his summer plans to Chicago, and then, 3 months later he was dead by YOUR hand. IN Chicago"
"Not that I minded. That son of a bitch was encroaching far too closely on my territory..." quietly quipped Artica.
"See Arthur? At least someone around here appreciates me! Plus Mr. Freezey shot his mouth off to the wrong people who reported back to me. Once the insults went public I had no choice but to take him out in order to save face. Plus, "Mr. Freezey" is probably the worst Super Villain name I've ever heard. I did us all a favor." replied Doom.
"You've always got an excuse Doom. And it's always believable, so we never pry. Some of us who've been around a while, though, we got suspicious. Tell him Professor." said Clank as he gestured to the tweed attired man.
Professor Arthur pulled from his coat breast pocket a small notebook and began reading. "Total Number of Super Villains Killed - 34. Total Number of Super Heroes killed - 15."
"So what? So I killed a few more of us then them. That's just because we like to start more shit. I've had to knock more than one or two newbies off my block over the years. Every Lex Luther wannabe that develops the gift seems to come knocking on my door."
"Ah, yes. You see, I initially thought the same thing, so I did a little digging. Number of Super Heroes killed in self defense - 15. Number of Super Villains killed in self defense - 10. Number of evil plots executed - 0." said the Professor calmly.
Dead silence filled the small group.
"It's gotta be more than te-- wait, z-zero!" sputtered Doom. "That can't be right!" Doom started pacing now. "There was the nerve gas at the football stadium... no wait, the ignitor was a dud, and I forgot to the check the redundant… well then there was the dirigible on the suicide course to Dubai... no, no, ran out of gas, I forgot to check the tank before I sent it off... Huh... Oh wait, I've got it!" cheered a beaming Dr. Doom. "2025, genetically modified swine flu, 20.8mil dead. You're welcome."
Artica winced, leaned in, and spoke in a near whisper, "That was the Baconator."
"Huh? No. No way." replied Doom. "I remember it like yesterday. I had spent all week in my lab cooking up that mutated goodness. I had a water distribution algorithm chugging away on the ole server for hours just to find the right dispersal locations. I had everything all packed up, and took it down to the head of the Mississippi, unscrewed the cap and--" Dr. Doom stopped cold.
"Yes?" asked Arthur.
"And that's when Ferocious Falco swept down and tried to take my head off. We battled, I won. Obviously. But shit. I was so high on adrenaline and battle sims, I guess I completely forgot about the virus." Dr. Doom took a deep breath. "I guess I really am the worlds worse villain."
"There there Doom. It's ok. It'll all be a thing of the past soon." said Clank.
The burly man gestured to a group of armed guards standing nearby and they quickly surrounded the doctor and began dragging him off.
"Wait! No! I can be more evil!! I promise! Give me a baby, someone find me a baby! I'll kill it, I promise you I'll do it. A puppy?!? A baby seal?!? I can do betterrrrrr." The sound of Dr. Doom's voice became more and more distant until they were left with silence.
Clank, smug look of satisfaction of his face turned to Artica and asked, "Dinner?"
The tall woman shrugged, "Sure." | |
[WP] In the future we have Storybots. These follow randomly selected people around and influence their lives to follow a narrative that is broadcast live to audiences. Every bot has a genre clearly marked on it. People targeted by romcom bots are all too happy to take part. Others are not so lucky. | The cold wind hissed past my ear as I stood on the roof of the Shanghai Tower. One step forward and I'll enter eternal rest; one step backward and I'll return to a life of madness and hatred.
The little pod hovered a metre to my left, its damnable camera and microphone trained on me, ready to capture a possible climax. Whirring sounds emanated from it occasionally, transforming into sounds that had proven particularly effective in awakening my traumas.
This thing was called a Storybot. They followed people around, influencing their lives in line with their designated genres. These genres used to be of the happy kind. But everything changed when the powers-that-be decided that the general populace should be allowed to dictate the kinds of genres.
I had struck 'gold'. The Storybot assigned to me was "Tragedy, with a huge heaping of psychological issues."
I didn't know that at the start, until I threw myself off the Tokyo Skytree, only to be rescued by the Storybot on the grounds that it was too early for my story to end.
The Storybot at my side whirred and nudged me, trying to provoke another bout of thinking. It could read minds - I was now certain of it - but I had been too meta just now.
I closed my eyes and stayed silent. To bring me to the brink of despair, the world had conspired around me. I'd killed my entire family with my hands. Their ghosts still haunt me, calling me selfish, careless.
It was my fault. I'd left the gas on. But somewhere, deep down, I knew that the gas was never on. I didn't even cook, most of the time.
It didn't end there. My fiancee died right in front of my eyes, the day right before my wedding. She'd went crazy from a stalker of mine.
It was my fault. I should have suspected that I was at that time already haunted by the harbinger of tragedy when my family died.
The days of happiness were just to bring me down all that harder. Having studied Literature, this event looked like a literary device employed to elicit sorrow, and for a moment, my mind had turned to the popular Stories that I had liked watching.
In the months to follow, I lost everything. My only repose was watching the Stories of Hope and Happiness that were in vogue.
And in a dramatic twist, my Storybot revealed itself to me, if only to drive me further to despair. It didn't even bother hiding what type of stories it wanted out of me. It just wanted me to know that my life was a tragedy, that it was an inescapable fate.
It was probably the most meta of stories created so far.
At this point of time, I was absolutely certain that my story was over. It didn't matter that I could somehow live through my story's end. I could foresee two endings.
I'll step back from the edge, like a true protagonist, and find solace in the days ahead. Or I'll take the plunge, marking the end of the tragedy.
The wind hissed. My legs had never trembled the entire time I stood on the ledge, and it wasn't going to now. I sat down gently, and watched as the sun set.
With a gentle push, the world blurred around me. It wasn't that I feared living on. It was more of a vindictive revenge against the people who'd wanted to create a story of a man who'd fought against despair, at the cost of my entirety.
Are you happy now, Readers? | Satir
My life was a satir a dark comedy
Since youth haunted by bad luck
Traning for over two years daily
beating all competiom in the national wrestling just to poo myself in the final
Just to lose the 10000$ reward that would save my parent and their mortage
Haunted
.
10 years later still haunted.
This bot that narrated my life had a sign on that read Drama but I just feelt like it was all a scheme to make me feel better
Like I had a purpose ......
No education no job no purpose still living at home like a deadbeat in a trailer with a fantasy that died 10 years ago
This is my freedom. I am finally becomig the main charachter they can't stop me
" And now my Ladies and Gentlemen our main Charachter try to commit sucide by posioing but he don't we switch the poision with mdma"
.....
Sorry english not native langugage | |
[WP] In the future we have Storybots. These follow randomly selected people around and influence their lives to follow a narrative that is broadcast live to audiences. Every bot has a genre clearly marked on it. People targeted by romcom bots are all too happy to take part. Others are not so lucky. | I took some creative liberties. First of all, this story is set in the Sims (the simulation video game by Maxis) universe. Second, the story bots are called Servos and they aren't based on genres, but rather certain artists. I hope this is okay!
“He painted.”
I did as it commanded. For I was helpless. The Bob Ross Servos told me the strokes to use, the color, the trees to be or not to be placed, the mountains, the feeling. He did it all. I was a prisoner to the servos’s creativity. It’s cold afro hung over me, watching my every moment with its hard glass eyes.
Why do you stay then? You may be asking. Ah, how naive my reader is. As if the simplicity of this decision had not touched my thoughts countless times before. As if I had a choice.
“Now, let’s think of the river, the beautiful night sky hanging over it. Try to bring out the soft shades of night with the tips of the brush.”
A vivid night sky began to appear on the canvas. The midnight paint pouring out from my hands. How did I do this? I wondered. I had come as a plumber to this estate. A simple toilet the owners of the frivolous mansion had told me absolutely needed to be repaired.
I was led deep into the basement where I now reside. The toilet had been repaired, but I had become the prisoner you meet now. Time came and went, the single blurred window in the corner of my concrete room my only connection to the world outside.
“We realize now that the world is incredible. That life lives and breathes in everything you see. Your strokes become pointed, the blades of grass erect with the virility of a new world.”
It spoke and I did. Feelings I did not have created into art. Beauty that I myself could not understand. It was almost shameful. Many had spent years, their lives mastering this craft. I had been forced into it as labor for my lords who lived above me by this dreadful Bob Ross Mechanism. *Oh how I despised the afro, the southing timbre of it’s electrical voice. Curse Bob Ross, that insufferable fool!*
The bolt lock clicked. My Lords had come to visit. The Bob Ross Servos immediately halted. Mr. Landgraab stepped in, his top hat an ivory reminder of the tower I work for.
“Mr. Bob Ross Servos,” Landgraab said. “You may pause for twenty minutes.”
The Bob Ross nodded once then stepped away and powered down.
My world became my own. I jumped to my feet but the chain around my leg jerked me back.
“Futile, Mortimer. By the way, I was told to tell you Mrs. Goth has accepted her new life as Ms. Goth. Quite the stunning woman she is. You chose correctly, she mourns your absence even now as she waits for me upstairs in my bedroom.”
My heart dropped in my chest. A vicious look surged into my eyes. Blood began to drip on the marble floor from the iron wrapped around my ankle.
“Ah-h-h,” Laandgrab wiggled his index finger at me. “You shouldn’t strain yourself. The Bob Ross Servos won’t care if your wounded.”
Death. My mind pleaded to be killed or to kill. Either choice would be enough to satisfy the anguish I felt. My beloved wife Bella had been lied to. She believed me gone from her by my own doing. “No!” I screamed. “No! It was not I, Bella! It was not by my choice! My love!”
“At least tell her this much, Malcolm! At least let her to understand it was not I who has caused her this sorrow!” I pleaded.
Malcolm's face showed no change. No emotion. A cold marble surface like the rich tile he stood on. “I am afraid I cannot, old friend.”
I fell to my knees. “You are worse than the devil himself, Malcolm.”
A smirk curled on Mr. Landgraab’s lips. “I am only human. I have done you harm to have what I sought. Is this not the nature of the world we live in? Are these not the laws we were all prescribed to?”
A terrible silence lingered in the air. Malcolm raised his hands as if he had tried to educate the fool who would never learn. “I came today not to exchange philosophy. I came to tell you that your paintings have been selling quite well. I am pleased with your progress. Just yesterday your,” Malcolm snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember the name of the piece. “The one over the river, you know.”
“Starry night.” I said. The one I was repainting now.
“Ah, yes! Starry Night! Excellent work. The man I sold it to told me it was priceless. I laughed and told him he could have a discount for eleven million simoleons instead of the normal fifteen.” Langraab chuckled and shook his head at the absurdity. “I had to force him to pay that much, can you believe it? He wanted to pay more! But I just laughed and told him I’ll just make another one!”
His laughter rang in the concrete room. Malcolm wiped his eyes and sighed. “Ah, how enjoyable. I find you quite pleasing, Mortimer. You have brought me love, wealth, and of course, a soul. Everyone believes it is I who paint these masterpieces. Do not worry. You shall remain a shadow. One who will die never being heard from again. But your work shall be cherished by the world! Is that not incredible? A true artist you are!”
Landgraab turned his back to me. His ivory suit glowing in the dimming room. “You have three more hours of daylight before you must rest for today. I suggest you do your best and continue to please me with your work, Mortimer.”
I longed to scream. To cause him insufferable pain! But I could not. The life had been broken in me. I was a slave in every manner. Physical and mental, I no longer acted for myself. The Bob Ross Servos would come back in ten minutes. Malcolm had been gracious to allow me ten minutes of mental rest. Ten minutes which would inevitably turn into a nightmare where the frustrations of reality pounded at the walls of my mind.
“Well, then. Where were we.” Bob Ross said.
It moved closer and inspected the canvas. “That’s right, we were about to start on the mountains.”
*I cannot bear it. This incessant voice, its commands. I wish to be at peace. I wish for death.*
\---
Blackness overtook the concrete room. The Bob Ross Servos had powered down for the night. It would come back on at six AM. That was eight hours from now. I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling. I Imagined my beloved in the arms of that fiend. I cursed him for what he had done to me. Had I been robbed I could bear it, for I had the choice to reclaim what was lost to me. But here I could do no such thing. I could create endless beauty, and yet feel no warmth from the work.
Paint. Only paint I could see with my lifeless eyes. How I wish to be gone, to be killed from this mundane existence. I knew well that Malcolm would prolong my suffering to its limits. I searched my room for a solution to existence. None were to be had. My mind worked and worked. It scrambled through countless scenarios to formulate any possibility of escape. Then it came.
My eyes fell onto the sleeping Bob Ross Servos standing at the end of the room by the door. It would serve as the instrument of my demise.
I rested well that evening. For I saw the dreams of release. My dark blood painting joyous clouds over the lines of my intestines. My heart ripped from chest, the beating sun to my empty world. I would become the final canvas. The living paint of my final moments splashed into a token of ultimate gratitude. I would be released from this this terrible hell.
\--- | Satir
My life was a satir a dark comedy
Since youth haunted by bad luck
Traning for over two years daily
beating all competiom in the national wrestling just to poo myself in the final
Just to lose the 10000$ reward that would save my parent and their mortage
Haunted
.
10 years later still haunted.
This bot that narrated my life had a sign on that read Drama but I just feelt like it was all a scheme to make me feel better
Like I had a purpose ......
No education no job no purpose still living at home like a deadbeat in a trailer with a fantasy that died 10 years ago
This is my freedom. I am finally becomig the main charachter they can't stop me
" And now my Ladies and Gentlemen our main Charachter try to commit sucide by posioing but he don't we switch the poision with mdma"
.....
Sorry english not native langugage | |
[WP] In the future we have Storybots. These follow randomly selected people around and influence their lives to follow a narrative that is broadcast live to audiences. Every bot has a genre clearly marked on it. People targeted by romcom bots are all too happy to take part. Others are not so lucky. | WARNING: NSFW language
*“As you can see, the human male has decided to go against survival instincts and lay in its nest, aga-”*
“Jesus Christ, it’s only eight-fucking thirty, let me LIVE,” I responded as I turned over. “Plus, it’s Sunday, just give me a break.” I whined as I threw an alarm clock in the direction of the floating, spherical camera. I missed wide.
But of course, this was a Storybot, so it couldn’t respond to me. It just kept on going, broadcasting a live feed of my life to God only knows who in that INSUFFERABLE metallic David Attenborough accent. *“Normally a rather docile species, they have a temper when under duress, such as sleep deprivation.”* How I got attached to this fucker escapes me. I mean, why am I special? I’m not. I’m just Jeff. Even my name is boring. I’m Jeff fucking Smith from Peshtigo, Wisconsin and a Nature Documentary Storybot has been following me around for the past month and a half.
“Why me? Why am I so special? Why not follow someone who actually does shit with his life? I’m 22 and I work at an A&W, how can you get more standard than that?” The Storybot refocused its unblinking camera eye on me. *“The human is getting defensive.”*
“Alright, that is IT!” I yelled as I lunged at the damn thing. I must have caught it off guard because it didn’t float out of the way. I grabbed on and started tearing at it. Punching, stabbing, eventually kicking it on the ground. With each strike, the voice got more and more distorted until finally, silence. I looked down at my handiwork and threw the heap of metal in my trash can. “Finally some goddamn peace and quiet,” I sighted as I turned over. Not more than 10 seconds later, I heard a loud whirring sound from my window. I removed the blinds and I saw *one hundred* of the fucking things outside, their stupid fucking accents in unison, making a chorus just feet fro where I was trying to sleep.
*”Welcome to the Nature Documentary Storybot Presentation, I’m your guide to the human species. Today we’ll be following…”*
“Kill me. Somebody fucking kill me.” | Satir
My life was a satir a dark comedy
Since youth haunted by bad luck
Traning for over two years daily
beating all competiom in the national wrestling just to poo myself in the final
Just to lose the 10000$ reward that would save my parent and their mortage
Haunted
.
10 years later still haunted.
This bot that narrated my life had a sign on that read Drama but I just feelt like it was all a scheme to make me feel better
Like I had a purpose ......
No education no job no purpose still living at home like a deadbeat in a trailer with a fantasy that died 10 years ago
This is my freedom. I am finally becomig the main charachter they can't stop me
" And now my Ladies and Gentlemen our main Charachter try to commit sucide by posioing but he don't we switch the poision with mdma"
.....
Sorry english not native langugage | |
[WP] In the future we have Storybots. These follow randomly selected people around and influence their lives to follow a narrative that is broadcast live to audiences. Every bot has a genre clearly marked on it. People targeted by romcom bots are all too happy to take part. Others are not so lucky. | WARNING: NSFW language
*“As you can see, the human male has decided to go against survival instincts and lay in its nest, aga-”*
“Jesus Christ, it’s only eight-fucking thirty, let me LIVE,” I responded as I turned over. “Plus, it’s Sunday, just give me a break.” I whined as I threw an alarm clock in the direction of the floating, spherical camera. I missed wide.
But of course, this was a Storybot, so it couldn’t respond to me. It just kept on going, broadcasting a live feed of my life to God only knows who in that INSUFFERABLE metallic David Attenborough accent. *“Normally a rather docile species, they have a temper when under duress, such as sleep deprivation.”* How I got attached to this fucker escapes me. I mean, why am I special? I’m not. I’m just Jeff. Even my name is boring. I’m Jeff fucking Smith from Peshtigo, Wisconsin and a Nature Documentary Storybot has been following me around for the past month and a half.
“Why me? Why am I so special? Why not follow someone who actually does shit with his life? I’m 22 and I work at an A&W, how can you get more standard than that?” The Storybot refocused its unblinking camera eye on me. *“The human is getting defensive.”*
“Alright, that is IT!” I yelled as I lunged at the damn thing. I must have caught it off guard because it didn’t float out of the way. I grabbed on and started tearing at it. Punching, stabbing, eventually kicking it on the ground. With each strike, the voice got more and more distorted until finally, silence. I looked down at my handiwork and threw the heap of metal in my trash can. “Finally some goddamn peace and quiet,” I sighted as I turned over. Not more than 10 seconds later, I heard a loud whirring sound from my window. I removed the blinds and I saw *one hundred* of the fucking things outside, their stupid fucking accents in unison, making a chorus just feet fro where I was trying to sleep.
*”Welcome to the Nature Documentary Storybot Presentation, I’m your guide to the human species. Today we’ll be following…”*
“Kill me. Somebody fucking kill me.” | The cold wind hissed past my ear as I stood on the roof of the Shanghai Tower. One step forward and I'll enter eternal rest; one step backward and I'll return to a life of madness and hatred.
The little pod hovered a metre to my left, its damnable camera and microphone trained on me, ready to capture a possible climax. Whirring sounds emanated from it occasionally, transforming into sounds that had proven particularly effective in awakening my traumas.
This thing was called a Storybot. They followed people around, influencing their lives in line with their designated genres. These genres used to be of the happy kind. But everything changed when the powers-that-be decided that the general populace should be allowed to dictate the kinds of genres.
I had struck 'gold'. The Storybot assigned to me was "Tragedy, with a huge heaping of psychological issues."
I didn't know that at the start, until I threw myself off the Tokyo Skytree, only to be rescued by the Storybot on the grounds that it was too early for my story to end.
The Storybot at my side whirred and nudged me, trying to provoke another bout of thinking. It could read minds - I was now certain of it - but I had been too meta just now.
I closed my eyes and stayed silent. To bring me to the brink of despair, the world had conspired around me. I'd killed my entire family with my hands. Their ghosts still haunt me, calling me selfish, careless.
It was my fault. I'd left the gas on. But somewhere, deep down, I knew that the gas was never on. I didn't even cook, most of the time.
It didn't end there. My fiancee died right in front of my eyes, the day right before my wedding. She'd went crazy from a stalker of mine.
It was my fault. I should have suspected that I was at that time already haunted by the harbinger of tragedy when my family died.
The days of happiness were just to bring me down all that harder. Having studied Literature, this event looked like a literary device employed to elicit sorrow, and for a moment, my mind had turned to the popular Stories that I had liked watching.
In the months to follow, I lost everything. My only repose was watching the Stories of Hope and Happiness that were in vogue.
And in a dramatic twist, my Storybot revealed itself to me, if only to drive me further to despair. It didn't even bother hiding what type of stories it wanted out of me. It just wanted me to know that my life was a tragedy, that it was an inescapable fate.
It was probably the most meta of stories created so far.
At this point of time, I was absolutely certain that my story was over. It didn't matter that I could somehow live through my story's end. I could foresee two endings.
I'll step back from the edge, like a true protagonist, and find solace in the days ahead. Or I'll take the plunge, marking the end of the tragedy.
The wind hissed. My legs had never trembled the entire time I stood on the ledge, and it wasn't going to now. I sat down gently, and watched as the sun set.
With a gentle push, the world blurred around me. It wasn't that I feared living on. It was more of a vindictive revenge against the people who'd wanted to create a story of a man who'd fought against despair, at the cost of my entirety.
Are you happy now, Readers? | |
[WP] In the future we have Storybots. These follow randomly selected people around and influence their lives to follow a narrative that is broadcast live to audiences. Every bot has a genre clearly marked on it. People targeted by romcom bots are all too happy to take part. Others are not so lucky. | WARNING: NSFW language
*“As you can see, the human male has decided to go against survival instincts and lay in its nest, aga-”*
“Jesus Christ, it’s only eight-fucking thirty, let me LIVE,” I responded as I turned over. “Plus, it’s Sunday, just give me a break.” I whined as I threw an alarm clock in the direction of the floating, spherical camera. I missed wide.
But of course, this was a Storybot, so it couldn’t respond to me. It just kept on going, broadcasting a live feed of my life to God only knows who in that INSUFFERABLE metallic David Attenborough accent. *“Normally a rather docile species, they have a temper when under duress, such as sleep deprivation.”* How I got attached to this fucker escapes me. I mean, why am I special? I’m not. I’m just Jeff. Even my name is boring. I’m Jeff fucking Smith from Peshtigo, Wisconsin and a Nature Documentary Storybot has been following me around for the past month and a half.
“Why me? Why am I so special? Why not follow someone who actually does shit with his life? I’m 22 and I work at an A&W, how can you get more standard than that?” The Storybot refocused its unblinking camera eye on me. *“The human is getting defensive.”*
“Alright, that is IT!” I yelled as I lunged at the damn thing. I must have caught it off guard because it didn’t float out of the way. I grabbed on and started tearing at it. Punching, stabbing, eventually kicking it on the ground. With each strike, the voice got more and more distorted until finally, silence. I looked down at my handiwork and threw the heap of metal in my trash can. “Finally some goddamn peace and quiet,” I sighted as I turned over. Not more than 10 seconds later, I heard a loud whirring sound from my window. I removed the blinds and I saw *one hundred* of the fucking things outside, their stupid fucking accents in unison, making a chorus just feet fro where I was trying to sleep.
*”Welcome to the Nature Documentary Storybot Presentation, I’m your guide to the human species. Today we’ll be following…”*
“Kill me. Somebody fucking kill me.” | The StoryBot was sitting next to her at the kitchen table when I walked into the house. Dumping my schoolbag on the ground, I ran over to where my mother sat sobbing. Wrapping my arms around her, I closed my eyes, avoiding looking at the HORROR tag garishly displayed on the bot.
"Mom?" I whispered. "Mom-"
She jerked upright, swiping the tears wildly from her eyes. "Go- go- maybe you can get out- go," she hissed frantically, shoving me off her. "Get out before it starts!"
Startled, I stumbled to the door, frantic questions like "why," and "how," and "Where do I go?" jumbling together in my brain. Kicking it open, I paused to look back at my doomed mother, her normally composed self a disheveled mess.
That's when the panic wiped clean from her face, leaving it blank as a sheet, staring at the space behind my shoulder. I tried to make out her words as the white hot pain lanced through me. "Too late," she mouthed as the blood rushed in my ears and the floor bucked and swayed beneath me. "Oh God." | |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day. | *Livestream at 8pm, don't miss it!*
I turned my phone off and set it down on the kitchen table. Though I still wasn't popular by Youtube's standards, there was a certain pride in seeing my subscriber count growing so quickly.
Only a few months before, I'd uploaded my *Thank You for 100 Subscribers!* video. Now I was bordering on 100,000.
People seemed to enjoy my music and I enjoyed making it for them; I appreciated the support, they liked seeing my channel grow.
It was a symbiotic relationship, if you will.
As I prepared a cup of coffee, my mind buzzed with ideas for new songs. Perhaps something to celebrate reaching 100,000 subscribers-- that would be good. I'd call it symbiosis.
*I'm the music, you're the muse,*
*Together we are one,*
*Each day a new melody--*
*We've only just begun.*
I poured some creamer into my cup and watched pale ribbons dance through the black coffee.
Those lyrics were a bit too simple, but they might make a good start. I left the cup on the counter to cool down and sat down on the couch with my guitar.
Afternoon light flooded through the windows in glittering torrents as I picked out a melody. My apartment was small and simple, but comfortable. I usually had no problem finding inspiration here.
*E minor, back to C...*
The gentle voice of the guitar, the warm patch on the couch where the light was streaming in... it was all so peaceful. With the instrument in my hand, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
I dreamed of lovely things-- sitting in a coffeehouse, guitar in hand, alternating between Neil Young songs and originals. The light dimmed to a honey color as I started Harvest Moon, and several people in the audience were singing along.
*Because I'm still in love with you,*
*I wanna see you dance again...*
The dream changed shape in a flurry of butterflies, and I was meeting subscribers at a convention, laughing and shaking hands as a crowd of smiling faces formed around me.
And then, I woke up.
The sky was dim now; I hurried to the kitchen and turned my phone on. 7:50! Perfect timing!
"Hey everyone!" I smiled into the camera. "I hope you're all having a nice evening. I thought I could play a few originals I wrote recently. I haven't uploaded any of them to Youtube yet, so you'll be the first to hear them!"
I tapped on the body of my guitar, thinking. "We can also do a Q and A, though I don't know if you want to do that after all the questions I answered last night."
Comments. I squinted, reading quickly.
"Oh my god."
"What the hell?!"
I laughed. "Okay, we won't do a Q and A this time, then. I guess you guys already know everything, huh? Anyways, I wrote this song about the childhood games I played with my sister. It's called..."
"Eve, what happened to you?"
"I'm scared."
"You look terrible."
"What happened to you??"
"She looks dead."
I felt my pulse quicken. *This must be some sort of misunderstanding.* "I'm sorry, can someone please explain..."
"What's wrong with your face?"
"Where are you?"
"What is she on??"
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
"Listen," I said, voice rising, "is this some kind of joke? Can anyone explain... can anyone hear me?"
There seemed to be no reaction to anything I said. "If this is a joke, it's not something I know anything about. If someone could explain..."
More comments.
"This is terrifying."
"I thought your name was Eve."
"WTF is this?? Her name is Lydia now?"
*Lydia*. I froze. No. *No*. It couldn't be.
Slowly, I turned over the wireless webcam next to me.
*The people on my livestreams have been responding, so the webcam must be working, right?*
It was broken. It must have broken when I dropped it after last night's livestream. There was no way these people were watching *me*.
The moon was full tonight, casting an eery glow through my living room curtains.
I had another wireless webcam in the attic. Was there some way *somebody else* had been *livestreaming from the attic?*
No. Absolutely not. This was certainly some sort of mistake. I recalled the tears, the headlines, the funeral, the grave marker, the grief.
She died six months ago. That's why I made my Youtube channel-- to have some outlet to escape the grief of losing my twin sister.
My twin sister.
*Lydia.*
I couldn't breathe. The sky was dark now, and I raced to the bedroom for a flashlight. Heavy breathing, fumbling, tripping. My hands were sweating and the flashlight dared to fall, but I needed to find out. I needed to find out.
I stepped into the shadows of the hallway-- every creak and pop of the floorboards amplified by the ringing in my ears-- and climbed the ladder to the attic.
Higher, higher, higher.
