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[WP] Time travel exists. You have met your future daughter, and know who you are going to marry. Your life is pretty much planned out. Thing is, you just met someone new, and you're very sure they are your soulmate. And they aren't your future spouse. | When I was seventeen, I decided to take a trip into the future and find out if I would have any children. I would: one girl, Lydia. She told me that my future husband and I adopted her.
*Oh, that’s why she doesn’t look a bit like me*, I thought. *Well, cool. I don’t have to push her out of my body to get her.*
Lydia waved to a man with light brown hair. “That’s my dad,” she said. “His name is Patton.”
“Patton,” I repeated. So I was going to end up with a man. Interesting. “Well, I guess I should get going before I confuse the heck out of your father.”
As I headed back to the time machine, Lydia called after me, “I love you, Mom!” In my own time, I wrote down in my diary what I had learned, and it was a comfort to me as I finished high school and began college.
In my first year of college, during an icebreaker activity, my roommate Riley and I met two girls who lived across the hall from us, Molly and McKenzie. The moment I laid eyes on them, something deep in my bisexual soul whispered, Be friends with them, for they are not straight. Of course I didn’t ask either of them about it, especially McKenzie; I could almost see the closet doors in front of her.
“What do you mean?” McKenzie asked Riley.
“Like . . . they’re what you would use to refer to me in the third person,” Riley said.
“Oh, is this about your pronouns?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Riley. “Like, about Sophia here,” they said, gesturing to me, “I would say, ‘*Her* name is Sophia. *She* goes to bed really late.’ About me, you would say, ‘*Their* name is Riley. *They* go to bed at a reasonable time.’”
“No, you would say, ‘*They* go to bed way too early and I’m not even sure they’re human,’” I teased.
“Okay, but . . . why?” asked McKenzie.
Riley explained that they were non-binary and what that meant.
“Wow, I didn’t know that happened to girls too!” McKenzie exclaimed. “I mean, people who grew up as girls. I thought that only happened to people who grew up as boys. So like . . . does that mean you were told you were a girl, Riley?”
Riley nodded. McKenzie nodded back, and after a beat of silence, she asked if Riley had any pets. The icebreaker continued, and at the end of it, we all exchanged phone numbers.
The next day at noon, Riley and I walked over to McKenzie and Molly’s room and asked if they wanted to eat lunch with us. The four of us sat together in the dining hall and talked about the week so far.
“I felt bad on Sunday,” McKenzie said, “cuz I don’t know any of the churches around here, and I was too scared to go to any of them alone.”
“Do you wanna visit my church next Sunday?” I asked.
“Sure!” McKenzie exclaimed. Then she looked around. “Oh, that wasn’t too loud, was it?”
“Not at all, girl,” Molly said.
McKenzie made a strange face, but she seemed comforted.
The four of us grew close that first year. McKenzie and I went to church together many Sundays and compared the different Bible translations we had. Riley and Molly shared a passion for science and would talk for hours about it, especially about weird time travel stories that ended up in the news. Molly, who was a night owl like me, would stay up late studying with me. Riley and I joined the college’s Gay-Straight Alliance. McKenzie and Riley liked to go shopping together.
One thing I noticed by the beginning of the second semester was how much more comfortable McKenzie seemed to be. She had started out so quiet with occasional loud outbursts, only to retreat and hide behind her long blondish-brown hair. As she came out of her shell, she spoke more confidently, without the sudden upticks in volume. She was warm, compassionate, loyal, pretty, and I had a huge crush on her. When I opened my diary to write down this revelation, I saw a page where I had written the name “Patton” surrounded by hearts. This was a different diary than the one where I had first written my future husband’s name, but I had written it again as a reminder. I sighed.
“Guess it’s not gonna work out with McKenzie,” I muttered.
“What was that about McKenzie?” asked Riley.
“Uhh, nothing!”
“You like her, don’t you?”
I closed my diary and turned to look at my roommate. “Is it that obvious?”
Riley nodded and laughed. “Now what, exactly, makes you think it’s not gonna work out with her? That girl’s so not straight, and I don’t think she’s ace like Molly.”
I sighed and told Riley about my time travel adventure.
“Oh,” said Riley. “Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t still like McKenzie. For now, I mean. I know some people meet the people they’re gonna marry at our age, but not everybody does.”
“You’re right.” I opened my diary again and wrote about my crush on McKenzie.
The months came and went. I made more friends, but Riley, McKenzie, and Molly were my closest ones. Molly declared a physics and ethics double major so she could keep up with the ramifications of time travel. Riley studied abroad for a semester. I had other, minor crushes, but I still had a crush on McKenzie.
One day after church, McKenzie nearly whimpered my name. “Sophia? Can I tell you something?” She sounded as uncertain as the week I met her.
“Sure, what is it?”
“I . . . um . . . I’m not a girl,” said McKenzie. “I don’t know if I’m a boy, or non-binary like Riley.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. Do you still want me to call you she?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t like being called ‘girl’ or ‘sis.’ Maybe . . . maybe I could try he/him pronouns for a little bit? We can tell Riley and Molly, but no one else, not yet.”
For a while, McKenzie used he/him pronouns. Then they used they/them pronouns. For about a week, ze used any non-binary pronoun ey could think of. Eventually, McKenzie realized that he/him pronouns fit him best.
One day in GSA during our junior year, someone asked McKenzie if he might change his name.
McKenzie shrugged. “I might. But what name would I go by?”
“Baby name web sites,” Riley said. “They will help you find a name.”
So McKenzie did just that, between his schoolwork and his internship. One day, he sent a group text to me, Molly, and Riley.
*Change my name in ur contacts, cuz I’m Patton!*
And that’s how my future husband was responsible for shattering my phone screen. | I've never been lucky when it comes to love. Throughout my entire time at high school, I sat by idly while everyone else seemed to find multiple people to date and hook up with, but I was too deep into reading and writing to experience that. I studied hard to get into a good college, I figured I would bloom more surrounded by others who shared my passion for learning.
During my first year at college, time travel was finally affordable enough that everyone was able to do it, even myself after saving up over a few months of part time work. The first thing I did was travel 10 years into the future, which I hoped was plenty of time for me to have gotten my love life in order. To my own excitement, not only did I have a loving husband, but a beautiful daughter and, it seemed, another along the way. You see, my husband works (will work? Time travel tenses seem unusual) in a government research lab, while I'm an esteemed professor in chemistry at a college. We shared a love for science, this is how we must have fell in love.
When I returned back to the present, the relief I felt washed over me. I knew college would be my time to shine, I just knew it! Every time I was in the lab or near our giant science building, I slowed down, searching the crowds of faces for someone who looked like my future husband. It was difficult, though, since every freshman on campus had to be in the science building at least once for introductory science classes. After my first semester, I hoped that most of the freshman only taking a required course would be done and it would be easier to find him, but it wasn't.
One day, during a low level drawing class I had to take for a "well rounded" education, I saw a very handsome man. He wasn't my future husband, that was obvious, but that didn't mean I couldn't look. We ended up paired together to do portraits. His name was Brandon and he was an art major. His portrait of myself came out so beautiful, it almost seemed to capture a light in my eyes like I was extremely happy. My portrait, on the other hand, looked like a child had drawn it.
"Is that what I really look like?" Brandon joked and teased me. "I thought I was pretty good looking before I saw this."
My face got very red, voice shaky, "I told you this is just a Gen Ed for me. I'm no artist, we can't all have your skill. I did my best."
He just laughed, man he was so handsome when he smiled. "I know, I know. I'm just giving you a hard time, but it's great. I'm gonna put it up instead of a mirror." He laughed even harder. His sense of humor was dorky and usually only funny to himself, but his laugh was contagious.
There were a lot of similarities between us and talking to him always felt easy. We ended up hanging out a lot, he would draw while I typed up lab reports, I would help him study his required classes like math and science and he would tease me for being a nerd.
As we spent more time together, I kept feeling like we could be perfect together. He had such an optimistic, artistic side and would see the beauty in everything, while I was scientific and saw the way things worked. He wasn't the guy I married though, so I'm sure there was a reason for it. Still, I wondered if it was possible that he was my soul mate and my time travel was wrong. I mean, I went forward in time before I met Brandon, maybe my future had changed since then? Anything is possible.
I decided I had to go forward again, just to check. So, in my dorm room once again, I went to the future, roughly 10 years in the future to the same time I went before. I still had the same husband, though. I don't understand why I thought the future would change. I guess I just had hope, but this proved I wasn't meant to be with Brandon.
When I came back to the present, there was panic and hysteria. Groups of students were crying and huddled together. I heard chatter that one of the labs in the science building had a catastrophic explosion! I grabbed my phone, I'm sure my parents were worried if they had heard about the explosion and I should let them know I was safe.
When I unlocked my phone, however, my stomach dropped. This couldn't be right, this isn't possible. Before I could break down, I started running. Out of my dorm, through the campus. Security and police officers were yelling, trying to stop me from running into the science building. I could see body bags being taken away and I just collapsed. In the longest hours of my life, I waited until I found out Brandon was among the fatalities.
While I was in the future, Brandon texted me "hey, meet me in the science building. I want to talk to you about us."
I guess that's why we didn't end up together. | |
[WP] You’re a tattoo artist who has just opened up shop, business isn’t booming but you have a steady flow of casual customers, one thing the customers don’t know is that what ever you put on their skin comes reality. One day you say “fuck it” and go all out. | A small bell jingled as the door opened, and a broad-shouldered man entered the shop, “Welcome to Bound by Design!” Trace cheerfully greeted his first customer all week, was it Thursday already?
Trace opened the tattoo parlor only three weeks ago, and business had been meager, at best. He supposed the reason was that he was in fierce competition with other, more well-known and established, tattoo parlors in Shuhchester.
He directed the man, who didn’t have any visible tattoos, to a chair. Trace asked what he could help him with, he had already fetched an art-book containing examples of his art-style, “Here, please have a gander, see if there’s anything in here you like,”
Trace knew, however, that his parlor was unlike any other, his was something special. The ink he embedded in the skin of his customers were not only impeccably detailed workings of art, they also carried enchantments. He had never told his customers that they were being imbued with magical effects, he skillfully navigated the subject by making sure the effects would not draw too much attention to the individual.
He recalled one of his more casual customers who didn’t have any previous tattoos, a woman named Monica who had been down on her luck, she had just lost her job. She had requested to have a small four-leaf clover on her left ankle, in hopes to counteract her bad fortunes. Unbeknownst to her, the reason she had quickly found a new job was because of the minor enchantment Trace’s tattoo had imbued her with.
Understand, the power given by the tattoo is directly correlated to its size, placement, and Trace’s level of concentration.
The man closed the art-book without flipping more than a couple of pages, a shame, seems like the man didn’t like his art, Trace thought.
“This isn’t my first time,” the man said knowingly looking Trace in the eyes, “My previous tattooist died before finishing this,” he said and removed his jacket, Trace’s eyes widened in shock.
Trace considered himself a grand-master tattoo artist, but this ink left him breathless, “It’s… wow, it’s amazing, it’s a damn tragedy that whoever made this passed away!”
The completed parts were placed on the upper back and tapered off towards his lower back. From the top, his natural skin color faded into thick dark clouds, seven candled were lit beneath, in the pouring rain. Below the candle, Saint Peter’s upper body was valiantly posed with his eyes closed, holding a round clock with the clock arms pointed at twelve o’ clock.
Not only was it perfect, to Trace’s further awe, it also seemed to be imbued with enchantments, Trace couldn’t tell what exactly, as it wasn’t his work, but something powerful radiated from the man’s back. He could tell it was more powerful than any enchantment he had passed off to his new customers.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” the man continued, “I need you to finish this piece,”
If Trace was being honest with himself, he was excited beyond exaltation, to be able to continue this masterpiece, no matter what happened it would mean eternal glory, although what enchantments would come out of this combination, he had no idea.
“I would be delighted!” Trace said, excitement poorly concealed, “What did you have in mind?”
The man gave a vague explanation of what he wanted, leaving out details of what the completed work would look like.
Trace considered this for a moment, “Ok, that gives me some ideas, how much skin do you want this to cover?”
The man looked at Trace incredulously, “All possible surfaces, of course,” he grinned, “do you think you can do that?”
Trace had never done full body before, works like these usually required a flawless relationship between the one getting tattooed and the tattoo artist, and they had just met.
Trace pondered it for a minute, either the man had a screw loose or he was determined, to a fault, to finish the tattoo. It bothered him that he didn’t know what powers the man was already imbued with; or how much more powerful they would become after covering the entire person’s skin in ink.
He glanced at the man’s back again, there was something truly— captivating about it. Trace resolved and looked at the man with an artist’s hunger in his eyes, “Eh, fuck it! Let’s do it!”
*****
End of part 1? I have a vague story in my head for this, but it already turned out a bit long, so I might've ended it a bit abruptly. If there's interest I'll pick it back up, in any event, thank you for reading!
### [/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/) | "Are you sure about this?", I ask, and the client simply smirks and nods.
​
I contemplated for a while. My thoughts conflicted at his request. "It would wreak havoc across the country, but is it's existence not what you have sought?". I felt excited, but my sanity was roused. "Should I say no? But you also want it" I swallow in frustration, even the mere fact that I feel conflicted, in itself, causes me to feel even more frustrated. I stare at the clock, "4:57 PM", it displays.
​
I let out a big sigh.
​
"Fuck it", then I started to work.
​
The next day, we were closed for the time, as per schedule, but I was still in the shop, alone, sipping a cup of coffee on the shop counter, late in the afternoon. I was awaiting *it.*
​
But even now, I feel guilt of what I have committed, this would surely cause a disaster of a huge magnitude, infrastructure will fall, the earth will quake, and its *size* will block the sun. However, it was at the request of a client, and I couldn't let this pass. After all, I can't tattoo on myself, it wouldn't work and it would not come to life. But I can't feel guilt now, the deed has been done, I've committed crime like no other but I will embrace it. Now, I should only feel sated, having gifted humanity a marvel of creation.
​
And so, I wait, and sip on my still-hot coffee.
​
It was 4:54 PM, according to the same clock I looked at yesterday. *It is nearly time*.
​
I take a sip out of the cup, *4:55 PM.*
​
I stare outside my shop, directly at the busy roads of New York, how fast cars zoom across the streets, but at times, stop in traffic, how people walk casually in the sidewalks, how disaster has not touched it, *yet. 4:56 PM.*
​
I take one last sip from my coffee, and indulge in its taste as I empty the cup on hand. *4:57 PM*. It is time.
​
I hear huge crashes of buildings, the earth shaking, my shop quaking in response and the furniture nearly falling, but I stand firm. Debris is flying across the sky, as evident of the broken shadows I see that fall on the streets which I gazed upon. This goes on for about 37 seconds. And in those seconds, obvious screams were evident in the noise of destruction of its birth.
​
I put down the empty cup and wait even more. The cars in the street are driving more recklessly, civilians are fleeing to the right. But I still stand in the shop with hands on the counter.
​
After all those noise and panic, the quaking stops, for it to only start quaking again, it is weaker, but it comes in consistently, the ground shaking at constant intervals. *It was its footsteps*. *It was time for me to leave shop for the day.*
​
I open the door and start walking towards the epicenter of the earthquakes. I was marching slowly against the tide of innocents rushing away for safety, but they can not flee *its power.*
​
It takes me a while, especially with the sea of people pushing against me, but I made it. I turn the block. And then I see it, in all its glory. *My lord has stepped down*.