That feeling of dread was spreading, swallowing me into a well of inky black terror. I reached for the final rung and unlatched the door, pulling myself up into the cobwebs.
Darkness.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dim light-- like the light from my other webcam.
My blood ran cold.
"Hello, sister," she said, *"it's nice to be back."* | I do a live stream. Advertise it for months in advance. "World record of no sleep!" There is a large following and it grows. There are three cameras watching me in a room. I have food delivered through a door and a toilet which is still in view. I am derermined not to sleep. On day 1 it's great and I do a couple random things to peek more interest. By day 6 I start showing signs if physical exhauation but I am still fairly ok. The viewers start chating. Stop, one even threatens to call police. But they still watch. Day 9 comes along and I start looking directly into one of the cameras, "they are coming" I say over and over. Day 20 and I am a pile of akin and bones. I realize food and digestion makes me sleepy so I stop eating. Day 34 and I officially break the record as I lay in the fetal position "they are here" I repeat over and over.
*knock* *knock*
I sit up quickly. Listening for the third knock.
*knock* *knock*
Still only two.
By this point I have been broadcasted on the news, anyone who owns a computer is watching me slowly die. A few clever hackers had back traced the live stream to find where I was... But I was clever and though of that. My room is locked from the inside. No way in. And if I can't open the door, no way out. I die 3 days after beating the record. My death is a shock to billions of people worldwide who watched it online. But the real reason this all happened was not to break tge record. But to provw a point to the world that there are conaequences. I became one of the worlds most popular streamers. Everybody talked about me. And as a result, I am now dead.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
They have taken me. | |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day. | I remember why I started streaming. It was something I could do from home, and with that idiot doctor going on about bed rest and whatnot, I guessed I might as well play video games. My little godson loves to watch people play, so as a favor to his mum, I set up the little camera and channel so at least one streamer online would say hello to him by name and not use any language his mum didn't use herself.
It's a funny old world, and though I'd gone a bit off video games for a few years and missed some kind of -gate suffix scandal or another (who can keep them straight anymore?) I soon found that the current gaming scene was much more welcoming to lady players than it had been when I was a girl. The other surprising thing was how nobody minded the Mr. when he came home, kissed me on the cheek and usually joined in for a bit of our old favorite in co-op mode. I actually tended to get more subscribers the more often we played together, and on days when he brought home a treat of some kind (which was often, bless him,) the fans seemed determined to entirely upset the global market on little heart-shaped emoticons. Oh, sorry. Emojis. We called them emoticons back in my day. Is it weird that I already have a 'my day' to refer back to? Probably not.
And sure, some commenters did make a note of my appearance, but nobody who looks like me isn't more than used to that. Miranda Hart and Melissa McCarthy get the same sort of cracks I got from the occasional commenter, and that actually tended to make me smile. I'd riff a little on it and keep playing, and a little group of my female watchers (do I get to call them 'fans' if I'm not that famous?) made a little Pinterest meme about me, which amused my mother and aunties no end.
But then the comments went from the usual background radiation every woman who weighs more than a buck even deals with from her first pair of underwires to...well...actually kinda concerned. I had dark circles under my eyes. My face looked puffy. Was I okay?
Soon it seemed like the audience was more worried about me than about the game. I explained, tactfully as I could, the medical situation, that it was all very temporary, that women dealing with the condition I was dealing with generally looked like twenty pounds of shit in a ten-pound bag, and that quieted them down a bit, but then the comments started getting specific.
Were my ankles swollen? Well, yes, whose wouldn't be?
Was my head hurting? Yeah, come to mention it. I took a Tylenol for the camera and made a facetious joke about obliging my public. Like Barbara Bush eating dessert to please the ladies who liked that she wasn't stick thin.
Had I had my blood pressure taken recently? Ehh...no, but I could ask the Mr. to... and the darnedest thing was, he came home with a little Velcroey sphygma...you know, the blood pressure thingy-do, the kind with batteries one can do on one's wrist. I duly began taking my blood pressure on-stream for the fans and some of them got a little fifty-fifty raffle going where they placed bets on it. Half proceeds to the Blind Cat Rescue and local TNR groups, so I obliged with my systolic and diastolic every so often.
Had I spoken to my doctor about proteinuri-GUYS. Seriously. This is not part of the streamer/watcher relationship. Yinz do not need to be asking if there is protein in...yeah, actually, I am from Pittsburgh, why?
That was how they narrowed it down. The last detail they needed to find me, to phone up every specialist doctor in town and to light up the phones with requests to please find a lady fitting my description (damn birthmark, rotten distinctive glasses and shitty unique t-shirt from damn high school,) and check her out.
The doctor phoned me up, I went in for the test and deliberately stayed the heck off streaming for three solid days. On day four I got on and played hecking Rollercoaster Tycoon just to snark with them. Calling all doctors. Being all nosey. Heck's sake.
The phone rang right as I was putting the touches on a nice wooden coaster with splashdown zone and On-Ride Photo to it. It was my doctor. The Mr. was in the room a moment later, scooping me out of bed, and in less time than it takes to tell, we were off to the hospital.
Preeclampsia's a bitch, and the streaming community, oddly enough, has more moms watching over their kids' shoulders than you might think. I didn't mind the emergency C-section, but the NICU stay for the little one was distinctly problematic, especially when our insurance tried to weasel out of covering, well, any of it. I mentioned that I'd be streaming a lot less once our baby came home, as I'd need to sort that mess out, and two things happened. One, it turns out insurance adjusters watch retro gaming streams and are happy to oblige in quite a Mr. Incredible fashion with just whom to call and which forms to submit at their companies, and two, even after I told them five times I didn't need or want one, well, GoFundMe is like America's socialized medicine.
The day our baby came home, I swear, I forgot video games were even a thing. I had to be reminded that food was a thing. The pumping, the feeding, the diapers, working from home while I healed up, it was all so much.
But when, some weeks later, I did decide to at least tell the audience where I'd gone, I guess I sort of reenacted that otter meme that we love so much.
"I made dis," you know, holding my tiny baby up. I set my gaming mouse on her tummy to show just how small she was, then the Mr. brought a banana for scale, darling that he is.
I wonder, all these years later, if it wasn't perhaps a little unfair to the other children. Since she turned thirteen, it seems like she can't hardly play so much as a little sandbox game without tanks, healers and leveled-to-the-tits sniper types turning up to big-brother, mentor and generally block for her. Online godparents, looking out for the little girl they've watched over for so long. That one time some creeper with a record messaged her and the authorities found him in the trunk of his own car, I did get a bit worried, but I figure, it's not the first time our family's had some ...I guess you'd say, interested parties. My grandma was informally adopted by bootleggers when she was little and my Mom still has some very elderly, I guess you'd say 'leather gentlemen' who keep an eye on her. I myself have a couple of old pals from the BBS days who look in on me, and my own godson, I found his mom and adopted them back...jeez, back when AOL was a thing.
It's just how neighbors do, I guess. And computing just means the world's a big neighborhood. We take care of each other here. | I do a live stream. Advertise it for months in advance. "World record of no sleep!" There is a large following and it grows. There are three cameras watching me in a room. I have food delivered through a door and a toilet which is still in view. I am derermined not to sleep. On day 1 it's great and I do a couple random things to peek more interest. By day 6 I start showing signs if physical exhauation but I am still fairly ok. The viewers start chating. Stop, one even threatens to call police. But they still watch. Day 9 comes along and I start looking directly into one of the cameras, "they are coming" I say over and over. Day 20 and I am a pile of akin and bones. I realize food and digestion makes me sleepy so I stop eating. Day 34 and I officially break the record as I lay in the fetal position "they are here" I repeat over and over.
*knock* *knock*
I sit up quickly. Listening for the third knock.
*knock* *knock*
Still only two.
By this point I have been broadcasted on the news, anyone who owns a computer is watching me slowly die. A few clever hackers had back traced the live stream to find where I was... But I was clever and though of that. My room is locked from the inside. No way in. And if I can't open the door, no way out. I die 3 days after beating the record. My death is a shock to billions of people worldwide who watched it online. But the real reason this all happened was not to break tge record. But to provw a point to the world that there are conaequences. I became one of the worlds most popular streamers. Everybody talked about me. And as a result, I am now dead.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
They have taken me. | |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day. | The glow of the screen enveloped me as I dropped into the chair, smiling. Work sucked, but streaming was where I was truly happy.
I booted up the strategy game that had been putting up a fight the last few weeks, and as my chat filled, it went from comments on my gaming, to casual conversation, to what seemed like concern.
"You good? You seem pale."
"Dude, your bags have bags. Are you sleeping?"
"Holy shit, you look like violent ass." That last one was from a moderator, which was slightly more annoying. I'd regretted the facecam ever since I'd installed it, but kept it because my brother recommended it.
"Unit One, secure Foxtrot. Unit Seven, move to Alpha. Now stuff it about my looks, guys. We're only a few hours from taking Paris."
The references to how I looked began dropping off, but as the stream continued, they began coming back, almost hesitantly.
"You know you don't have to stream all the time, right? We'll be here if you need time off."
"Cheer150 If we fill the cup, will you go to bed please?"
I thanked the tipper, pointedly ignoring the message. I didn't need sleep.
Work sucked. My personal life was trash. But people liked me, and my stream.
That's all that matters. | I do a live stream. Advertise it for months in advance. "World record of no sleep!" There is a large following and it grows. There are three cameras watching me in a room. I have food delivered through a door and a toilet which is still in view. I am derermined not to sleep. On day 1 it's great and I do a couple random things to peek more interest. By day 6 I start showing signs if physical exhauation but I am still fairly ok. The viewers start chating. Stop, one even threatens to call police. But they still watch. Day 9 comes along and I start looking directly into one of the cameras, "they are coming" I say over and over. Day 20 and I am a pile of akin and bones. I realize food and digestion makes me sleepy so I stop eating. Day 34 and I officially break the record as I lay in the fetal position "they are here" I repeat over and over.
*knock* *knock*
I sit up quickly. Listening for the third knock.
*knock* *knock*
Still only two.
By this point I have been broadcasted on the news, anyone who owns a computer is watching me slowly die. A few clever hackers had back traced the live stream to find where I was... But I was clever and though of that. My room is locked from the inside. No way in. And if I can't open the door, no way out. I die 3 days after beating the record. My death is a shock to billions of people worldwide who watched it online. But the real reason this all happened was not to break tge record. But to provw a point to the world that there are conaequences. I became one of the worlds most popular streamers. Everybody talked about me. And as a result, I am now dead.
*knock* *knock* *knock*
They have taken me. | |
[WP] With streaming becoming more and more popular you decide to try your hand at it. After streaming daily for months and having gained considerable viewership, your chat starts acting strange. They keep asking if you're okay, saying you're looking worse every day. | The glow of the screen enveloped me as I dropped into the chair, smiling. Work sucked, but streaming was where I was truly happy.
I booted up the strategy game that had been putting up a fight the last few weeks, and as my chat filled, it went from comments on my gaming, to casual conversation, to what seemed like concern.
"You good? You seem pale."
"Dude, your bags have bags. Are you sleeping?"
"Holy shit, you look like violent ass." That last one was from a moderator, which was slightly more annoying. I'd regretted the facecam ever since I'd installed it, but kept it because my brother recommended it.
"Unit One, secure Foxtrot. Unit Seven, move to Alpha. Now stuff it about my looks, guys. We're only a few hours from taking Paris."
The references to how I looked began dropping off, but as the stream continued, they began coming back, almost hesitantly.
"You know you don't have to stream all the time, right? We'll be here if you need time off."
"Cheer150 If we fill the cup, will you go to bed please?"
I thanked the tipper, pointedly ignoring the message. I didn't need sleep.
Work sucked. My personal life was trash. But people liked me, and my stream.
That's all that matters. | “Hey everybody, hi stream.”
Chat is going crazy, whatnot, as they do always. Lately it’s just been so annoying, so busy. I’ve had so many subscribers and donators too, and it always cheers me up to hear that familiar -ring- of a donation.
“Are you okay?”
“You alright?”
“You should get some help.”
It’s always the same thing, but haters gonna hate, I guess. I’m fine, I’m absolutely fine and dandy and there’s nothing anyone or anything can do about it. This is my passion, this is my life, my goal.
“Chat needs to shut the fuck up.”
What the hell should I play today? So many options. Fortnite, PUBG, Realm Royale, Overwatch...
I think I’ll play me some Overwatch.
Why the fuck doesn’t my moderation team do any work? They fit on their asses and let this happen, they let in the noise and clamor. It seeps into my brain and makes me so fucking crazy.
I reach for my keyboard, feel the smoothness of each button. Grab the mouse, it’s nice and cool to the touch.
I haven’t slept in days, I just want to sleep from fuck’s sake. Oh, look at the E key.
I type in something to chat.
“Shut up or you are all banned, all of you.”
I don’t care if they leave, let them leave, good riddance, good riddance I say! Bye! Bye! Bye bye bye bye bye bye )
Look at that E key, look at it, it’s so disgraceful. I press on it, continually increasing the intensity.
No, it’s not just the E, no.
Chat is going crazy again.
“You need serious help.”
“OMEGALUL what the fuck”
“I swear you need a therapist, dude, what happened?”
Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up
I start pounding on the keyboard, all the keys are broken, all of them are flawed.
I grab the nearby scissors, and I put a gash in the screen, so much for chat, what do they think now, huh?
So sharp, so sharp.
That stupid E key. I toss the keyboard across the room, and rip the wires from the recording software.
Sleep. | |
[WP] Rather than voting on a human to represent us, we started voting directly, issue-by-issue, on our smartphones. Its been 3 years since we transitioned to this style of democracy. | I pulled my hand out of my pocket as a notification sounded in my ears, signifying a bill I was qualified to vote on had reached 50% participation, enough that it would be legally binding should it pass. Glancing at the voting transponder on my wrist, I skimmed the title of the bill and tapped to confirm I would be voting at my usual time. Another notification alerted me I was at my station a few minutes later. I swung off the monorail and changed onto my home line. A while later I excited the monorail system and descended to the ground. My house was in the 5th ring, which meant it took as many minutes to get to at a fast walk. I found it a good compromise between the sprawling mansions of the outermost, 20th, ring and the compact apartments of the first. The walk was pleasant; a winding path surrounded by alpine trees and mountain flowers, the occasional rodent scurrying through the trees and the sunshine filtering through the needles.
A small, rustic gate marked the entrance to my house. Modelled after the late 18th century my house seemed to be a nothing more then a scattering of huts at first glance, each characterised by a steep roof that could have dealt with heavy snowfall. All houses in this sector did, despite the tropical weather that we all enjoyed. The body of the house was, of course, underground. The norm, outside of the few urban sectors. Most preferred to contrast their homes to the City where most of us worked. I entered the nearest of my huts and walked down to the house proper, a cleverly disguised elevator hiding the fact I had descended a thousand feet.
Another notification. I sat down at my desk and lowered my transponder into it’s stand. A monitor, that had previously hidden itself among the boards, lit up with todays bills. 15 were recommended or compulsory – abstaining would result in a large fine – for me and more were available at the click of a button. We could vote on up to 90 each day, with continued participation resulting in small increases up to a maximum if 150. I hadn’t bothered much and was entitled to a fairly average 95, rarely going beyond the 15 presented to me.
The first issue was unexciting. Building a new island in the Pacific, to grow more crops, to feed the burgeoning population. It was needed every few months, with increasing efficiency barely protecting humanity from exponential growth. Someday we would need to constrain our birth rates, but not for a while yet. I transcribed the bill through my keyboard, each keystroke verifying my identity, and wrote a quick summary of my views before voting yes. Some statistics about the bill appeared now that I had made my choice. 100% were qualified to vote. 95% had voted yes, 2% no and 3% abstained. Fairly average for such a bill.
The system ensured laws that passed were succinct and understood by those that voted for them, with opinion statements analysed by a complex algorithm to ensure voters were well informed. A bill needed a 60% majority to pass into law or be abandoned, or it was put to vote again the next week. These made up the majority of the compulsory bills, as voting obliged you to vote in any re-votes, with the most powerful opinion statements replacing the bill itself for the transcription process. Both sides were, of course, represented as equally as possible. Nevertheless, most bills passed or failed on the first pass, and none of today’s 15 were re-votes. A few laws had tried to change the system, but none had gathered more then 5% of the popular vote.
The next bill was more interesting, for me at least. I had qualified to vote on it due to my civil engineering degree and location. A project to build a bridge to span the trans-sector river that separated us from the tropical forests of sector 106, allowing for foot traffic to pass between the two. I usually voted in favour of such things, to limit unnecessary strain on the island-wide monorail system that snaked through the skies. It appeared this was no different. I wrote up an impact report and a cost benefit analysis, as this bill necessitated, before voting. Another screen of stats showed that only 0.03% of the population had qualified for this vote. A little over 10, 000. 80% had voted yes with none abstaining thus far.
None of the other bills were as interesting as the first two. A new vacuum-rail connection to a remote taiga, which was as good as built as 99% agreed. Engineers were the only ones qualified to vote for such projects and the vacuum-rail system was a great source of both pride and work, so such enhancements were only presented when the budget could easily accommodate them. I could count on a single hand the number of inept projects that had progressed to a public vote and had subsequently been voted down. An increase to the basic income, which was all but a formality. A bid to build a gothic sector which, thankfully, failed by the barest sliver with 39% voting no. A new ship to Venus which went ahead with 80% of the vote. Continued funding on a variety of scientific projects which was granted. I won’t bore you with the rest. They interested me, but I doubt many of you will be particularly fascinated.
I browsed the other bills I could vote on. A couple piqued my interest, a tunnel under a mountain in North America and an expansion to the monorail in Africa. I filled in the needed paperwork – more cost benefit analyses and transcribing project summaries – and expressed my opinion, supporting the first and opposing the second. Unfortunately, my opposition of the latter was in vain, but such was democracy. Finally, I navigated to the proposition section of the site. This was a rare occurrence – each citizen had only five such proposals each year, although more could be earned through participating and getting proposals passed. This was not capped, but the record was at 15 in a year. Mine was a somewhat mundane use of this system, but such bills got passed and it would help me daily. A simple monorail extension. I put together the needed project documentation and a succinct explanation of why it should go ahead. I read it over a few times before submitting it. A few moments later the system confirmed it was accepted, allowing it to process to human confirmation. Each year, a lottery was held and a million were chosen to sort through proposed bills. The position paid handsomely as it was, well, rather dull. It would take several months before my proposal made it through the approval process, where it would become yet another minor item on a few thousand engineers’ agendas if it fit in a computer assembled budget designed to fit as many proposals as possible, weighed by both the human approvers and the computer itself. The system worked well. Slowly, but that was needed to ensure moderation and that the right decisions were made by the right people. It had served us well and, ever since the nuclear winter brought about by the powers of old had ended, allowed us to rebuild the natural world even as we lived on paradise islands in the oceans.
I left the desk and the monitor blended back into the panelling. It was a weekend – three days long, one of the first major bills to pass – so I settled down to watch television. No adverts thankfully, that had also been outlawed rather rapidly. It meant the service was rather expensive, but it was terrifying to imagine the consequences of major corporations influencing bills. Tomorrow I hoped to visit Africa and observe some of the reintroduced animals. Conservation efforts were ongoing, but the herds were already at pre-industrial levels. No humans lived on natural land anymore, the only signs they had left were unnaturally high radiation levels and a sprawling monorail network. The vacuum-train ticket was an hour’s work before my discount. The monorail was free. I smiled as I fell asleep, dreaming of tomorrow.
*The above is a section of a diary, reprinted here post-mortem with the author’s permission. It represents a day in a fledgling Society.*
___
Tried to write something more optimistic and perhaps less realistic. Took a few liberties with the time span, sorry. Any comments are greatly appreciated.
| Craig provided his obligatory deluge of noon day votes. Thrice daily, the throbbing pulse of consensus would shoot through his temples and on toward his eye sockets. Each nanosecond of pain represented a vote demanding attention once its timeout expired. Some people had taken to a practice of Buddhist meditation to divorce the thoughts forced upon them. If he could last for the remaining millicycle round of voting, he’d have successfully reached “enlightenment”-the ability to willingly abstain from voting.
Long ago, the algorithms made to determine the optimal heuristics to govern society had received enough data to be self sustaining absent consciousness. Unfortunately, the lifeblood of the algorithms dictated constant participation in order to produce pure non-determinism. It was a symbiotic relationship at first: humans provided entropy that was functionally random, with the substrate of The Architecture providing a backdrop upon which the algorithm of shared consciousness was hosted. At first, the benefits were incalculable. That time has long since passed. | |
[WP] Rather than voting on a human to represent us, we started voting directly, issue-by-issue, on our smartphones. Its been 3 years since we transitioned to this style of democracy. | It's been 25 years since "The Reckoning". At least, that's what the rest of the world calls it. The start of America's second grand experiment, and the day most of the rest of the world abandoned democracy in a panic. The plan was initiated with the best of intentions, but you know what they say. It seemed like it couldn't go that wrong. There was a minimum voting period of one week per bill, and bills could only pass with a quorum - half the voting population had to take part. There were even constitutional amendments put in place that these rules could not be bypassed by any new laws.
Of course, that didn't matter when many of the first laws to pass changed how amendments were to be altered. "Oh, the Supreme Court will strike this down", the talking heads on cable news assured us. But that's not what Chief Justice Snoop Dogg felt. As the famous opinion read in its entirety, "chill." I have to admit, I wasn't completely opposed to everything that happened afterwards. Summary executions for people caught abusing children just seemed sensible at the time. I mean, why even bother with the trial? I'm not proud of it now, but I did vote 'yes' on some of the mass-murder laws, kind of as a joke. In my defense, I didn't even *know* anyone named 'Chad'.
If there was one bright spot to all this, it really got the message across to everyone not to post stupid things to the internet. Going viral in a bad way didn't just ruin your reputation anymore, it got you sent through a woodchipper. Reddit and Youtube took that change in societal norms pretty hard. But anyway, that was good. No more stupid prank videos, publicly harassing kids and animals basically became nonexistent, and ugly people got off the internet entirely. So yeah, some good stuff, some bad stuff - I'll always miss Disney World, but Florida had to go.
It was actually a few years after that when things started to get *really* bad. When people started to realize just what kind of laws they could get passed. July 27, 2022. That was the last time anyone suggested that the average American could make a rational decision. That was also the last day any foreign country allowed trade with the US, or anyone could buy gas for under $9000 a gallon. All because some some smartass thought he found a solution to all the world's problems. All because he submitted a bill called, "ffs, let's just nuke the middle east, lol." | In fifty years Redditors could be the new Senators. We could post notions of the way the world ought to be in the public forum, and for however any upvotes the post has, we could receive credits earmarked to make that notion reality. We should still have judges and jurors and complex legal precedent, but hey, what if an algorithm, a non AI algorithm could better provide for the public good than representative democracy, while simultaneously undercutting the cost of representative democracy?
I think this is a good idea that the world is warming to, quickly. What if we kept the Constitution and representative democracy, but we transferred the duty of contracting private companies for infrastructure projects using tax dollars from senators and governor to the people? What if we stopped paying for the military, and we built a giant timeshare resort we could all vacation at one month out of the year instead? What if elected representatives set the agenda that we could vote on via direct referendum, which already takes place quite a bit in states like California? I think if the founding fathers had the tech to allow for near instantaneous transfer of data and stuff like documents and votes, they would've explored all these possibilities for government and then some.
| |
[WP] Rather than voting on a human to represent us, we started voting directly, issue-by-issue, on our smartphones. Its been 3 years since we transitioned to this style of democracy. | The best part of being a politician these days is nobody reads the fine print. Sure, back in the old days few people actually read anything either, but now, oh boy, you can dogear and gerrymander to your heart’s content without so much as a whimper of opposition.
We’re not even called politicians anymore. Solicitors, we’re called, like the English lawyers. We solicit the people’s votes, they vote, we get paid. So much simpler than it used to be, and faster too. Not a single hang up, filibuster, or hint of a government shutdown. Just a few hundred people pushing issues to Appmerica every 3 months.
It started out innocent enough. We got more funding for the National Parks and public school Systems, cut taxes on the middle class, and hired a crack team of economists and accountants to figure the budget each quarter.
Then Jerry, the Dem from Florida, (not that parties mattered anymore,) started making friends with the accountants. Good friends. Golf, dinners, scholarships for their kids. The budget started getting a little unexplained dogear on it. Not much, not so much anyone would care, not that anyone but the quants in the budget committee read the reports anyway. But it was there.
The People approved the budget every quarter. Statistics showed that .002% of those who voted spent more than 20 seconds scrolling to the end of the document. That’s some impressive scrolling speed for a page that would be over 200 feet long if printed on paper. Nobody recognized when more dog ears started popping up. The transportation section now contained a $55,624 earmark for “educational reinvestment.” And Jenny, the Republican from Arizona, sends her son to Harvard for an extra semester. The department of Fish and Wildlife saw a bill for $3,886,464, for a new “Atlantic research vessel” -and one of the Boston reps got a conspicuous new yacht a month later.
The end users who don’t read the license agreement end up being used. | In fifty years Redditors could be the new Senators. We could post notions of the way the world ought to be in the public forum, and for however any upvotes the post has, we could receive credits earmarked to make that notion reality. We should still have judges and jurors and complex legal precedent, but hey, what if an algorithm, a non AI algorithm could better provide for the public good than representative democracy, while simultaneously undercutting the cost of representative democracy?
I think this is a good idea that the world is warming to, quickly. What if we kept the Constitution and representative democracy, but we transferred the duty of contracting private companies for infrastructure projects using tax dollars from senators and governor to the people? What if we stopped paying for the military, and we built a giant timeshare resort we could all vacation at one month out of the year instead? What if elected representatives set the agenda that we could vote on via direct referendum, which already takes place quite a bit in states like California? I think if the founding fathers had the tech to allow for near instantaneous transfer of data and stuff like documents and votes, they would've explored all these possibilities for government and then some.
| |
[WP] Rather than voting on a human to represent us, we started voting directly, issue-by-issue, on our smartphones. Its been 3 years since we transitioned to this style of democracy. | “Lauren? They’re doing another vote on the conflict.”
Lauren barely looked up from her screen, but snarled at her mother nonetheless. She had been busy working on a bit of coding for her computer science course, and that statement took her out of the blank mindset she needed to write. She sighed, saving her progress, and shut her laptop.
Lauren was generally uninterested in politics. She had only been able to vote for a month, after all, and she didn’t know much about the state of the world outside her own neighborhood. Things had been wonderful for her ever since the transition, and she didn’t really care what it meant aside from that.
“Lauren, you need to come vote. Your prompter is going off.” Her mother chimed again, this time a bit more urgent. Lauren, mumbling profanities, walked from her office to the living room, where her mother sat with a worried expression. She sighed and sat next to her, picking up the small plastic tablet from the glass coffee table. She tapped the button to turn it on.
She found herself greeted with the fanfare of the United Stated anthem and a high-definition image of the latest American flag. It’s sixty-six white stars flew from the canton, floating across the screen with each note. “Sweetie, pay attention. It’s changing.” Her mother chided. Lauren continued to stare off into space.
At last, the identification screen came up. Lauren focused the built-in camera on her face and let it sit as it scanned over her. She hated her face; too many freckles. She wished that it didn’t have to stay on her for so long. Eventually, the screen chimed, and it flashed the regular warning; “DO NOT ALLOW OTHERS TO INTERACT WITH YOU DURING YOUR VOTE,OR DISCUSS THE CONTENTS OF THE VOTE WITH ANOTHER PERSON.” It asked her to confirm that she would follow the rules, and she did.
“Sweetie, you’re lucky to be so young now. You get to be a big part of the news.” Her mother whispered, aware the speaking while her daughter was voting was forbidden. When the transition occurred, everyone under the age of 30 was allowed to sign on to the new voting registration. Older folks were furious, and fought back almost as hard as the old leaders did, but they were all struck down by the superior military might of the People’s Partisans. Lauren remembered learning about it in school, but it mostly went over her head.