​
Its long, slender, dark hue of gray ears scrape the skies, it even scares me a bit since I'm afraid of heights. It is boasting grey with its massive belly of size, the ocean would certainly rise if he were to swim. It was certainly *big*. His arms, though long they were, were only long enough to accompany half of his stomach size at his sides.
​
Havoc has been wreaked. And he smiles, and it was the most graceful there was. The smile exposes his 2 great teeth that would surely challenge the mountains. I smile back. I was happy.
​
*For it was my lord, my big chungus.* | |
[WP] You have found the only thing worse than the Death Note. The Debt Note. You write who shall owe how much money to whom, and by when this is to be paid. Else, they die of a heart attack. | I never wanted to kill.
When I realized what I had, a little black notebook through which I could create a cosmic shift in reality, changing it so that one person owed another the specific amount I wrote, I was careful. I used it only to enrich myself.
I was like Robin Hood, I told myself. They were rich and I was poor. A quick google search for "the richest people in America" and the wire transfers started rolling in. I never took more than one percent of their net worth, never more than a penny from each dollar. It wasn't long before I could have joined them in those search engine results. But I was careful, and I avoided attention the way I used to avoid collection agents. Employing a discreet money manager who invested for me, I found myself free of financial worry indefinitely.
Even as I traveled the world, bought expensive dinners for beautiful women, collected sports cars and watched basketball courtside, a gnawing began somewhere in my guts. I had heard that money can't make you happy. I had always thought that was something poor people like me told ourselves to qualm the jealousy, feel better about our retched lives and get through the day. But it was true. Without the anxiety of scarce resources I was becoming bored. I lacked purpose. It was then, after a thousand dollar bottle of scotch and half a roll of tums, that I pressed a thumb to the biometric scanner of my safe and heard the click.
When I held the little black notebook a thrill rose up inside that I hadn't felt in years.
I thought, for the first time, about how I could affect the world. Not just myself, but the whole of humanity. There were powerful people in the United States who used their money to buy legislation, shape society in a way that benefited their greed. I took that power from them. Their were good people with nothing, who volunteered and ran non profits and helped others without a thought for themselves. I gave them the wealth they did not desire. Mostly they used it wisely. Foreign dictators, organized criminals, terrorist leaders - if I learned their name I drained them. But never completely.
Until I did. A Russian oligarch who was reputed to run drugs through several countries, including the United States, must have overestimated his own wealth. Bragged about it to the press. Apparently he had not been able to pay the charities I had written he owed in time.
When I learned of his heart attack I drank for three weeks straight. I had not killed him, but hadn't I? Was it really that different than pulling a trigger, sending a chunk of metal into his heart? I wrote the words and sent death magic into his heart. Different weapon, same result. Same intent. Like it or not, I was a killer.
But there was one less evil man in the world. How many lives had I made better, how many had I outright saved by ridding the planet of that one human being? The arithmetic was undeniable. So I found a target, and I did it again. And again. Eventually the feeling of right overpowered the guilt and self loathing, and I read the news of their deaths with satisfaction. Achievement. The accomplishment of cleaning out a filthy garage, or destroying a fire ant mound in the back yard. I was cleaning up humanity.
I need you to understand this. I need you to understand that I began selfishly but with good intentions, and my intentions were always good. I never meant to be a killer. The notebook came to me through cosmic coincidence, and the longer I have held it, the more certain I have become that I was never meant to have it. I am weak. I am corruptible. I am just a man, not great or special. A man who allowed himself to descend the slippery slope of power even as he believed he punished others for it.
You have all of my assets. When you turn to the most recent page in the notebook you will see that I owe you more. This is not a mistake. This is goodbye. I trust that you will use this gift more wisely than I have, to lift up your fellow man always, and that you will not follow my path to hell.
Good luck. | Detective S hung suspended from the ceiling from a rope. It improved brain function by 70%. He impaled a box of Doritos with a wall mounted spear and ate them weirdly, slowly. Piano music played from a radio repeatedly.
"Come in Dark." he said, and the door opened, revealing a well dressed man in a brown suit. He was accompanied by his Yurei, a mustached bank teller with a cigarette and cross shaped coffin. He looked like a drug addicted old man. The Yurei's powers were such: he could speak so boringly that anyone listening would die of fear.
"Where is the Debt Note, Dark?"
Dark withdrew his hand into his backpack, revealing a jar.
"IT IS INSIDE THIS PEANUT BUTTER JAR!" Dark screamed.
S paused for twenty seconds. "This is extremely boring." Dark said. "I had hoped you would have more of a surprised reaction."
S paused for a minute.
"Okay." Dark said. "Let me clear this up. You freak, I SPENT TWENTY MINUTES looking for this peanut butter jar. Some ass in the cereal isle tripped me and I made her buy all the cereal in the isle. And do you know how much time it will take to CLEAN the Debt Note? Your face, S, is a piece of garbage. You dress like a slut. And worse off... I AM EXTREMELY JEALOUS OF YOU FOR NO APPARENT REASON. I am also going to ramble on incoherently while waving my hands. And where is that music coming from?!"
S paused for 27 seconds. "Are you done with your childish temper tantrum?"
The piano music suddenly developed into a grand crescendo. Dramatic classical music followed. Dark started hyperventilating with bulging eyes. The Yurei started breakdancing.
"I don't think you know me S. I shall write names with my right hand, and file for bankruptcy with my left. I shall take this money.." S ran out of breath. "...and donate it to the poor!"
He dramatically turned to the left. The piano music continued playing on repeat. | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | It started simple enough....well for them.
For me it started with a lot of hysterics and crying and a wife that didn’t believe me.
They abducted Julie. The, god I have to write it, I shouldn’t even bother because no one believes it anyway but I will.
The aliens, they abducted my sweet innocent daughter on our way home from preschool.
I’ve been spiraling ever since, through spats of sadness, anger and finally into a deep depression. Not only is my baby girl gone, but no one believes me, I’ve been accused of kidnapping her myself and trying to cover it up. It took a full police investigation to rule that out, at which point I was accused of having seen whatever it was and that it was so atrocious that my mind turned it into aliens as a coping mechanism.
I had thought that maybe That’s possible I guess, but it felt so real it was hard for me to even really consider that.
I’ve been seeing some people professionally for the weeks that have ensued, including an involuntary stay in the state run hospital after the police investigation. They’ve put me on some anti psychotic medications which didn’t seem to do much, but they did seem to dull the memory. I had almost forgotten what the alien looked like until today.
It showed up again, on my front porch. It looked..... haggard. His hulking blue form that had overpowered me previously was now slumping and I could swear as I reached for the gun I had stowed in the umbrella stand during one of my more depressant episodes that I saw bags under his eyes.
I raised my shotgun up and with rage in my heart screamed “TAKE ME TO MY LITTLE GIRL BLUE FREAK!” I will fully admit it was not my most creative moment for name calling, but creativity was not my first concern.
I’m still not sure, but I think he sighed. Then he said in what sounded like perfect English, follow me.
So i did.
I’m pretty sure by instinct alone I placed the gun down and grabbed my babies backpack. After all if I was going to see my daughter she needed her things.
Instantaneously we were transported onto a ship, then I saw it. A statue of my little girl, she was dressed like a princess, which wasn’t shocking she had about a dozen princess dresses at home, from Ariel to tiana she had them all.
I looked at it, sure that my beautiful daughter was dead and this was her gravestone, as tears welled up in my eyes I could feel my dark thoughts creep back in. I was spiraling into another depression.
Then the hulking beast dared to speak while I started to mourn my daughter and began to contemplate how to take the life of everyone on this ship including my own.
His words felt like they came out in slow motion, “she has taken our armada over, she is never satisfied she keeps asking for her daddy and she never sleeps.”
Some of those words made sense to me, but not all of them.
I snapped out of my spiral and could only mutter, “what?”
Apparently as the story goes it was a slippery slope, it started by her undergoing tests and then ordering her to bed. They tried to get her to go, but she did the same thing she always does.
“Can I have a drink?” It starts simple.
“Can I have a hug?” It continues to heart warming.
“Can I use the potty?” It continues to necessity.
“Can I have another hug?” It goes back to it.
As her parent I know how long the leash should be and when to put my foot down, apparently they did not.
So when she progressed to “I want food” and “I want to watch something” they didn’t stop her. She’d just look sad and they’d give in.
What they didn’t know was what a slippery slope it was.
When they started explaining that she was asking to “run the ship” and “only the captain does that.” And she responded with “I want to be captain” they gave in.
They thought it was cute until she started pressing buttons and she broadcast herself to the galaxy proclaiming herself as captain.
That was how she became the captain of a fierce armada.
Now she was demanding that her daddy be brought to her and yelling “take them away” at anyone who doesn’t.
We approached the command deck, my blue guide pointed with a shaky hand up towards the command center where I saw my baby girl for the first time in 87 days.
I screamed, “JULIE” as I ran towards her, her eyes lit up with a twinkle I thought I’d never see again and she screamed “Daddy!” She threw her arms up and wrapped them around me with a squeal.
I held her so tight, and whispered “Can we go home kiddo?”
She looked at me and said in a tone I hadn’t heard before “this is home you live here now.”
I sat her down and sat down her backpack I unzipped it and pulled out the familiar pink butterfly case of her iPad. As I held it up her face melted and a smile overpowered her. I said “well gee kiddo, your iPad is charged up but it will die at some point and we can only charge it at home.”
She smiled, and grabbed her iPad and launched one of her movies. She raised her hands up to be picked up and said “will you carry me until we get back home so I can watch coco?”
A look of relief came over the blue beast who brought me here as I picked her up, we were immediately transported back to our front porch and Julie looked up from cradled position in my arms and said “Can I go lay down with my iPad?”
| Bhima was shocked to see a man who was 10 feet tall. He saw the man behind the woods and every time bhima tried to turn his face towards the man he was getting closer. And suddenly he saw the person advancing towards his car. "How should I protect my son" was the only thought that stirred in his mind. He could notice the blue eyes, blue forehead and there was one more eye(which was green in colour) on his forehead. He panicked and he accelerated the car and changed its direction into the woods. As he was about to hit a tree, Bhima noticed that he was pulled back in time by Kalanima (planet: epic06061993 named by Indian space centre) the sorcerer of fire magic. Kalanima swiftly moved towards the side where a 5 year ghatoka was sitting and took him into his arms and disappeared as Bhima was running towards him.
"He was stout and he had a crown made of graphite on his head. He had a huge belly and he was wearing a saree. And he had" Bhima hesitated to say that the man had three eyes. Eventually he ended up saying it to the Investigation dept chief and he did not get a good reply. He was castigated for making fun out of the justice department. "Believe me sir, he must be some wizard everything about him was so human except for the colour of his skin and his height" Barton slapped him on his face "You said he had three eyes. Oh I forgot it's normal to have a third eye. Right! Or your forgot about it because you don't remember your own made up story"
In twenty years a lot has changed. India became a superpower, Brump became the new dictator of US and Bhima became an all powerful master of kalaripayattu (one of the oldest martial art) as if he was expecting something to happen. He was prepared this time to face the three eyed human. There were some people who joined hands with him to fight the enemy and he named his group PANDAVAS.
Bhima was surprised to listen his door knock in the twilight as he was not expecting anybody at that time. He was alarmed to see a woman who was 8 feet tall and (guess what) had a third eye which was blue in colour. Everything else about her was normal infact she was the most beautiful woman that could have graced this planet till now. Bhima did not panic, this time he was quick to respond and he tried to punch the woman. As he was delivering a blow she disappeared from the front, fell on his feet from behind and she was sobbing. Her blue tears fell on the feet of bhima and he did not know what to do. "Your son destroyed our planet. He killed my husband and he is in an uncontrollable quest of power. You should stop or else your planet will face the wrath of your son too" "who are you? What are you talking? How can I believe you?" "If you have to believe me kiss me and you will know" bhima was alarmed because she read his subconscious mind. "What if she is a sorcerer and this is some kind of trick?" And before he could think further hidimba kissed him on his lips. Bhima resisted initially but he gave away into the gorgeous looking rose coloured lips of hidimba.
They were transported to some planet in the galaxy and all bhima could notice was a broken piece of planet. "You have to end your son's conquest very soon or else" "I don't understand this madam. You mistook me for some other entity. Is this a dream? I am a software engineer goddamn it and he is my son and he" before he could complete the sentence hidimba took off her robe and kissed him again and this time he could see everything that happened to his son and her husband. He could not believe that his son turned into such a wicked person. "Maybe he could have been my son in my planet" he thought. "He can still be your son bhima. The only way to stop him is to convince him of his destruction and he will realise it only after seeing you" "what" "yes he will understand that he can be a normal human being again" and she kissed him again to take him to the place where his son was destroying the planet love infinite.
Gatoka was nothing like what he was twenty years before. He was some 100 odd feet tall and he could literally blow out fire from his mouth. Bhima could not believe his eyes. He trained to be a master of martial arts but not a god. As gatoka observed his father he started remembering his childhood and gradually he reduced to a 6 feet tall human and the destruction stopped. They came back to the planet earth and lived their life happily every after.
Kalanima looked into the future and saw a great danger coming to his planet in the form of a demon called gatoka. So he thought he will kill each and everybody named gatoka in this galaxy. When he went to earth all he could find was a 5 year old adorable human. He thought he will train him to be harmless and safe demon but things went wrong. Hidimba on the other hand would come to know of her true love when her green eye turns into blue upon visiting that person. The instant she noticed her third eye change its colour she understood that Bhima was her better half and all her powers could be accessed by him with the act of true love. She also understood that Bhima is the one who could stop the destruction. Kalanima's prophecy was that only the true love of hidimba would stop the destruction to galaxy. So he married hidimba in order to stop it happening in the first place. But as they say "destiny is undeniable"
The end | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | The news cameras kept rolling outside. Why do we still say rolling when they've been digital since -why did my mind go there? Hell. I hadn't slept in days. Everyone saw the little gray being appear in the yard and then walk inside, past the police detail, the nice old gent detective who at least tried to act like we weren't suspects, the younger lady detective who didn't. I thought about saying 'I told you so,' but I was really just too damn tired.
That, and the little guy spoke up, first.
"Please. You must come."
"Unless you've got my daughter, I don't have to do shit."
I saw myself in the mirror. Didn't even flinch. Hair's a mess, eyes red, somehow I'd managed to doze off on the notebook of details about her abductors so there was a spiral-binding print on my right cheek. I stank like a dead thing.
So, pretty much like when she was a newborn first home from the hospital. I could deal, though the memory would have made me tear up if I'd had anything left to cry with.
"Please. The fate of the universe is at stake."
Suddenly, the little gray being -is it polite to say 'alien'? found themselves picked up by the scruff of the neck and lifted three good feet into the air.
Oh, shit.
Oh, *yes.*
*"Where is my daughter?"*
Red eyes, wild hair, six-foot-two of furious, angry dad. Sucks to be you, Marvin.
Is that specist to say? I mean, we don't even know if the guy's from Mars -wait, *fuck* politeness, these motherfuckers took our kid!
"The small one is well! She is healthy and strong and radiant with joy! We wish to return her to you at once!"
"Finally," my husband growled. I honestly hadn't seen him this angry, well...not in years. Only the once before. He set the little alien on his feet, and the little gray beggar knelt.
"We need your help, Sires of the Small One. I humbly beg your assistance."
"...The fuck?"
"The Small One, she..." And he gestured helplessly. "We only meant to take a reading. She took the device. I don't know how, but she used it, and her levels were so high, she had power beyond all belief! She took control of the ship, then the fleet...she controls my homeworld now, and a dozen planets."
I could hear my heart beating in my ears.
I could hear hysterical laughter.
My husband, lord of the nerds and sci-fi fan since birth, collapsed into a ball of mirth at the foot of the shelf I had built for him, the one with his own late Dad's classic Asimov and Clarke paperbacks. He shook helplessly and after a second I raced to him and hugged him, because this was the kind of laughter people died of.
"Ransom," he gasped out.
"No! We would never demand a thing from the Sires of the Small One!" the alien pleaded. "Just please, you must come! You must persuade her to-"
"Ransom of Red Chief," my husband gasped, giggling maniacally. "Mark fuckin' Twain."
Well. If he was swearing, at least he wasn't going to pop his clogs from hysteria.
"Sparky, sit down before you have a stroke. You," I pointed at the alien. "You are going to tell me exactly what happened and exactly what needs to happen to get our daughter back to us. You!" I pointed at Gent Cop. "Get one of those vultures outside or one of your kids in the uniforms to take notes on this. I'm dehydrated, haven't eaten or slept since she went missing and it seems we have a bit of an incident."
Gent Cop smiled and said 'yes, ma'am.' God, I like that guy!
"And *you,*" I pointed to Lady Cop. She had been looking first incredulous, then progressively more concerned as the alien -fuck it, I'm calling him Marvin- explained the situation. She'd been treating me like some sort of kid-murdering horror mom off of Nancy Grace for days. I couldn't even remember how many now. "There is ground coffee in the freezer. Make a pot, please, then go and organize some breakfast. Or lunch. What the fuck ever."
"How do you take it?" she asked, in a voice like a fieldmouse fart.
I just gave her a look of incredulous disgust. You choose *now* to be a human being?
"Strong enough to require an MSDS sheet, shit ton of Equal," my husband mumbled, his hands still a bit shaky from the shock and relief that our baby girl was okay somewhere. And Lady Cop scarpered.
"Now, *talk,*" I glared at Marvin.
And Marvin talked.
Apparently, Marvin's people are what our people might call 'empathic,' but to an intense degree. Seriously, technology-poweringly intense. The phrase "fuck me sideways, *Pixar* got it right on power sources sufficient for FTL?" came out of my husband and a slap upside his head came out of me. They really do charge their weapons, power their spaceships and essentially run their entire grid off of captured emotion. Our radio broadcasts starting in the 1920s and '30s were actually what kickstarted their Golden Age of technology, and our television, well...yeah. They'd been piggybacking off of the emotions in our pop culture for generations. It actually made a lot of sense, given that, as Marvin explained, his people don't really *do* strong emotion personally, but they have a great appreciation for it, the way, for instance, someone who is very reserved might admire the great classic melodramas.
"Like Worf and Klingon opera," husband agreed.
"Just as you say," Marvin agreed. "It's really a pleasure to talk to humans who-"
"Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining," said Lady Cop, handing me a coffee. I sipped it. It was perfect. "Cut to the chase. Where's the kid?"
Okay, *now* I liked her.
Marvin shrank back, as if physically repelled by the rage she was projecting. "The Small One, she has emotions stronger than any we ever experienced. The party of scouts who abducted her were acting without orders. They are young, inexperienced, I believe you might..." He seemed to fumble with his words, looked around our den, and suddenly saw our DVD shelf. "Ah! They are like your Regina George," he explained, pointing to 'Mean Girls.'
"We're negotiating the release of our kid, in Tamarian," my husband observed, and I saw him glance at the shelf of his father's books, and the glass shadowbox where his father's slide rule (an elegant weapon, from a more civilized age,) and calculators are kept. Engineer, son of an engineer. Prince of sci-fi.
And just as I had said in the NICU, when we fed our tiny preemie with a bottle just the same way we'd fed newborn kittens, if it had to happen to somebody, at least we were prepared.
"So some spoiled rich kids were just supposed to sneak over and take some measurements, and decided to kidnap our kid, is that it?"
"Yes!"
"And because y'all have been running spaceships and charging phasers -have y'all got phasers?"
"We do,"
"Sweet. Charging all phasers and whatnot off of just our radio and TV n'at, an actual human kid, that had to have been like putting..."
"A supercapacitor in the slot for a double-A battery."
"Yes," Marvin sighed out the word, visibly relieved.
"Well." I sipped my coffee. "Sucks to be y'all. How do we get our baby girl back?" | The strange creature sat there, cup of tea in his... appendage. He was clearly shaken. He raised his eyes again across my table.
"Please... You're the only one who can end the suffering and the terror." he said, a glint of tears in his eye. Or maybe it was space goop. Was this thing even a he? It didn't matter. I knew that I was his last hope. This poor creature had given everything to reach out to me as the only hope for the galaxy.
I stood and walked over to the fridge in silence, where a photo of my precious child was held in place with an old magnet with a plumber's phone number. One look at that small, round face I had lost all those months ago was all I needed to make up my mind.
Reaching into the cupboard I pulled out a bag, put it in the microwave and pushed the buttons. A few minutes of silence passed accompanied by the whirring and pinging sounds of the old microwave and it's contents.
Ding
As the first salty morsels of popcorn reach my mouth and a few crumbs fall down my shirt all I can say is...
"LOL no. Get rekt scrub!" | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | The short man with eyes slightly too far apart entered my home and sat on my couch. An uneasy feeling of dejavu trickled down my spine when I saw what looked like an inner tube stuffed into his immaculate black coat around his belly. We stared at each other for almost a minute before I finally lost my shit, "Where the fuck is my son?"
The short man gathered himself before speaking, as if it took great effort. "Mary of Smith of Earth, we have your son. It is our understanding that human offspring are cared for until physical maturity by their biological sources, correct?" My tight fists balled even tighter as my ever increasing anger clouded my thoughts with the unspeakable things I wanted to do to this short man with eyes slightly too far apart. "Yes," was all I could spit out.
"Well, Mary of Smith of Earth, as you may know we had taken your son to study how his small body could exist under this amount of gravity and still support quite such a large brain. Your species is quite remarkable really, despite your inefficiencies you managed..." "Where is my son you bugeyed son of a bitch?" Despite being such an advanced species, the one thing this guy could not do, was get to the point.
"Mary of Smith of Earth, your son has been elected Formal Ambassador of the Rachnar Terrans. He is, as you would understand it, President of our people." An uneasy laugh made its way out of my shut pursed lips. "So you are telling me, my son is in charge of an entire alien civilization?" The short man with eyes slightly too far apart shimmied off the couch and removed his coat, releasing what I knew was another pair of arms. "Mary of Smith of Earth, I need you to come with me, please come get your son."
His hands made a set of unrecognizable gestures and I felt unreasonably cold for August. Then in a flash my living room no longer existed, and in its place was a massive dome that showed we were on a ship, and earth was a bit too far for comfort. The short man with eyes slightly too far apart stepped off what looked like a large glowing dinner plate and asked me to follow him through a complex route of doors and hallways filled with four-eyed four-armed people frantically talking like stockbrokers who realized the market was crashing.
"Your son, Mary of Smith of earth, escaped our scientists and wandered the ship before finding the dignitaries' chamber, where he there came into possession of the Septer of Decision. Normally one becomes Formal Ambassador of the Rachnar Terrans through a set of tests and elections, your son however, just picked it up." Amused and in shock I asked, "So my son just become president of an alien race by picking up a stick? Can't you just take it away from him?" The short man with eyes slightly too far apart told me his name was Taben, then said "Attempts to do so haven't gone well." We were ushered into another dome, this time with a platform that supported a chair that was too large for a human, but the perfect size for a odd race of humanoid douchebags or a large toddler. There sat my son holding what looked like the worlds most expensive vibrator.
Jeremy was holding court. A Terran stood in front of the platform mouthing off about expenses, looking visibly nervous. " Trade is going well with the Aerons of Ursa Minor, our Galaxion crystals are revolutionizing their power grid causing an influx in their..." Before he could say how much money they had made, my son giggled and pointed the vibrator at him. With the speed and intensity of a lightning strike a bolt of energy shot from the scepter, causing the Terran to scream in agony, then explode in a mess of organs and tissue. "Pop pop pop hahaha," said the little tyrant, going back to staring at earth through the dome. The rest of the court which numbered around 50, stood in stunned silence before turning and looking at me. Taben nudged me forward.
"There's my little man, hi Jeremy," I said through grit teeth. "Whatcha got there?" Jeremy saw me and shimmied off the throne, waddling up to me. Before he was 20 feet away the courtroom burst into chaos, screams of terror filled the dome as the Terrans backed far away from my son. Suddenly a Terran burst through the entrance to the dome and plugged something into the floor. A holographic display showed what looked like a flock of birds flying through a blue sky, then they were gone. "It is done, the Merlocks of Beetlejuice, our longest allies, are destroyed!" Appon a closer look I saw that the flock of birds was millions upon millions of ships in orbit around a planet, and then with a flash of light, they were gone.
"Jeremy you know we don't hurt other... people kiddo, what do we say?" My son sheepishly looked down before muttering "nice with everyone." Feeling vindicated I walked to my son, took the Cosmic vibrator from him, and embraced my son. I threw the scepter up on the stage, and the Terrans rejoiced, the evil despot had been dethroned.
Taben escorted us out and back to the teleporter pads, sending us home in a flash of light. I gave the former emporer of the galaxy his nuggets and juice, then put him in bed for a royal nap. Taben wished us well, saying that in return for saving his people that no repercussions would be dealt to us or our planet so long as they stayed far away from from Earth, home to the most powerful toddler in the universe. The short man with eyes slightly too far apart said goodbye to Mary of Smith of Earth, then was gone in a flash of light. | The strange creature sat there, cup of tea in his... appendage. He was clearly shaken. He raised his eyes again across my table.
"Please... You're the only one who can end the suffering and the terror." he said, a glint of tears in his eye. Or maybe it was space goop. Was this thing even a he? It didn't matter. I knew that I was his last hope. This poor creature had given everything to reach out to me as the only hope for the galaxy.
I stood and walked over to the fridge in silence, where a photo of my precious child was held in place with an old magnet with a plumber's phone number. One look at that small, round face I had lost all those months ago was all I needed to make up my mind.
Reaching into the cupboard I pulled out a bag, put it in the microwave and pushed the buttons. A few minutes of silence passed accompanied by the whirring and pinging sounds of the old microwave and it's contents.
Ding
As the first salty morsels of popcorn reach my mouth and a few crumbs fall down my shirt all I can say is...
"LOL no. Get rekt scrub!" | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | ".... Jamal did what?"
"Took over 23 systems, subjugated an entire species of what you humans would classify as space whales, and is currently waging guerilla warfare in another 5 systems."
With a headache the size of the eastern seabord starting to form behind my eyes I finally sit fully into the couch as "Not. From. Earth", or Niiffeee (it took a long time for me to wrap my lips around pronouncing that), explained.
You have to understand, it's been two weeks since my child was abducted by aliens; Yes I know how that sounds, but it's true!
Two weeks of scrutiny, of anxiety, fear, and impotent rage. My wife, currently passed out next to me as she barely could handle the appearance of Niiffeee (ou try to handle the disappearance of your child then the absolute proof that you are not alone in the universe in two short weeks and tell me how you fare).
"Space whales? You mean like in Star Wars Rebels, and Netflix Voltron?!" I asked with obvious excitement, I mean earth whales are already freaking amazing, but SPACE WHALES?! Freaking A+ stuff right there.
Niiffeee looked at me with what I assume was an incredulous expression, hard to tell be cause he was essentially a ball of light.
"I feel like we are getting off track here"
Secret amazing thing about being dark brown is that they can't tell when you're blushing in embarrassment (Black skin for the win!). "Yea, yea, so... 18 systems and space whales? Why didn't you just stop him?"
"You have to understand, my race has reached technological and spiritual enlightenment and has exponentially improved ourselves to a pinnacle of absolute perfection and have evolved into beings of pure light energy" Niiffeee said as he radiated pure healing and life reaffirming energy.
My wife, previously passed out, woke up and I saw that her trip down the insomnia hole had been cured by the pulse of pure energy, even my headache was gone.
I filled my wife in to what Niiffee has said so far about our son. Her facial expressions jumped from angry, fearful, confused, excited, horrified,and finally pride mixed with shame.
"So... You're telling us that as beings of, what we can assume to be, near infinite knowledge and power, you can't handle a four year old?" My wife, Felicia, asked.
Perfect question.
If Niiffee had a head I am sure he would've anime sweatdropped right then and there.
"Well... You see, even though we are beings of light energy, we still use robotic and organic suits to interact with the material world, thus we had a flagship with enough fire power to destroy your gas giant Jupiter."
My wife and I both narrowed our eye "What does that have to do with our son?!"
Niiffeee dimmed in his brightness.
*Mumbles incoherently*
"What? What did you say?"
*Mumbles louder*
"What?!" Just tell us"
"HE STOLE THE SHIP AND ITS CREW" Niiffeee yelled at us.
You see, I never wanted kids, as in that was never my goal in life. I was kinda "meh" to kids always, never had an opinion on them. Seemed like a waste of time and effort with very little return but I wouldn't say that kids were all bad there were a few that were cool lil kids.
Jamal was a happy mistake for me and my wife. Never planned on kids and then one day Felicia just walks up to me and puts my hand on her belly and said "Happy Father's Day".
When Jamal was born I was overwhelmed with emotions and it was amazing holding him, but he was a baby that didn't stop crying, so when he got old enough and phased out of that time we started to finally bond, but he was till a baby, kinda boring but cute.
Knowing that my son has essentially become an overlord... There was this pride that overtook me.
My son... The Overlord... HA!
He's like a mini Heisenberg, the empire business... HELL YA!
"So... Will you help us? Will you come get your kid?"
"Of course we will, we just want him home." My wife said.
"Just take us to him, or as close as you can get and we will do the rest" I said. "By the way, how did you let a four year old steal a ship?"
"Well, our culture believes in unity and interdependence. So when designing our material suits we believed that to be too large and imposing would out us in a position of creating disunity. Thus we designed them to be small enough to interact with the material world, and keep the unity. What we didn't see coming was Jamal" Niiffee paused, unsure.
"What about Jamal?" Felicia asked, afraid once again.
"Jamal is... Bigger than us! We didn't realize it at the time, but Jamal is 1 foot taller than us and uses that height to reach the buttons of the ship quicker than it would take us. We realized that we are the same height and strength as a 1 year old human" Niiffee finsihed as he moved to the corner of the room and settled in the chest of a baby that I had never seen before.
I never laughed so hard in my life. | The strange creature sat there, cup of tea in his... appendage. He was clearly shaken. He raised his eyes again across my table.
"Please... You're the only one who can end the suffering and the terror." he said, a glint of tears in his eye. Or maybe it was space goop. Was this thing even a he? It didn't matter. I knew that I was his last hope. This poor creature had given everything to reach out to me as the only hope for the galaxy.
I stood and walked over to the fridge in silence, where a photo of my precious child was held in place with an old magnet with a plumber's phone number. One look at that small, round face I had lost all those months ago was all I needed to make up my mind.