The screen transitioned over to a short video about the vote in question. “We are currently at an ongoing war with the Northern Canadian “Valiant Hearts”. These dangerous rebels undermine our system of government and restrict our progress in control over...” the machine droned on. Lauren continued to stare it down, just as the instructions told her, but her mind wandered from the words. What did it matter anyways? It was probably another “Restrict access to the Northern Lumber Block to only those with Partisan level 2 access?” vote, one that always seemed to be turned down. The forests were great for tourism, and people seldom voted to close them.
“...now. Please select your choice now.” The screen said. Lauren snapped back into reality, staring at her options on the screen. This was a different vote, and it seemed more extreme than the average. The screen had a picture of a complex looking rocket with a biohazard symbol, and the prompt was binary; should the party use lethal bio weapons to immediately end the rebellion of the Valiant Hearts?
Lauren’s mother stared at her across the couch with pleading eyes. She knew she could not talk now that the vote had begun, but she could tell all the same what she wanted her to do. Lauren let out a weak smile, and chose her answer.
The screen chimed to show it had accepted the vote, and, after thanking Lauren for her cooperation, shut down once again. She placed it back on it’s charger, facing the camera towards the living room as the party required. “I’m glad you made the right choice, no matter what happens.” Lauren’s mother said, a look of loss in her eyes. She turned the television back on, and Lauren walked back to her office.
Her computer lit up with a notification on a vote: “An overwhelming 88.9 percent of voters chose to end the conflict in the Northern Lumber Block. The payload will be launched tonight. If you live in the area, here are the steps you must take to avoid being effected by Mindbreaker Toxin...” the news roll scrolled. Lauren read for a moment, then switched over to her Facebook page to see how her friends voted.
She was glad she chose the winning side. | In fifty years Redditors could be the new Senators. We could post notions of the way the world ought to be in the public forum, and for however any upvotes the post has, we could receive credits earmarked to make that notion reality. We should still have judges and jurors and complex legal precedent, but hey, what if an algorithm, a non AI algorithm could better provide for the public good than representative democracy, while simultaneously undercutting the cost of representative democracy?
I think this is a good idea that the world is warming to, quickly. What if we kept the Constitution and representative democracy, but we transferred the duty of contracting private companies for infrastructure projects using tax dollars from senators and governor to the people? What if we stopped paying for the military, and we built a giant timeshare resort we could all vacation at one month out of the year instead? What if elected representatives set the agenda that we could vote on via direct referendum, which already takes place quite a bit in states like California? I think if the founding fathers had the tech to allow for near instantaneous transfer of data and stuff like documents and votes, they would've explored all these possibilities for government and then some.
| |
[WP] Rather than voting on a human to represent us, we started voting directly, issue-by-issue, on our smartphones. Its been 3 years since we transitioned to this style of democracy. |
Misty flipped through her cell phone as the bus came to a halt in traffic. Through her earbuds she listened to a video of the most recent public execution, making good on her oath never to *watch* one of the spectacles, as a form of personal protest.
As the execution wetly crunched and bludgeoned its way toward screaming finality, Misty busied herself with other digital matters.
First she swung over to the news and quickly flipped through the headlines. The most recent "yes" vote, allowing the merger of Newscorp with Rednews, had made things even simpler then they'd already been. Now Misty just needed to sort by red or blue and she would get the same news as everyone else, just framed the way *she* preferred it.
Misty fancied herself a liberal - hadn't she voted "yes" for drug legalization? - and so she sorted by blue news. The headlines were a mishegoss of typical trivialities - "Best Ten Shows To Binge This Weekend", "Russian Prime Minister to President : 'Prepare For Doomsday", "Conservatives Drop The Ball On Climate Change, Again", "Tom Cruise Dead At 96."
*Oh shit, Tom Cruise died?* Misty thought to herself, at the same time as the torturer struck a particularly juicy blow and the convict - a pedophile whose trial had been livestreamed across the country - went silent.
When a user in Nebraska suggested a new national bill allowing torture for sex crimes against children, Misty, like almost everyone else, pressed "yes". The bill passed with no real resistance.
Since then torture laws had been coming hard and fast and, last Misty had checked, they even allowed limited torture for de minimus crimes like theft of services and petit larceny. It was too far in Misty's opinion, but all the expansions had passed with a strong majority.
Forgetting completely her fleeting remorse for Tom Cruise, Misty cringed at the moist plop of the executioner's cudgle against what she imagined was the convict's caved in skull. It must have been the killing blow because the audience began to applaud and an announcer came on.
> Tune in for our 2PM execution later today when Barry Landrow, the "Newtown Slasher", will be broken on the wheel.
Having lost interest, Misty shut the video off and swiped into the voting app to see what bills were up for a vote today.
At the very top, voted on by over 95 million people, was the "Sally T. Hinton" bill, a popular and exceedingly specific law drafted by a Texan user who went by the avatar Killemdead989. The bill was a direct response to the accidental killing of Sally. T. Hinton by her husband.
The poor man had backed into his wife as he drove off to work, but a livestream of the event went viral and it showed Sally's husband was looking at his phone when it happened. The local District Attorney refused to prosecute, saying they could not prove a crime had been committed, but the People weren't satisfied with that.
The Sally T.Hinton bill was basically a national license empowering any American citizen to kill Sally's husband, Bernard Hinton, on sight. It was perhaps the most contentious bill in the three years since personal lawmaking had taken effect and Misty was still debating how to vote. Currently the "yes" vote had it at %50.02 to %49.96 with %.02 abstaining.
Misty decided to shelve the decision for a second and scroll through the other options, noting that the voting window would be over in just four more minutes. She scrolled down the list, haphazardly voting yes to a bill entitled "Free Jeremy," although she had no idea who Jeremy was. She was a firm "no" on yet another bill attempting to illegalize abortion, a daily phenomenon. She abstained from a vote about foreign policy - something to do with nuclear deterence - as she did not feel she was qualified to take a position - itself a position she felt was very wise. Lastly she voted yes on a bill to allocate 1 million dollars to the creation of a fund for unemployed mimes - probably a joke bill, but currently %93 of voters agreed with her.
With only two minutes remaining, Misty returned to the Sally. T. Hinton bill and bit her lower lip. It was a real nail biter this one. On the one hand, Misty felt a little uncomfortable with the whole *idea* of the law. It would be the first time such a law had ever passed and the implications were a little scary.
Then Misty played the attached video one more time and watched as Bernard Hinton, his face glued to his phone, ran right over his poor wife.
Confident that she would never do anything so stupid, Misty consigned Mr. Hinton into the mental category of *total dickhead* and pressed "yes." Ten seconds later voting ended and the bill passed into law. Twenty seconds after that social media was awash in photos of Mr. Hinton shot dead in his front lawn. Apparently several citizens were waiting for the vote to complete, and now they were all fighting over who got the kill shot.
As the bus pulled up to Misty's office she saw that one of the men had claimed victory, a John Paul Henry, 24, from Wisconsin. He'd driven down to Texas and waited in the forest near Hinton's home, just in case the law passed.
Moments later Henry posted a picture of himself holding Hinton's dead body up, rifle in Henry's hand, like one of those big game hunter photos. Misty found it all quite distasteful.
Just as the bus doors opened up, Misty got a notification for a new bill to vote on. She read the title and laughed to herself, then pressed "Yes" without thinking and stepped off the bus to go to work.
All across America the "License To Kill John Paul Henry" bill was quickly gaining steam - out of 50,000 voters "yes" already had 45,000 votes.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| In fifty years Redditors could be the new Senators. We could post notions of the way the world ought to be in the public forum, and for however any upvotes the post has, we could receive credits earmarked to make that notion reality. We should still have judges and jurors and complex legal precedent, but hey, what if an algorithm, a non AI algorithm could better provide for the public good than representative democracy, while simultaneously undercutting the cost of representative democracy?
I think this is a good idea that the world is warming to, quickly. What if we kept the Constitution and representative democracy, but we transferred the duty of contracting private companies for infrastructure projects using tax dollars from senators and governor to the people? What if we stopped paying for the military, and we built a giant timeshare resort we could all vacation at one month out of the year instead? What if elected representatives set the agenda that we could vote on via direct referendum, which already takes place quite a bit in states like California? I think if the founding fathers had the tech to allow for near instantaneous transfer of data and stuff like documents and votes, they would've explored all these possibilities for government and then some.
| |
[WP] If a soul doesn't choose to cross over, they are cursed to haunt the world for eternity. As a ghost yourself, it wasn't too bad for the first hundred years or so scaring people and talking to mediums, but it has been about 1000 years since you've seen a living human. | My death was sudden. I have forgotten most of my life but the details of my death are still, even after all this time, easy to recall. I remember my body flying through the air, the feeling in my stomach as I fell, my mind racing for some opportunity to stop the decent. Then I remember hitting the ground and the clarity that came with it. It wasn't pain so much as the numb feeling that I was broken. I felt that my head was caved in the back, that my arm was twisted, and my leg broken.
I felt this, but at the same time I felt no pain. It must have been the adrenaline. I don't remember what caused me to become airborne, but I remember thinking, as I lay on my back looking at a cloudless blue sky, that things had not all gone according to plan. I heard people, saw people around me, but they were distant. I managed to turn my head and felt grass on my face. Then I felt nothing.
To describe what happened next is difficult. I felt as if I began to actually perceive things for the first time, I found myself rushing towards this awareness, I began to shed my form to enter this state when something stopped me.
Anger. I can't remember what caused it or who I was angry with, I just remember being taken into another realm and coming so close to something *else* then suddenly being thrust back to where I came.
I wondered for a while, spent some time with a medium named Sheryl. She was a nice lady if a bit eccentric and I think she appreciated the company as much as I did.
She worked at Macy's during the day and held seances at night. We would talk about her day and her colleagues, I used to mess with anyone who gave her trouble. When business was bad I use to *haunt* the apartments of some of her wealthier customers and when they would come into the store she'd *sense* evil spirits lingering on them and would be happy to fix it, for a price.
Eventually Sheryl died and I was lost again. It was soon after that I found Kew Gardens and discovered movies. Kew Gardens was a small theater that had many names over the years but it always remained a theater. Movies were everything a spirit could ask for.
For years I sat in the seats and watched as different companies came and went, as the movies evolved and changed with the world that had spawned them. A world I would never be able to be a part of but could intimately witness through those huge, glittering screens. Occasionally an employee or movie goer would react to me, I don't know why, but it didn't seem to effect the business very much.
I remained there, even as the screens grew and changed, as the seats began to move and recline, as the scenes in the movies became more and more fantastic. I watched them all, the good ones, that bad ones, the ones for children and the ones meant to scare you. It was strange to watch a horror film, to know that you could have been one of the monsters they featured yet to be scared all the same.
Over time the movies became more bleak, more cynical, the effects were less grandiose. The theater became less lavish and stopped being updated, the people didn't fill the seats the way they used to. I didn't care much though, because the movies kept playing.
Until they didn't.
The last film I saw wasn't very good. It was a zombie movie, the lone protagonist had to make his way through miles of wasteland, as he searched for another person he grew more and more insane. Eventually, when he did find another person, a boy, he shot him, believing it to be some kind of trick.
Then the screen was quiet. I sat there for a long time, waiting, but nothing played and nobody entered the theater.
After that time passed quickly because nothing meaningful happened. It was a blur of empty buildings and empty streets. Eventually even they fell into ruin, until all that remained of the sprawling city were concrete lumps.
Those too disappeared under the earth, all except the Kew Gardens theater. I don't know how I did it, how I kept the building intact through sheer force of will, all I know is that it couldn't be a coincidence that the only spec of humanity that remained as far as I could see was my home.
I waited there for a very long time. I didn't know who I was waiting for, or how long it would be. I just wanted to see another movie, just one last movie.
When I heard it, it was like time had stopped. No longer did it rush by me like a river, suddenly it was still and the theater door opened.
There, in the doorway stood a creature unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was thin and white, with round glassy bulbs protruding from its body and strange, tentacle like appendages. It moved into the theater like an eel moving through syrup.
More of them followed, some with devices in their strange tentacle-y grips. They began to scan the area, when they got to me their machine seemed to buzz uncertainly but it was given a whack and they moved on.
And then I heard it, the static of speakers, the whirring of electricity. It seemed to intrigue more than startle the theaters new occupants who gathered around the projector machine.
The screen burst to life once more and orchestral music filled the room. I knew this one, it was a love story. | A 1000 years since I had seen the last living human over 1000 years since the day humanity discovered ghosts. Some YouTuber died became a ghost and immediately thought of how many views they could get doing pranks as a ghost. So within a year humanity knew ghosts existed and at first that dumb YouTuber ate it up all the attention.
Like most good things it ended and YouTube was flooded by copycats who would destroy people's houses and steal. Then came religious cults that believed being a ghost was some kind of affront to God and nothing motivates cults like a threat. In a few years they had built weapons capable of capturing ghosts and they used them vigorously.
The prison was an empty space we all just floated around. Some grieving the lost of family who they had continued to see even after becoming a ghost.
It's been 1000 years since the last ghost arrived. | |
[WP] If a soul doesn't choose to cross over, they are cursed to haunt the world for eternity. As a ghost yourself, it wasn't too bad for the first hundred years or so scaring people and talking to mediums, but it has been about 1000 years since you've seen a living human. | It has been something I’d always wished to do in life. Something many people chose to do, but very few can. I would be no different. I would long for that feeling of freedom and adventure as well. Buy my life was like many others, the same thing day in and day out.
Not I sat there on the beach toes burrowed in the sand. Wondering whether the choices I’ve made were the best. I got up and walked and watched my feet carve into the sand, only to find when I lifted my feet, the sand returned to its original shape. I could leave no footprint or mark on this earth anymore.
Death is designed to feel like life, but nothing is as it seems. You touch everything and nothing at the same time. You remember everything and nothing at the same time. Which to many degrees had gotten me to this point. To this beach.
I had longed to see the world, but I couldn’t remember why; and I had longed to see Asia and I couldn’t remember how to get there. So I walked in a direction I perceived as East. Peter had recommended that I come with him, but I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to walk.
I walked through a mountain range that led to the sea. From the sea to the rainforest. More onward to an ocean desert. Then pushed forward to an ice mountain and finally to the beach. I had seen temples and waterfalls and bird of beautiful song and color. I had not seen another though. I’ve watched thousands of sunrises without seeing another.
“Where are you going?” a familiar voice came.
I turned around to confirm. “Peter!”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Asia.”
“You will never find Asia,” he replied woefully. “You’re lost. You’re in Chile. You’ve been walking the wrong way.”
‘How long had I been walking? I thought this was East.” Point my finger into the distance.
“That’s south my child. You’ve been walking south. There is nothing down here. There’s no people or ghosts for thousands of miles.” Peter walked toward me. “When was the last time you seen another?” I had no reply, I couldn’t recall.
“Give me your hand, I will take you to Asia.”
“No! I don’t need your help. Just point me east and I’ll find Asia.”
Peter reached out his palm. “I will take you to Asia. No more walking. You will be there in an instant.” Peter assurance felt relieving. He was gentle and trusting. “Give me your hand my child, Asia awaits.” I hesitantly took his hands. His eyes glimmered with hope. His warmth permeated from his palms. “Push,” Peter whispered.
“Push!!!!” Screams and wails from the distance. “Come on, you’re almost there.”
“Ahhhhhh!!!!” the woman proclaimed… with that last wail, out came the child.
It was in that moment I looked up. I was in the arms of a strange man. Lost and confused I yearned for Peter, but he was nowhere to be found. His presence felt near though and his thoughts echoed through my mind, “you’re in Taiwan now.”
The man passed me to the exhausted woman in the bed. My thoughts and memories began to fade. My heart began to warm. I felt at peace. The man smiled at the woman with sweat pouring down her face, “congratulations, it’s a boy.”
| A 1000 years since I had seen the last living human over 1000 years since the day humanity discovered ghosts. Some YouTuber died became a ghost and immediately thought of how many views they could get doing pranks as a ghost. So within a year humanity knew ghosts existed and at first that dumb YouTuber ate it up all the attention.
Like most good things it ended and YouTube was flooded by copycats who would destroy people's houses and steal. Then came religious cults that believed being a ghost was some kind of affront to God and nothing motivates cults like a threat. In a few years they had built weapons capable of capturing ghosts and they used them vigorously.
The prison was an empty space we all just floated around. Some grieving the lost of family who they had continued to see even after becoming a ghost.
It's been 1000 years since the last ghost arrived. | |
[WP] If a soul doesn't choose to cross over, they are cursed to haunt the world for eternity. As a ghost yourself, it wasn't too bad for the first hundred years or so scaring people and talking to mediums, but it has been about 1000 years since you've seen a living human. | ######[](#dropcap)
I had wasted years of my adult life in white-knuckled fear of death, an existential dread of its finality. You die, hard stop, and your part of the story is done, and everything goes on without you. In my mind, that was the worst thing that I could imagine.
I was a fool.
You would think, being a ghost, must be great, right? At least for a few years? It's like being a super-hero, you might say, because you're as big a fool as I was. Well, you're wrong. It's shit. Getting to see everyone's private moments, you know, exciting stuff, right! Peek behind the veil, see the sordid underbelly, all that crap.
What you get is a reality TV show that didn't bother to hire an editor. Just...an abundance of quintessential tedium. There's your ex-girlfriend. Look, she's pooping, and now she's grabbing a bagel, and now she's going to the desk job where she is going to burn through another 8 hours of her life staring at a computer screen. How *titillating*.
The younger ghosts descend on New York and L.A., trail the celebrities. Well, guess what. They're richer than you, and more attractive than you, but they spend plenty of time pooping and sleeping just like anyone else.
And here's the kicker: let's say you see something *juicy*. Well, good for you. Who are you going to tell? You're in the proverbial movie theater by yourself, and have nobody to share the experience with.
For me, the only thing that kept me from wishing that I had just vanished out of existence, instead of being condemned to an eternity as an audience-member of the stupidest play ever written, was my family. Most people don't get to take the long view, to see how the generations following your own spin off in their own different directions.
My focus on that may have been why I didn't notice the changes at first. I had been at it for decades, I guess, when I realized that one of my great-grandkid's families hadn't been home in over a year. Vacation disaster, maybe? Then it happened to a few more, and just like that, my daughter's side of the family tree was in danger of vanishing entirely. I was going to check on how my son's descendants were doing when I finally got a sense of what was going on. No one was outside, no cars driving, no people on sidewalks...and as I drifted in a lazy 360, I realized there were bodies littering the streets. Entirely too much of their insides were visible from the outside.
I sped off to find the last few of my great-grandchildren and their families. One home was empty, just like the others, and the expiration dates on the stuff in the fridge were for earlier this year. I could imagine what happened, whereas no imagination was necessary for the next family. The doors of the minivan were open, the trunk packed with barely-closed suitcases. The front door was open: my great-grandson was found in the entryway, his arms still wrapped around what remained of his daughter. The bodies of his wife and son had been used to decorate the front yard.
It had been nearly a century since I had felt fear, but here it was again. I wasn't sure if I worried more for the trickling out of the great gushing river called humanity - or if, selfishly, I was only concerned about the tiny tributary I had created.
I rushed to the last house, the house of my great granddaughter - the one I hoped might still be alive in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Lauren, her name was. After my wife.
I had thought that the worst I could discover was that they were dead, that I was too late. But I was wrong. If anything, I was too early. The creature was bipedal, but hunched, its hairless gray arms reaching nearly to the ground as it advanced on Lauren, who was pushing her young daughter into the basement. My great granddaughter slammed the door shut and turned the key in the knob with shaking hands, then shoved it under the crack between the floor and bottom of the door.
She didn't even have a chance to turn around - or maybe didn't want to - before the beast pounced, the fangs and claws tearing through her flesh like paper. Two more of the monsters, faces badged in red, joined from the living room. As they fed, all I could see - why did I keep watching? - was one of Lauren's legs, splayed out on the floor, kicking feebly as life drained from her.
There was a dull sound from the other side of the basement door. The animals looked up, and I followed their gaze to the shut door. Behind that comically flimsy piece of wood was the last living member of my family. And as the creatures abandoned their kill and stepped closer to the door, beginning to pound on it, I felt my impotence more acutely than at any other moment since I had died. The only thing I could do, the only thing I still had control over, was a simple decision. I could leave, abandon Tanya to the terror-filled darkness below the house, forcing her to die alone. Or I could descend, and watch the beasts kill her, unable to do a single thing to prevent it.
I tried to concentrate on my choice as the door shattered from the force of the monster's blows.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
*Edited to fix some typos and polish the narrative a bit* | We should have gone when we had the chance. We all should have. But we were defiant, angry, sad. We all had our reasons for staying, some had better reasons than others but the results are the same.
A few of us even managed to fulfill our self imposed destinies. No easy feat considering our natures. Spirits, ghosts and such. Our interaction with the corporal world was always obscure and fleeting at best. I had the knack for it, better than most in fact. I had my revenge in a little less than ten years. That was something like 2000 years ago. It’s been 1000 years since I’ve seen a living human. I’m stubborn, a large part of why I stayed I suppose, but even I can see that I should have gone when I had the chance.
There’s nothing I, or any of us probably, can do about it now. We’re stuck, and worse than that, the little interaction with the world we had is now emptier than before. Of course, it’s not like my fellow spirits are good company. Quite the contrary. The majority are despicable, what’s left are often deranged or completely insane. At first I found it amusing. They can’t hurt me, not physically. Yet, that is not the only damage such beings can do. Long exposure to a nightmare starts to get to you. The oldest of us tended to be the worst.
So we’re solitary mostly, that seems to help stave off the jeebies as some call the slow slide to insanity. And that was ok when there were humans to watch and occasionally interact with. It was unsatisfying but it was something. Now there’s nothing. Ok, to be honest I have a few friends, if you can call them that. Beings I can interact with who aren’t completely nuts.
We keep the visits short and far between lest we hear the same stories so many times we begin to forget ourselves. Hell, I’ve probably co-opted several beings lives into my own. It’s hard to remember what was you, and what is something you saw or heard after 2000 years. Eventually I’ll go insane I guess. Could be I already am. Without other beings to judge by, who knows?
I’ve no idea what happened to the world. We saw it of course, ring side seats. But the world was very strange to me by then and I cannot comprehend the end of it. It was too far removed from my understanding. One of the spirits I visit seems to know what happened, she is one of the youngest of us. But she stays in the rubble of a large city by some strange name I cannot pronounce. It’s far from my mountain home though distance doesn’t limit us. She has explained it to me, the details of it, but I only understand that it was war, and famine and death.
Those I do understand, but those have ever stalked us. This time was different though. She explained it but I cannot comprehend it. This time the living did not endure. But the dead do, sadly for us, we are still here, alone. And we chose it. | |
[WP] If a soul doesn't choose to cross over, they are cursed to haunt the world for eternity. As a ghost yourself, it wasn't too bad for the first hundred years or so scaring people and talking to mediums, but it has been about 1000 years since you've seen a living human. | It has been something I’d always wished to do in life. Something many people chose to do, but very few can. I would be no different. I would long for that feeling of freedom and adventure as well. Buy my life was like many others, the same thing day in and day out.
Not I sat there on the beach toes burrowed in the sand. Wondering whether the choices I’ve made were the best. I got up and walked and watched my feet carve into the sand, only to find when I lifted my feet, the sand returned to its original shape. I could leave no footprint or mark on this earth anymore.
Death is designed to feel like life, but nothing is as it seems. You touch everything and nothing at the same time. You remember everything and nothing at the same time. Which to many degrees had gotten me to this point. To this beach.
I had longed to see the world, but I couldn’t remember why; and I had longed to see Asia and I couldn’t remember how to get there. So I walked in a direction I perceived as East. Peter had recommended that I come with him, but I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to walk.
I walked through a mountain range that led to the sea. From the sea to the rainforest. More onward to an ocean desert. Then pushed forward to an ice mountain and finally to the beach. I had seen temples and waterfalls and bird of beautiful song and color. I had not seen another though. I’ve watched thousands of sunrises without seeing another.
“Where are you going?” a familiar voice came.
I turned around to confirm. “Peter!”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Asia.”
“You will never find Asia,” he replied woefully. “You’re lost. You’re in Chile. You’ve been walking the wrong way.”
‘How long had I been walking? I thought this was East.” Point my finger into the distance.
“That’s south my child. You’ve been walking south. There is nothing down here. There’s no people or ghosts for thousands of miles.” Peter walked toward me. “When was the last time you seen another?” I had no reply, I couldn’t recall.
“Give me your hand, I will take you to Asia.”
“No! I don’t need your help. Just point me east and I’ll find Asia.”
Peter reached out his palm. “I will take you to Asia. No more walking. You will be there in an instant.” Peter assurance felt relieving. He was gentle and trusting. “Give me your hand my child, Asia awaits.” I hesitantly took his hands. His eyes glimmered with hope. His warmth permeated from his palms. “Push,” Peter whispered.
“Push!!!!” Screams and wails from the distance. “Come on, you’re almost there.”
“Ahhhhhh!!!!” the woman proclaimed… with that last wail, out came the child.
It was in that moment I looked up. I was in the arms of a strange man. Lost and confused I yearned for Peter, but he was nowhere to be found. His presence felt near though and his thoughts echoed through my mind, “you’re in Taiwan now.”
The man passed me to the exhausted woman in the bed. My thoughts and memories began to fade. My heart began to warm. I felt at peace. The man smiled at the woman with sweat pouring down her face, “congratulations, it’s a boy.”
| We should have gone when we had the chance. We all should have. But we were defiant, angry, sad. We all had our reasons for staying, some had better reasons than others but the results are the same.
A few of us even managed to fulfill our self imposed destinies. No easy feat considering our natures. Spirits, ghosts and such. Our interaction with the corporal world was always obscure and fleeting at best. I had the knack for it, better than most in fact. I had my revenge in a little less than ten years. That was something like 2000 years ago. It’s been 1000 years since I’ve seen a living human. I’m stubborn, a large part of why I stayed I suppose, but even I can see that I should have gone when I had the chance.
There’s nothing I, or any of us probably, can do about it now. We’re stuck, and worse than that, the little interaction with the world we had is now emptier than before. Of course, it’s not like my fellow spirits are good company. Quite the contrary. The majority are despicable, what’s left are often deranged or completely insane. At first I found it amusing. They can’t hurt me, not physically. Yet, that is not the only damage such beings can do. Long exposure to a nightmare starts to get to you. The oldest of us tended to be the worst.
So we’re solitary mostly, that seems to help stave off the jeebies as some call the slow slide to insanity. And that was ok when there were humans to watch and occasionally interact with. It was unsatisfying but it was something. Now there’s nothing. Ok, to be honest I have a few friends, if you can call them that. Beings I can interact with who aren’t completely nuts.
We keep the visits short and far between lest we hear the same stories so many times we begin to forget ourselves. Hell, I’ve probably co-opted several beings lives into my own. It’s hard to remember what was you, and what is something you saw or heard after 2000 years. Eventually I’ll go insane I guess. Could be I already am. Without other beings to judge by, who knows?
I’ve no idea what happened to the world. We saw it of course, ring side seats. But the world was very strange to me by then and I cannot comprehend the end of it. It was too far removed from my understanding. One of the spirits I visit seems to know what happened, she is one of the youngest of us. But she stays in the rubble of a large city by some strange name I cannot pronounce. It’s far from my mountain home though distance doesn’t limit us. She has explained it to me, the details of it, but I only understand that it was war, and famine and death.
Those I do understand, but those have ever stalked us. This time was different though. She explained it but I cannot comprehend it. This time the living did not endure. But the dead do, sadly for us, we are still here, alone. And we chose it. | |
[WP] If a soul doesn't choose to cross over, they are cursed to haunt the world for eternity. As a ghost yourself, it wasn't too bad for the first hundred years or so scaring people and talking to mediums, but it has been about 1000 years since you've seen a living human. | It has been something I’d always wished to do in life. Something many people chose to do, but very few can. I would be no different. I would long for that feeling of freedom and adventure as well. Buy my life was like many others, the same thing day in and day out.