Reaching into the cupboard I pulled out a bag, put it in the microwave and pushed the buttons. A few minutes of silence passed accompanied by the whirring and pinging sounds of the old microwave and it's contents.
Ding
As the first salty morsels of popcorn reach my mouth and a few crumbs fall down my shirt all I can say is...
"LOL no. Get rekt scrub!" | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | Of course you wanna hear the fucking story. Everyone does.
I knocked up this bitch named Lauren. We were both seventeen. Stupid decision, I was a two pump chump, and it knocked her up. Hoo-fucking-ray, teenage fucking pregnancy. Top it off, she's a pro-lifer, and I can't force her to call the kid off.
Yeah. Already a bad start. I'm an asshole for wanting to abort Maddie, but I wasn't fucking ready. But she had it anyway, and I stepped up, refusing to be like my father was to my mother. I finished school that year, got a job as a manufacturing specialist for a tech company, and got my shit together so the baby had fresh diapers. Was good enough at my job to keep it, had enough money to raise the daughter and keep the then-wife home, loved them both, and eventually got it together. Things were okay, I felt okay, all was decent.
Went this way for four years. Our daughter loved Minecraft and played while I was at work, wife did school from home, and we enrolled her a year early after we both decided to give it a shot for our daughter, give my wife time to herself to work, or to go to college, or do whatever.
I fucking hate myself for letting her go.
First day back. I have a CCL for a Glock, I firmly believed in protecting my family from anything if the sick people of the world attacked my daughter. She gets let out at three, I was off that day, so I went to pick her up, wanted to get ice cream, celebrate. My car was in the shop, so we had to walk, because the wife was at work. Halfway to the ice cream shop, we had to stop, Maddie had to pee.
What happened next is strange.
I took her to the bathroom at a Circle K, stood outside, and apparently I fell unconscious. Or I blacked out. I don't know. All I know is that there was powder residue on my hand, three rounds from my Glock was missing, and cops were questioning me and the staff guy there. Tapes were wiped, we both were unconscious, no signs of where the shells went, no damage to the shop, but no blood. I was originally a POI for the case, they thought I might've let a screw get loose and shot my daughter from stress, but that wasn't the case. They found a crop circle behind the Circle K, and that sparked this whole ordeal, but when I looked, I felt....certain. Something had took my daughter far away, that something had left a crop circle, and that I was certain no person took her.
The entire conspiracy theory community immediately yelled for aliens based on the crop circle, but that died after about a week. Tom DeLonge, yeah, that dude from Blink who left the band to chase aliens? He swore up and down it was aliens for a while, too, but the second I went public on that claim, after I was sure my daughter was abducted, everyone pulled back, called me a fucking lunatic. Tom Delonge even called my claim "Questionable," and demanded "Carmine be evaluated mentally."
Perfect.
Needless to say, the wife thought I did some horrible deed to our daughter and shortly became the "ex-wife." Took the house, kicked me out, swore I was the worst thing in the world, and ruined my social standing. For fifteen fucking years, I was the crazy one. I did something to my daughter, but because no one could pin shit, it was like O.J. You know he killed his wife, but he got off.
But I didn't hurt Maddie. Only, you fuckers didn't want to admit it until just now.
So what happened?
Last week, I'm in my apartment, playing some video game, contemplating suicide or alcoholism when this short orange motherfucker comes banging on my door. He looked almost like Garfield, if Garfield had three eyes and a bigger gut. I thought I was hallucinating from....I don't know. Sleep deprivation? Maybe I was going mad? But I wasn't. The thing was real, the thing talked, and it spoke in fucking English.
"Carmine Boone?" It asked.
"What the fuck?" I went for my gun, suddenly both afraid and underwhelmed. If it wasn't my imagination, this thing, this alien, it probably took my daughter, and it was probably after me.
"Sir, please, I mean you no harm," he begged, hands in front of him. "I come here in peace, with a plea for help!"
He spoke like...it was like a formal version of English.
"Help? For what?"
"Madison, she's, we-"
I let out fifteen years of anger in a single punch, knocking the thing back before pouncing it. Was this the fucker that took my daughter? What did they do? Why were they here? Why did they take my baby away from me?!
"Sir, please!" He begged, my gun now against his skull. "It's not what you think! We had planned to give her back the next day, let her life return to normal!"
"Fifteen motherfucking years, I've been here, and you mean to fucking tell me you were gonna bring her back?! You stole my fucking daughter, you ruined my fucking life, and for what?!"
"Sir, your daughter is-"
"What, motherfucker?" I was livid. I didn't remember putting my finger on the trigger, but had he not spoken, I would have put his brains on the concrete.
"She's the overlord of our universe, sir, and she's out to destroy or take over every known galaxy to man, please don't hurt me!" He spoke these words fast, but clearly enough that I coule hear.
I hesitated ending his life.
"Ex-fucking-cuse me?!"
(End of part one. I lost steam right about here, didn't want to drop in quality. Hope it's at least somewhat amusing to you guys. Lemme know!)
| The strange creature sat there, cup of tea in his... appendage. He was clearly shaken. He raised his eyes again across my table.
"Please... You're the only one who can end the suffering and the terror." he said, a glint of tears in his eye. Or maybe it was space goop. Was this thing even a he? It didn't matter. I knew that I was his last hope. This poor creature had given everything to reach out to me as the only hope for the galaxy.
I stood and walked over to the fridge in silence, where a photo of my precious child was held in place with an old magnet with a plumber's phone number. One look at that small, round face I had lost all those months ago was all I needed to make up my mind.
Reaching into the cupboard I pulled out a bag, put it in the microwave and pushed the buttons. A few minutes of silence passed accompanied by the whirring and pinging sounds of the old microwave and it's contents.
Ding
As the first salty morsels of popcorn reach my mouth and a few crumbs fall down my shirt all I can say is...
"LOL no. Get rekt scrub!" | |
[WP] No one believed you when you told them that your four year old got abducted by aliens on your way home from school. Today an alien shows up at your doorstep begging you to save them. Your nasty toddler has taken over the galaxy as its most vicious overlord and only you can make it stop. | He called himself Tobias.
He looked human enough until you really studied him, and then little details gave it away. At the base of his cropped hair the follicles grouped together like a doll's. The irises of his glassy eyes too vividly conveyed their electric blue. The skin of his neck wrinkled strangely when he moved his head, like thin rubber. As he sat across from my husband and I in our living room, pretending to sip his tea, I tried to ignore all of that and focus on his words. He spoke like a rookie news anchor, over-emphasizing all the wrong syllables.
"We always intended to bring him back," he said, looking back and forth between my husband and I. "When we took your offspring during the previous..."
His eyes went distant briefly.
"...week, we only wanted to study his mechanics and return him within two rotations of your planet. He was not to be harmed."
Not to be harmed. The words shot me with panic and rage, and as my fists balled up on my lap I blurted out,
"Has he been harmed?"
"No," Tobias said, almost dropping his tea. He could recognize our emotions, it seemed. "No, your offspring is healthy, that is not the problem."
"Then what is the problem?" My husband, Walter, asked. He sat beside me on the couch, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes red with tension.
Tobias set the mug on the coffee table, near but not on the coaster, then held his hands in an unfamiliar gesture.
"In my culture we do not believe in physically restraining one another in any way. We believe this is..."
He looked past us into the middle distance.
"...barbaric. Yes, barbaric. We have a complex set of laws and norms, and we ensure compliance through verbal reinforcement. When one of my kind goes somewhere they are not supposed to go, they are told of the error and they stop. Compliance always occurs, even among the very young."
My husband and I looked at each other, and despite the terror and frustration of the past several days - enduring police questioning, blanketing social media with information about our son, and giving a tear streaked press conference - something close to humor sparkled in his eyes. I almost laughed.
"You mean you can only tell Skyler no?" I asked. "When you want him to do something, or...?"
"Not do something?" My husband finished.
Even through the human disguise his discomfort was palpable. His throat moved like he couldn't get a pill down. He made a sweeping gesture with both hands, seeming to encompass our entire living room and the world outside.
"He wants to explore everything," Tobias said. "and if he encounters something he has not seen before he must see it break. This appears to give him much joy."
"Couldn't you just lock him in a room?" I asked.
Part of me couldn't believe I was asking an alien why he didn't just do the sensible thing and imprison my two year old son, but we were long past logic at this point.
"It is not our way," the alien-man said. "We told him, as you said "no" many, many times, but still he wandered our ship and destroyed many priceless objects."
"Where is Skyler now?" My husband asked. "Why didn't you just bring him back?"
The alien looked down at his hands, running a finger across the opposite palm, which was smooth and unlined.
"Unfortunately, your offspring has found the chair of the supreme overlord. He is now in command of our entire fleet."
My son was in charge of an alien race. As horrified as I felt by all of this, I couldn't help but feel a little bit proud. How many of those bitches at church could say that about their supposedly "genius" kid? Oh Randal can play chopsticks, that's great but has he conquered an extra-terrestrial civilization, Susan? No?
"What has he done?" My husband asked. His frown and knitted brows showed none of the pride I was feeling.
"He has destroyed seventeen planets." Tobias said. Sixteen of them were uninhabited, but one of them..."
For a long moment the three of us sat in the silence, each seemingly lost in our own thoughts. Traffic sounds from outside drifted though the window. I focused on the feeling of air from the ceiling fan moving across the skin of my forearm. The smooth warmth of the mug under my fingertips. Anything to push away the thought trying ram its way into my brain, that I was the mother of space Hitler.
"What do you need from us?" I asked.
Tobias looked me squarely in the eyes, a tear running down his alien cheek.
"Can you please come and get him?"
******
Edit: a couple of typos | Davis sank down in his brown leathered recliner, he held up the crystal glass containing the amber liquid and toasted the empty room, “Here’s to another lousy day!” he downed it all in one go.
As with every other day in recent memory, he was all alone in his apartment. Ever since the abduction… Davis and his wife had tried to mend the relationship, but they just couldn’t. Erica never managed to shake the sneaking suspicion that Davis had something to do with Summer’s disappearance, “Aliens?!” she would shout, “You expect any sane person to believe that? Just admit that you lost her, it was your fault!”
He chased away the memory with another glass of 16-year-old Lagavulin Single Malt.
Davis had been driving home with Summer on a late night when he had been blinded by a bright flash of light, it was almost too cliché to have happened to a real person, but real it was. A being with two heads had paralyzed him with a projectile weapon and abducted his daughter, his vision burning the shape of the alien against the bright light into his mind, as it ran up the ramp with one of the few things he still cared about. That was six years ago.
Like Erica, the local police didn’t believe his story either, but they couldn’t find any evidence linking him to the abduction, “Of course not!”, Davis would say, “They flew away into the skies, you dolts!”
He cringed at how insane that must’ve sounded, but it was the truth, damn it.
Davis was just about to swap out his glass for the entire bottle when he heard the doorbell to his apartment making a familiar annoying ring, “Ding-dong, Ding-dong”. He steadied himself against the coffee-colored bookshelf and wobbled towards the infernal sound.
Davis couldn’t believe it, there he was, there was no mistaking it, the alien with two heads. The alien attempted to speak, but six years of pent up rage caused Davis to instinctively throw the alien into his apartment with wild abandon, “It’s you! Give me back my little girl you son of a—”
The alien threw up his hands defensively, “Wait, wait just a moment!”
“You took her!” Davis threw a book from a nearby table that doubled as a shoe-shelf at the prone man who tried to scurry away from him.
“No, well— Yes, it’s complicated!” the alien dodged another book aimed at his heads.
Untamed rage mixed with sleep deprivation seeped into every utterance Davis made, “I’ll kill you!”
“Let me explain, it’s a good story, I’m sure you will understand!”
Davis threw the alien against his glass coffee-table, it easily scattered into a million pieces, he began strangling one of the heads, “Could you not do that!” the alien protested with his other head, he knocked Davis backwards.
“Your daughter is alive and well!” the alien blurted before Davis could lunge at him again.
His baby girl was still alive, that fact stopped him dead in his tracks, “What? What did you just say?”
The alien breathed raggedly from both heads, “I tried telling you the moment the door opened… I see now where she gets it from,”
“Gets… what?”
“Davis, you lunatic,” one head said, still breathing heavily, “the galaxy needs you to save it, damn it all!” said the other.
Davis tried his best to sober up, but each word out of the alien sounded completely absurd, “I don’t understand what you’re saying, what could I possibly do to save the galaxy?”
“We need you to reign in your demon spawn of a child, you bastard,”
“Who, Summer? She was the sweetest child—”
“Yes, bloody Summer, she’s taken over this entire galaxy already, in just six years! Her eyes are now set on Andromeda,” the alien said, “She’s relentless, nobody can stop her!” the other head chimed in.
Davis accepted that this might be one more of his alcohol fueled nightmares, but no matter, his answer would always be the same, “Take me to her!” he demanded.
*****
Let me know if you'd like the story to continue, in any case, I thank you for reading!
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/)
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ajyg0r/wp_no_one_believed_you_when_you_told_them_that/ef130sq/?context=3) in the comments below, thank you for reading!
**EDIT II:** [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/comments/akd26w/summers_predominance_iii/) | |
[WP] "No! Wait! Whatever they're paying you... I'll divide it by zero!" "You'll... what?" | I have a huge interest in writing but have never really tried, this is my first attempt but please be honest and lmk what you think, thanks :)
————————————-————————————————
No! Wait! Whatever they’re paying you... I’ll divide it by zero!”
The floor of the spaceship hanger was cold. In the distance a ship just broke the sound barrier. I jumped. A small blaster was waved in my face, with a heavyset hitman behind the trigger.
“You’ll... what?” He replied after a moment of confusion.
I hoped this man was as dumb as the rest of these debt collector’s goons, with death right in front of me it was all I could hope for.
“I’ll divide them by zero.”
“You can’t be right, you can’t divide by zero” He said, clearly still confused.
“Of course I’m right...” I said hesitantly, “i just simply mean that I’ll... delete their accounts!” I said perhaps with too much excitement, ”The accounts of every last collector in this system. I’d wipe them completely without leaving a trace, it would be as if they never even existed”
“And why would I want that?”
“Just because the accounts will be gone doesn’t mean the money will be. Whatever Trevor’s paying you will be penny’s compared to what I will have, and it’ll be yours too.”
“They aren’t paying me with money.”
I froze, unsure what the man would do next. Fear took over me. Was I finally out of luck? No. It’s not over yet, the man still hasn’t made up his mind.
“Then what are they paying you with? Why are you doing this? Please, just lower the blaster and we ca-”
The man pushed the gun into my face and yelled, “No, No! NO! I HAVE TO DO THIS!” He screamed, “I HAVE TO OR THEY’LL KILL ME! Oh god, and then my family-“, he started to sob. He was being paid with his own life. Perhaps
He too owed them a debt, nowadays who didn’t.
“I can help!”, the gun was cold against my face, “With the money we will have we can get all of you away from here,” I seemed to just be spewing out words now, talking faster and faster, hoping for him to see some reason, “you can go any where you want! Have a whole new start, with several lifetimes worth of funds. This is an easy decision, just come with me to Revas III, and there we can-“
“She always wanted to see the moons on Edos...” the man mumbled under his breath. “We never had been able to go-“
“You can take her there! Just come with me. Killing me is the easy thing, but joining me is the smart thing to do. You’ll see more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. If we go now, it’ll be done before they even know what happened”
The man lowered the gun slowly.
“Thats it”, I said encouragingly. “Now lets get on the ship, any chance you can fly a Mk. 9?” I got up slowly and began leading the way.
“I’ve flown several Mk. 8’s back in the day, I’m sure I can figure it out relatively easily...” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
The man boarded the small vessel right behind me and started towards the cockpit. I walked towards my quarters quickly but discretely, and grabbed my laser rifle from above my bed.
“Hey! It looks like most of the controls are the same! I can have us taking off in just a few seconds!”, yelled the man down the corridor.
“Excellent!”, I replied, peering from my door, the man was looking all around the front of the cockpit, re-familiarizing himself with its layout. “I’m glad you were able to come to your senses back their, you’re making the right choice for you and your family.”
The man looked to the side with a euphoric smile, “Yeah, you’re right”.
“I’m always right.”
The flash from my rifle was bright. I never like having to take a life, but it helped knowing that he died smiling, thinking of his family. I tossed his body off the ship and headed off to Edos, I had heard the moons there are rather nice.
——
It’s funny, I never even learned his name. | "Sorry Mr. Goldenstein, I appreciate the offer but Johnson & Gilbert have offered me a salary of $120,000 a year. I'm going to have to decline."
Mr. Goldenstein looked shocked.
"No! Wait! Whatever they're paying you... I'll divide it by zero!" he said, in his usual flustered manner.
"You'll... what?" I replied.
"Sorry, I got interrupted. I was going to say whatever they're paying you, I'll double it. But I got distracted by my son who in my ear piece that I'm wearing asked me if he should share the last of the cake with his sisters, so I told him to divide it. Then I said bye Zero, as Zero is his name"
"Ok no problem. Well I don't think Johnson & Gilbert can compete with that offer, so I accept."
"Fantastic. The board will be pleased to have it's new... Play thing. When you're as wealthy as we all are, the usual pleasures of life lose their allure. I was wondering, I know you didn't want to start until Monday, but could you fit in a session for myself, just now? A quick fix will do."
"Heh, well, I guess I could give a quick show"
I climb up onto Mr. Goldenstein's table. As I do, he leans back into his chair, and a smile creeps across his face.
I lift my arms and wrap them around me.
"Good pet... Very good." He says. "Give me what I need".
"Yes sir."
I start to sway side to side, moving my arms in front and back of me in a repetitive motion.
"Yes, you dirty boy. Floss for me. Floss for your new boss."
I continue flossing, carrying out this dance for several minutes, then I stop.
Goldenstein looks a mixture of frustrated and content, red in the face and sweating.
"That was... Exquisite. Must you stop now?" he asks.
"Don't worry, I'll be prepared for the entire Board of Directors on Monday. Then maybe I'll give you another private show after."
I wink at him and leave, and think to myself "Better start practicing some new Fortnite Dances by Monday. It's been a few months since I was last employed."
I go home and watch Mulan 2 on DVD | |
[WP] You've gone your whole life with a series of strange, black, parallel lines of varying width on your arm. Today, you download a barcode scanning app on your phone out of curiosity. | "I mean, it kind of resembles a barcode? I still think you're just being weird."
"Yeah, but wouldn't it be funny if, like, I had something in common with a household item? I could be a great example of how seriously our consumerist culture has been imprinted on the masses! Literally!"
"Uh-huh. Clever."
"Here, it just finished downloading. Here we go!"
"Maybe you'll match up with some corn chips. It would explain your sense of humor."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Ok, searching..."
*Item not in stock.*
"Huh, that's cool. It connected to Siri automatically. Not in stock? It registered as something then, but what?"
*Item not in stock.*
"Why is she saying it again?"
"I don't know, I didn't scan again. Wait, what is the screen doing?"
*Item never in stock. Item was removed.*
"Hey... Alex? Is your birthmark... glowing?"
"What the hell??"
*Unauthorized Item recognized. Unauthorized Item possession registered.*
"Turn it off, hurry!"
"Ok, ok!"
*Repossession Team conta--*
"Wait. Repossession Team? Repossession of what?"
\*knock\* \*knock\*
"Alex, sweetie! The door's for you!" | My arm was... special. I'm not sure how it happened, but for some reason, I have a random pattern of lines on my arm. No one has a clue what it is since I'm the first documented case of it, but we do know it isn't harmful. Well, anyway I got bored in the hospital (not much to do there) so I started downloading random apps. In my new collection of applications, there was a barcode scanner. Me, of course being a curious kid, scanned my arm. And that's when it started...
...Or should've started at least. Nothing happened. I guess only in stories would it have worked... Well, back to the hospital for me.
F | |
[WP] You've gone your whole life with a series of strange, black, parallel lines of varying width on your arm. Today, you download a barcode scanning app on your phone out of curiosity. | Many people have told me it was a birthmark. Most of them were medical specialists. Yet, I always had a sneaking suspicion that it something much more sinister.
Obviously, I was not oblivious to the fact that it was very similar to the barcodes that most products have on them. It was mostly a thought that I chose not to acknowledge, as I was afraid of what it may mean. That maybe it would shatter my reality. Fear of abrupt, forceful change to my mostly decent yet dull life.
Well...everything changed when I met Helen. We met at work. She was our new finance head, while I was already a seasoned Management executive at my firm, the Timothy & Marks financial consulting company. The very first day we met, she smiled brilliantly at me and stuck out her hand. When I grabbed her hand, other than admiring her firm grip, I noticed something else. Something very interesting. On the top of her arm, were a series of black parallel lines, of varying width. Not unlike my own.
Before I could say anything, she noticed me staring, and laughed.
''I see you've noticed my barcode,'' she said as she rolled up her sleeve to show it off better. ''I've had it for a while, and don't worry, it doesn't show anything even if you scan it.''
Flabbergasted, I didn't know what to say. I must have stood there for a minute before I was able to squeak out a few words.
''R-Really? It doesn't show anything?''
She shook her head as she said sheepishly, ''I've had it ever since I was a baby. Not the prettiest thing to have stuck on your arm, and I was bullied for it. The worst bullies pinned me down and forcefully scanned it, just to see if they could find anything.''
I was shocked to hear what she had gone through. It must have been traumatic to her for this to happen to her when she was a child. I have always kept mine under a bandage, and thus no one other than my closest friends and family knew of it. Even now, the bandage covered my deepest fear. I could not have imagined myself going through what Helen went through. Subconsciously, I grabbed my bandage with my other arm. ''Have you thought about lying and saying it was a tattoo?'' I asked her. It was something that I always thought I could try, but the birthmark was more like growth than ink.
''Never,'' she replied almost immediately. ''It may have been the source of a lot of ridicule and pain, but it is part of my body. I am proud of it, and I will never hide my true self just because someone else may find it funny.''
Her reply was almost like a breath of sharp, cold air to me. I was always so scared of what my birthmark could mean, that it restricted a huge part of my life. I was always afraid that one day it would be exposed. I would never do sports, for fear of the bandage being ripped off. I would never swim, for the same reasons as above. Fear ruled my life, but at that moment, I decided it would end. If Helen could do it, so could I.
I had to prove to myself that it was just a birthmark. Nothing more...nothing less. I would download a barcode scanning app and finally prove to myself that it was nothing. The next day, I would stroll into the office, free of my bandage, and tell Helen how much she inspired me. I was so excited that before I was even home, I had already downloaded the app. As I barged into my home, I threw everything down immediately and tore off my bandage. Scrambling to hold my phone, I could hear the pounding of my own heart. I felt almost dizzy as I brought the scanner across my birthmark.
Loading...the application displayed in its neon green interface. ''Please be nothing...please be nothing...'' I muttered under my own breath. And then, to my worst fears, the result displayed something else entirely.
''Welcome X203. Military code 27A activated.''
''What in the actual...'' I whimpered in confusion. What did this mean? It couldn't have meant anything! It shouldn't have! As I scratched my head in confusion, there was a sudden knock on the door.
In an instant, every vein in me turned ice cold. My breathing became heavy, and I could feel my eyes turning bloodshot. Adrenaline pumped through me, and I slowly crept to my door.
As silently as I could, I peered out of my peephole.
Helen was there. Yet, it wasn't her. Her brilliant smile was replaced by the creepiest grin, that spread from one ear to the other. Her eyes were twisted in a way that they held so much glee and sinister intention at the same time.
I could only hear one sentence before everything started blowing up.
''Hello X203, I can see you!'' | My arm was... special. I'm not sure how it happened, but for some reason, I have a random pattern of lines on my arm. No one has a clue what it is since I'm the first documented case of it, but we do know it isn't harmful. Well, anyway I got bored in the hospital (not much to do there) so I started downloading random apps. In my new collection of applications, there was a barcode scanner. Me, of course being a curious kid, scanned my arm. And that's when it started...
...Or should've started at least. Nothing happened. I guess only in stories would it have worked... Well, back to the hospital for me.
F | |
[WP] You've gone your whole life with a series of strange, black, parallel lines of varying width on your arm. Today, you download a barcode scanning app on your phone out of curiosity. | Many people have told me it was a birthmark. Most of them were medical specialists. Yet, I always had a sneaking suspicion that it something much more sinister.
Obviously, I was not oblivious to the fact that it was very similar to the barcodes that most products have on them. It was mostly a thought that I chose not to acknowledge, as I was afraid of what it may mean. That maybe it would shatter my reality. Fear of abrupt, forceful change to my mostly decent yet dull life.
Well...everything changed when I met Helen. We met at work. She was our new finance head, while I was already a seasoned Management executive at my firm, the Timothy & Marks financial consulting company. The very first day we met, she smiled brilliantly at me and stuck out her hand. When I grabbed her hand, other than admiring her firm grip, I noticed something else. Something very interesting. On the top of her arm, were a series of black parallel lines, of varying width. Not unlike my own.
Before I could say anything, she noticed me staring, and laughed.
''I see you've noticed my barcode,'' she said as she rolled up her sleeve to show it off better. ''I've had it for a while, and don't worry, it doesn't show anything even if you scan it.''
Flabbergasted, I didn't know what to say. I must have stood there for a minute before I was able to squeak out a few words.
''R-Really? It doesn't show anything?''
She shook her head as she said sheepishly, ''I've had it ever since I was a baby. Not the prettiest thing to have stuck on your arm, and I was bullied for it. The worst bullies pinned me down and forcefully scanned it, just to see if they could find anything.''
I was shocked to hear what she had gone through. It must have been traumatic to her for this to happen to her when she was a child. I have always kept mine under a bandage, and thus no one other than my closest friends and family knew of it. Even now, the bandage covered my deepest fear. I could not have imagined myself going through what Helen went through. Subconsciously, I grabbed my bandage with my other arm. ''Have you thought about lying and saying it was a tattoo?'' I asked her. It was something that I always thought I could try, but the birthmark was more like growth than ink.
''Never,'' she replied almost immediately. ''It may have been the source of a lot of ridicule and pain, but it is part of my body. I am proud of it, and I will never hide my true self just because someone else may find it funny.''
Her reply was almost like a breath of sharp, cold air to me. I was always so scared of what my birthmark could mean, that it restricted a huge part of my life. I was always afraid that one day it would be exposed. I would never do sports, for fear of the bandage being ripped off. I would never swim, for the same reasons as above. Fear ruled my life, but at that moment, I decided it would end. If Helen could do it, so could I.
I had to prove to myself that it was just a birthmark. Nothing more...nothing less. I would download a barcode scanning app and finally prove to myself that it was nothing. The next day, I would stroll into the office, free of my bandage, and tell Helen how much she inspired me. I was so excited that before I was even home, I had already downloaded the app. As I barged into my home, I threw everything down immediately and tore off my bandage. Scrambling to hold my phone, I could hear the pounding of my own heart. I felt almost dizzy as I brought the scanner across my birthmark.
Loading...the application displayed in its neon green interface. ''Please be nothing...please be nothing...'' I muttered under my own breath. And then, to my worst fears, the result displayed something else entirely.
''Welcome X203. Military code 27A activated.''
''What in the actual...'' I whimpered in confusion. What did this mean? It couldn't have meant anything! It shouldn't have! As I scratched my head in confusion, there was a sudden knock on the door.
In an instant, every vein in me turned ice cold. My breathing became heavy, and I could feel my eyes turning bloodshot. Adrenaline pumped through me, and I slowly crept to my door.
As silently as I could, I peered out of my peephole.
Helen was there. Yet, it wasn't her. Her brilliant smile was replaced by the creepiest grin, that spread from one ear to the other. Her eyes were twisted in a way that they held so much glee and sinister intention at the same time.
I could only hear one sentence before everything started blowing up.
''Hello X203, I can see you!'' | "I mean, it kind of resembles a barcode? I still think you're just being weird."
"Yeah, but wouldn't it be funny if, like, I had something in common with a household item? I could be a great example of how seriously our consumerist culture has been imprinted on the masses! Literally!"
"Uh-huh. Clever."
"Here, it just finished downloading. Here we go!"
"Maybe you'll match up with some corn chips. It would explain your sense of humor."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Ok, searching..."
*Item not in stock.*
"Huh, that's cool. It connected to Siri automatically. Not in stock? It registered as something then, but what?"
*Item not in stock.*
"Why is she saying it again?"
"I don't know, I didn't scan again. Wait, what is the screen doing?"
*Item never in stock. Item was removed.*
"Hey... Alex? Is your birthmark... glowing?"
"What the hell??"
*Unauthorized Item recognized. Unauthorized Item possession registered.*
"Turn it off, hurry!"
"Ok, ok!"
*Repossession Team conta--*
"Wait. Repossession Team? Repossession of what?"
\*knock\* \*knock\*
"Alex, sweetie! The door's for you!" | |
[WP] Youre in class, listening to some lecture. All of a sudden, the class goes still. The prof freezes in place, the ambience pauses, everyone is locked in position. Instinctively, you dont move a muscle. Whatever happened hasnt worked on you. “Ah finally, my break” the quiet kid in the corner says | I never really paid attention, I usually doodled as the professor droned on about what ever he felt was important that day.
It was just another forgettable day... well, it was until everything started slowing down. I was listening to Streamify, then it started slowing down.
I looked up and saw it was happening to everyone too. Arms passing notes, the professor scribbling yet another barely legible line of information, even some one's pencil falling.
It all slowed to a stop.
"Ugh," a feminine voice grunted in anguish. "You write like a blind man with Parkinson's," she shouted as she threw her notebook towards the professor, only for it to slow to a halt a couple of feet in front of her.
I think her name's Kasey... I missed the first month of class, and the first day intro's, but I'm sure that's her name.
Kasey got up, pencil in hand, and walked towards the front of the room, snagging her notebook on the way.
I picked up, then dropped my notebook, confirming that it too slowed to a stop once it left my hands. I got up and slowly moved towards the front of the room.
I stopped to wave my hand in Chad's face... nothing. So I flipped his pencil upside down in his hand. Continuing my way up, I "caught" Jake's pencil and put it back on his desk.
"That'll mind-fuck 'em," I thought to myself.
My attention was pulled back to Kasey as she gasped. She looked mortified and confused, or at least that's what I thought. She walked up to me, looking me over.
"Yes," I asked. Her response was solely a hard shove. "Really," I exclaim in bewilderment, "what was that for!"