Not I sat there on the beach toes burrowed in the sand. Wondering whether the choices I’ve made were the best. I got up and walked and watched my feet carve into the sand, only to find when I lifted my feet, the sand returned to its original shape. I could leave no footprint or mark on this earth anymore.
Death is designed to feel like life, but nothing is as it seems. You touch everything and nothing at the same time. You remember everything and nothing at the same time. Which to many degrees had gotten me to this point. To this beach.
I had longed to see the world, but I couldn’t remember why; and I had longed to see Asia and I couldn’t remember how to get there. So I walked in a direction I perceived as East. Peter had recommended that I come with him, but I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to walk.
I walked through a mountain range that led to the sea. From the sea to the rainforest. More onward to an ocean desert. Then pushed forward to an ice mountain and finally to the beach. I had seen temples and waterfalls and bird of beautiful song and color. I had not seen another though. I’ve watched thousands of sunrises without seeing another.
“Where are you going?” a familiar voice came.
I turned around to confirm. “Peter!”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Asia.”
“You will never find Asia,” he replied woefully. “You’re lost. You’re in Chile. You’ve been walking the wrong way.”
‘How long had I been walking? I thought this was East.” Point my finger into the distance.
“That’s south my child. You’ve been walking south. There is nothing down here. There’s no people or ghosts for thousands of miles.” Peter walked toward me. “When was the last time you seen another?” I had no reply, I couldn’t recall.
“Give me your hand, I will take you to Asia.”
“No! I don’t need your help. Just point me east and I’ll find Asia.”
Peter reached out his palm. “I will take you to Asia. No more walking. You will be there in an instant.” Peter assurance felt relieving. He was gentle and trusting. “Give me your hand my child, Asia awaits.” I hesitantly took his hands. His eyes glimmered with hope. His warmth permeated from his palms. “Push,” Peter whispered.
“Push!!!!” Screams and wails from the distance. “Come on, you’re almost there.”
“Ahhhhhh!!!!” the woman proclaimed… with that last wail, out came the child.
It was in that moment I looked up. I was in the arms of a strange man. Lost and confused I yearned for Peter, but he was nowhere to be found. His presence felt near though and his thoughts echoed through my mind, “you’re in Taiwan now.”
The man passed me to the exhausted woman in the bed. My thoughts and memories began to fade. My heart began to warm. I felt at peace. The man smiled at the woman with sweat pouring down her face, “congratulations, it’s a boy.”
| ######[](#dropcap)
I had wasted years of my adult life in white-knuckled fear of death, an existential dread of its finality. You die, hard stop, and your part of the story is done, and everything goes on without you. In my mind, that was the worst thing that I could imagine.
I was a fool.
You would think, being a ghost, must be great, right? At least for a few years? It's like being a super-hero, you might say, because you're as big a fool as I was. Well, you're wrong. It's shit. Getting to see everyone's private moments, you know, exciting stuff, right! Peek behind the veil, see the sordid underbelly, all that crap.
What you get is a reality TV show that didn't bother to hire an editor. Just...an abundance of quintessential tedium. There's your ex-girlfriend. Look, she's pooping, and now she's grabbing a bagel, and now she's going to the desk job where she is going to burn through another 8 hours of her life staring at a computer screen. How *titillating*.
The younger ghosts descend on New York and L.A., trail the celebrities. Well, guess what. They're richer than you, and more attractive than you, but they spend plenty of time pooping and sleeping just like anyone else.
And here's the kicker: let's say you see something *juicy*. Well, good for you. Who are you going to tell? You're in the proverbial movie theater by yourself, and have nobody to share the experience with.
For me, the only thing that kept me from wishing that I had just vanished out of existence, instead of being condemned to an eternity as an audience-member of the stupidest play ever written, was my family. Most people don't get to take the long view, to see how the generations following your own spin off in their own different directions.
My focus on that may have been why I didn't notice the changes at first. I had been at it for decades, I guess, when I realized that one of my great-grandkid's families hadn't been home in over a year. Vacation disaster, maybe? Then it happened to a few more, and just like that, my daughter's side of the family tree was in danger of vanishing entirely. I was going to check on how my son's descendants were doing when I finally got a sense of what was going on. No one was outside, no cars driving, no people on sidewalks...and as I drifted in a lazy 360, I realized there were bodies littering the streets. Entirely too much of their insides were visible from the outside.
I sped off to find the last few of my great-grandchildren and their families. One home was empty, just like the others, and the expiration dates on the stuff in the fridge were for earlier this year. I could imagine what happened, whereas no imagination was necessary for the next family. The doors of the minivan were open, the trunk packed with barely-closed suitcases. The front door was open: my great-grandson was found in the entryway, his arms still wrapped around what remained of his daughter. The bodies of his wife and son had been used to decorate the front yard.
It had been nearly a century since I had felt fear, but here it was again. I wasn't sure if I worried more for the trickling out of the great gushing river called humanity - or if, selfishly, I was only concerned about the tiny tributary I had created.
I rushed to the last house, the house of my great granddaughter - the one I hoped might still be alive in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Lauren, her name was. After my wife.
I had thought that the worst I could discover was that they were dead, that I was too late. But I was wrong. If anything, I was too early. The creature was bipedal, but hunched, its hairless gray arms reaching nearly to the ground as it advanced on Lauren, who was pushing her young daughter into the basement. My great granddaughter slammed the door shut and turned the key in the knob with shaking hands, then shoved it under the crack between the floor and bottom of the door.
She didn't even have a chance to turn around - or maybe didn't want to - before the beast pounced, the fangs and claws tearing through her flesh like paper. Two more of the monsters, faces badged in red, joined from the living room. As they fed, all I could see - why did I keep watching? - was one of Lauren's legs, splayed out on the floor, kicking feebly as life drained from her.
There was a dull sound from the other side of the basement door. The animals looked up, and I followed their gaze to the shut door. Behind that comically flimsy piece of wood was the last living member of my family. And as the creatures abandoned their kill and stepped closer to the door, beginning to pound on it, I felt my impotence more acutely than at any other moment since I had died. The only thing I could do, the only thing I still had control over, was a simple decision. I could leave, abandon Tanya to the terror-filled darkness below the house, forcing her to die alone. Or I could descend, and watch the beasts kill her, unable to do a single thing to prevent it.
I tried to concentrate on my choice as the door shattered from the force of the monster's blows.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
*Edited to fix some typos and polish the narrative a bit* | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | I huddled in the dark, back pressed against rough metal, trying to quiet the panic that was storming through my brain. I had just woken up in this... place. In some kind of tube, strapped down. Alone. The smell of oil and disinfectant was everywhere, the air hot and incredibly dry.
After tearing free of my bonds and escaping the tube, a warning siren began to sound through the corridors of... wherever I was. Blinking red lights rebounded off the low ceilings. A shadow loomed around the corner, and I froze in place.
A smallish centaur-looking creature appeared, about 5 feet high; and the halves were very distinctly not from any animals I had ever learned about. It jumped back in shock, then raised a small rod in my direction. A spark jumped out and struck me in the chest, leaving a serious burn. I jumped forward to strike at the weapon before he could fire again, but stumbled and collapsed in a heap on top of the creature.
I felt its structure crumple beneath me... whatever this thing was, it was like origami. I pushed myself up off the twitching form, horrified. Anytime I wanted to wake up would be great... but that reprieve would never come.
I wanted to avoid any more confrontations until I could try to get a handle on... whatever this was. So I reached up to the low ceilings and pulled myself up into some service area, laying along the catwalks and the ducts, just trying to think. More of them were coming.
I lay as silently as possible as a trio of creatures appeared. They moved to investigate the body of their crushed comrade -- I wished I had moved away. I had tears in my eyes... a mix of the stress I was in and the burn on my chest, I guess. But laying up there in the ceiling, one of those tears fell loose and onto one of the little centaur things. I had been found again.
But it *screeched* this high pitch wail and stumbled to the side, one hand frantically flailing at its smoking shoulder where my tear had landed. The others began to shout frantically, and rods were aimed up in my direction. So I scrambled away as fast as I could, crouch-crawling through the ceilings until I could find a place to lay quietly.
It's been a couple hours now. I've been hit with a couple of sparks, and had to crumple some guys. I think I'm on a spaceship? I mean, I know it's crazy but what else is there? I just wanna go home... | "Oh. No. Oh no. Oh, captain!"
His breath quickened. His hearts pulsed erratically. His skin turned bluer than ever. Images flashed through his mind. The crew must be dead. The captain must be fighting. The ship must be wrecked. He almost cried.
Of course, Delta-4 couldn't help but become overwhelmed with panic. It was, after all, his first day on the job. He had fought through the arduous training like a bear fighting for its life, and to his own surprise, he graduated top of his division. But no one was prepared for humans. No member of the migan race was prepared.
It was much like any other Sentience Study mission. They'd actually received signals from the humans, and immediately departed for what they called Earth. Delta-4 was just another sentry, prepared with a shock-gun in case they went hostile. But what they saw was so much worse.
They imprisoned living beings and slaughtered them for sustenance. They discarded so much of what they created that it was destroying species. They alone were responsible for poisoning the air, and according to legend, creating weapons of unreasonable destruction. Had they no morals? Had they no sense?
It was obvious that they were of utmost interest and danger to their planet and others. In their usual fashion, they stealthily took a human from a remote settlement, though they were treated more cautiously. While in stasis, their anatomy could be studied, their memories examined, and their bodies maintained.
If it wasn't for the storm, their plan would have been as foolproof as ever. But now, the human is gone. And Delta-4 has to deal with it.
Many deep breaths later, and his skin turned to a neutral grey. He switched on his weapon, and crept forward, slowly, cautiously. His footsteps echoed through the ship, a melancholy chorus to this terrible occurrence. Nothing seemed amiss, but the human was out, there's no doubt of that. He kept moving, step by step, scanning the metal walls with terrified precision.
Suddenly: footsteps. Several things crossed his mind at once again, he's not ready, he forgot to alert the captain, he never said goodbye. A voice echoed around him.
"Where am I? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I just want to be with my family. I hope these creatures are friendly"
A dirty tanned hand came into view. D-4 raised his weapon and flinched. The human stumbled forth. It spoke, "Wait, please, I-". He fired.
It was unconscious. Drained of adrenaline and filled with relief, D-4 collapsed with it. He laughed uncontrollably, in shock and awe. Then, he was calm. Dragging it back to its pod, he thought to himself: what was it saying? In fact, why didn't it attack me at all? It looked... scared. It couldn't be... No. It couldn't. With a quick shake of his head, D-4 closed the pod, and walked away. The crew was safe. | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | "Damn!" Ixil looked at the remains of the stasis tube, still covered with a chilly mist. He turned to a nearby ensign. "Call the captain, sound general quarters, we need to get ready to fight!"
"What? What's going..."
*"Now!"*
Alarms began to sound as the ship roused itself to battle stations. Moments later, the captain was on deck with them.
"Alright, what's got your tail in a knot? Why are you waking up the whole ship over an escaped specimen?"
"Captain, this is no ordinary specimen. It's an intelligent species from a high-threat planet, and we were evaluating it as a potential battle thrall. It's aerobic chemistry is an order of magnitude more efficient than ours, with a corresponding increase in strength and speed. It also comes from a fifth-stage civilization, which means that it won't be surprised by advanced technology and it understands the concept of space travel, so we can't..."
"In plain Trade-tongue?"
Ixil shrugged. "Basically, imagine something as smart as you are, but twice as strong and fast. It just punched its way out of a stasis tube, it knows that it's on a spaceship, and it'll do whatever it takes to get home again."
"Alright, I get your drift. You want me to treat it like a hostile boarder, not an overgrown ape."
"Pretty much. If we get an armed response team ready and clear the ship top to bottom, we can probably take it down. It can't punch through armor and it dies to a laser like anything else. But if it catches you off guard, or you're not *wearing* armor, it'll pull your head clean off your shoulders before you can move."
The Captain gestured at his chest, with its conspicuous lack of body armor. "You do realize that this is an *Explorer-class* ship, right? We have *one* response team on the entire ship and they double as our Enviro research team. The last time they fired their lasers was back at the Academy."
"I know that. And I told Warlord Tress that we weren't equipped for this mission, and he said to do it anyway."
"Of course he did. If something goes wrong, he'll just blame the Xenology Department."
The captain lashed his tail and strode to a nearby console. "Well, too late to complain. All hands. Secure hatches, shelter in place, and call out any intruders. Response Team 1, begin search pattern on the Cargo Deck. Target is a two-meter bipedal mammal with pale skin. Engineering, stand by to vent internal atmosphere if necessary."
He turned back to Ixil. "If it comes down to it, we can just seal off his compartment and vent the air. This monster of yours still needs to breathe, right?"
"Yes. And its planet has more oxygen in its atmosphere than ours, so he's probably feeling pretty sluggish already. Unless it..."
A light blinked on the console. *Captain, this is Raptor 1. One of the emergency lockers has been opened. Looks like the intruder ripped apart one of the suits.*
"...unless it figures out how to use the emergency life support packs." Ixil sighed. "We are *so* dead." | "Oh. No. Oh no. Oh, captain!"
His breath quickened. His hearts pulsed erratically. His skin turned bluer than ever. Images flashed through his mind. The crew must be dead. The captain must be fighting. The ship must be wrecked. He almost cried.
Of course, Delta-4 couldn't help but become overwhelmed with panic. It was, after all, his first day on the job. He had fought through the arduous training like a bear fighting for its life, and to his own surprise, he graduated top of his division. But no one was prepared for humans. No member of the migan race was prepared.
It was much like any other Sentience Study mission. They'd actually received signals from the humans, and immediately departed for what they called Earth. Delta-4 was just another sentry, prepared with a shock-gun in case they went hostile. But what they saw was so much worse.
They imprisoned living beings and slaughtered them for sustenance. They discarded so much of what they created that it was destroying species. They alone were responsible for poisoning the air, and according to legend, creating weapons of unreasonable destruction. Had they no morals? Had they no sense?
It was obvious that they were of utmost interest and danger to their planet and others. In their usual fashion, they stealthily took a human from a remote settlement, though they were treated more cautiously. While in stasis, their anatomy could be studied, their memories examined, and their bodies maintained.
If it wasn't for the storm, their plan would have been as foolproof as ever. But now, the human is gone. And Delta-4 has to deal with it.
Many deep breaths later, and his skin turned to a neutral grey. He switched on his weapon, and crept forward, slowly, cautiously. His footsteps echoed through the ship, a melancholy chorus to this terrible occurrence. Nothing seemed amiss, but the human was out, there's no doubt of that. He kept moving, step by step, scanning the metal walls with terrified precision.
Suddenly: footsteps. Several things crossed his mind at once again, he's not ready, he forgot to alert the captain, he never said goodbye. A voice echoed around him.
"Where am I? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I just want to be with my family. I hope these creatures are friendly"
A dirty tanned hand came into view. D-4 raised his weapon and flinched. The human stumbled forth. It spoke, "Wait, please, I-". He fired.
It was unconscious. Drained of adrenaline and filled with relief, D-4 collapsed with it. He laughed uncontrollably, in shock and awe. Then, he was calm. Dragging it back to its pod, he thought to himself: what was it saying? In fact, why didn't it attack me at all? It looked... scared. It couldn't be... No. It couldn't. With a quick shake of his head, D-4 closed the pod, and walked away. The crew was safe. | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | "Damn!" Ixil looked at the remains of the stasis tube, still covered with a chilly mist. He turned to a nearby ensign. "Call the captain, sound general quarters, we need to get ready to fight!"
"What? What's going..."
*"Now!"*
Alarms began to sound as the ship roused itself to battle stations. Moments later, the captain was on deck with them.
"Alright, what's got your tail in a knot? Why are you waking up the whole ship over an escaped specimen?"
"Captain, this is no ordinary specimen. It's an intelligent species from a high-threat planet, and we were evaluating it as a potential battle thrall. It's aerobic chemistry is an order of magnitude more efficient than ours, with a corresponding increase in strength and speed. It also comes from a fifth-stage civilization, which means that it won't be surprised by advanced technology and it understands the concept of space travel, so we can't..."
"In plain Trade-tongue?"
Ixil shrugged. "Basically, imagine something as smart as you are, but twice as strong and fast. It just punched its way out of a stasis tube, it knows that it's on a spaceship, and it'll do whatever it takes to get home again."
"Alright, I get your drift. You want me to treat it like a hostile boarder, not an overgrown ape."
"Pretty much. If we get an armed response team ready and clear the ship top to bottom, we can probably take it down. It can't punch through armor and it dies to a laser like anything else. But if it catches you off guard, or you're not *wearing* armor, it'll pull your head clean off your shoulders before you can move."
The Captain gestured at his chest, with its conspicuous lack of body armor. "You do realize that this is an *Explorer-class* ship, right? We have *one* response team on the entire ship and they double as our Enviro research team. The last time they fired their lasers was back at the Academy."
"I know that. And I told Warlord Tress that we weren't equipped for this mission, and he said to do it anyway."
"Of course he did. If something goes wrong, he'll just blame the Xenology Department."
The captain lashed his tail and strode to a nearby console. "Well, too late to complain. All hands. Secure hatches, shelter in place, and call out any intruders. Response Team 1, begin search pattern on the Cargo Deck. Target is a two-meter bipedal mammal with pale skin. Engineering, stand by to vent internal atmosphere if necessary."
He turned back to Ixil. "If it comes down to it, we can just seal off his compartment and vent the air. This monster of yours still needs to breathe, right?"
"Yes. And its planet has more oxygen in its atmosphere than ours, so he's probably feeling pretty sluggish already. Unless it..."
A light blinked on the console. *Captain, this is Raptor 1. One of the emergency lockers has been opened. Looks like the intruder ripped apart one of the suits.*
"...unless it figures out how to use the emergency life support packs." Ixil sighed. "We are *so* dead." | I huddled in the dark, back pressed against rough metal, trying to quiet the panic that was storming through my brain. I had just woken up in this... place. In some kind of tube, strapped down. Alone. The smell of oil and disinfectant was everywhere, the air hot and incredibly dry.
After tearing free of my bonds and escaping the tube, a warning siren began to sound through the corridors of... wherever I was. Blinking red lights rebounded off the low ceilings. A shadow loomed around the corner, and I froze in place.
A smallish centaur-looking creature appeared, about 5 feet high; and the halves were very distinctly not from any animals I had ever learned about. It jumped back in shock, then raised a small rod in my direction. A spark jumped out and struck me in the chest, leaving a serious burn. I jumped forward to strike at the weapon before he could fire again, but stumbled and collapsed in a heap on top of the creature.
I felt its structure crumple beneath me... whatever this thing was, it was like origami. I pushed myself up off the twitching form, horrified. Anytime I wanted to wake up would be great... but that reprieve would never come.
I wanted to avoid any more confrontations until I could try to get a handle on... whatever this was. So I reached up to the low ceilings and pulled myself up into some service area, laying along the catwalks and the ducts, just trying to think. More of them were coming.
I lay as silently as possible as a trio of creatures appeared. They moved to investigate the body of their crushed comrade -- I wished I had moved away. I had tears in my eyes... a mix of the stress I was in and the burn on my chest, I guess. But laying up there in the ceiling, one of those tears fell loose and onto one of the little centaur things. I had been found again.
But it *screeched* this high pitch wail and stumbled to the side, one hand frantically flailing at its smoking shoulder where my tear had landed. The others began to shout frantically, and rods were aimed up in my direction. So I scrambled away as fast as I could, crouch-crawling through the ceilings until I could find a place to lay quietly.
It's been a couple hours now. I've been hit with a couple of sparks, and had to crumple some guys. I think I'm on a spaceship? I mean, I know it's crazy but what else is there? I just wanna go home... | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | "Damn!" Ixil looked at the remains of the stasis tube, still covered with a chilly mist. He turned to a nearby ensign. "Call the captain, sound general quarters, we need to get ready to fight!"
"What? What's going..."
*"Now!"*
Alarms began to sound as the ship roused itself to battle stations. Moments later, the captain was on deck with them.
"Alright, what's got your tail in a knot? Why are you waking up the whole ship over an escaped specimen?"
"Captain, this is no ordinary specimen. It's an intelligent species from a high-threat planet, and we were evaluating it as a potential battle thrall. It's aerobic chemistry is an order of magnitude more efficient than ours, with a corresponding increase in strength and speed. It also comes from a fifth-stage civilization, which means that it won't be surprised by advanced technology and it understands the concept of space travel, so we can't..."
"In plain Trade-tongue?"
Ixil shrugged. "Basically, imagine something as smart as you are, but twice as strong and fast. It just punched its way out of a stasis tube, it knows that it's on a spaceship, and it'll do whatever it takes to get home again."
"Alright, I get your drift. You want me to treat it like a hostile boarder, not an overgrown ape."
"Pretty much. If we get an armed response team ready and clear the ship top to bottom, we can probably take it down. It can't punch through armor and it dies to a laser like anything else. But if it catches you off guard, or you're not *wearing* armor, it'll pull your head clean off your shoulders before you can move."
The Captain gestured at his chest, with its conspicuous lack of body armor. "You do realize that this is an *Explorer-class* ship, right? We have *one* response team on the entire ship and they double as our Enviro research team. The last time they fired their lasers was back at the Academy."
"I know that. And I told Warlord Tress that we weren't equipped for this mission, and he said to do it anyway."
"Of course he did. If something goes wrong, he'll just blame the Xenology Department."
The captain lashed his tail and strode to a nearby console. "Well, too late to complain. All hands. Secure hatches, shelter in place, and call out any intruders. Response Team 1, begin search pattern on the Cargo Deck. Target is a two-meter bipedal mammal with pale skin. Engineering, stand by to vent internal atmosphere if necessary."
He turned back to Ixil. "If it comes down to it, we can just seal off his compartment and vent the air. This monster of yours still needs to breathe, right?"
"Yes. And its planet has more oxygen in its atmosphere than ours, so he's probably feeling pretty sluggish already. Unless it..."
A light blinked on the console. *Captain, this is Raptor 1. One of the emergency lockers has been opened. Looks like the intruder ripped apart one of the suits.*
"...unless it figures out how to use the emergency life support packs." Ixil sighed. "We are *so* dead." | “Physically she’s not the most intimidating but her main ability is her ability to think quickly. Unfortunately the one that has escaped was a Soldier before she was frozen so she will be far more dangerous then most humans. By no means should she be allowed to access our Laser Weapons as even if she does not have training in the use of our tech she’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Smaller groups of humans have been able to take out larger amounts of foes. If she escapes into the planet it could be years before she is tracked down. If we can Deny her water for at most fourteen twenty-four hour intervals she will die of dehydration. Good Luck Men, Captain Signing Off.”
When the announcement ceased on the set of Atomic Transmitters Lucy had taken from a dead Security Male, she readjusted her Laser Weapon and smiled. After all she loved a challenge. | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | Liquid coolant and stasis buffer solution formed a swirling, steaming pool near the base of the PreservaPod. The nitrogen was still vaporizing, fogging the entire chamber, meaning the escape couldn't have been too long ago.
Jova felt her heart rate escalate, blood pounding through her aural blades as she raised her suit’s built-in communicator. She opened the channel, yelping when a loud, low-pitched hum blared through her aural piece. She quickly closed the comm channel. Of course. They were in warp. Warps always messed up the onboard transmitters. The A252 suits were supposed to remedy that, but whichever idiot was in charge of equipment for the Aldovi squadron didn’t read the fine print: the biped models still had some kinks before rolling out the new versions.
She turned around, picking up into a run towards the chamber door. She would have to alert the crew in person. Quickly, before the human gets to them first.
Jova silently thanked her Bidichin anatomy, making long, lithe strides with her legs that were nearly two-thirds her body weight. She ducked her tall body under the pipe in the ceiling - always getting in her way, but she had memorized its position by now - and came to the door, where she—
Wait. Did that pipe look bigger?
“*Receiving local transmission.*”
An insultingly calm voice alerted her of an incoming message as the communicator whined back to life. Long-range communications still weren’t possible. A hack was out of the question. Which could only mean…suit-to-suit communications?
“*Language incompatibility detected. Translating empathic signals*.”
A searing pain resonated through her ventral spine as she fell to the ground, vision fading. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was another, different but equally insultingly calm voice, automatically translating emotional output from the suit that killed her.
“**\[ANGER\]**.”
\*\*\*
Marocala was afraid.
It had been perhaps a decaTarped since they found Jova’s body. Now the crew was on edge, none daring to even use the restroom alone. They were huddled around the main spaceflight control room, debating whether to pull out of warp early.
“This is the safest place onboard the whole ship,” Marocala insisted. “We’re not leaving. We leave and that thing takes us all out.”
“We have to leave to reach the stasis pods,” Sholi said emphatically. “We’re not staying in warp forever. We have to exit warp eventually, either by choice or by draining our fuel supply, and when we do, we’ll have to get to the pods.”
“Can’t we exit warp without the pods?” Seva said from behind them.
“Sure, if you want the g-forces to melt you into the nearest wall,” Pelos snapped.
“We can try a slipstream maneuver…”
“Goddammit, I told you, those are all legends. Myths! Not real! You can’t leave warp without putting everyone in stasis!”
“You know what else is a myth?” Jos slipped in. “What you’ve been saying about these Humans.”
Pelos wheeled on him, his face steely. “Yeah? So you think you know them better?”
“Look, I’m just saying, I’ve done my reading, and—“
“How much reading do you think you’ve done? We’ve only made contact with their star system maybe three hundred years ago. That’s not even half a Birichin life. How much *literature* are you telling me you’ve read?”
“That’s the thing,” Jos continued calmly. “Three hundred years is half a Birichin, but it’s like ten Humans.”
“What?” A collective look of confusion.
“Okay, maybe not ten. Maybe like, six. Or seven. My point is, their lifespans are ridiculously short.”
“Alright, fine. But even if you’re right about that, we can’t spend thirty years in warp.”
“My point is that all that stuff about them being pursuit predators? Lying in wait for the hunt and all that? It doesn’t apply anymore. It might have applied in Solaris, but they can’t do jack out here. You’ve just been trying to scare us, or some shit. Stop worrying. They have the shortest lifespans in the universe and they won’t be pursuing anyone.”
Sholi was growing impatient. “I still don’t see how we’re going to make it out of here.”
Jos lowered his voice a notch. “Its main mode of attack is lying in wait. Meaning it’s probably not that good at direct confrontation. There’s five of us and one of it, and we have the home advantage. We can take it.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. They turned to Pelos, their chief gunner and usual authority on combat. By the Monora Organization’s standards, he was really still a fledgling, with only two hundred subjective years of experience. On the other hand, Jos was their electronics engineer; extremely clever, but necessarily dubious on matters of fighting.
Pelos considered the thought, poking at it, looking for holes. He found some that he didn’t like. But he also couldn’t find an alternative.
“Fine. Guns and suitmods, everyone. Let’s go Human hunting.”
\*\*\*
Jos was anxious.
He was confident that everything he said was factually correct. But he kept sifting through his thoughts, making sure he didn’t miss anything that might doom them all. His knowledge of Humans mostly came from watching news podcasts and reading Cosmicpolitan in what free time he had. They were excellent news sources, and he had little reason to doubt their credibility. But he would be an idiot to assume they had all the information possible.
He performed his suit checks, and let Pelos strap him into the combat suitmod. Twelve kiloberms of extra weight, which was a fair trade for high-density external plating, rapid tissue damage response, and a handheld null shield. He kept thinking, but couldn’t find anything else. He let the thought rest; at any rate, it was too late to back down now.
“Alright. Target is believed to be wearing a Birichin suit, probably modified or at the very least, extremely loose-fitting. Stay local - we want to stay in commtact. If we get a new comm channel open up, that means it’s near.” Pelos moved forward, ready to unlatch the door. “I’ll take point. Watch your fire. Thermalasers can damage some of the equipment and pipelines on the walls. We need that stuff.”