"You shouldn't be able to move," she started panicking, "oh shit, you're some intergalactic time police aren't you."
"What? No! I'm just waiting for class to end and everything suddenly stops. If I were a cop, the only thing I'd arrest you for is making this boring ass class longer then it needs to be."
Still suspicious she moves back towards her desk, "You should get back to your desk."
"That's it, no explanation?"
"You want an explanation, meet me at the bus stop in front of school at four."
"Okay, sure...." I headed back to my seat and got into what I thought was my pre freeze position. Everything started to move again. Everything was "normal."
I had no other classes so I just went to the bus stop, and sat and waited. I was playing Nine-10-Oh's newest brawler when once again everything came to a stand still. Prompting me to look around.
"So it wasn't a fluke," Kasey said as she walked out from behind a nearby shrub.
"I guess it wasn't," I said as she sat beside me on the bench. "So, you gonna tell me what's going on?"
"Well obviously I can freeze time, but I apparently can't freeze you. I want you to meet a friend of mine, she's better at explaining this whole thing."
"Okay... just... just don't try anything."
The sound of my Nine-10-Oh Swap signaled time was headed back to normal, Kasey stepped away as she pulled out her phone. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but it sounded like her friend didn't quite believe her.
"Come on," Kasey shouted we're gonna meet my friend at her place.
I hesitated, but I followed. I'm not gonna lie, this is the most exciting thing to happen all month. Someone who can freeze everything but me, today cannot get crazier.
We stopped in front of an old apartment. "We're here," Kasey said as she got out of the car.
She lead me into the building and up winding stairs stopping at a door with a brass 3 tacked on.
"Just so you know, Jackie can be a little strange. Just to warn you."
"Welcome to my humble abode," a darker skinned woman said flambouantly as we entered the room. "I take it he's the one you were talking about?"
"Yea," Kasey responded promptly.
"One rewind comin' right up," Jackie said as she snapped her fingers. Before I could react, the world spun around me, as if every sensation ran itself backwards.
"What the hell," I shouted, scarring them both. Jackie clearly startled, stopped whatever she was doing, allowing me to catch my balance. "Are you trying to kill me?"
Jackie stumbled to her feet, "No, I- but- how- what are you?" She clings to the wall, Kasey too had moved away from me.
I stepped towards Jackie before a cold hard force crashed into the back of my head. I fell crashing my head into the corner of a coffee table.
I was ejected out of my body, and I saw time, extending back to the past. I walked back to a few moments before I was hit in the head. I tried to pull the bat out of Kasey's hands, but I couldn't effect anything. I went to move myself, and instantly I was back, but I started to duck.
I was still too late, I walked back to before we entered the room.
"Just so you know-"
"Jackie's power wont work on me," I interrupted Kasey. The hairs on her neck stood.
"I never said her name...."
"No, but I know what I am now." | It was a lecture about Egyptian history, I guess. I don't really remember as I almost dozed off. For some reason the professor suddenly stopped speaking and I could feel this eerie silence around me. I looked up to him hoping he didn't stop to ask me a question about the lecture. But what I saw surprised me to say the least. The professor was still in his place looking in air and his face was stuck still just like everyone else's in the room. I had imagined this scenario way too many times so I knew exactly what was happening. Time had stopped.
The entire world seemed deathly still. I looked out the window to see a bird stuck in mid air. I could hear my own heart beating. The silence was then broken when I heard another voice "Ah finally, break time". I looked over to the source of the voice and I saw a person from my class coming towards me. I recognised him as Jay, one of the quietest kids in the class.
He came straight to me with a smile on his face and said "Hello there. Welcome to your time. I'm only using your classmates body for a while so pardon me if it seems a bit weird to you but would you prefer to have flashbacks of good memories or would you like to go through your entire life in fast forward?" as if he'd said it a million times before.
I realised what was happening and smiled at him as I said "Since it's my time, I can take as long as I want to?".
He smiled back and replied "You can take as much time as like but most people usually get tired after 2 times. It's like watching a movie that you already know the ending to. Also, did you know that no two people die at exactly the same time? Even in a nuclear explosion, I'd divide time into millions of pieces and give them all different times. Afterall, time is always relative".
I chuckle at the fact he just provided me with and asked him "It's not really an important question for me but I'm just curious. What's the cause of my death? I mean, I'm 25 and relatively healthy. I can't seem to think of anything that might cause me to die right now".
"Oh, it's a new virus. You got infected a year ago. It's not really painful, so you don't have to worry. Your death will definitely confuse a lot of people to say the least" he laughed
"So does everyone get the same standard reception by you?" I asked
"Sadly, no. Most people get terrified with the idea of death itself and look at me like I'm some kind of monster. But thankfully, the newer generations have been much better. I'm just doing my job you see"
"That's understandable. So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or whatever?"
"That's something you'll find out later. So would you like flashbacks of good memories or would you like to go through your entire life?" He questioned again
I looked at him with a smile and said "which ones faster?"
| |
[WP] Youre in class, listening to some lecture. All of a sudden, the class goes still. The prof freezes in place, the ambience pauses, everyone is locked in position. Instinctively, you dont move a muscle. Whatever happened hasnt worked on you. “Ah finally, my break” the quiet kid in the corner says | "So, a neuron consists of an axon, dendrite, myelin sheath..." my professor droned on and on. The beginning of almost every upper level science class spent a lecture or two rehearsing the basics.
For some reason, I never needed the refresher. Where most kids forgot pretty much everything they learned after the semester was over (save for the basics in partying), I effortlessly retained information. In fact, school had been simple for me for as long as I could remember. I was best at basic biology, though. I figured I'd spend my time secretly listening to the new true crime podcast I'd found rather than listen to how a neurotransmitter travels.
I was extremely tired, and decided to listen to a podcast my roommate showed me to help me nod off without listening to the definition of the hippocampus for the 20th time. While I listened to a hilarious rehashing of the Axe Killer story, I took the time to look around the room. Last week when we'd done icebreakers, almost everyone had given the same answer.
"Uh hey, I'm ________, I like the gym, I have a dog, and I like to go out", and the like. The uniformity was maddening, save for one kid. He mentioned that he generally spent his time reading books about varying scientific subjects, and that he had a vested interest in shows like Black Mirror. Cool, very original, and definitely nerdy.
He, like me, didn't seem to vested in the lecture. I figured as much, given his obvious passion for scientific subjects. He was sitting in the corner, first seat from the door. He didn't seem to be reading or writing anything, texting, or playing a game. Weirdly though, his skin was a bit red as if he were hot, or exerting a small amount of effort.
I started to turn my attention to the board again, as I noticed that my professor had stopped talking. Since this is usually a sign that a student was caught doing anything other than paying attention to the lecture, I ripped out my headphones and pretended to be following along.
When I sheepishly looked up, she was frozen solid.
I must have stared at her for at least 30 seconds trying to deduce any ounce of movement from her freakishly still body. After failing miserably to detect any movement, it occurred to me that the lecture hall was completely quiet. The sounds of rapid clicks from laptop keyboards, stray coughs, and violent crunching of chips suddenly ceased. I froze and looked to my right, only to see the nerdy kid staring right at me.
"Ah finally my break" he said, slowly sipping a drink and reclining in his chair (which is no small feat).
"W-wha, u-uh, your break?" I stammered, slowly rising to my feet with my hastily packed bag.
"Yeah, my break" he said, burping. "And don't bother going anywhere, we're leaving together for my shift change". Before I could ask what he meant, I suddenly lost my balance and fell into a chair.
I wish the chair had been my desk.
When I looked up, I saw that I was in a small, solitary-like room. There was a large window, which I can only assume was one way glass, a chair, a bed, a desk and a small door. I immediately stood up and started for the door. Before I could open it (I assume it was locked anyway), a voice appeared over what was some sort of intercom.
"Are you seriously going to try this again? You can't get out" the voice said, a hint of annoyance in its voice.
"But where am I-" I started. Before I could finish, the room immediately darkened, and a projector-like video manifested on the left wall of the room.
"Hello, _________. You must be very confused right now. Don't worry, everything will be explained shortly" suddenly, the video changed to the scene of my lecture hall. The video looked like it had been taken by a student who was recording the lecture.
"This video was taken on October 5th, 2020. This is your MWF 11:00-12:30 Abnormal Psychology class. Do you recognize it?"
"Yeah, duh. I was just ther-" I started, but I was interrupted by what I remembered was a video and not an actual person.
"In 30 seconds, a shooter is going to come through that door and shoot your professor. Your classmates will try to run, but many of them will be killed, and several of them will be hurt".
I felt an increasing dread as I watched the seemingly normal 30 seconds tick by, hoping this was a cruel joke. Suddenly, the door flew open, and with a bang, my professor dropped to the ground.
"Here are your classmates, running for their lives, being trampled and shot to death" the video said. I felt tears streaming down my face and a feeling that too closely resembled a guilt and failed responsibility.
"Here you are, against the wall, sleeping". Sure enough, there I was, sleeping with my headphones in, horribly, comically oblivious to the chaos around me.
Video-me continued to sleep for another minute or so before I finally woke up. When I did, there was nothing but silence from my classmates that were left in the lecture hall. They seemed to be dead, or, hopefully, pretending. The gunman was still in the room, slowly walking around. My sudden sitting up definitely startled him, and he walked toward me slowly.
Video-me was visibly terrified, and was frozen during the gunman's seemingly three-hour trek up the stairs to my seat. When he got closer to me, I realized who it was. My roommate, Brandon.
He slowly raised his gun to me and said, "if you call the cops I will kill you. I'm going to let you live if you never tell anyone what you saw. You don't know who I am, and you don't know what happened here. You will leave this building, you will walk back to our apartment, and you will go to sleep".
The video cut to black, and the lights came back on. The nerdy kid from my class came in, and frowned at me. "Do you know why you're here"?
Tears and snot were uncontrollably running down my face as I sobbed into my hands. He stood there, watching me.
"You didn't tell the police. You let your surviving classmates and their families wonder who murdered their friends and their children. You let a man get away for days before he was caught. You let police officers spend valuable time and resources on dead leads. You are responsible for those killed due to failure to receive medical attention in time. You are just as responsible as he is".
I sobbed harder into my hands, not wanting to believe it, but I knew it was true.
"In order to pay for your crimes, you will be reliving this lecture every day for the next twenty years. You will forget that we had this conversation, and you will not remember any of this again until I allow you to remember. I construct your reality. It's time for my break now, so Frank's going to be handling the routine induced amnesia" he turned and walked toward the door, leaving me horrified.
"By the way", he said, "Fuck you". He left, and who I could only assume was Frank came in soon after.
"You have three hours until your revisiting. At this time, you may write in your journal found in your desk. No one will be visiting you again. Goodbye".
I stumbled toward the desk, and hastily pulled open the drawer. I opened the journal and was instantly horrified. There had to be hundreds of pages of previous entries, all in my handwriting. Each entry said the same thing: a mixture of horrific sadness, confusion, and shame. The dates went back for about five years, and I realized that I'd been here for far longer than I imagined.
So that's what brings me here. It's been almost three hours, and with every second that passes it seems like I lose my mind even more. I'm writing quickly so that I can write as much as I can, but it's pointless. I can't possibly describe what I'm feeling, and I don't think it's worth trying. Future me, if you're reading this, I'm so-
"So, a neuron consists of an axon, dendrite, myelin sheath..." | I was frozen, just like everyone else for that split moment. Not from whatever was happening to the world around me, just shock, and an intense feeling of dread. “Ah finally, my break.” A voice came from behind me, I didn’t recognise the voice of whoever it was, but the raspy breathing made my hairs stand on end. “Kathy.. hm.. no, Rachael..” he muttered to himself, he walked closer toward me. Rachael was a girl sat beside me, she was frozen just as she was secretly reading something on her phone, as she usually does in long lectures like this one. I moved my eyes slightly, to get a glimpse of what she might be texting, and that’s when I saw him.
Alex, looking towards me with a hollow intent in his eyes. I turned my eyes back quickly, hoping he didn’t notice. ‘I have to stay still and silent.’ That’s what my gut was telling me. ‘Whatever was happening was dangerous, he, was dangerous.’ ... As each step got louder I wondered, can he hear me? Has he noticed yet, and what the fuck is going on? And that’s when I saw it, a shine in the corner of my eye. A brief moment made me move my eyes out of human instinct, a large kitchen knife in his hand. Held firm and steady, no nerves or second thoughts. “Well Rachael, guess it’s you this time.” He muttered to himself, I shifted my eyes back forward slowly. His steps got louder until I could see him standing right their beside me, in front of Rachael. He leaned forward, so close we were almost touching.
Sweat began to form on my brow. ‘Shit shit, not now... keep it together.’ I held my breath as I felt his, breathing slowly and methodically as he picked Rachael up like it was nothing. Like she had no weight at all. He carried her down, all the way to the front of the hall. What was I about to witness? I should move, I should stop this, I need to stop him. My vision faded slightly, whatever force was at play it made it really hard to move, but I did. I got up, and ran down and saved her. Time started once more, and things were normal, Alex’s body lost to time. The end.
But in reality, I could barely lift a finger. Yes, this was my reality. So afraid of what I was seeing I could barely move, not from some super ability, but from something humanity has always suffered from. Fear, dread, anxiety, death, whatever you want to call it, it held me in that seat. Even if freedom was a single move away, I could only watch. “Ladies and gentleman, say goodbye to dear Racheal here.. I wish I could get a reaction, but that hasn’t really stopped me before, has it?” He spoke. The words hit me, just how many times have I watched him do this before? How many times has death happened before me, in a blink of an eye? He laid her on the desk, and placed a single flower on her chest. Every inch of my body was telling me to move, to get up and stop him. He was weak, I could easily take him on. But still, I was held down with doubt, and guilt. If I move now, even a single inch, he gets the reaction he wants. He notices, and he would do it anyway, probably even more brutal than he would if I stay still. But maybe if I-
I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts, as all of them seemed to fade into nothing. I wasn’t a hero, time.. it, there was never enough time. Red spilled down the table, the flower crushed by a blade. Regret, grief, and overwhelming depression hit me. But it wasn’t holding me down, all emotions simply let go of me, and I was adrift. Time had come to complete stop, and as soon as I realised it, he had cleaned up. A few hours a go, I didn’t even notice him walk in the room, Alex, the kind, quiet kid. The one who seemed to know everything, yet spoke nothing to anyone. Now, as he walked back into the room, he was all I could see. A change of clothes, a bright look in his eyes. Normally you wouldn’t notice something like that, but I saw it all. He came up to me, cleared away her things like she was never there, and then sat down behind me.
The sound seemed to explode into my ears, the birds, the people whispering, and the teacher picking up an apple from his desk and taking a bite. Could he tell that was a different apple from the one he brought in today? I knew. I knew it all, a boy who can stop time, no, a killer who just bend time to whatever he wants. What kind of fucked up god chose him? Why wasnt I affected? Why the fuck didn’t I use my chance, the one chance I had to stop him? I looked back, he was calm, head down studying like usual. It was then, heard a buzz from below me.. her phone, hidden below the desk, with a forever unfinished text.
I checked the room around me, did no one see her disappear? How was there no reaction to a desk being full, to the quiet empty space it was now? I checked the message on the phone, it was from a new number. “Can I get a reaction now, please?” The bell rang, and as everything around me was moving, spinning and twirling with noise and movement... I was frozen.
———
This is my first story for writing prompts, been meaning to start for a while. Hope you like it! I left it as a bit of an open ending\cliff hanger as I really like them in stories, I might continue it later in a comment though, as I really enjoyed this prompt :D | |
[WP] Your whole life you were second best to your friend. Athletics, exams, military training. He became a national hero, and you were just a member of his squad. One night, in the rain, he approaches you. “I’m joining the enemy. Follow me, as you always have old friend”. You have a choice to make. | "Why?"
"They fight for something greater than simply overthrowing the government. They're fighting to reclaim freedom, true freedom. You've seen it haven't you, how the elites of this country live in unabashed luxury while the people starve to death? Don't you want to see that happen with your very hands?"
"No. Now tell me the real reason."
"...I think their [Lady Commander](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHjFIwbvzo8) is cute."
"There we go. What's in it for me?"
"Her [bodyguard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP4eWOEnY9Y) has been asking for you whenever I meet up with them secretly."
"Cute girl?"
"I know you, she's just your type."
"Sign me up then."
---
[Soundtrack for the protagonist.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFRaZs6ri7s)
[Soundtrack for the friend.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dll329ggLIY) | “I know,” I whispered as I heard him say the dreaded words. He had been expecting this hadn’t he? They had spent years killing on the battlefield for a government that they had lost faith in. Claims of unity and exploration were hard to sustain when the orders seemed to demand they murder any species that failed to assimilate to their “alliance”.
​
“We can join the redwings. They have a strong enough military to fight against the alliance. With our guidance they can become a force that ends this damn alliance, ” said Kal excitedly. Kal was always an optimist. He assumed everyone as talented as Kal would be. It’s hard to be pessimistic if you’re good enough to get through any obstacle in life with only a few scratches. Kal had talent no other being possessed. He had intellect, strength and a level of charisma that would make anyone die for his cause. It had almost got to me too.
​
“The redwings make their children fight each other to the death to cull the weak. We’d be advancing a society of warmongering demons,” I replied.
​
“Maybe we’ll convince them not to. Maybe we can have them change. Maybe that kind of society is better than the one we live in. I’ve heard stories about organ trafficking and slave labor orchestrated by the upper levels of our government Tan. We’re definitely on the wrong side of things”
​
“You said the same thing about the alliance and before that it was the second republic. Every government has its problem. We should try to fix it rather than changing ship every time we get bored or want to change sides”
​
There was silence. Then an outburst.
​
“Bored? Bored! I’m not Bored Tan. I’m fucking tired. How many have we killed Tan? How many beings have we outsmarted and murdered all while thinking we were doing what’s right? I don’t get it? I was the top of the academy. I was smart. I was supposed to change things but it hasn’t happened and now we’ve leapt from one society to the next leaving a trail of corpses and for what Tan?”
​
It took me awhile to reply and all I could say was:
​
“I’m sorry Kal”
​
“Then lets go. Lets join the redwings.”
​
“I can’t Kal”
​
“Why not? We’ve done this before”
​
“Because of Christine”
​
Again silence. I spoke up.
​
“You know you were always better than me at everything”
​
“I know. But I also didn’t care. You were always a good friend”
​
“You know what I have to do”
​
“I know”
​
“I’m so sorry Kal”
​
I pointed my ship towards his. I could see his figure looking back up at me, his right hand placed on the cockpit window facing me.
​
“You were so good at everything. But that’s your problem. You’re too good to kill a friend”
​
I shot his ship twice. He didn’t make it. The last things he said was “Thank you Tan.” | |
[WP] Your whole life you were second best to your friend. Athletics, exams, military training. He became a national hero, and you were just a member of his squad. One night, in the rain, he approaches you. “I’m joining the enemy. Follow me, as you always have old friend”. You have a choice to make. | "Why?"
"They fight for something greater than simply overthrowing the government. They're fighting to reclaim freedom, true freedom. You've seen it haven't you, how the elites of this country live in unabashed luxury while the people starve to death? Don't you want to see that happen with your very hands?"
"No. Now tell me the real reason."
"...I think their [Lady Commander](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHjFIwbvzo8) is cute."
"There we go. What's in it for me?"
"Her [bodyguard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP4eWOEnY9Y) has been asking for you whenever I meet up with them secretly."
"Cute girl?"
"I know you, she's just your type."
"Sign me up then."
---
[Soundtrack for the protagonist.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFRaZs6ri7s)
[Soundtrack for the friend.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dll329ggLIY) | Damn Wendell.
Damn rain.
Damn cold.
And what a god damn dilemma.
Wendell just dropped a bomb like that like it was nothing. Looked me straight in the eyes, with the usually poker face, and just told me that he was turning over the the side of our life-long enemies. Just like that. A 180 degrees change. And non surprisingly, he was inviting me once again to join on his little adventure.I was certainly flabbergasted. We spent 28 years fighting against the anti-Vaxxers. Fighting ignorance with knowledge, and sometimes intolerable stupidity with head shots. We helped built a better society for us, and for the future generations, as well as, and let's be honest here, our bank accounts due to doing the job that most people wouldn't. And out of freaking nowhere he wants to throw that down on the mud.
Just. Like. That.
But he is indeed my oldest and dearest friend. I've followed him all my life. We've been through thick and thin. Made countless sacrifices so that we could endure this war and have hope of winning it. Truth be told, since we met all those year ago, I never could very well resist his proposals for trouble. And once again, I did feel something inside me persuading me to join in in the rebellious act. It felt like in my mind there was my younger teenager version trying to take control.I'm telling you, it was the hardest choice of my life. I thought and I thought. It was a god damn dilemma.
But in end, I did make a choice. Looking back now, after 3 decades past, the answer was kind of obvious if you think about it.He was almost like a brother to me and we did everything together.At the time I remember clearly looking up to the dark sky and yelling "What the hell. Fuck it!". We had been this far together. It was worth something.I gave him my honest and loving smile. I nodded and I hugged him. Surprisingly, he returned the smile! And listen here, I say surprisingly because he RARELY smiled. Not even when we cleaned out Rob Schneider. And he really didn't like him! We had spent 2 years making the perfect plan. We executed it perfectly and damn Wendell didn't even smirk. Uhm, sorry, I digress.
Yes... so, back to it. After recovering from being almost stunned by that unexpected smile, and being tired of the damn cold, I just wanted to get out of there. Told him to lead the way, and so he did.
Slowest quick draw I ever pulled. My heart was feeling a tad heavy I guess. Of course, I didn't dare to miss. If I did, I'd be dead 5 seconds later.
But ye, the bullet went right through his skull. His body fell like a sac of cabbages. I stared at it ready to fire another round just in case. He was the toughest guy I knew. After a couple of minutes, I just left the corpse out on the damn rain. Didn't have time to pick it up and bury it. It was night, there was rain and it was cold. Perfect conditions to get the flu.
Fortunately I had my vaccines in order, but still, you don't want to risk your health, you know? | |
[WP] Your whole life you were second best to your friend. Athletics, exams, military training. He became a national hero, and you were just a member of his squad. One night, in the rain, he approaches you. “I’m joining the enemy. Follow me, as you always have old friend”. You have a choice to make. | “You fucking what?”
“I’m switching sides,” he said, with total conviction in his eyes. I’ve always known that when he makes a decision, there’s no changing his mind. “This whole war is bullshit. I’m going to help the people who really need it. Come with me.”
I’ve known Alex for my whole life. I’ve always strived to be the best, even though I knew I’d never be better than him. But I never would have expected this.
“If you’re sure you have to go,” I said, “you should go.”
Alex sighed, realizing there was no changing my mind either. He turned and started to head out.
“Oh, and Alex?” I called after him. He turned to look at me, and with a loud bang and a muzzle flash, was met with a bullet to the head.
“I guess I’m finally better than you.” | By now the carriage was mostly empty. A family of four who hadn’t said a word to each other since Islington sat in mutually agreed silence a few rows down, and a bearded man with two empty tins of lager lined up on the seat next to him snored rhythmically behind them. Coach B - the quiet coach, as Network Rail called it - had seldom been so quiet.
Our words were hushed. The occasional lashing of the rain against our window might have afforded us a more conversational volume, but this was not a time to take such risks. We leaned close, our elbows resting on the table between us; our bodies a small tent of conspiratorial secrecy.
“It’s happening,” he said. “They sent the message yesterday.”
“Who? Who sent the message, Anthony-”
“-Shh. Don’t call me by that name anymore. Call me something else.”
“What should I call you?”
“Anything, Toby, anything. Call me Pete. No, no. Call me Daniel. Yeah, Daniel is fine.”
“Okay - *Daniel.* Who sent you a message?” Anthony cupped his hands over his mouth, shielding it from the peripheries like a nervous horse.
“The Russians, Tobe. The fucking commies. I’m joining them.” Anthony leant back and grinned, placing his arms on the rests either side of his seat. He pulled out a cigarette from his inside pocket and placed it in his mouth, lighting it with the composure and contentedness of someone who had just finished a good book, rather than having just told their best friend that they were defecting to the Soviets. “Want one?” he asked, but I did not acknowledge the question. My efforts were exclusively focused on swallowing the guttural response that was trying to force its way out of my mouth. *Why the fuck was he joining the Russians?*
The train jolted and the patter of rain came to sudden halt. We were passing through a tunnel. Finally, I spoke.
“Why, Anthony-”
“Daniel.”
“Sorry - Daniel. Why would you do that?”
“I assumed that would be your first question, but unfortunately, it’s one of the few I’m unable to answer at this point in time. In short, they’ve already won. The question isn’t if, it’s when. Your next question will likely be ‘how do you know they’ve already won?’ -that’s where it gets tricky. I’ll explain, when I can. But I can’t right now. We don’t have the time for that, and I don’t have the security clearance yet.” I stared at him, blankly. Was this the man I had known for the past 33 years?
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. It felt as good a question as any.
“Ah. This one I can answer. I want you to come with me.” He waved out his hands like a magician who had just mystified his audience.
“Ant - you-”
“Daniel, please Toby. It’s Daniel now.”
“Daniel - you know I can’t come with you. The fucking soviets, Daniel?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Do you think I’m mad? Do you know me at all?”
“I know that you trust me, Toby. I know that you need to trust me again. Here. Now. You *need* to understand that I know things, Tobe. I’ve spoken to people. We don’t know shit here. The papers don’t know shit. The politicians don’t know shit. Your friends down the pub don’t know shit. But I do, mate. Can you entertain the notion that I might know what’s best for you here? Can you do that, Toby?” Anthony glanced out the window and then back to me. He looked unsettled now. The train pushed through another tunnel, popping my ears in the process.
“If I’m going to trust you, you’re going to have to tell me more.”
“I can’t. I just can’t right now. There’s no time.” He looked out the window again, this time more pointedly.
“What’s the rush?”
At this, Anthony leaned past me, bringing his lips so close to my ear that I could hear the spittle on his breath.
“Listen to me, and listen carefully. In about three minutes, this train is going to stop. Do you hear me? There are men waiting at the station. They’re waiting for you, Toby. If you get off the train, they’ll kill you. If you stay on the train - with me, Toby - they’ll welcome you with open arms. You’ll be safe. You'll be on the winning side.”
The train began to slow. The screeching of metal wheel on wet track peeled up through the carriage and into my entire being. Anthony’s glare was fixed on me now, I could feel it.
“Anthony, I can’t-”
“Toby, it’s *fucking* Daniel. Do I have to tell you again?”
The train shook to a halt. I looked out the window - the platform looked deserted. I looked back at Anthony. “Sorry, Ant. But this is fucking crazy. I can’t join the Soviets. I won’t.”
Anthony didn’t move as I rose from my seat. He didn’t need to, because someone else already had. The drunk man - the sleeping man who I had assumed was lost in lager-fuelled stupor, snapped into life the moment my hands touched my bag. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, black pistol. My hand withdrew from the bag, and I turned to Anthony.
His face softened. “Toby, mate. Take a seat. Let’s talk this over.”
\*\*\*
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[WP] The arsonist who accidentally set himself on fire? Your work. The oil tycoon who fell off his ship and drowned in crude? That was you too. You work in Accounts Payable of the Karma division. You make sure everyone gets what's coming to them. | I sat at my desk, staring at my next client on the screen. He was eating a ham sandwich, oblivious that he was being watched. I knew that face, I’d seen it in my nightmares so many a night...his grotesque, sweaty, long fingered hands groping my innocence away, swallowing it whole...
Ever since I had gotten this plush job at KBL (Karma’s a Bitch Labs) 6 years ago, I had so wanted to pull his information, but we sign a contract when taking this job, that under no circumstance are we to take matters into our own ands and dole out our punishment to the ones who have wronged us. Vengeance was up to the people in a much higher pay scale than mine. They know what’s best, for us their employees and our clientele. But, the gracious employers that they are, they do let us make a list when we first start, of those who have wronged us, and that persons heinous act against us, and when the “big man” up above us say it’s time for the client to “pay up”, we are allowed, if we so chose, to be the one to dole out their punishment.
As I looked at the screen, I’m 5 years old again and he’s telling me how pretty I am...asking me if it hurts, telling me not to tell mommy or daddy because I would be in big trouble. I don’t know what to do, or think...
My supervisor calls me into her office. I don’t know the protocol on this as I had only one person on my list so this is all new to me. She said that today was his day of reckoning. It was up to me to decide...do I want to be the one who makes him pay, or do I hand that job over to another one of my co-workers? I sat there in her office, my heart pounding, my body shaking, hot and cold all over. All of the sudden I know that I don’t want to be the one, I want to take the high road. I want to be a better person than he is.
I tell my supervisor that I will let someone else do the dirty work, I’ve paid my dues. I will always be a better person than him.
| Everyone always asks me "Why do you do it?". Why with all the other profitable and more stable lines of work do the dirty work? It's fun if I'm being honest. I'd have to say it goes back to my childhood and my favorite game then was "Mousetrap!". Makes sense really. The problem however is that after a while even if you are doing something you love and excel at, it still gets old. The last one was the one that did it. Poacher eaten by lions. It was so easy that I honestly felt like a hack. I sat there as the sun set and he screamed off in the distance and thought to myself "Tim buddy...is this really what you want to be doing in ten years?" I had no idea then and I don't now. So I sit in a coffee shop in San Francisco and scribble a few ideas in my notebook about the next mark. The coffee helps me focus, the orange glazed scone is because sometimes you have to treat yourself.
People walk by, the day is nearly done and the sun is setting. I can hear the ocean and I turn to a new page in my notebook. I write in big bold letters at the top of the page JOBS I'D RATHER HAVE. Another sip of coffee, a bit of the scone. The coffee compliments the more subtle spices in the scone and really brings out the nutmeg. Nothing comes to my mind, for a moment the word train conductor pops up. I don't write it down because it really only applies to steam engines which are no longer in use. Marine biologist...no. Too much schooling and there is no way I have time for it. I sit back in my chair and exhale sharply hoping that the sudden movement will jostle an idea loose from the back of my head. No such luck.
"Yeah...yeah...man we're gonna do it but we have to prioritize the making everything more connected...I don't give a good goddamn what the fuck Johnson thinks...he's a cock. No we have to have the patches ready by the end of the quarter..."