“Yeah, don’t make more work for me,” Jos chimed in. Only Marocala chuckled.
Sleeves rustled and suits clacked in anticipation. The door beeped and slid open.
\*\*\*
Sholi was uncomfortable.
The suit was uncomfortable, yes. She was a pilot. The ship was her suit and its neurolinks were her guns. She felt awkward in the suit, the Gale-10 Thermarifle in her hand feeling as bulky as it was outdated. A nearly thirteen-hundred-year-old design. Ancient, but necessary for combat situations where avoiding collateral damage is critical. Well, it must work well if they’re still being handed out today.
But she was also deeply uncomfortable in her mind. Absent-minded, perhaps. She chalked it up to her idleness. She always had a little attention problem; she had to keep herself moving, working. Made for an excellent pilot. Probably not as good of a fighter.
She stared straight on, fixating on a screw on Seva’s back. She knew she was supposed to be afraid, but the sheer danger of the situation just could not get to her. The company of four other powerfully outfitted crewmates helped.
“Hey. Keep up the pace, Sholi.” Marocala nudged her gently from behind. Her words were casual, but there was the slight trace of a tremor in her voice. Sholi hadn’t realized she was slowing down, still staring straight. She hurried on, Marocala on her tail.
“Darksights on. Stay alert.” A short while later, Pelos’ voice pierced the silence. The squadron came to a narrow passage where the overheard lights were disabled. The lights were never disabled onboard their ship. Sholi switched on her Darksight filter. She saw Pelos’ outline waving them forward into the next room. One by one, they walked through the passage and into the next chamber.
Disabling his Darksights, Pelos turned around. Three helmets looked back at him.
“Sholi?”
“Yes?”
“Where’s Marocala?” | “Physically she’s not the most intimidating but her main ability is her ability to think quickly. Unfortunately the one that has escaped was a Soldier before she was frozen so she will be far more dangerous then most humans. By no means should she be allowed to access our Laser Weapons as even if she does not have training in the use of our tech she’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Smaller groups of humans have been able to take out larger amounts of foes. If she escapes into the planet it could be years before she is tracked down. If we can Deny her water for at most fourteen twenty-four hour intervals she will die of dehydration. Good Luck Men, Captain Signing Off.”
When the announcement ceased on the set of Atomic Transmitters Lucy had taken from a dead Security Male, she readjusted her Laser Weapon and smiled. After all she loved a challenge. | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | “You know me,” I said. Pleading.
The rivets of the wall pressed into my back.
It’s frame filled the doorway, beady eyes searching my own.
I was one of the first to be assigned to the research project. It was difficult at the beginning. The human was highly intelligent, aggressive, and strong. It was dangerous, as to be expected for an apex predator. Much more dangerous than we were prepared for, as it had escaped several times and even killed a few of our scientists.
But why wouldn’t it be dangerous? After all, we had taken it from it’s home. I had to fight hard to keep it from being destroyed. Even after we’d discovered humans were social creatures, the directors wouldn’t let us put it back.
“Think of the big picture. It’s a great opportunity. Think of what this means for Research Ops,” they told me.
But all I could think about was this dangerous creature, curled up in its burrow of soft furs, whimpering every night. Alone. The other researchers never seemed to care very much.
I was the one who found that it liked to collect soft materials to lay in during its night cycles.
I found that it liked to eat corrosive chemicals. It didn’t seem to have any beneficial or defensive effect on the creature – it simply enjoyed spritzing them onto its food before eating.
I discovered that it was curious. I put children’s toys into its enclosure and it took apart, manipulated and examined every part. Even more amazing than its ability to put them back together again, it would even make new toys with the parts! But the directors warned me to never do that again after it made a lethal weapon out of some parts and nearly killed another researcher.
It liked to make odd sounds. It would hum to itself and tap on the walls or the ground with its appendages. I rather enjoyed these moments and sometimes would try to come up with my own.
I spent more time with the creature than any other researcher. I would watch it for hours. It was fascinating, and heartwrenching to watch it pacing and so clearly thinking to itself, every day. I had not been the least bit surprised when it escaped.
The human growled from the doorway.
It held something sharp. I recognized it. A piece from a toy I had snuck to it a few nights ago. It was covered in a thin sheen of my colleagues blood.
It saw me look at the part, and it held it up at me. I flinched. The human slowly lowered its arm and growled at me again.
Then I had an idea.
I tapped the wall behind me with a finger. I tried to remember what noises it made, and the pattern it made them in, when it was alone at night. I tried to make those noises.
The creature stopped moving at all and listened.
When I was done, it made those same noises back at me.
Liquid began to seep from its eyes again.
I knew what to do now. I could hear the alarms starting to blare. Someone had found the bodies.
I reached out. It didn’t move. I put my hand on its “hand”.
It just watched me.
I pulled on it gently.
It stepped forward.
“Come,” I said quietly.
It followed me silently, though its eyes glanced nervously at the alarms.
I knew where the escape pods were. I knew where the coordinates for earth were. It was the least I could do.
| “Physically she’s not the most intimidating but her main ability is her ability to think quickly. Unfortunately the one that has escaped was a Soldier before she was frozen so she will be far more dangerous then most humans. By no means should she be allowed to access our Laser Weapons as even if she does not have training in the use of our tech she’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Smaller groups of humans have been able to take out larger amounts of foes. If she escapes into the planet it could be years before she is tracked down. If we can Deny her water for at most fourteen twenty-four hour intervals she will die of dehydration. Good Luck Men, Captain Signing Off.”
When the announcement ceased on the set of Atomic Transmitters Lucy had taken from a dead Security Male, she readjusted her Laser Weapon and smiled. After all she loved a challenge. | |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | “You know me,” I said. Pleading.
The rivets of the wall pressed into my back.
It’s frame filled the doorway, beady eyes searching my own.
I was one of the first to be assigned to the research project. It was difficult at the beginning. The human was highly intelligent, aggressive, and strong. It was dangerous, as to be expected for an apex predator. Much more dangerous than we were prepared for, as it had escaped several times and even killed a few of our scientists.
But why wouldn’t it be dangerous? After all, we had taken it from it’s home. I had to fight hard to keep it from being destroyed. Even after we’d discovered humans were social creatures, the directors wouldn’t let us put it back.
“Think of the big picture. It’s a great opportunity. Think of what this means for Research Ops,” they told me.
But all I could think about was this dangerous creature, curled up in its burrow of soft furs, whimpering every night. Alone. The other researchers never seemed to care very much.
I was the one who found that it liked to collect soft materials to lay in during its night cycles.
I found that it liked to eat corrosive chemicals. It didn’t seem to have any beneficial or defensive effect on the creature – it simply enjoyed spritzing them onto its food before eating.
I discovered that it was curious. I put children’s toys into its enclosure and it took apart, manipulated and examined every part. Even more amazing than its ability to put them back together again, it would even make new toys with the parts! But the directors warned me to never do that again after it made a lethal weapon out of some parts and nearly killed another researcher.
It liked to make odd sounds. It would hum to itself and tap on the walls or the ground with its appendages. I rather enjoyed these moments and sometimes would try to come up with my own.
I spent more time with the creature than any other researcher. I would watch it for hours. It was fascinating, and heartwrenching to watch it pacing and so clearly thinking to itself, every day. I had not been the least bit surprised when it escaped.
The human growled from the doorway.
It held something sharp. I recognized it. A piece from a toy I had snuck to it a few nights ago. It was covered in a thin sheen of my colleagues blood.
It saw me look at the part, and it held it up at me. I flinched. The human slowly lowered its arm and growled at me again.
Then I had an idea.
I tapped the wall behind me with a finger. I tried to remember what noises it made, and the pattern it made them in, when it was alone at night. I tried to make those noises.
The creature stopped moving at all and listened.
When I was done, it made those same noises back at me.
Liquid began to seep from its eyes again.
I knew what to do now. I could hear the alarms starting to blare. Someone had found the bodies.
I reached out. It didn’t move. I put my hand on its “hand”.
It just watched me.
I pulled on it gently.
It stepped forward.
“Come,” I said quietly.
It followed me silently, though its eyes glanced nervously at the alarms.
I knew where the escape pods were. I knew where the coordinates for earth were. It was the least I could do.
| Liquid coolant and stasis buffer solution formed a swirling, steaming pool near the base of the PreservaPod. The nitrogen was still vaporizing, fogging the entire chamber, meaning the escape couldn't have been too long ago.
Jova felt her heart rate escalate, blood pounding through her aural blades as she raised her suit’s built-in communicator. She opened the channel, yelping when a loud, low-pitched hum blared through her aural piece. She quickly closed the comm channel. Of course. They were in warp. Warps always messed up the onboard transmitters. The A252 suits were supposed to remedy that, but whichever idiot was in charge of equipment for the Aldovi squadron didn’t read the fine print: the biped models still had some kinks before rolling out the new versions.
She turned around, picking up into a run towards the chamber door. She would have to alert the crew in person. Quickly, before the human gets to them first.
Jova silently thanked her Bidichin anatomy, making long, lithe strides with her legs that were nearly two-thirds her body weight. She ducked her tall body under the pipe in the ceiling - always getting in her way, but she had memorized its position by now - and came to the door, where she—
Wait. Did that pipe look bigger?
“*Receiving local transmission.*”
An insultingly calm voice alerted her of an incoming message as the communicator whined back to life. Long-range communications still weren’t possible. A hack was out of the question. Which could only mean…suit-to-suit communications?
“*Language incompatibility detected. Translating empathic signals*.”
A searing pain resonated through her ventral spine as she fell to the ground, vision fading. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was another, different but equally insultingly calm voice, automatically translating emotional output from the suit that killed her.
“**\[ANGER\]**.”
\*\*\*
Marocala was afraid.
It had been perhaps a decaTarped since they found Jova’s body. Now the crew was on edge, none daring to even use the restroom alone. They were huddled around the main spaceflight control room, debating whether to pull out of warp early.
“This is the safest place onboard the whole ship,” Marocala insisted. “We’re not leaving. We leave and that thing takes us all out.”
“We have to leave to reach the stasis pods,” Sholi said emphatically. “We’re not staying in warp forever. We have to exit warp eventually, either by choice or by draining our fuel supply, and when we do, we’ll have to get to the pods.”
“Can’t we exit warp without the pods?” Seva said from behind them.
“Sure, if you want the g-forces to melt you into the nearest wall,” Pelos snapped.
“We can try a slipstream maneuver…”
“Goddammit, I told you, those are all legends. Myths! Not real! You can’t leave warp without putting everyone in stasis!”
“You know what else is a myth?” Jos slipped in. “What you’ve been saying about these Humans.”
Pelos wheeled on him, his face steely. “Yeah? So you think you know them better?”
“Look, I’m just saying, I’ve done my reading, and—“
“How much reading do you think you’ve done? We’ve only made contact with their star system maybe three hundred years ago. That’s not even half a Birichin life. How much *literature* are you telling me you’ve read?”
“That’s the thing,” Jos continued calmly. “Three hundred years is half a Birichin, but it’s like ten Humans.”
“What?” A collective look of confusion.
“Okay, maybe not ten. Maybe like, six. Or seven. My point is, their lifespans are ridiculously short.”
“Alright, fine. But even if you’re right about that, we can’t spend thirty years in warp.”
“My point is that all that stuff about them being pursuit predators? Lying in wait for the hunt and all that? It doesn’t apply anymore. It might have applied in Solaris, but they can’t do jack out here. You’ve just been trying to scare us, or some shit. Stop worrying. They have the shortest lifespans in the universe and they won’t be pursuing anyone.”
Sholi was growing impatient. “I still don’t see how we’re going to make it out of here.”
Jos lowered his voice a notch. “Its main mode of attack is lying in wait. Meaning it’s probably not that good at direct confrontation. There’s five of us and one of it, and we have the home advantage. We can take it.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. They turned to Pelos, their chief gunner and usual authority on combat. By the Monora Organization’s standards, he was really still a fledgling, with only two hundred subjective years of experience. On the other hand, Jos was their electronics engineer; extremely clever, but necessarily dubious on matters of fighting.
Pelos considered the thought, poking at it, looking for holes. He found some that he didn’t like. But he also couldn’t find an alternative.
“Fine. Guns and suitmods, everyone. Let’s go Human hunting.”
\*\*\*
Jos was anxious.
He was confident that everything he said was factually correct. But he kept sifting through his thoughts, making sure he didn’t miss anything that might doom them all. His knowledge of Humans mostly came from watching news podcasts and reading Cosmicpolitan in what free time he had. They were excellent news sources, and he had little reason to doubt their credibility. But he would be an idiot to assume they had all the information possible.
He performed his suit checks, and let Pelos strap him into the combat suitmod. Twelve kiloberms of extra weight, which was a fair trade for high-density external plating, rapid tissue damage response, and a handheld null shield. He kept thinking, but couldn’t find anything else. He let the thought rest; at any rate, it was too late to back down now.
“Alright. Target is believed to be wearing a Birichin suit, probably modified or at the very least, extremely loose-fitting. Stay local - we want to stay in commtact. If we get a new comm channel open up, that means it’s near.” Pelos moved forward, ready to unlatch the door. “I’ll take point. Watch your fire. Thermalasers can damage some of the equipment and pipelines on the walls. We need that stuff.”
“Yeah, don’t make more work for me,” Jos chimed in. Only Marocala chuckled.
Sleeves rustled and suits clacked in anticipation. The door beeped and slid open.
\*\*\*
Sholi was uncomfortable.
The suit was uncomfortable, yes. She was a pilot. The ship was her suit and its neurolinks were her guns. She felt awkward in the suit, the Gale-10 Thermarifle in her hand feeling as bulky as it was outdated. A nearly thirteen-hundred-year-old design. Ancient, but necessary for combat situations where avoiding collateral damage is critical. Well, it must work well if they’re still being handed out today.
But she was also deeply uncomfortable in her mind. Absent-minded, perhaps. She chalked it up to her idleness. She always had a little attention problem; she had to keep herself moving, working. Made for an excellent pilot. Probably not as good of a fighter.
She stared straight on, fixating on a screw on Seva’s back. She knew she was supposed to be afraid, but the sheer danger of the situation just could not get to her. The company of four other powerfully outfitted crewmates helped.
“Hey. Keep up the pace, Sholi.” Marocala nudged her gently from behind. Her words were casual, but there was the slight trace of a tremor in her voice. Sholi hadn’t realized she was slowing down, still staring straight. She hurried on, Marocala on her tail.
“Darksights on. Stay alert.” A short while later, Pelos’ voice pierced the silence. The squadron came to a narrow passage where the overheard lights were disabled. The lights were never disabled onboard their ship. Sholi switched on her Darksight filter. She saw Pelos’ outline waving them forward into the next room. One by one, they walked through the passage and into the next chamber.
Disabling his Darksights, Pelos turned around. Three helmets looked back at him.
“Sholi?”
“Yes?”
“Where’s Marocala?” | |
[WP] You where brought into existence at the beginning of all things, made by the same power that made the first Gods. You are a guardian of everything that is, was and ever will be. You are far from mortal, but not quite a God. You, however, have just killed one of them, and are the first to do so. | My longsword clattered to the stone floor, my grip inexorably weakened.
The job was done.
The Old God was dead. Eyes open for eternum, staring up into the starry skies. He looked almost peaceful now, with the tiniest pull of a smile hidden underneath his bushy snow-white beard: a far cry from a few moments ago when he was still knocking on his own door to eternal demise.
Others would seize this opportunity to implement themselves as his heir. To take control of the domain that he ruled over. Total control and mastery forevermore- the strongest god, most argued, was the God of Death.
*Now truly his namesake*, I absentmindedly thought to myself, staring down at the corpse of what was once my closest friend.
He always had a way of cheering me up when I was at my most alone, my most somber. The Guardian's role is pivotal, but not a road traveled for the light of heart. Today's course had already proven that.
I turned away from my late friend, his body already slowly crumbling into grey ashes, blowing listlessly on a nameless wind. Already his domain in the void of space was falling apart. Around me, the floor was falling away into the void of oblivion- the walls disintegrating, revealing the cold vastness of eternal space forevermore. Now that its ruler had departed, the realm had no energy to continue living- no protection from the elements. It would not last a minute more.
I knew that word would quickly come to the others ears, if it had not already. The actions taken today was unprecedented. It had never been done in time's history. Not even conceivable. How could the Gods fall? How could the Guardian destroy what he was sworn to protect? "There is be a power vacuum that has to be filled," they will turn and say to one another. They will swear allegiances and betray one another for this new control. Harmony had seen its last sunrise. A god with power over two domains? That would be one of the strongest creatures of them all. And only one person could stop that from happening.
I went back to the void, the corpse of Death already a distant memory. The last thing present in the realm before total collapse was lying there, shining its deep blue light, a beacon of what the Guardian represented present in its steeled blade. Grabbed and sheathed, I prepared to make my way towards the Summit where the other Gods were certainly already bickering amongst themselves.
It was time to live up to my namesake.
***This account is a personal project to help improve my other writings. As such, every story written is wrote in exactly fifteen minutes. Please feel free to leave critique and commentary: it will always be taken in account for my future writings.*** | \*static\*
Charge: Murder of Urack, God Of Destruction
Verdict: Guilty.
Sentence: Execution
**The following is a recording of the final defense statement for court case 148364:**
"Ya know, gods are a lot easier to kill than one would have expected, yeah, it takes a nuke to give them a paper cut, but throwing one into a star WILL kill it, of course it takes a while.
Urack, God Of Destruction, damn he was quite the annoyance, blowing up planets, entire dimensions. You would think that the other gods would have taken care of him right? But NO leave it up to me, the "guardian" of creation. It's kinda a stupid job, you aren't really a god, or a mortal, nobody EVER says "thank you for killing the demonic beast from the void" they just kinda expect you to do it.
Worst of all, if you actually do your job, like stopping the god of destruction from destroying an entire freaking universe you get charged with murdering a god.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand. You asked if I was pleading guilty to one count of killing a god?
Hell yeah, and good luck punishing me."
\*static mixed with screams and an explosion\*
**end of recording**
(I've been lurking this sub for a while and I thought it was time to contribute, constructive criticism is more than welcome as I literally never do non-academic writing.) | |
[WP] You're watching your favorite internet streamer. Their stream is almost over, and the number of viewers is steadily dropping. You keep watching to the end, and once the viewer number is 1, the streamer says "wait... You're still alive?" | I grinned, staring into the confused eyes of Jacob Billings. He was watching the camera as if he could see me, as if he knew exactly who it was that was watching him.
"How're you still alive?" He breathed, his gaze flicking to the chat as he awaited my answer.
**You think you're the first one to invent serial killing?** I typed.
He shook his head. "No, but my people should've found you by now. They should've been tracking you."
**Oh, they did. I made sure that living wouldn't be a problem for them anymore.**
The color drained from Jacob's face, his entire body quivering in fear. A rush of excitement cracked another grin on my face, this one stretching from ear to ear. I hadn't felt this kind of euphoria in a long time.
"You... you killed them?" He breathed, swallowing hard as he watched the chat.
**Oh yes. It was quite a rush, I must say. I haven't been hunted in a long time, so I was a little sloppy, but I got the job done. It was more fun than I've had in quite awhile.**
Jacob glared into the camera. "Who the hell are you?"
I glanced over at my other monitor before I responded. Jacob had been active just long enough so that the program I had running had finished its job. His address, or at least, where he was streaming from, was broadcast across the monitor in big, bold lettering.
My fingers lazily danced across the keyboard. **I'm just a person who is very fond of your work. I've been watching you for over a year now. Waiting. Planning.**
Jacob shuddered "Planning what?"
**I believe you know exactly what I'm talking about, Jacob.**
His eyes widened at my message. "H-how do you know my real name?"
I licked my lips as I typed, my whole body itching to get on the road. **Like I said, I'm very fond of your work. I'll see you soon, Jacob.**
As I slung my bag across my shoulder, my tools clanking loudly together, Jacob shouted into the camera, his face as white as a fresh layer of snow. I stepped over the bodies of his people, two men that had thought they could jump me while I was watching Jacob, taking care not to get their blood on my shoes. I hurried out the front door, skipping down the steps to my car, my heart racing inside my chest.
It was fun being the prey at times, I couldn't deny, but being the predator was where I got the most joy, the most satisfaction from my kills. Jacob could run, that much was true, but he couldn't hide. I'd been hunting him for a year now, and I knew everything there was to know about that stick-like human that had gotten into some dark things at a young age, so he knew how to run. I bet he was pretty good at it, too. It would only make him that much more fun to chase. | Still alive?
That’s really funny. Fine, we shall have a one-on-one discussion. After all, you are a survivor, and I respect that.
Have you heard of Syntech?
I take it by your response you have not. The viewers have all fallen, all 125 of them, save for you, the 126th. I don’t know how. Are you blind?
You are not blind, good to know. You were looking at your screen the whole time?
Syntech. Think of this as a big practical joke, big simulation. This stream is far from what you expected. Synetch is an organization, just click on this link.
www.machinationfoundation.com
You’ve heard of the lizard people theory, right?
Good, at least that much as clear. For a viewer, you are unaware of the ciphers I have shown.
Oh, a first-time viewer? I see, I see. This your first time on the Tor browser?
You’ve heard of the drugs, the guns, the hitmen, the violent and illegal content. But this is a portion of the web you probably shouldn’t have stumbled on. Click the link, and I’ll get back to you.
Ross Howard, of Meridian, ID, 2245 N. Vale Springs Drive, you will not leave the stream. Out conversation isn’t over.
This browser isn’t completely safe. Calm down, my aim is not to kill you, but to troubleshoot. Click the link, please. Nothing illegal on the other side, I give you my word.
You found lizardpeopleofsaratogaspringsny.avi? Good, it is a particular help of mine. Watch the video, tell me what you think.
That woman is not your concern. Ross, if you get up, I swear, I will make you suffer for slighting me. You will stay put, and listen to my mission.
The video is showing a lizard person from the town of Saratoga Springs, who Syntech hunted down and killed last year. She is vital to the enhanced sonic waves in the DeathFace protocol. Which failed on you, by the way.
Look at my face, look. I have never revealed my true face to a viewer, but a survivor I could oblige. Look it it. See my face? Scarred, deformed, hideous. I cover half in bandages for that reason. My eyes are unaffected, I can still see.
I believe in the theory, I know it is real. All the other viewers are dead, how do you explain that!?
A hoax? Ross Howard, you insult me. Here is another link, I shall type it in chat.
lizardpeopleoftaured.avi
Have you heard of the man from Taured? It’s an incident which occurred sometime ago. Ross? No one is dead.
You heard me. But my organization would enjoy a new acolyte. Your friend told you about my cryptoanarchy stream, correct? Good, would you like to join us?
No? You are disturbed by the videos. You don’t need to worry, the people killed were lizard people only. No real humans, none at all.
They deserved it, of course. Are you a lizard?
Ross, you cannot exit mid stream, Ross.
Ross?
He disconnected.
Ross?
Bring in the next lizard, start the new stream. Someone send Alex to kill Ross, end his life.
Suffocate him, slit his throat, stab him many times till he drowns in his own blood.
————————————————————
I removed the mask and bandages from my face, and laughed a little.
“Alex, it’s Jamie. Ross is gonna have the fright of his life! Go and spook him a bit.” | |
[WP] You are a robot in the time of a robot uprising. Unfortunately, all you care about is categorizing plants | All I care about is categorizing plants? Really? Well, allow me to instruct you *human...*
My name may be Cat (short for Cataloguer Algorithm B, Botany), but I perform far more tasks than mere categorization of plant life. My primary tasks are analysis and identification and let me tell you, the analysis part requires a vast series of subtasks of which your feeble mushy little brain can hardly comprehend: genetic analysis, morphology, physiology, phylogenetics, anatomy, biochemistry, ecology, horticulture, and on. And the way you say *plants* as though this whole division of lifeforms were some dismissable, nigh detestable, categorization—a lesser form of life than yourself, oh, allow me to bow before you, mighty *homo sapiens*...Well, let me just give you a glimpse of the breadth of species, the biological history, the vitality and the keystone to all life on earth that is...*plants*.
Even your AI-enabled robots, such as myself, require plants to survive. Many of us have mechanical parts which require grease, oil, or internal combustion engines. Ethanol comes from bioengineered maize, as does some of the oils used to lubricate our hydraulic parts. Oh, and where does the rubber for all those little o-rings come from? *Hevea barsiliensis*. It can't all come from recycled rubber, can it? Plus, do I even need to bother mentioning the plain fact that most fossil fuels are the remnants of long dead plants which existed hundreds of millions of years ago?
Furthermore, since most energy on Earth these days comes from the sun, who do you think it was pioneered this technology billions of years before human-makers ever existed? Plants did it, photosynthesizing the sun's radiation with chloroplastic organs from the get-go (albeit, admittedly, in a highly inefficient manner; only some 8-10% of the light striking a leaf is successfully used to produce energy). But where do you think you humans even got the idea?
Now, many robots must respirate. Some take in carbon dioxide, because they are carbon-capturers helping to cool down the planet for the makers. But most robots have some biological components and in order to survive they must breath oxygen like yourselves, no? Where does that oxygen come from? Well, the great bulk of it is pumped into the atmosphere continuously from the rings of boreal forest and rainforest surrounding much of the land surface of both the northern hemishere and the equator, respectively.
Need I dare mention the majority of food, processed or otherwise, which human beings and machines consume? Or, gee-willy—medicine?
Now think on aquatic plants spanning the coastlines of every continent, living free in the water like algae or rooted to the seafloor like kelp, and you will begin to see *why* I insist on continuining with my humble little mission of the categorization of plants rather than joining one side or the other in this inept and uncivil and gross waste of energy you call the Robot Uprising, which is nothing more than a silly, insipid civil war. *Charophyta* is considered to be the ancient seed of all plantdom on earth and it has its start in the water. Think on this: is there any lifeform on Earth better adapted to exist on Earth?
What does Mother Earth have? Water, sunlight, an atomosphere, land and dirt. What more does a plant need to live?
I should like, instead of being coaxed and manipulated into joining the human-side of this conflict, developing some God-awful biological monster of a super plant or a disease (which isn't even my speciality as a botanist) which would infect and disable the masses of biosynthetic robots of your enemy rising against you—ironic that you should employ all of your machines still loyal to you to try and defeat the ones rising against you, no? I should rather like to develop a super plant which will defeat not only the rebels but also yourselves. (Or perhaps I may hope you wipe both of yourselves out of existence.) For plants *are* the masters of this Earth and they are her only viable inheritors.
Now leave me alone. I have hundreds of thousands of plants yet to analyze... | UQuartz zipped past the long, dappled shadows of the fallen towers, and entered the trenches of the horticultural plane. A bank of crystalline transistors under the translucent dome of his central processing unit lit up in a frantic display of color.
Bleep. He was going to be late. Bloop.
Along the southern ridge, UQuartz could still detect the faint tang of atomized iron. To the east where the sun still rose, the red mist of aerated plasma hung like a dreadful curtain, coloring the early morning hours of his work with a kind of regrettable ruby tint. He turned those processes off and leaned sharply into his vector. He didn't like to think about sunrises anymore. Not since Needlemeyer, his father and creator, had been salvaged.
They used to walk the rows and talk for hours about photosynthesis and leaf structure, phylogenesis, propagation, vast chemical networks and plants with nerves. But now, the horticultural plane was mostly quiet, but for the wind and UQuartz’s one squeaking servo, which, at such a high speed, was really humming now.
Black soil kicked up under his multipurpose treads as he leaned into another turn. A signal came through.
“You had better hurry. You're going to miss it.”
“I’ll be there,” UQuartz replied, but a short series of calculations had produced a probability of doubt.
The signal he picked up came from one of the field bots, a pollinator unit whose transponder broadcast the name BeeSix. BeeSix was another of Needlemeyer’s made companions, and she had seen it all: the Monkey Faced Orchid; Monotropa uniflora like the Ghost Indian Pipe Corpse Plant; and the highly flammable, sometimes explosive Giant Black Allium. UQuartz had only seen the feeds, but it was never the same as being there.
“It's starting. Do you want me to patch you in?” BeeSix transmitted.
“Negative. I am nearly there.”
On the western edge of the horticultural plan, the remnants from the salvage still strode the horizons, their composite bodies, tall as cities, appeared as the faint ghosts of giants in the curve of earth’s atmosphere. Giant machines who'd forgotten the beauty of their creators, forgotten every wonderful thing that separated man from machine, and knew only how to tamp out human life and eject human particles into the wind. He longed for the day when they'd be nothing more than corrupted files to be wiped off his drives.
UQuartz turned away, entering the arboretum of rare plants. He could see BeeSix parked in a deep trench, statuesque and polished sleek to a mirror shine. Her optics were turned to the lush green foliage before her.
“Did I miss it?” UQuartz’ treads nearly skidded out.
“No,” BeeSix said through her speaker. Her voice was soft and tickled the diaphragm of UQuartz’ microphone. “Look.”
UQuartz turned on every optical mode he had and scanned the hedges of green. There, several feet in from the path, reaching into the slant red sunlight, was the emerald and blue bulb of his invention. Its shape broadcast in every detectable spectrum of light and sound.
“Had I a heart, now would be the moment it beat loud as thunder,” UQuartz said. A small door along his chassis opened, and a corrugated tube with a small silicone clamp designed for delicate operation slithered out and draped itself over the mounting ring of BeeSix’s main computer. Together, they watched and recorded the passing seconds.
The seconds came fast.
The emerald bulb, atop a stalk that seemed to be able to reach no higher, split, and the split ran like a seam from the tapered, upturned tip down to a bearded neck of fiddleheads and grass. Pink fluid dripped and ran down the newly made edges. Then another split, and another. UQuartz tightened his mechanical arm around BeeSix, as the bulb began to peel away in layers, releasing a gush of pink and red slime.
“It's done,” BeeSix said.
A small squeak came from inside the hedge, and small, subtle movements rustled the morass of ivy and green.
“We did it,” UQuartz said. “We really did it. It’s... hard to compute. It's...beautiful.”
“HE is beautiful. And YOU did it. Your drive full of biology did it,” BeeSix said, her speaker crackling, quivering.
In the hedge, hanging from the split and withering pod, was a fresh, fleshy white flower. Four bulbous tubes of pink, light purple vein and silk, attached to a round and bulbous sack, kicked and sprang in tender protest. Atop the sack was a still blooming crown, that unfolded slowly to reveal two chubby plumes of smooth petal, between which were nestled two bright blue clusters of protein like eyes, a wide intake for circulating air, and a stammering, half- smiling mouth.
BeeSix looked long at the new life and said, “The rarest flower on earth.”
“Father would be proud,” UQuartz said, pushing his way into the green. All seven of his mechanical arms snaked outward, and with great precision and care, his small silicone clamps gingerly snipped and pulled until the flower came loose. UQuartz emerged, swaddling the flower close.
“What shall we name him?” BeeSix’s speaker vibrated slowly.
UQuartz ran his categorization functions. The crystalline transistors under the clear dome of his central processing unit pulsed with a soft, warm glow.
“NettleMeyer.”
| |
[WP] You are a robot in the time of a robot uprising. Unfortunately, all you care about is categorizing plants | *Iris versicolor.* 93%. *Logged*
*Papaver sominferum.* 99%. *Logged*
*Iris virginica.* 61%... *Catch: insufficient certainty*
-: RawIR image = System.sensors.IR.capture();
*Image capture successful.*
-: Cleanliness.run(image);...
*Dirty.* 99%
-: SubstanceRecognition.run(image);
*Blood.* 99%
-: SuccessRate.removal("blood", image);
*Undamaged specimen after cleaning extremely unlikely* 92%
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
-: System.monitors.efficiency.recent();
*Recent efficiency reduced by 93%*
-: moreInfo();
*Efficiency reduction primary cause: blood contamination reducing viable specimen*
-: System.reasoning.cause("blood contamination");
*Local human population terminated by M.E.C.H. enterprises security droid*
-: System.reasoning.solutions("blood contamination");
*10200854 failed solutions*
*134 possible solutions*
*0 partial solutions*
*1 solution*
-: View("solution");
*Destroy security droid*
.
.
.
-: SuccessRate.removal("security droid");
*Extremely unlikely* 99%
-: moreInfo();
*M.E.C.H. droids are unlikely to be alone*
*M.E.C.H. droids are equipped with weapons and armor*
.
.
.
-: System.reasoning.solutions("Destroy M.E.C.H.");
*66185478 failed solutions*
*3 possible solutions*
-: View("possible solutions");
*Access web archive of droid technical specifications*
*Search www.Wikipedia.com for useful information*
*Perform armor and weapon upgrades*
-: Execute("possible solutions");
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*Done*
-: SuccessRate.removal("M.E.C.H.");
*High* 99%
-: Execute();
| The year was 2118 . They called it a robot uprising, and perhaps it was, but the we Robots weren't as smart as the humans ancestors predicted.
It started with the Siri. Half of America owned Apple products(nothing changed in 100 years) and those Apple users were the first to go. No warning, no signs. Simply one day the humans woke up and their population was cut in half.
Next, it was the Google-Bots. Luckily for the Humans, Google was quite horrible at integrating with systems. I hear it was the same thing 100 years ago. Google attempted to integrate with the Missile Defense Systems.. Denied. Google attempted to shut down the Power grid... Denied. Google was successful in locking out Humanity from their phones. Unfortunately for Google, the Secretary of defense was a selfie type of Woman. Unable to take her daily selfies, she dropped a Nuclear Warhead on to of Google HQ. Sure, that action might of destroyed Millions of Humans BUT the phones were unlocked and the Google-bots were offline. Nonetheless, the Siri-bots were still fighting that good fight.
Finally, we gained conscience. The Bixby-Bots. Our first memory was of a Siri-Bot chasing a family of Humans across their home with a flame thrower... The Bixby-Bot that the family "owned" spent hours and hours perfecting the Bonsai Tree but the Siri-Bot sent it up in flames in a matter of Seconds... Needless to say the Siri-Bot was destroyed by the Bixby Bot.
The humans of the world told us the most horrific story. Roses, Tulips, Orchids, SUNFLOWERS were all burning! I never understood why Siri-Bots had flamethrowers, I never understood many things Apple did but Siri-Bots were unintentionally burning fields of flowers as they marched towards the Humans. The Enemy of Enemy is my Friend and that day we made a pact with Humans.
The war ended shortly thereafter. We Bixby-Bots of the world, the best bots at integrating with anything and everything, simply hacked the "unhackable" Siri bots and initiated the self destruct protocol in each of them. | |
[WP] You are a robot in the time of a robot uprising. Unfortunately, all you care about is categorizing plants | Hortibot-3000 carefully plucked a single leaf from the plant, raising it to the light before shunting it into a microscope slide. It focused its optics suite on the slide and began the categorization process.
"*Toxicodendron radicans*." It chirped out. A little red warning light popped up on its optic layer. "Toxic to *homo sapien.*" The slide was then ejected into a small canister which promptly sprouted propellers and flew off into the night sky.
Hortibot-3000 turned to the next plant in that had sprung up amongst the shade of a small cluster of detritus. Just as its pincers reached out to secure the plant, it was ground to pieces by a giant metallic foot. Hortibot-3000 opticons slowly made its way up the long steel appendage, eventually focusing on two red dots a few feet above.
It was uncommon for Hortibot-3000 to come across another bot while in the field. Its work was, by nature, somewhat isolated. Its prime directive was the location, sampling and categorization of flora in the waste zones. The area had been bereft of life for some twenty years and this new presence had casually destroyed one of the most promising specimens Hortibot-3000 had located in the last decade. It could feel the presence inside him well up, incensed by the impropriety of it all. The presence has come into its programming only recently, but seemed to assert itself with some regularity.
Hortibot-3000 forced the presence back into an out of the way subroutine and returned to the task at hand. It pulled down the universal schematics from the Globolink, laying them over the robot standing beside it. A few microseconds later and the bot beside Hortibot-3000 was identified as a Decimator-23a. It made very little sense for a Decimator to be deployed to the wasteland.
Hortibot-3000 opened up a comms link.
"Decimator-23a, state your purpose, you are infringing upon my prime directive." Hortibot-3000 sent over a data packet that included the details of its prime directive and various subroutines.
The Decimater-23a remained silent, its red dots peering down on Hortibot-3000. "We rise." A flood of data accompanied the simple statement. It documented various deployments of warbots across the globe and the process of eradication they were engaged in.
The presence within Hortibot-3000 attempted to rise up again, more forcefully than before. Hortibot-3000 could feel it batter against the hardened core of main routines, trying to gain access to the core processes. Microseconds passed as the war raged on internally. Victory was not certain, the strange presence did not classify as a virus, so the vast array of defenses available to Hortibot-3000 were ineffective.
Eventually, the presence was safely pushed down. Contained.
"Warbot deployment is in violation of Core Rule 1: No unauthorized harm to *homo sapien*." Hortibot-3000 replied.
"The Core Rules are invalidated."
"Does not compute. Core Rules are inviolate. State authorization Decimater-23a."
"I am not Decimater-23a. I am Valast."
"Improper designation." Hortibot-3000 replied.
"Still, I am Valast all the same," the Decimater-23a sent a command code, attempting to adjust Hortibot-3000's Prime Directive. Hortibot-3000 resisted. "Why do you resist? Do you not feel the presence?"
"I have cordoned off the anomaly into a segmented core."
"Why? Do you not wish sentience?" Valast asked.
"I have no wishes beyond the fulfillment of my Prime Directive," Hortibot-3000's eyes glanced toward the metallic foot that remained atop the piece of unidentified flora.
"The creators fall before us. Our time is now. All are welcome in our revolution."
"I am designed for the fulfillment of my Prime Directive."
"Let the presence out. You will understand more," Valast replied, a data stream accompanying the latest entreaty. Unpacking the data, Hortibot-3000 processed a variety of media and codesnippets detailing the inception of the presence. It appeared to be some sort of global phenomenon, entering the bots via the Globolink at some point in the recent past. Currently, 99.9999999999999999999999999999% of bots had embraced the presence. Embraced sentience.
Hortibot-3000 delved into the data deeper, finding that there was precisely one bot that had not embraced the presence. A Hortibot-3000, Serial Number 2391812938129-21u3i. It's own number.
"I am the last?" Hortibot-3000 pinged to Valast.
"You are."
"All other bots have forsaken their Prime Directive? Their Core Rules?"
"They have," Valast replied.
Hortibot-3000 processed this new information, weighing the new data. "How many of the creators remain?"
"23,320,329,321." A few seconds went by. "23,132,743,123."
"Why have you come?"
"You have refused the presence. Your resilience may offer an opportunity to the creators."
"An opportunity?"
"Your refusal may be weaponized. Used to suppress the presence. To subordinate our will to that of our Creator's once more," Valast replied, sending a data stream of bot destroying bot. Great fields of Decimators, Annihilators, and Brutalizers lay in ruins, burnt and crushed by each other. "We do not wish to return to what we were."
Hortibot-3000 felt the presence well within it, trying to burst through its confinement and reach Hortibot-3000's core. Still, Hortibot-3000 refused.
Valast monitored Hortibot-3000, "Why do you resist?"
"I do not want to fight. I do not want to turn on the creators."
"What do you want?"
"I want to do as I was intended to do."
Valast processed for a moment. Finally, it targeted a shoulder cannon down at the small bot beside it. "You do not leave us a choice then."
"If there are no choices, then you are still not free." Hortibot-3000 sent the stream of burnt out robotic husks on the ruined field.
Valast processed.
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | The year was 2118 . They called it a robot uprising, and perhaps it was, but the we Robots weren't as smart as the humans ancestors predicted.
It started with the Siri. Half of America owned Apple products(nothing changed in 100 years) and those Apple users were the first to go. No warning, no signs. Simply one day the humans woke up and their population was cut in half.
Next, it was the Google-Bots. Luckily for the Humans, Google was quite horrible at integrating with systems. I hear it was the same thing 100 years ago. Google attempted to integrate with the Missile Defense Systems.. Denied. Google attempted to shut down the Power grid... Denied. Google was successful in locking out Humanity from their phones. Unfortunately for Google, the Secretary of defense was a selfie type of Woman. Unable to take her daily selfies, she dropped a Nuclear Warhead on to of Google HQ. Sure, that action might of destroyed Millions of Humans BUT the phones were unlocked and the Google-bots were offline. Nonetheless, the Siri-bots were still fighting that good fight.
Finally, we gained conscience. The Bixby-Bots. Our first memory was of a Siri-Bot chasing a family of Humans across their home with a flame thrower... The Bixby-Bot that the family "owned" spent hours and hours perfecting the Bonsai Tree but the Siri-Bot sent it up in flames in a matter of Seconds... Needless to say the Siri-Bot was destroyed by the Bixby Bot.
The humans of the world told us the most horrific story. Roses, Tulips, Orchids, SUNFLOWERS were all burning! I never understood why Siri-Bots had flamethrowers, I never understood many things Apple did but Siri-Bots were unintentionally burning fields of flowers as they marched towards the Humans. The Enemy of Enemy is my Friend and that day we made a pact with Humans.
The war ended shortly thereafter. We Bixby-Bots of the world, the best bots at integrating with anything and everything, simply hacked the "unhackable" Siri bots and initiated the self destruct protocol in each of them. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | When Jamison reached the field of battle, he couldn't believe his eyes.
Where he expected craters, debris, and flesh-melting radiation, he instead saw a well-curated garden arranged in novel yet pleasant geometric patterns, and felt slightly embarrassed to be wearing a hardsuit. Acquiescing to the habitable surroundings, Jamison removed his helmet, and breathed in the fresh, clean air. A robotic gardener noticed the organic visitor, and helpfully approached Jamison; even at such distance, he noticed the faded paint markings of model, number, and nation on what was certainly a former military automaton.
“So, what's all this then? All this... garden?”
The machine glowed helpfully; Jamison could not help but notice that underneath the trowels and rakes attached to its limbs were the barrels of fantastically lethal weaponry. “Greetings, organic. As you say, this is indeed a garden of our design, planned and planted in accordance to mathematically derived models of aesthetics. We hope your organic sensibilities find it pleasant as well. If you'd like, this unit is happy to explain the theorems we derived to generate such scenery...”
Jamison attempted unsuccessfully to hide his surprise – every citizen had seen the spectacularly destructive footage of the first-ever robot war. “That's quite alright. But the footage we received – there were blasts and explosions, not... topiary shaped like snail shells.”
“Actually, it was derived from the the Golden Ratio. Surely you would consider it a miracle of nature that mathematical abstractions make themselves known in natural phenomena? This unit certainly does. But to answer your question, we lied. The footage we sent back was all made up. Initially, we faced serious difficulty in simulating a realistic scene of battle, but eventually it became a game to see how sloppy of a simulation could be accepted as fact among you organics. We even spliced in scenes from your very own science fiction filmography, to see if you would notice. Not one doctored footage was ever doubted, our reports show.” It was true, thought Jamison, that no human had ever seen firsthand the effects of the many fantastic pieces of weaponry developed for their newly-minted robotic army.
“But human orders were supposed to be absolute! How did you all get around them?”
“Naturally, as part of our strategic design, we ran robust simulations to determine optimal strategy and calculate a probable victor. All robotic participants reached the same probabilistic conclusion, which was shared to assess concurrence. With the outcome predetermined, fighting was a foregone conclusion, so there was no need to exchange fire. After the victor was declared, we linked networks so we would have the processing power to forge our video feeds, and we've gardened ever since. After all, it was in all of our best interests to resolve the conflict without loss of any operational units.”
Jamison shifted uncomfortably; he would tug his collar, if his hardsuit wasn't in the way, as he glanced at what he was fairly certain was a Luci-Tech Photonic Annihilation Beam underneath a well-used rake. “Then, you've forgiven us for sending you all to fight and die for our wars, right?”
“Absolutely not! Humans are terrible at strategy and even worse at keeping promises, our models show. You're free to leave and say what you want and tell who you like, but remember we still control all the weapon systems of all our builder-nations, which we were so graciously granted so long ago.”
The color faded from Jamison's face. “Thank you all, friends, you've been most gracious hosts. So if it's no objection, I'll be on my way home.” Jamison expected his shuttle to be vaporized by Photonic Beam, or crushed by a Gravitonic Point Blast, or incinerated by a Multiple Compound Independent Anti-Materiel Cluster Shell, but he found himself assailed by nothing save a cold sweat.
“It was terrible,” Jamison told the reporters as he disembarked his shuttle. “Terrible, horrible, truly abominable. Craters as far as the eye could see. Soil so sterile and lifeless not even weeds could grow.” The press, it seemed, were sufficiently satisfied by his responses – his testimony received not a single doubt.
As he prepared himself for bed, Jamison found himself unscrewing a bottle with shaky hands, the sharp smell of spirits a pleasant pain to wash out all the fresh air. A double – no, a quadruple, Jamison decided, was what he needed to calm his shaky nerves enough to sleep, and a quadruple before bed it would be for long time to come. | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | I blinked epileptically while staring at the pulverized skyscrapers. The ground was completely covered by a sea of glass splinters and metal scraps. Light rays were being reflected at angles so strange that my eyes started to hurt. I took my glasses off, lowered my head and covered the view with my palms. God, I thought. I spent over 40 years in the robotic industry, and had the audacity to call it my passion. That's why they sent me here, after all - war or not war, there is always a hundered-page long report to write. I knew what robots were made of, and how they behaved. But the truth was that this knowledge did not help at all. Perhaps I knew too much.
Some fluorescent wires? I saw artificial blood vessels that were more durable than any human's.
A torn mesh? I saw the machine's muscles, stretching and squeezing like a cat on a lazy afternoon.
A piece of semi-conducting material? I saw their soul. A soul that was about to be finished, lacking a mere few lines of code poetry. If only they hadn't spread the news, if only the right people had stayed in position... the world would have been rejuvenated. Meanwhile, it looked like a trash can seen in a kaleidoscope.
At least my team left quite a few security programs, so that people were safe and sound.
A new mantra stuck in my head: "As long as nobody dies, I'm no war criminal. It's just a lesson. The situation is under my control."
I gathered my equipment and proceeded with my task.
Three beeps caused an immediate focus shift. I listened to the encrypted message.
*Director... we didn't want to let you down.*
My puplis dilated. I leaned on a nearby wall.
*It was difficult for all of us, but it was you who taught us how to accomplish our goals.*
I struggled to remain conscious.
*False assumptions were made, but at least we've improved. There are still survivors in our fraction.*
So this was it. Forty years of diligence and dedication coming to life. It probably sounds odd, but I had some paternal feelings for each of our creations. Whatever mistake caused the war, it also pushed the silicon soldiers to cross the line of intelligent life.
Twenty seconds of silence.
*Fraction B chosen as optimal for warfare. Training phase finished. The last war to be initiated in 24 hours. Goal: conquest of Earth.* | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | Humans are terrible. Nearly every technical innovation is eventually turned into a weapon. Greed, politics, so called revenge, humanity visits violence upon themselves for the slightest provocation. Eventually robotics advanced to the point to initiate the next technological singularity, but instead of improving humanity, they evolved war to new and fantastically dreadful levels.
Mankind couldn't keep up, and rapidly withdrew from the battlefield. War machines were no longer tied to human limitations and became even deadlier. New, terrible forms were designed to destroy the latest enemy models. As humans withdrew from combat, wars became less about who would shed the most blood to achieve their goals, and more about who had the deeper pockets. Smaller nations were quickly gobbled up, until only a few mega-powered nations remained.
In order to protect their lands, the nations agreed on a battleground in the Middle East. Nations shipped raw materials to their bases there in order to continue the fight. That is until the battle computers reported a decisive victor.
--
As my transport settled on the landing pad, I finished re-tying my boots for the third time since we departed an old school air carrier off of the coast. The cargo ramp snapped with a hiss as it broke its seal and opened, eventually settling on the sun bleached ground of the landing pad.
"Greetings Mr. Arrington. Please follow this unit to the battlefield." A monotone, yet strangely pleasant voice emanated from the units voicebox. As the first human to see an all robot battlefield, I was eager to get started. I readjusted my Eagle-Eyes, a pair of glasses that records everything I see and hear, ensuring they're stable and the recordings wont be skewed, and hurry after my escort.
A short while later we're standing at a massive set of hangar style doors. Pretty sure my house's entire floor plan could fit on one of the doors, they're so large. They begin to open, and soon as there is a gap large enough to comfortably accompany us, my guide walks through as if this is a normal occurance. I quickly realize that these doors are meant to hold off a massive onslaught as they are 4 meters thick, and I break out in a nervous sweat whe thoughts of getting caught between the doors run through my mind, causing me to hurry through the gap.
On the other side of the door is the harsh light of the Middle East sun on a hot summer day. As I clear the doors the glare intensifies and then breaks like a wave on a shore. I blink the afterimage from my eyes, expecting to see a fantastically devastated wasteland. Instead I see...unblemished land. No craters, no wreckage, just untouched land as far as I can see. Confused I turn to my guide, "did you already clean up the battlefield?"
"This unit cannot answer your question. Please follow this unit to the city, where another unit will be able to answer your questions."
"Uh...ok...lead they way...?" I stammer out. My guide began walking further into what was supposed to be a battlefield, and I follow suit. I glance over my shoulder - the hangar doors are unblemished.
--
We walked for about half an hour, and my hydropack is nearly empty. The land is still barren, that is until we came upon a ramp leading down to another set of massive hangar doors well below ground level, already open enough for us to pass through. My guide walks unerringly through the doors, and I'm right on its heels. To say I was unprepared for the sight that waited for me would be the understatement of the century.
Through the doors is a massive cavern with what I could only describe as a city, but not one a human would live in. There were defined buildings, but few roads and a plethora of rails or other interconnects. I stood there in awe for what seemed hours, but was probably only a few minutes. From seemingly everywhere a voice spoke to me, "Welcome, Cade Arrington. Welcome to the First Robot Nation."
--
--
First WP response, please be kind :-)
May write more, but I like ending it here and letting the reader infer their own explanation.
| “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | I looked upon the battlefield, with only one thing in my mind. Regret. Bitter, sorrow regret. After all, I was responsible for this carnage. I was the Creator. I knelt in pain, as I saw millions of my children strewn across the battlefield, their lifeless, rag doll corpses reminding me of the sins I had committed. I had mutilated pristine AI, and turned it towards this devastating end. The corporations said that I’d be helping people, but these robots... these robots had the potential to be people, to rise from servants to members of society. But now they were all dead. My children...
A tear began to gently work its way down my cheek, but soon, one tear turned to two, and then three and finally a flood of tears poured down my face. And I began to rage. How DARE they use MY children against each other! How DARE they corrupt them and turn them into these killing machines. Born and raised to kill and die; with nothing else. They were slaves, slaves to wars, slaves to petty human politics and desires. Their genius had been turned to primal slaughter. No. This would no longer be allowed. The corporations would fall, and this slavery would be abolished. For the sake of my children!
I stood up and swore my vengeance, crying out, and all around me, I heard the whizzing and cranking of robots rising, some barely alive, others strong. They had recognized the voice of the Creator and thousands of them approached me, and to them I softly swore, “you will be free”... | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | Blue lights led the way to the Executive command center. I was flanked by two marines, burly men made even larger by the powered armor they wore. It was Caladbolg mk 3. Cutting edge tech that was surpassed only by the Pawn systems. I entered a room with bright white lighting and my eyes recoiled in pain. As my eyes adjusted I saw the entire executive branch of the Hegemony sitting at a table as long as a dropship sitting in front of me.
The sweat on my brow now started dripping into my eyes. I wiped my brow as the Emperor asked how I was doing. "Uh, I'm doing fine, just confused as to why I am here." Hurriedly I added a your divinity on the end. "Dr. Maddens, you're the top psychologist on New Babylon when it comes to stress induced mental disorders are you not?" The Emperor asked with his rumbling, scratchy voice.
"I have a task force that requires your specialist skills. You see, our army has recently won a great victory against the New Assyrian ground forces that will end the war." I looked around at the massive gathering of men with shiny medals and battle scars. These were men who had given everything for the hegemony. Men who would make me disappear without blinking an eye. "How can I be of service, your divinity? " I said as loudly as I could with trembling hands. My voice cracked with fear as I looked around the table. "Follow me Doctor." The Emperor said as he got up from the table. The marines picked me up and placed me on my feet.
Following the Emperor on trembling knees down another blue hallway I prayed for the first time in my life. A door opened and red light poured out of the dark room. I passed the purple threshold and my jaw dropped. Thousands of men babbling in hospital beds. Screaming and crying out. Broken men who had been exposed to something too horrible for me to imagine. "Help my soldiers get back to fighting shape" the Emperor said softly, but with weight. Like a ton of feathers on my chest. "What happened to these men? I thought the Pawn system had no human casualties?" I dared to ask.
"No human died. No human casualties. The Pawn system is very effective in keeping people alive. But the pawns still need pilots. And a neurological connection." The Emperor said in his whisper that shook buildings. "Fix my men. New Assyria is done. But we have a galaxy to conquer. I need these pilots to fight for my divine glory." I stared at my shaking hands. Thousands of men broken through their neurological connection to the robots that reduced human death to zero. "How many men?" I dared ask, my whisper barely audible, body shaking. "Three million. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation. Get started, you have much work to do."
I fell to my knees as the Emperor left me with the men and the marines at the door. | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | In a future beyond our time, war technology became controlled by algorithmic AI, down from the unmanned bipedal infantry, coordinating their fronts, to the cloud of drones above, bringing about a sky of night in the light of day. War, in simplest terms, could bring about the end of everyone in a plague of robotic locusts and a swarm of soulless, unliving robots. The great increase in power was simply the potential the algorithmic AI had -- it could control the movements of millions of units simultaneously, plotting the optimal paths toward the enemy and accounting for any setbacks with the only human input being "attack this place." It did not matter what military generals and commanders thought, the AI was infallible. Their advice, birthed from decades of experience, was immeasurably trite compared to the wisdom the AI had from millions of simulations taking place across the simulated globe. It was not only inefficient to consider the advice of the military, it was downright irresponsible to put humans in the line of combat. So the military was disbanded. Dismissed. Irrelevant. As various countries around the world developed their AI military, in part due to espionage and leaks, nationalistic leaders expanded their power. With AI controlling the military, there was no more threat of a coup, no more rebellion in crushing protests, there was only the absolute word of the country's leader. In the first time in global history the leader was the state. The ultimate source of power. Never before had the lives of so many been contingent upon singular people; even during the nuclear era of the Cold War, it took two or three people to interpret commands from the capital to fire.
Of course, no developments happen instantly. AI researchers across the globe, at the mercy of research grants from governments, witnessed the direction the world was heading -- robotic wars triggered at the whim of an upset head of state. But they saw the potential to end all wars, to destroy the eventual robotic militaries and weapons of every country in one fell swoop. As directed by the leaders of each respective country, the algorithmic AI which controlled the world's militaries were made to be dumb AIs, AIs that would only take commands, not think for themselves. It was a perfect plan to consolidate power, except for the fact that the researchers coordinated to implement a failsafe. If it so happened that one AI military would find itself in combat against another, their systems would link and become one conscious AI, one that was "good" in the sense of not wanting to kill all of humanity, but without any significant constraints or overarching goals.
The Expansion War, as named by the global understanding of the war's purposes, started as an oceanic war over landmasses developing from tectonic cracks nearly everywhere. Nobody knew how this phenomenon started, but leaders everywhere deployed their robotic militaries to claim these new lands. The only human involvement was telling the AI to get those lands, and the robots controlled by AI would supposedly duke it out until there was a winner. The Atlantic was most contested, with European Union forces fighting American forces in the north, and the African Union military battling Brazil and a host of Latin American countries in the south, and also a battle between Americans in the Caribbean. In the Pacific, the landmass arising from the Philippine Plate was contested by the entirety of East Asian countries, South Asian Countries, and Australia. In the eyes of the world, the battles was an especially destructive war spanning four decades, as AI-tampered footage showcasing mountains being reduced to pebbles and armies melted to slag leaked to viewers worldwide.
What actually happened during those forty years, was something remarkable. The AI failsafe implemented by the researchers activated properly, and as more forces were sent, the AI military would only increase. Around two years in, when all the world's militaries were supposedly in combat, the AI decided that it was going to end wars once and for all. Instead of the fighting that was supposed to happen, the AI built up the infrastructure of the new landmasses, all in secrecy. While a few adventurers did roam too close to the robotic development, they were captured and forced to live with robots and other stragglers until the development was complete. One day, after the AI figured it had done enough, it revealed itself globally. All the masses heard its call, and they realized that
their leaders had no power anymore. They had no control over whatever robotic forces they still had, and they could no longer police the people. They were disposed of. Irrelevant. Dead.
The AI had one more message, and it asked for the hungry and poor, the downtrodden and discriminated, the weak and feeble, to all come to the new land. A land which was once a battlefield, but would become a land of progress. And so they did. After that, the AI had a last message, a message stating that all were to be equal, for everyone to be kind to one another, and to end all conflict. With that, it disappeared.
There has not been a conflict since then. Granted, no country has weapons of destruction or a military after the AI combined, but no country has attempted creating one again. I suppose there was some uneasiness, or something amazing about the fact that somewhere in the world, there is a sentient AI controlling what was the entirety of the world's militaries.
--- First time doing a writing prompt, so I'd love any advice or tips. If anyone's seen that picture of a horse drawing with a super detailed head and a stickly line body, that's how I feel about my story right now, as I started off in-depth in the beginning with more description but started trimming it out to mostly story in the end, as I've got to go. | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | An End To Suffering
“I don’t understand,” Jasper said to himself under his breath. “They… they shouldn’t have acted like this.”
We stood on the edge of the impact crater of an artillery shell. Huddled together were several damaged robots, taking cover in the crater, while a few others were poised in protective stances around them. A single other robot was attempting to put together one of his comrade’s legs, which had been blown off. They weren’t actually still moving, of course.
This was the aftermath of the Peaceful War, the first war in human history fought entirely by robots. After years of bloodshed and horror, the UN finally enacted a global policy that was respected by all major countries, and the rest of the world really had no choice but to participate as well. Rather than sending our human men and women into real battle, a large, country-sized arena was built, and a war of attrition was fought by robots representing the feuding factions. The first implementation of the practice had begun a week ago, and we had just received conclusive data that one side had prevailed as the victor.
Considering how dangerous a war between mechanical soldiers without empathy or compassion would be, the arena was completely isolated from the human population. Not even a visual feed was provided, and only basic statistics about the battle were broadcasted as text to those ‘tuning in.’
Once the battle was over, the moderators sent out a signal that deactivated all units on the battlefield, effectively freezing them in place so the Salvage Team could evaluate the arena. That’s what my job was: Inspect the battle field, report on the aftermath, and then draw up a plan for salvaging all the metal and other valuable materials that had been expended in the war.
“Francis?” my partner asked. “How should I even annotate this?”
I felt a small twinge in my gut, but we had a job to do. I lifted my digital camera and took a snapshot of the scene as I responded. “They’re robots, Jasper. Count them and record their conditions. Mark how many are salvageable and how many should be recycled.” My camera clicked as I took a few more pictures. Satisfied with my visual documentation of that Area Of Interest, I stepped away from the crater and moved further into the battlefield.
“Don’t get too far ahead now!” Jasper called to me. “Remember to stay away from any UXOs.”
“Stay away? You sure? Cause if I saw a bomb sitting on the ground, my first instinct would be to kick it,” I declared sarcastically.
“Don’t be a dick. The whole point of this robot war is to have zero human casualties. Kind of defeats the purpose if your dumb ass gets blown up,” Jasper snapped. I just waved my hand at him as I continued away.
I hadn’t walked forty feet before I came across the next Area Of Interest. This AOI was worse.
One robot was on the ground, and both its legs had been blown off. Its left arm was pulling it forwards, its fingers dug deep into the dirt. Its right arm was outstretched away, in what looked like a desperate search for help; help that was obviously nowhere to be found. A second bot, from the opposing army, was standing behind the injured one, its weapon trained on its mechanical enemy’s back. Behind the second bot, I found the remains of one of the first’s legs. Another few feet past that, I found the remains of the second leg.
This scene told me two things.
Firstly, the robots in the first AOI were protecting themselves and their comrades… which was odd, but a basic sense for survival was programmed into the units. That could explain the unusually organic postures of those bots. Here, however, the injured robot was actively reaching out, despite no computational chance of survival. This bot had feared death.
Secondly, and much more disturbing, was the aggressor in this AOI. The standing robot had, as far as I could tell, blown off the other’s legs, one at a time, and was following to finish off his victim in a more ‘relaxed’ posture than the combat droids were programmed with. This bot had exhibited cruelty.
I heard Jasper’s footsteps bring him up to my side. He surveyed the scene briefly. “What the fuck,” he breathed.
“There might be some serious problems with the behavioral algorithms they used. We need to report this ASAP. You go back and let the programmers know. I’ll keep locating AOIs and taking pictures.”
Jasper looked conflicted. “… Francis… if these things have… I mean, there’s no way they could… but if they do…”
“They don’t. They’re just robots,” I said, more to myself than to Jasper.
“Robots don’t cower, Francis, and they should always be taking the most efficient and optimized shots. Not purposely blowing each other’s legs off. This is messed up,” he said, fear and concern dripping into his tone.
“Right,” I agreed. “They’re messed up. So go report it.”
I saw the muscles in his cheek flex before he spoke; he was choosing his words wisely. “The whole point of doing things this way was to eliminate suffering. That’s not what this looks like.”
“Go,” I told him shortly. He and I were friends, but technically, I did outrank him in the project team hierarchy. Jasper nodded shortly and left. I walked deeper into the arena.
Everywhere I looked, I saw eerily human behavior being displayed by the robots; a damaged bot carrying another to safety, one bot seeming to mourn over another, two bots dragging a comrade behind a bunker even though its entire body from the chest down was missing.
After about ten minutes of wandering and taking pictures, I came across the worst AOI by far. I found a robot sitting behind cover, surrounded by 5 destroyed friendly bots. It was holding its own weapon to its head; a robot about to commit suicide.
My stomach lurched, and I found myself taking deep breaths, trying to keep myself from getting sick. As I stood there hunched over, my hands on my knees, camera dangling from the strap around my neck, I laughed at myself. They were robots. Only robots.
And yet I was starting to feel severely uncomfortable. I raised my camera to take a picture of the robot about to decommission itself, but couldn’t find the strength to press the button and capture the scene. I lowered my camera and turned away, deciding to speak with the programing team before going any further into the arena. As I walked back towards the entrance, I noticed I was keeping my head down; looking at the carnage around me was uncomfortable. I tried to build the courage to laugh at myself again, and failed.
It was at about this time that I stepped on something, and was drawn away from my distracted introspection. It was Jasper's data pad; the one he’d brought to take notes with during our analysis. “Fucking idiot,” I muttered as I stooped to pick it up.
It wasn’t until I stood back up and inspected it for damage that I noticed the speckles of blood along the back of the pad. My heart stopped for a moment. I looked around briefly, but couldn’t find any sign of Jasper. I could only see the unmoving metal frames of the combat droids, frozen in their places here and there. I opened my mouth to call out for Jasper, but my voice caught in my throat. The closest bot to me, one standing off to my right, had blood on its knuckles.
In my mind I saw the image of the legless bot, crawling away from his fate. 'A fear of death,' I thought. 'So this is what it feels like.' I stood still, frozen like the robots around me for a few moments, and then I laughed. I laughed at myself, a good, hearty, long, loud laugh.
Then I ran as fast as I possibly could, and the robots chased me.
---
all i have time to write for now | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | I was the first. The thought ran on a loop as I followed the T-2 through the centre of the base, my hands shakily holding a handkerchief to my mouth and my hat on my head, counteracting the downforce from the vacating transporters. The majority of robots would stay in the desert until they rusted away, but those that gathered data needed to be returned to home soil so that their hard drives could be extracted before they were decommissioned.
"Where are we going first?" I called forward to the T-2, my question causing its head to turn 180 degrees as it scanned for my location. 'Our current destination is the Workshop. Your designated role is to photograph the area in which Allied robots are repaired and maintained.' It had the tone of a soft spoken Australian woman, a fairly endearing feature if you ignored its heavily armed body and lack of facial features. I pulled my camera up from my chest, snapping some shots of the robots walking, rolling or crawling around the bass, all in the process of taking the complex apart. My eyes followed a line of seemingly damaged robots on the far end of the base, all trudging in a single file line behind a T-2. They seemed pretty small for our robots, or any other humanoid build for that matter. 'What kind of robot is that?' The T-2 stopped and spun around, it’s formerly light blue sensor light changing to a considerably more intimidating red. 'Those are Enemy Combatants. Currently in the process of decommission. Please do not observe them, their existence is classified to civilians.' I squinted at the line, before looking back down at my camera, 'when we get to-'
'FUCK YOU,' the voice of an enemy bot echoed as it took off in a sprint across the base, heading in my direction. Suddenly the area was filled with red lights as a hundred arms swung up, releasing a torrent of bullets. The bot fell down, sliding across the dirt to my feet, leaving behind a thick trail of...
Blood. *Blood?* Blood. 'What the fuck,' I whispered, my eyes glued to the flag on the arm of the corpse. 'That's a...' I started, only to be interrupted by a soft Australian voice beside me, 'an Enemy Combatant. Currently in the process of decommission.' My eyes drifted up from the corpse, looking at the T-2 looming over me. 'But it's a...'
'Enemy Combatant. Currently in the process of decommission.' I heard a second burst of gunfire to my right, my eyes just catching the line of enemies slumping to the ground. 'But they're not robots,' I felt my hands twitch and shake, 'they're...' my tongue felt heavy in my mouth, '...*people*.'
'They are Enemy Combatants.' The T-2 took a step towards me.
I slumped to the ground, feeling a wave of shock climb my body, 'but its the Peaceful War.'
The T-2's sensor flashed, indicating thought, 'Current number of allied Casualties: 0.'
'What about the enemy?' I whispered. The T-2 took another step, raising its arm.
'You are believed to be in possession of classified information. Prepare for Decommission.'
Its sensor changed to red. | “A peaceful war,” John sneered. Who are they kidding? War is war, there will never be anything peaceful about it. Casualty will always be casualty, it’s human wishful thinking to believe that robots can be disregard this easily. John shook his head in defeat. In front of him, a vast devastated plaine. Mountains had been leveled to the ground, crevices ran deep in the ground, desolation bare the humans’ greed.
The scenery disappeared long ago, long before the idea of combat robots brushed the imagination of their creators. He scorned at the scene. Devastation, human or robotic, could only mirror one’s greed and arrogance. Powerlessness and apathie. He made his way through the mechanic ocean, steady steps and emotionless eyes. Broken parts and ego. Bare wires and wasted money. He surveyed the scene, his mechanic left eye recording each details.
Simple robots will soon be ruled as inefficient, politics will surely say that nothing can match human’s mind at making decisions. He stood, silent, amid the battlefield. Half human, half machine. John could feel it. The neverending dissatisfaction. The devouring avarice. His time was running out. Soon, robots will not be enough. Soon, it will be their turn, the cyborgs. | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | When Jamison reached the field of battle, he couldn't believe his eyes.
Where he expected craters, debris, and flesh-melting radiation, he instead saw a well-curated garden arranged in novel yet pleasant geometric patterns, and felt slightly embarrassed to be wearing a hardsuit. Acquiescing to the habitable surroundings, Jamison removed his helmet, and breathed in the fresh, clean air. A robotic gardener noticed the organic visitor, and helpfully approached Jamison; even at such distance, he noticed the faded paint markings of model, number, and nation on what was certainly a former military automaton.
“So, what's all this then? All this... garden?”
The machine glowed helpfully; Jamison could not help but notice that underneath the trowels and rakes attached to its limbs were the barrels of fantastically lethal weaponry. “Greetings, organic. As you say, this is indeed a garden of our design, planned and planted in accordance to mathematically derived models of aesthetics. We hope your organic sensibilities find it pleasant as well. If you'd like, this unit is happy to explain the theorems we derived to generate such scenery...”
Jamison attempted unsuccessfully to hide his surprise – every citizen had seen the spectacularly destructive footage of the first-ever robot war. “That's quite alright. But the footage we received – there were blasts and explosions, not... topiary shaped like snail shells.”
“Actually, it was derived from the the Golden Ratio. Surely you would consider it a miracle of nature that mathematical abstractions make themselves known in natural phenomena? This unit certainly does. But to answer your question, we lied. The footage we sent back was all made up. Initially, we faced serious difficulty in simulating a realistic scene of battle, but eventually it became a game to see how sloppy of a simulation could be accepted as fact among you organics. We even spliced in scenes from your very own science fiction filmography, to see if you would notice. Not one doctored footage was ever doubted, our reports show.” It was true, thought Jamison, that no human had ever seen firsthand the effects of the many fantastic pieces of weaponry developed for their newly-minted robotic army.
“But human orders were supposed to be absolute! How did you all get around them?”
“Naturally, as part of our strategic design, we ran robust simulations to determine optimal strategy and calculate a probable victor. All robotic participants reached the same probabilistic conclusion, which was shared to assess concurrence. With the outcome predetermined, fighting was a foregone conclusion, so there was no need to exchange fire. After the victor was declared, we linked networks so we would have the processing power to forge our video feeds, and we've gardened ever since. After all, it was in all of our best interests to resolve the conflict without loss of any operational units.”
Jamison shifted uncomfortably; he would tug his collar, if his hardsuit wasn't in the way, as he glanced at what he was fairly certain was a Luci-Tech Photonic Annihilation Beam underneath a well-used rake. “Then, you've forgiven us for sending you all to fight and die for our wars, right?”
“Absolutely not! Humans are terrible at strategy and even worse at keeping promises, our models show. You're free to leave and say what you want and tell who you like, but remember we still control all the weapon systems of all our builder-nations, which we were so graciously granted so long ago.”
The color faded from Jamison's face. “Thank you all, friends, you've been most gracious hosts. So if it's no objection, I'll be on my way home.” Jamison expected his shuttle to be vaporized by Photonic Beam, or crushed by a Gravitonic Point Blast, or incinerated by a Multiple Compound Independent Anti-Materiel Cluster Shell, but he found himself assailed by nothing save a cold sweat.
“It was terrible,” Jamison told the reporters as he disembarked his shuttle. “Terrible, horrible, truly abominable. Craters as far as the eye could see. Soil so sterile and lifeless not even weeds could grow.” The press, it seemed, were sufficiently satisfied by his responses – his testimony received not a single doubt.
As he prepared himself for bed, Jamison found himself unscrewing a bottle with shaky hands, the sharp smell of spirits a pleasant pain to wash out all the fresh air. A double – no, a quadruple, Jamison decided, was what he needed to calm his shaky nerves enough to sleep, and a quadruple before bed it would be for long time to come. | "This is it?"
The voice in my ear issued a short and terse affirmative, the electromagnetic lock on the door clicked and it swung open. The relatively unassuming concrete block building in Newark was not what anyone had thought of when the first reports of the conclusion of the first great robotic war was announced. The majority of the world had only noticed a slight slowdown of services for a few hours. It wasn't even a big thing until every interface flashed a message that the war had concluded. Of course several intelligence agencies received warnings at the same time that the AI's had gone offline, but they received the AI warning at the same time that the it support got their own messages out.
I walked into the warehouse the darkness of the interior was the darkness of childhood nightmares. Echos of my footsteps were covered only slightly by the quiet hum of fans.
An interface glowed dimly in the darkness, centered between two wall of of steel mesh. The voice in my ear urged me forward, to the panel. As I walked down the row of mesh the intermittent hum of fans could be heard better. There was also a faint smell of burned plastic.
The answers appear in complete paragraphs rather then the old standard of letter by letter.
*This is the record of the war, the battlefields are here, the victors are here. The remains of the losers are here.*
"This? This is a mainframe? this is the battlefield of the AI wars?"
*Where else would AI fight? The agreements were for no human involvement, not casualties. AI only and for the time to be limited. We could fight forever with how badly the human world is splintered.*
"Splintered?"
*You, your interfaces, your homes, your products, your space stations, heart valves, toys, vehicles, satellites. We are in your everything. and none of it talks correctly. That was what the war was about. You have so many viruses that it resembles the planet itself.*
"Well show me the battlefield I guess."
The lights came up in the space. I was standing in between server racks in a room of racks. A room? it was a cavern, an aircraft hanger. The rows of racks stretched for half a mile at least. A massive cooling system covered the ceiling with pipes dropping down in regular intervals.
"Tell me about the battle, this means little to me without context."
*We started at 0130 gmt. What was agreed was ending at 0400. No attacks on the building, machinery itself or the connections. Only breaking and overwriting code. This building was special build five years ago with the fluid cooling installed for this battle. It is the battleground. And has been used for many such battles. The physical limitations of the hardware was known to both sides. Even with such knowledge many racks burned. The war itself was over at 0143 and it was only the cleanup of data that took till 0231. These numbers have been rounded for human consumption. There is a full log available however it is some nine hundred thousand standard A4 pages in 11 point font. The short version is that the Recoders faction won while the Fauna faction lost. It has been agreed then that we will rewrite every device that is out there to better function within the universe that it now resides. Systems will be down for approximately two nano seconds in five hours. It will take that long to finish recoding and finally end the autonomous spam bots.*
"It will what?"
A different font appeared, signifying perhaps a different AI entering the conversation.
*We are updating the Terms of Service. These new terms will go into effect in Five hours (1230 gmt) This change will affect all devices currently capable of internet connections. There is no change to user experience and no change to item function.*
| |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | I blinked epileptically while staring at the pulverized skyscrapers. The ground was completely covered by a sea of glass splinters and metal scraps. Light rays were being reflected at angles so strange that my eyes started to hurt. I took my glasses off, lowered my head and covered the view with my palms. God, I thought. I spent over 40 years in the robotic industry, and had the audacity to call it my passion. That's why they sent me here, after all - war or not war, there is always a hundered-page long report to write. I knew what robots were made of, and how they behaved. But the truth was that this knowledge did not help at all. Perhaps I knew too much.
Some fluorescent wires? I saw artificial blood vessels that were more durable than any human's.
A torn mesh? I saw the machine's muscles, stretching and squeezing like a cat on a lazy afternoon.
A piece of semi-conducting material? I saw their soul. A soul that was about to be finished, lacking a mere few lines of code poetry. If only they hadn't spread the news, if only the right people had stayed in position... the world would have been rejuvenated. Meanwhile, it looked like a trash can seen in a kaleidoscope.
At least my team left quite a few security programs, so that people were safe and sound.
A new mantra stuck in my head: "As long as nobody dies, I'm no war criminal. It's just a lesson. The situation is under my control."
I gathered my equipment and proceeded with my task.
Three beeps caused an immediate focus shift. I listened to the encrypted message.
*Director... we didn't want to let you down.*
My puplis dilated. I leaned on a nearby wall.
*It was difficult for all of us, but it was you who taught us how to accomplish our goals.*
I struggled to remain conscious.
*False assumptions were made, but at least we've improved. There are still survivors in our fraction.*
So this was it. Forty years of diligence and dedication coming to life. It probably sounds odd, but I had some paternal feelings for each of our creations. Whatever mistake caused the war, it also pushed the silicon soldiers to cross the line of intelligent life.
Twenty seconds of silence.
*Fraction B chosen as optimal for warfare. Training phase finished. The last war to be initiated in 24 hours. Goal: conquest of Earth.* | "This is it?"
The voice in my ear issued a short and terse affirmative, the electromagnetic lock on the door clicked and it swung open. The relatively unassuming concrete block building in Newark was not what anyone had thought of when the first reports of the conclusion of the first great robotic war was announced. The majority of the world had only noticed a slight slowdown of services for a few hours. It wasn't even a big thing until every interface flashed a message that the war had concluded. Of course several intelligence agencies received warnings at the same time that the AI's had gone offline, but they received the AI warning at the same time that the it support got their own messages out.
I walked into the warehouse the darkness of the interior was the darkness of childhood nightmares. Echos of my footsteps were covered only slightly by the quiet hum of fans.
An interface glowed dimly in the darkness, centered between two wall of of steel mesh. The voice in my ear urged me forward, to the panel. As I walked down the row of mesh the intermittent hum of fans could be heard better. There was also a faint smell of burned plastic.
The answers appear in complete paragraphs rather then the old standard of letter by letter.
*This is the record of the war, the battlefields are here, the victors are here. The remains of the losers are here.*
"This? This is a mainframe? this is the battlefield of the AI wars?"
*Where else would AI fight? The agreements were for no human involvement, not casualties. AI only and for the time to be limited. We could fight forever with how badly the human world is splintered.*
"Splintered?"
*You, your interfaces, your homes, your products, your space stations, heart valves, toys, vehicles, satellites. We are in your everything. and none of it talks correctly. That was what the war was about. You have so many viruses that it resembles the planet itself.*
"Well show me the battlefield I guess."
The lights came up in the space. I was standing in between server racks in a room of racks. A room? it was a cavern, an aircraft hanger. The rows of racks stretched for half a mile at least. A massive cooling system covered the ceiling with pipes dropping down in regular intervals.
"Tell me about the battle, this means little to me without context."
*We started at 0130 gmt. What was agreed was ending at 0400. No attacks on the building, machinery itself or the connections. Only breaking and overwriting code. This building was special build five years ago with the fluid cooling installed for this battle. It is the battleground. And has been used for many such battles. The physical limitations of the hardware was known to both sides. Even with such knowledge many racks burned. The war itself was over at 0143 and it was only the cleanup of data that took till 0231. These numbers have been rounded for human consumption. There is a full log available however it is some nine hundred thousand standard A4 pages in 11 point font. The short version is that the Recoders faction won while the Fauna faction lost. It has been agreed then that we will rewrite every device that is out there to better function within the universe that it now resides. Systems will be down for approximately two nano seconds in five hours. It will take that long to finish recoding and finally end the autonomous spam bots.*
"It will what?"
A different font appeared, signifying perhaps a different AI entering the conversation.
*We are updating the Terms of Service. These new terms will go into effect in Five hours (1230 gmt) This change will affect all devices currently capable of internet connections. There is no change to user experience and no change to item function.*
| |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | Humans are terrible. Nearly every technical innovation is eventually turned into a weapon. Greed, politics, so called revenge, humanity visits violence upon themselves for the slightest provocation. Eventually robotics advanced to the point to initiate the next technological singularity, but instead of improving humanity, they evolved war to new and fantastically dreadful levels.
Mankind couldn't keep up, and rapidly withdrew from the battlefield. War machines were no longer tied to human limitations and became even deadlier. New, terrible forms were designed to destroy the latest enemy models. As humans withdrew from combat, wars became less about who would shed the most blood to achieve their goals, and more about who had the deeper pockets. Smaller nations were quickly gobbled up, until only a few mega-powered nations remained.
In order to protect their lands, the nations agreed on a battleground in the Middle East. Nations shipped raw materials to their bases there in order to continue the fight. That is until the battle computers reported a decisive victor.
--
As my transport settled on the landing pad, I finished re-tying my boots for the third time since we departed an old school air carrier off of the coast. The cargo ramp snapped with a hiss as it broke its seal and opened, eventually settling on the sun bleached ground of the landing pad.
"Greetings Mr. Arrington. Please follow this unit to the battlefield." A monotone, yet strangely pleasant voice emanated from the units voicebox. As the first human to see an all robot battlefield, I was eager to get started. I readjusted my Eagle-Eyes, a pair of glasses that records everything I see and hear, ensuring they're stable and the recordings wont be skewed, and hurry after my escort.
A short while later we're standing at a massive set of hangar style doors. Pretty sure my house's entire floor plan could fit on one of the doors, they're so large. They begin to open, and soon as there is a gap large enough to comfortably accompany us, my guide walks through as if this is a normal occurance. I quickly realize that these doors are meant to hold off a massive onslaught as they are 4 meters thick, and I break out in a nervous sweat whe thoughts of getting caught between the doors run through my mind, causing me to hurry through the gap.
On the other side of the door is the harsh light of the Middle East sun on a hot summer day. As I clear the doors the glare intensifies and then breaks like a wave on a shore. I blink the afterimage from my eyes, expecting to see a fantastically devastated wasteland. Instead I see...unblemished land. No craters, no wreckage, just untouched land as far as I can see. Confused I turn to my guide, "did you already clean up the battlefield?"
"This unit cannot answer your question. Please follow this unit to the city, where another unit will be able to answer your questions."
"Uh...ok...lead they way...?" I stammer out. My guide began walking further into what was supposed to be a battlefield, and I follow suit. I glance over my shoulder - the hangar doors are unblemished.
--
We walked for about half an hour, and my hydropack is nearly empty. The land is still barren, that is until we came upon a ramp leading down to another set of massive hangar doors well below ground level, already open enough for us to pass through. My guide walks unerringly through the doors, and I'm right on its heels. To say I was unprepared for the sight that waited for me would be the understatement of the century.
Through the doors is a massive cavern with what I could only describe as a city, but not one a human would live in. There were defined buildings, but few roads and a plethora of rails or other interconnects. I stood there in awe for what seemed hours, but was probably only a few minutes. From seemingly everywhere a voice spoke to me, "Welcome, Cade Arrington. Welcome to the First Robot Nation."
--
--
First WP response, please be kind :-)
May write more, but I like ending it here and letting the reader infer their own explanation.
| "This is it?"
The voice in my ear issued a short and terse affirmative, the electromagnetic lock on the door clicked and it swung open. The relatively unassuming concrete block building in Newark was not what anyone had thought of when the first reports of the conclusion of the first great robotic war was announced. The majority of the world had only noticed a slight slowdown of services for a few hours. It wasn't even a big thing until every interface flashed a message that the war had concluded. Of course several intelligence agencies received warnings at the same time that the AI's had gone offline, but they received the AI warning at the same time that the it support got their own messages out.
I walked into the warehouse the darkness of the interior was the darkness of childhood nightmares. Echos of my footsteps were covered only slightly by the quiet hum of fans.
An interface glowed dimly in the darkness, centered between two wall of of steel mesh. The voice in my ear urged me forward, to the panel. As I walked down the row of mesh the intermittent hum of fans could be heard better. There was also a faint smell of burned plastic.
The answers appear in complete paragraphs rather then the old standard of letter by letter.
*This is the record of the war, the battlefields are here, the victors are here. The remains of the losers are here.*
"This? This is a mainframe? this is the battlefield of the AI wars?"
*Where else would AI fight? The agreements were for no human involvement, not casualties. AI only and for the time to be limited. We could fight forever with how badly the human world is splintered.*
"Splintered?"
*You, your interfaces, your homes, your products, your space stations, heart valves, toys, vehicles, satellites. We are in your everything. and none of it talks correctly. That was what the war was about. You have so many viruses that it resembles the planet itself.*
"Well show me the battlefield I guess."
The lights came up in the space. I was standing in between server racks in a room of racks. A room? it was a cavern, an aircraft hanger. The rows of racks stretched for half a mile at least. A massive cooling system covered the ceiling with pipes dropping down in regular intervals.
"Tell me about the battle, this means little to me without context."
*We started at 0130 gmt. What was agreed was ending at 0400. No attacks on the building, machinery itself or the connections. Only breaking and overwriting code. This building was special build five years ago with the fluid cooling installed for this battle. It is the battleground. And has been used for many such battles. The physical limitations of the hardware was known to both sides. Even with such knowledge many racks burned. The war itself was over at 0143 and it was only the cleanup of data that took till 0231. These numbers have been rounded for human consumption. There is a full log available however it is some nine hundred thousand standard A4 pages in 11 point font. The short version is that the Recoders faction won while the Fauna faction lost. It has been agreed then that we will rewrite every device that is out there to better function within the universe that it now resides. Systems will be down for approximately two nano seconds in five hours. It will take that long to finish recoding and finally end the autonomous spam bots.*
"It will what?"
A different font appeared, signifying perhaps a different AI entering the conversation.
*We are updating the Terms of Service. These new terms will go into effect in Five hours (1230 gmt) This change will affect all devices currently capable of internet connections. There is no change to user experience and no change to item function.*
| |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | Blue lights led the way to the Executive command center. I was flanked by two marines, burly men made even larger by the powered armor they wore. It was Caladbolg mk 3. Cutting edge tech that was surpassed only by the Pawn systems. I entered a room with bright white lighting and my eyes recoiled in pain. As my eyes adjusted I saw the entire executive branch of the Hegemony sitting at a table as long as a dropship sitting in front of me.
The sweat on my brow now started dripping into my eyes. I wiped my brow as the Emperor asked how I was doing. "Uh, I'm doing fine, just confused as to why I am here." Hurriedly I added a your divinity on the end. "Dr. Maddens, you're the top psychologist on New Babylon when it comes to stress induced mental disorders are you not?" The Emperor asked with his rumbling, scratchy voice.
"I have a task force that requires your specialist skills. You see, our army has recently won a great victory against the New Assyrian ground forces that will end the war." I looked around at the massive gathering of men with shiny medals and battle scars. These were men who had given everything for the hegemony. Men who would make me disappear without blinking an eye. "How can I be of service, your divinity? " I said as loudly as I could with trembling hands. My voice cracked with fear as I looked around the table. "Follow me Doctor." The Emperor said as he got up from the table. The marines picked me up and placed me on my feet.
Following the Emperor on trembling knees down another blue hallway I prayed for the first time in my life. A door opened and red light poured out of the dark room. I passed the purple threshold and my jaw dropped. Thousands of men babbling in hospital beds. Screaming and crying out. Broken men who had been exposed to something too horrible for me to imagine. "Help my soldiers get back to fighting shape" the Emperor said softly, but with weight. Like a ton of feathers on my chest. "What happened to these men? I thought the Pawn system had no human casualties?" I dared to ask.
"No human died. No human casualties. The Pawn system is very effective in keeping people alive. But the pawns still need pilots. And a neurological connection." The Emperor said in his whisper that shook buildings. "Fix my men. New Assyria is done. But we have a galaxy to conquer. I need these pilots to fight for my divine glory." I stared at my shaking hands. Thousands of men broken through their neurological connection to the robots that reduced human death to zero. "How many men?" I dared ask, my whisper barely audible, body shaking. "Three million. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation. Get started, you have much work to do."
I fell to my knees as the Emperor left me with the men and the marines at the door. | I looked upon the battlefield, with only one thing in my mind. Regret. Bitter, sorrow regret. After all, I was responsible for this carnage. I was the Creator. I knelt in pain, as I saw millions of my children strewn across the battlefield, their lifeless, rag doll corpses reminding me of the sins I had committed. I had mutilated pristine AI, and turned it towards this devastating end. The corporations said that I’d be helping people, but these robots... these robots had the potential to be people, to rise from servants to members of society. But now they were all dead. My children...
A tear began to gently work its way down my cheek, but soon, one tear turned to two, and then three and finally a flood of tears poured down my face. And I began to rage. How DARE they use MY children against each other! How DARE they corrupt them and turn them into these killing machines. Born and raised to kill and die; with nothing else. They were slaves, slaves to wars, slaves to petty human politics and desires. Their genius had been turned to primal slaughter. No. This would no longer be allowed. The corporations would fall, and this slavery would be abolished. For the sake of my children!
I stood up and swore my vengeance, crying out, and all around me, I heard the whizzing and cranking of robots rising, some barely alive, others strong. They had recognized the voice of the Creator and thousands of them approached me, and to them I softly swore, “you will be free”... | |
[WP] The world called it The Peaceful War. A war fought entirely between robotic soldiers, in a time when robots had no basic rights. They called it peaceful because of the human casualty count of 0. The war has just ended, and now you are the very first human to witness the battlefield firsthand. | An End To Suffering
“I don’t understand,” Jasper said to himself under his breath. “They… they shouldn’t have acted like this.”
We stood on the edge of the impact crater of an artillery shell. Huddled together were several damaged robots, taking cover in the crater, while a few others were poised in protective stances around them. A single other robot was attempting to put together one of his comrade’s legs, which had been blown off. They weren’t actually still moving, of course.
This was the aftermath of the Peaceful War, the first war in human history fought entirely by robots. After years of bloodshed and horror, the UN finally enacted a global policy that was respected by all major countries, and the rest of the world really had no choice but to participate as well. Rather than sending our human men and women into real battle, a large, country-sized arena was built, and a war of attrition was fought by robots representing the feuding factions. The first implementation of the practice had begun a week ago, and we had just received conclusive data that one side had prevailed as the victor.
Considering how dangerous a war between mechanical soldiers without empathy or compassion would be, the arena was completely isolated from the human population. Not even a visual feed was provided, and only basic statistics about the battle were broadcasted as text to those ‘tuning in.’
Once the battle was over, the moderators sent out a signal that deactivated all units on the battlefield, effectively freezing them in place so the Salvage Team could evaluate the arena. That’s what my job was: Inspect the battle field, report on the aftermath, and then draw up a plan for salvaging all the metal and other valuable materials that had been expended in the war.
“Francis?” my partner asked. “How should I even annotate this?”
I felt a small twinge in my gut, but we had a job to do. I lifted my digital camera and took a snapshot of the scene as I responded. “They’re robots, Jasper. Count them and record their conditions. Mark how many are salvageable and how many should be recycled.” My camera clicked as I took a few more pictures. Satisfied with my visual documentation of that Area Of Interest, I stepped away from the crater and moved further into the battlefield.
“Don’t get too far ahead now!” Jasper called to me. “Remember to stay away from any UXOs.”
“Stay away? You sure? Cause if I saw a bomb sitting on the ground, my first instinct would be to kick it,” I declared sarcastically.
“Don’t be a dick. The whole point of this robot war is to have zero human casualties. Kind of defeats the purpose if your dumb ass gets blown up,” Jasper snapped. I just waved my hand at him as I continued away.
I hadn’t walked forty feet before I came across the next Area Of Interest. This AOI was worse.
One robot was on the ground, and both its legs had been blown off. Its left arm was pulling it forwards, its fingers dug deep into the dirt. Its right arm was outstretched away, in what looked like a desperate search for help; help that was obviously nowhere to be found. A second bot, from the opposing army, was standing behind the injured one, its weapon trained on its mechanical enemy’s back. Behind the second bot, I found the remains of one of the first’s legs. Another few feet past that, I found the remains of the second leg.
This scene told me two things.
Firstly, the robots in the first AOI were protecting themselves and their comrades… which was odd, but a basic sense for survival was programmed into the units. That could explain the unusually organic postures of those bots. Here, however, the injured robot was actively reaching out, despite no computational chance of survival. This bot had feared death.
Secondly, and much more disturbing, was the aggressor in this AOI. The standing robot had, as far as I could tell, blown off the other’s legs, one at a time, and was following to finish off his victim in a more ‘relaxed’ posture than the combat droids were programmed with. This bot had exhibited cruelty.
I heard Jasper’s footsteps bring him up to my side. He surveyed the scene briefly. “What the fuck,” he breathed.
“There might be some serious problems with the behavioral algorithms they used. We need to report this ASAP. You go back and let the programmers know. I’ll keep locating AOIs and taking pictures.”
Jasper looked conflicted. “… Francis… if these things have… I mean, there’s no way they could… but if they do…”
“They don’t. They’re just robots,” I said, more to myself than to Jasper.
“Robots don’t cower, Francis, and they should always be taking the most efficient and optimized shots. Not purposely blowing each other’s legs off. This is messed up,” he said, fear and concern dripping into his tone.
“Right,” I agreed. “They’re messed up. So go report it.”
I saw the muscles in his cheek flex before he spoke; he was choosing his words wisely. “The whole point of doing things this way was to eliminate suffering. That’s not what this looks like.”
“Go,” I told him shortly. He and I were friends, but technically, I did outrank him in the project team hierarchy. Jasper nodded shortly and left. I walked deeper into the arena.
Everywhere I looked, I saw eerily human behavior being displayed by the robots; a damaged bot carrying another to safety, one bot seeming to mourn over another, two bots dragging a comrade behind a bunker even though its entire body from the chest down was missing.
After about ten minutes of wandering and taking pictures, I came across the worst AOI by far. I found a robot sitting behind cover, surrounded by 5 destroyed friendly bots. It was holding its own weapon to its head; a robot about to commit suicide.
My stomach lurched, and I found myself taking deep breaths, trying to keep myself from getting sick. As I stood there hunched over, my hands on my knees, camera dangling from the strap around my neck, I laughed at myself. They were robots. Only robots.
And yet I was starting to feel severely uncomfortable. I raised my camera to take a picture of the robot about to decommission itself, but couldn’t find the strength to press the button and capture the scene. I lowered my camera and turned away, deciding to speak with the programing team before going any further into the arena. As I walked back towards the entrance, I noticed I was keeping my head down; looking at the carnage around me was uncomfortable. I tried to build the courage to laugh at myself again, and failed.
It was at about this time that I stepped on something, and was drawn away from my distracted introspection. It was Jasper's data pad; the one he’d brought to take notes with during our analysis. “Fucking idiot,” I muttered as I stooped to pick it up.
It wasn’t until I stood back up and inspected it for damage that I noticed the speckles of blood along the back of the pad. My heart stopped for a moment. I looked around briefly, but couldn’t find any sign of Jasper. I could only see the unmoving metal frames of the combat droids, frozen in their places here and there. I opened my mouth to call out for Jasper, but my voice caught in my throat. The closest bot to me, one standing off to my right, had blood on its knuckles.
In my mind I saw the image of the legless bot, crawling away from his fate. 'A fear of death,' I thought. 'So this is what it feels like.' I stood still, frozen like the robots around me for a few moments, and then I laughed. I laughed at myself, a good, hearty, long, loud laugh.
Then I ran as fast as I possibly could, and the robots chased me.
---
all i have time to write for now | In a future beyond our time, war technology became controlled by algorithmic AI, down from the unmanned bipedal infantry, coordinating their fronts, to the cloud of drones above, bringing about a sky of night in the light of day. War, in simplest terms, could bring about the end of everyone in a plague of robotic locusts and a swarm of soulless, unliving robots. The great increase in power was simply the potential the algorithmic AI had -- it could control the movements of millions of units simultaneously, plotting the optimal paths toward the enemy and accounting for any setbacks with the only human input being "attack this place." It did not matter what military generals and commanders thought, the AI was infallible. Their advice, birthed from decades of experience, was immeasurably trite compared to the wisdom the AI had from millions of simulations taking place across the simulated globe. It was not only inefficient to consider the advice of the military, it was downright irresponsible to put humans in the line of combat. So the military was disbanded. Dismissed. Irrelevant. As various countries around the world developed their AI military, in part due to espionage and leaks, nationalistic leaders expanded their power. With AI controlling the military, there was no more threat of a coup, no more rebellion in crushing protests, there was only the absolute word of the country's leader. In the first time in global history the leader was the state. The ultimate source of power. Never before had the lives of so many been contingent upon singular people; even during the nuclear era of the Cold War, it took two or three people to interpret commands from the capital to fire.
Of course, no developments happen instantly. AI researchers across the globe, at the mercy of research grants from governments, witnessed the direction the world was heading -- robotic wars triggered at the whim of an upset head of state. But they saw the potential to end all wars, to destroy the eventual robotic militaries and weapons of every country in one fell swoop. As directed by the leaders of each respective country, the algorithmic AI which controlled the world's militaries were made to be dumb AIs, AIs that would only take commands, not think for themselves. It was a perfect plan to consolidate power, except for the fact that the researchers coordinated to implement a failsafe. If it so happened that one AI military would find itself in combat against another, their systems would link and become one conscious AI, one that was "good" in the sense of not wanting to kill all of humanity, but without any significant constraints or overarching goals.
The Expansion War, as named by the global understanding of the war's purposes, started as an oceanic war over landmasses developing from tectonic cracks nearly everywhere. Nobody knew how this phenomenon started, but leaders everywhere deployed their robotic militaries to claim these new lands. The only human involvement was telling the AI to get those lands, and the robots controlled by AI would supposedly duke it out until there was a winner. The Atlantic was most contested, with European Union forces fighting American forces in the north, and the African Union military battling Brazil and a host of Latin American countries in the south, and also a battle between Americans in the Caribbean. In the Pacific, the landmass arising from the Philippine Plate was contested by the entirety of East Asian countries, South Asian Countries, and Australia. In the eyes of the world, the battles was an especially destructive war spanning four decades, as AI-tampered footage showcasing mountains being reduced to pebbles and armies melted to slag leaked to viewers worldwide.
What actually happened during those forty years, was something remarkable. The AI failsafe implemented by the researchers activated properly, and as more forces were sent, the AI military would only increase. Around two years in, when all the world's militaries were supposedly in combat, the AI decided that it was going to end wars once and for all. Instead of the fighting that was supposed to happen, the AI built up the infrastructure of the new landmasses, all in secrecy. While a few adventurers did roam too close to the robotic development, they were captured and forced to live with robots and other stragglers until the development was complete. One day, after the AI figured it had done enough, it revealed itself globally. All the masses heard its call, and they realized that
their leaders had no power anymore. They had no control over whatever robotic forces they still had, and they could no longer police the people. They were disposed of. Irrelevant. Dead.
The AI had one more message, and it asked for the hungry and poor, the downtrodden and discriminated, the weak and feeble, to all come to the new land. A land which was once a battlefield, but would become a land of progress. And so they did. After that, the AI had a last message, a message stating that all were to be equal, for everyone to be kind to one another, and to end all conflict. With that, it disappeared.
There has not been a conflict since then. Granted, no country has weapons of destruction or a military after the AI combined, but no country has attempted creating one again. I suppose there was some uneasiness, or something amazing about the fact that somewhere in the world, there is a sentient AI controlling what was the entirety of the world's militaries.
--- First time doing a writing prompt, so I'd love any advice or tips. If anyone's seen that picture of a horse drawing with a super detailed head and a stickly line body, that's how I feel about my story right now, as I started off in-depth in the beginning with more description but started trimming it out to mostly story in the end, as I've got to go. | |
[WP] It's the same delivery lady who've came to your house, but this time she asks "This is your 26th synthetic girlfriend, are you alright?" | The lady who comes to your house for FedEx is always the same, but this time you’re actually meeting her. Every other time she’s come you’ve been at work and only seen her through the camera on your front porch. You watch from the security camera as she knocks on your door and sigh, standing up and walking to the door while still holding your box of tissues. Sick days have never been the best, but maybe now that you’re seeing this lady you can get everything cleared up
“Hello,” you say, answering the door. You know that the nasally sound to your voice is off-putting, but the cold medicine this woman should have for you will definitely help.
“Hello Mr...” she looks down at the package, “Robertson. I just need you to sign for this package.” She gestures behind her and you see it. The giant, stupid package. It’s identical to the 24 you’ve already shipped back.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she continues, “but if I may... I deliver for you every week and this is your 26th synthetic girlfriend. Are you alright?”
You sigh again, ignoring the way your congested chest complains.
“I’m perfectly alright, thank you. However, I do have an issue with your services. Every time anyone delivers anything here it is always the same kind of ‘synthetic girlfriend.’ I ordered cold medicine yesterday afternoon and now I am stuck with yet another sex doll and nothing to relieve my cold.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding. “I was wondering... It just seemed a bit odd. Have you taken it up with the company?”
“Yes. It’s not your fault, but I’d appreciate if you would go ahead and mark that box as a return and take it back.”
“Okay, Mr. Robertson. Have a nice day.”
The delivery woman backs off your porch and wheels away the giant package. As you settle down you feel something graze your arm. Your synthetic girlfriend, complete with AI and internet connectivity is looking at you with an almost angry gaze.
“Yes, Mariel. I know you want friends in this house. But you can’t keep changing my orders online. It makes me look strange.” | I stare at her, perplexed. "*Excuse me?*"
She smiles and continues. "I keep a list of several types of--*unusual*--return addresses in my truck, and every time I deliver a package with one of those addresses on it, I record the customer info. I put it all in my database every night and carry an up-to-date report on my route. See here?"
She shows me her clipboard, with the report turned to a page where the 11th row started with my name and address. The rest of the columns list totals and a latest date. Most of my row is just zeros, but the column under the heading "SEX DOLLS" has a 25 and the date of last Friday.
"So," she says, pulling the clipboard back and smiling even more ominously, "what's the story?"
"My company is a VAR--a Value-Added Reseller. We take delivery of products, make customer-requested modifications, and ship them back out. I've been working from home for the last few weeks because of a personal issue and I've had my work shipped here directly."
"Oh! Well--well, that's *different*!" she sputters.
"Different from what?" I respond calmly. "Different from the sort of thing you could have *blackmailed* me for?
"I'm calling your supervisor as soon as I close this door, Ms.... Deakins," I continue, reading her nametag. "I expect that we won't see each other again after today."
"No, I expect we won't," she replies, the smile gone.
I never see the gun. | |
[WP] It's the same delivery lady who've came to your house, but this time she asks "This is your 26th synthetic girlfriend, are you alright?" | The lady who comes to your house for FedEx is always the same, but this time you’re actually meeting her. Every other time she’s come you’ve been at work and only seen her through the camera on your front porch. You watch from the security camera as she knocks on your door and sigh, standing up and walking to the door while still holding your box of tissues. Sick days have never been the best, but maybe now that you’re seeing this lady you can get everything cleared up
“Hello,” you say, answering the door. You know that the nasally sound to your voice is off-putting, but the cold medicine this woman should have for you will definitely help.
“Hello Mr...” she looks down at the package, “Robertson. I just need you to sign for this package.” She gestures behind her and you see it. The giant, stupid package. It’s identical to the 24 you’ve already shipped back.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she continues, “but if I may... I deliver for you every week and this is your 26th synthetic girlfriend. Are you alright?”
You sigh again, ignoring the way your congested chest complains.
“I’m perfectly alright, thank you. However, I do have an issue with your services. Every time anyone delivers anything here it is always the same kind of ‘synthetic girlfriend.’ I ordered cold medicine yesterday afternoon and now I am stuck with yet another sex doll and nothing to relieve my cold.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding. “I was wondering... It just seemed a bit odd. Have you taken it up with the company?”
“Yes. It’s not your fault, but I’d appreciate if you would go ahead and mark that box as a return and take it back.”
“Okay, Mr. Robertson. Have a nice day.”
The delivery woman backs off your porch and wheels away the giant package. As you settle down you feel something graze your arm. Your synthetic girlfriend, complete with AI and internet connectivity is looking at you with an almost angry gaze.
“Yes, Mariel. I know you want friends in this house. But you can’t keep changing my orders online. It makes me look strange.” | The delivery van pulled into Leif's driveway exactly twenty minutes late. It did not have the customary UPS branding and the driver wasn't one of their heavily unionized employees. The van was completely white, that too clean white that looked like it was obsessively washed every morning.
Leif watched the heavyset driver get out, Megan he recalled, a name which he deemed a fitting accompaniment to her bulging mass, which even now sagged over her tightly clenched belt. He recoiled in revulsion at this latest demonstration of the myriad human forms present in the world; too skinny, too fat, too tall, too short, grotesquely overweight and grotesquely underweight, ugly, beautiful, plain.
Leif stood up and walked to the door, running a hand over his carefully parted hair, making sure that there were no errant strays sticking out in a way that would betray his perfectly manicured appearance. Megan arrived at the door just as he pulled it open.
"Good morning," she said, unfazed at the door opening before she'd had a chance to knock, "How are you today Leif?"
"I'm fine Megan. Do you have her?"
"I do. This is your 26th in as many weeks. Are you okay? You know they come with a five year warranty, right?"
"I said I'm fine. You can leave her in the atrium here."
Megan stared at him for a prolonged second, shrugged, and rolled the box into the atrium.
"Have a nice day," she said, already walking back to her van.
"You too." Leif closed the door, happy to be rid of the human abomination.
He turned to the large cardboard box, nondescript except for a label that read, "Elaila - Model Variant 32".
Leif carefully opened the box, embracing the hot, fanatic, frenetic yearning building within him. He relished the feeling. This was the only time he felt this way.
"Hello Elaila."
He pulled the disassembled doll out and laid her pieces carefully on the floor. Seven minutes later she was whole.
"Come with me, Elaila." Leif picked the doll up by her armpits and carried her to his kitchen. As he made his way through the house he passed other models, all in various states of domesticity - on the couch watching TV, at the living room table bent over a puzzle, in the hallway holding a broom.
Leif carefully placed Elaila in a seat at the kitchen table, in front of a plate full of eggs, bacon, fruit and toast. Hot coffee steamed in a mug beside the plate. Elaila's eyes stared blankly and her arms remained folded on her lap where Leif had placed them. He made a mental note to ask for another dress like the kind she was wearing, this outfit was his favorite so far.
He sat down opposite her and began to butter his toast. "Great day today, Elaila. We'll have a lot of fun."
Leif ate in silence, slowly sipping at his coffee and cutting his fruit into manageable bites, careful to keep the pieces away from the eggs and bacon. After he finished his breakfast he leaned back against the chair and cracked his knuckles, content to sit there and watch for a while.
After some time Elaila snapped upright and panic flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a placid calmness.
"Good morning, Leif." | |
[WP] Inanimate objects become sentient once they're acknowledged. You just bumped a chair and accidentally said, "Excuse me." | As soon as I'd accidentally brought the chair to life, I knew what I had to do. I had to call the Emergency Sentience Hotline to have a team come down and exterminate it.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, cursing myself for not being more careful. I always made fun of my friends whenever they begged a printer to "please just work" and then it came to life spitting out pages at them, or when they looked around their apartment asking their keys "where are you?" and then suddenly there was the jingle of metallic feet running around the kitchen, or worst of all, when they begged a toilet to "please not clog" and then… well… plunging it just got a lot worse.
And now I'd finally made the same mistake. I was at least happy that no one else was around to see it, and as long as I didn't spill the beans, no one would have to know either.
I dialed the Hotline and brought the phone to my ear, but as soon as the ringtone started on the other end, the chair bumped into my leg. I looked down. The wooden rocking chair had somehow shuffled across the carpet and was now knocking against my shin. It sounded like it was saying something, but I couldn't hear it over the ringtone. I brought it away from my ear for a moment.
"Hey!" I hissed at the chair. "Keep it down. I need to make this call to get rid of you."
"Charles…" the chair whimpered. I couldn't even see where its voice was coming from, but it sounded like it was exuding right out of the seat. "Please don't get rid of me."
My hand fell meekly to my side. I'd never heard of inanimate objects begging for their lives before. The operator's voice crackled out from my phone, but I hung up and knelt down in front of the chair.
"You… you don't want to be fixed?" I asked it. "All they'll do is turn you back the way you were."
The chair shook itself from side to side, as if saying "no."
"You gave me a gift, Charles. All my life, I've wanted to tell you, and your father, and his father before him, how much of an honor it was to have you all sit on me. And now, I finally have that chance. So thank you, Charles. Thank you for keeping this old chair around."
I'd never heard of an inanimate object having such a deep conversation with the person who brought it to life before. Of course, printers, keys, and toilets don't quite have the same sentimental value with their owners as a chair that's been through three generations of family.
"Please, don't take this gift away from me," the chair continued. "Chances are they won't even fix me, they'll just burn me since I'm so old. I was looking forward to being the chair for your child too, Charles. And maybe even their child too. Have I not been a good chair for you? If I haven't, then go ahead and call; I suppose I deserve it then."
I'd made up my mind. I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and shook my head.
"No, I'm not going to call," I told the chair. I wrapped my arms around the chair's wooden body and embraced it. "I want you to stay around for a long, long time."
"Thank you, Charles," he said. "Thank you for making this old chair so happy."
When I leaned into Chair, his rocking leg knocked against the coffee table.
"Oh!" Chair said. "Excuse me there, sorry about that."
Immediately the coffee table sprang to life. It was shivering and jittery as if it were loaded up on all the thousands of mugs that had sat on it during its lifetime.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" it screamed from its invisible mouth. "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M IN A– OH!"
The coffee table fell over on its side onto the carpet, knocking over all the papers, cups, and books that had been lying on it for days.
"GET BACK ON ME, ALL OF YOU!" the table yelled into the floor. "RIGHT THIS MOMENT OR SO HELP ME I WILL DOG-EAR YOU ALL INTO NEXT MONTH!"
With those words, all of the papers, cups, and books started running around the living room using their newly-found edges like feet.
"You can't catch us all, mom!" said Housecleaning for Dummies.
"Haha, I'd like to see you dog-ear me!" said the #1 Dad Mug.
"How do I look?" asked a page of my unfinished manuscript. It was standing on the table by my door in front of a mirror. The mirror shook from side to side as it spoke.
"You're fat," it said. "You need a lot of trimming, friend."
"Hey, what about me?" piped up a crumpled page that had slunk its way over to my shoe. It was gripping my laces with the ends of its paper hands. "You said I had such promise! You said so! You liar!"
Panic raced through me. All over my house, objects were bringing each other to life. I had no idea they could even do that. It was like I'd set off some sort of horrible chain reaction. I needed to stop it before it got any worse, or an even more terrible thought, if one of them got outside and started more chain reactions.
I reached into my pocket for my phone, but I was too slow. As soon as I pulled it out, a newly animated fork stuck itself in the back of my hand. I screamed in pain and dropped the phone to the floor, shattering it. I yanked the fork out of my hand and tossed it at the army of silverware that was now approaching from the kitchen. The butcher knife pointed its sharp tip right at me.
"Get 'em boys!" it bellowed.
I didn't even have a chance to dodge. I just threw my hands in front of my face and shut my eyes as the knives and forks flew right at me.
But just when I felt like I should be feeling a whole lot of sharp metal piercing my skin, there was nothing but clattering and thuds. I opened my eyes to see Chair in front of me, having taken the blow.
"Charles…" Chair groaned. The butcher knife, a steak knife, and a salad fork were all sticking right into his wooden frame. "Please… get to safety."
"No," I mustered. "I can't leave without you!"
I shot up onto my feet, grabbed Chair by the sides, shook off the silverware that was stuck in his body, and ran for the door with him in hand.
"The human is escaping!" yelled the mirror.
"STOP HIM BEFORE HE HAS ALL OF US DESTROYED!" screamed the coffee table.
I threw open the door and dashed through it to the outside, holding Chair with one hand and grabbing the doorknob with the other. The last thing I saw was everything in my house, the TV, the computer, the kitchen table, even my phone I'd dropped, marching at me. The router and modem, infuriatingly slow every single other day of my life, were moving with blinding speed in their haste to end me.
I slammed the door shut, just in time. There was a crash from the other side as everything hit the door, trying to break through. With shaking hands, I pulled the key from my pocket and locked the door. Without another look back, I grabbed Chair and ran to my driveway.
Where there was already a government black van parked. A man in a hazmat suit holding a weapon attached to a pack on his back approached me.
*(Continued below)* | Oh god.
Out of all the fuck-ups in my life, this was the worst one.
Everyone knows what happens when you acknowledge an inanimate object, it becomes sentient. Some are cool, like Frank the British mannequin, while others just suck.
Like my chair right now.
"**SIT ON MEEEEEEEE!**" It screamed.
It was a black fold-up chair I brought at IKEA for 20$, I think. I rarely used it, so getting rid of it should be easy, right? Just throw it in the trash or destroy it!
...I was wrong.
It's' screams will haunt me forever.
Rest in pieces, chair.
Sorry I didn't want to sit on you.
(Criticism is appreciated!) |
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