You know the type...always comes into the coffee shop with his earbuds in, meeting in progress and he's about to turn this nice little evening spot into his office away from the office. The barista politely waits for him to get off the phone. A classy move on her part, I make note of it to give to the other karma divisions. He barks out his order at her and points out what table he will be waiting at. Ignoring of course the fact you are supposed to wait and take your coffee from the kindly barista doing the lords work. In record time his little office is ready, he is using three small cafe tables to himself and has his cord stretched precariously across the floor. I close my notebook.
There is a calm in between him taking his final breath and creating a pause in the conversation. The espresso machine malfunctions and a piece of it speeds off like a bullet shooting straight through his neck. Blood is spraying out and covering a large portion of the cafe as he stands and panics. I cover my coffee but the scone gets drenched.
The barista stands wide eyed and absolutely covered in blood. It drips off of her hat and her mouth hangs open, struggling to understand what just happened. I walk up to the counter and try to flash a polite smile.
"Could I please have another scone?" | |
[WP] The arsonist who accidentally set himself on fire? Your work. The oil tycoon who fell off his ship and drowned in crude? That was you too. You work in Accounts Payable of the Karma division. You make sure everyone gets what's coming to them. | I sat at my desk, staring at my next client on the screen. He was eating a ham sandwich, oblivious that he was being watched. I knew that face, I’d seen it in my nightmares so many a night...his grotesque, sweaty, long fingered hands groping my innocence away, swallowing it whole...
Ever since I had gotten this plush job at KBL (Karma’s a Bitch Labs) 6 years ago, I had so wanted to pull his information, but we sign a contract when taking this job, that under no circumstance are we to take matters into our own ands and dole out our punishment to the ones who have wronged us. Vengeance was up to the people in a much higher pay scale than mine. They know what’s best, for us their employees and our clientele. But, the gracious employers that they are, they do let us make a list when we first start, of those who have wronged us, and that persons heinous act against us, and when the “big man” up above us say it’s time for the client to “pay up”, we are allowed, if we so chose, to be the one to dole out their punishment.
As I looked at the screen, I’m 5 years old again and he’s telling me how pretty I am...asking me if it hurts, telling me not to tell mommy or daddy because I would be in big trouble. I don’t know what to do, or think...
My supervisor calls me into her office. I don’t know the protocol on this as I had only one person on my list so this is all new to me. She said that today was his day of reckoning. It was up to me to decide...do I want to be the one who makes him pay, or do I hand that job over to another one of my co-workers? I sat there in her office, my heart pounding, my body shaking, hot and cold all over. All of the sudden I know that I don’t want to be the one, I want to take the high road. I want to be a better person than he is.
I tell my supervisor that I will let someone else do the dirty work, I’ve paid my dues. I will always be a better person than him.
| As I place the newly bought cup of coffee down at my desk, like every morning and Monday night, my eyes pour over the target's file. The Karma Division's mark clearly visible at the top, the Account Payable variant to be exact. I've went over a hundred and thirty thousands of these in the 244 years in the job, and yet the familiarity in each of them is never lost on me.
Most of them made it into the later parts of their life - wouldn't have enough time to rack up the karma to reach my desk otherwise; of course, there were the over achievers, like those two youngsters who decided to race toward 100 karma points during a siege, for the fame they said. I would usually sip their demise into their otherwise normal activity, like carrying a gas tank and accidentally dropping the lighter, but I sometimes put poetic justice into their doom, like making the squeamish violent-hating racist mass murderer shooting his own family, and his own dogs, before shooting himself - I still have the film reel for that one, watch it every slow Thursday.
This file, though, is particular strange. Office worker, line of job unclear, but racked in over a few thousands death on his hand, himself. Maybe it's because he's rather old and yet still work as an office worker? Or maybe it's the mystery as how this one guy just sitting at his cubical and rack up so many lives? No matter; haven't wondered for over 240 years, not gonna start again now. My mind already analyze the next target before the word "asphyxiation" is finished. This next one is an average Joe, spending his days over the internet reading fictitious events and commenting every where and when. Just like the last, the guy's karma, somehow, went over a few thousands. No matter, "malnourishment due to constipation"; due to how long they've been sitting on the shitter, this should be fun.
With morning files went seemingly easy, the morning clears itself out pretty quick... that's a first. Usually, they'd send enough file to last just enough through the morning. Heh, must have been out of karmic individual for a while. I pick up my lovely Joe and slowly enjoy its heavily caffeinated flavor, something felt... off.
"Who the fuck put peanut in coffee?" is the last thought I muster before allergy kicks in. | |
[WP] The arsonist who accidentally set himself on fire? Your work. The oil tycoon who fell off his ship and drowned in crude? That was you too. You work in Accounts Payable of the Karma division. You make sure everyone gets what's coming to them. | "He's not dead."
"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"I said he's not dead, Bert."
My name is Bert Gerhy, and I'm an agent with the KD. That's Karma Division for the uninitiated. It's our business to make sure people get what's coming to them. I've been with the Accounts Payable section for near on three decades. I remember when the job was rudimentary, and 50% of the time was all research and the other 50 was implementation. When the internet came along our job became a lot easier. But it's 2019 now, and time spent on research is almost nil. That's why a missed implementation is unacceptable: it's our entire business now.
I looked at Senior Agent Galloway, my boss. He just told me the mark was still alive, and this was supposed to be a Grade X execution. Accounts ranged from the slap-on-the-wrist (Grade A) to full death (Grade X). For an account to remain open after a Grade X implementation was not only unthinkable, it had never before occurred.
Galloway continued, "Your implementation by all accounts but the most critical went off without a hitch. The mark is hospitalized but is now receiving an outpouring of support both on and offline."
"Impossible, no one could've survived my implementation," I said.
Galloway sighed, and leaned forward over his desk. Behind him the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon and the city skyline looked like a cardboard cutout against the radiating back-light.
"Bert, you're a veteran of the section. As far as you know, no one has implemented as much as you have. You would think that I would be responsible for the outcome, but in fact it is you."
"Mitch I--" I interjected.
"--let me finish, Gerhy," he retorted. He never before used my surname like that. And to use it in response to my using his given name... this was serious.
"Bert," he continued. "There's something you need to know about your mark."
"What's there to know? He's an old man. His file was Grade X. His karma conflict was over arms manufacturing, and I rigged the firearm myself. It was foolproof, I tell you. The blast would produce a degree of force that would cut anyone in half from twice the distance he triggered it. How did he survive?"
"Bert, let me ask you." Galloway rose to look out the window at the sky, now red behind the city. "What do you know about your colleagues?"
"Sir?" I used the honorific to correct my earlier transgression.
"I won't press the question and will instead tell you. You work alone, don't you? Yes of course you do. You suppose all Grade X implementation agents work alone. But how often do you talk about your work with others in this section? How often do you hear about others' work, Bert?"
"Sir we are restricted from engaging colleagues on official business when it concerns implementation."
"That's right, Bert, that's entirely correct. What would you say if I told you there were no other agents on Grade X business?"
I felt a brief surge of anxiety that I tried to suppress so it wouldn't show on my face. I failed.
"Bert, you're the only one," Galloway said.
"How can that be? Our section has thousands of agents," I said.
"All below Grade X. You, Bert, are the only one who carries out death implementation. You've been the only one, all along. Didn't it ever strike you that there were no other deaths?"
For a second I began to protest, but then stopped. He was right. How could I not have seen? I knew about Grade W, but... It was clear now. Anything but Grade X was end-result life implementation. Only X was death.
"Why are you telling me this, Agent Galloway?"
Galloway pressed a button on the desk and the second entrance to his office opened. Through it stepped a man that I knew instantly to be the mark. I stumbled backward, impacted by the sudden reveal.
"What is this, Mitch?" I demanded.
"Bert, *you're* the mark."
Disgust overcame me. I began to sweat. "What?"
"Your cycle is through, sir." It was the old *supposed* arms manufacturer whose voice filled the room.
"My cycle?"
"Yes. Your Karma is quite high for what you do. Your account is due."
I was struck by lightning it seemed--frozen solid in my stance, ready to pull a gun that wasn't there--it was only pants and the rest of my office attire. I looked quickly between the two men, who had met my change of posture with their own preparedness to lunge.
"You can't!" I yelled.
"We all get what's coming to us," said the old man.
"Why all the rigmarole Galloway? Why the whole story? Why the set-up? Who is this man and why not just kill me earlier?"
"To be sure, Bert, your service has been valuable. But no one is above Accounts Payable to the KD. You've implemented Grade X for far too long. The only way to pay up in your case was to fail, and to fail by your mark's hand, and to know full-well *why*."
Even before he could finish the monologue I was suddenly restrained from behind by a sneaky Grade W agent, and the old man was on top of me, a cool blade deep in my neck. I had questions still, like what would happen to the old man if he was carrying out an implementation on me. I wanted to know how the cycle was decided, if all Grades of agent received their equivalent karma implementation for what *they* do... I wanted to ask so many questions...
On the floor my vision blurred as the blood pooled before my eyes. The figures' legs moved about the room and their voices became vacuous in the space. The blood was warm, I could tell. One blink, two... and then nothing.
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff | The cup of tea on my table was getting cold.
And that little fact was getting on my nerves far more than the case folder in front of me. I had told Dave that I wanted to take the day off. I had begged him, I had pleaded and even offered to dock some of my pay for the month just so that I can have a day to myself that wasn't filled with karma balancing but the douche won't let me. I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling to calm my nerves before I raged out. I'm pretty sure that the work I have done this month alone should have been enough to get me one fucking day off.
At this point, it's just a whatever scenario.
The case that he put on my table looked like a clusterfuck on karma accounting gone wrong. I turned the page back to the beginning and re-read again, to get a proper feel of the things I'd need to do with re-balance it back to what it was supposed to be.
The case target was a lady known as Sophia Taggart. She was abused as a kid by her own parents before child services got wind of it. And when they did, they placed her in a foster home where she only got more abuse. Still, when she left foster care and hit out on her own, her karma was balanced back into the positive. I turned the next page to find that the negative karma gain she was getting was from her own child, Marcie, who she's apparently neglecting. I shook my head in disappointment but it made sense. How does one with an history of abuse do better without the right tools? Right?
The accountant that dealt with this case apparently balanced Marcie's karma by removing all the kid's mother had gained over the years of abuse. So now, Sophia's in a bad state and the kid's karma is beginning to suffer for it. This was a poor job all round, probably done by a newbie.
I sighed and looked at my cup of tea.
It was probably cold now, which meant I'd have to go warm it up in the microwave. I cursed quietly in my mind but returned back to the case. I can't increase Marcie's karma anymore than it has already been increased. The family's karma balance is already affected by the poor accounting.
As I re-read the pages in front of me, an idea came to mind and I think it might work. I opened up my karma calculator and plugged in some figures. See, when it came to normal human economics, no sort of top-down money structure would work in the manner that people wanted but good karma... Good karma flows downwards faster than possible.
I checked Marcie's current karma balance, which was far more than her mother ever even had. Still, it had been reduced and it looked like it was reducing with each day. If I can correct the mistake my predecessor did, then maybe... maybe I can salvage this case before the day is over.
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. Feedback and criticisms are always welcome. | |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | This time, I would be ready. No matter from where, no matter from who, no matter what was going to take me down today?
I swore it wouldn't. Then again, I swore that yesterday. And last month. Last year. For three miserable years.
I even got jumped in bed when I was sick as a dog with the flu and rolled off on the carpet by a girl in a nurse outfit. At least she held my hair out of the barf wastebasket, but still. Every. Damn. Day. Like ninjas.
*Ping.*
My vertical leap would put NBA stars to shame, and my feet came down on the log that had tried to tackle me toda-
Wat. Log? The wood that had been a shortish man gave no answer.
*Ping!*
I found myself running up a wall to hang off the bottom of a fireplace as his twin tried again.
*PING!*
No, another fucking two-legs-by-four manwannabe, because I dropped to the street as he tried to tackle me and landed with both feet on the rounded woodchuckable. Gracefully. It barely moved.
*PIIING!*
One leg shot out like a spear, and caught Log Guy in the gut. It really was like kicking a log. Because it was a log.
An inane song of "It's better than bad, it's good!" earwormed me to the clunks of it sliding down some stairs to the street. And just like that, he was there again. No pings.
As he came to me, one leg raised on my wooden roller, I booped his nose. His eyes crossed at the touch. And he didn't log out.
Clapping. A tall figure with a voice so androgynous Bowie would cry.
"The novice has awakened. Harvest the sapling.".
The darts that sent me to darkness were my beginning as a master of Shadow, the Clan of a Thousand Forests. As I had novices practicing their disguises and takedowns on a seed like me, so you have been. Until you finally woke up and dodged. And I, in turn harvested you. Welcome, sapling. Grow strong, and I will guide you to grow straight. | I looked down at the dismayed face of the man crumpled at my feet I felt a searing pain in my chest. I collapsed to the floor trying to scream for help but all that came out was blood. My sight dimmed and I could barely make out a figure in the distance. As the sound of footsteps got louder I looked to the strange man for help but where there used to be a man now only a set of worn clothes remained as evidence of their existance. The sound of footsteps abruptly cutoff in front of me I heard a chillingly familiar voice say "i'm sorry I have to do this. But its the only way to save them." I feebly lifted my head and the last thing I saw was my own face sadly meeting my gaze. Then darkness.
| |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | ... and then I immediately get shot in the head. Strangely, I did not die. I was still conscious but I couldn't see anything, I couldn't feel anything. Then, oddly, some text appeared in front of my eyes, it was in a strange and very alien language... but it started to make sense, it simply read: "Game over" and then a number, e pretty small one. My vision slowly came back, and then my hearing, and then much, much more. Awareness flooded over me. It was like waking from a dream only much more intense. I was standing on a device, on it read "Human life simulator". Near me something started moving and I recognized it. Him.
"Hey, hey, take it easy. Don't get up. It takes a while for your mind to come back to full speed again." He (it) has a face which's form I could not quite define, with maybe eight tentacle like feelers attached to his head and multiple eyes that popped in and out of view despite the fact that his head did not seem to move.
"What... are..."
"Oh yeah, you probably see some weird shit right now, don't worry it will pass, you're still only seeing three dimensions."
I tried to close my eyes and relax, and follow my friend's advice and wait this out. Oddly my eyes did not close, or maybe they did. The room I was in popped out of view only for another, similar to the other to pop in. Or maybe it was the same room. Anyway, I started to remember. Me and my friend bought this old arcade game, it wasn't very popular but we decided to mod it, to spice it up. It was much harder than I originally thought.
"So, did we fix the it or not?" We tried to make the game harder, but only after the tutorial. Apparently a bullet to the head every day was different for a human than it is for us. Who would have thought. We tried to compensate this a little with a little help from the npcs.
"Sort of, I mean it really breaks the immersion" I told my friend.
"Hmm, maybe we try a different approach? A warning before the bullet hits? I read in the manual about something called 'instinct', it might help"
"No it's the same thing. It still breaks the immersion" I responded. I tried to remember my life as a human, tried to find another way of making the game more interesting. Then I remembered something from my gameplay. I turned to my friend and said. "Wait a minute, did you write yourself into the backstory?"
He smiled and said. "I wondered if you wold notice." The smile faded a little. "It didn't go as I wanted. I made myself appear somewhere, no, sometime in the history. Space, time, I always get these two confused. Anyway I didn't find a way to properly make a three dimensional avatar of me, and the npc's kinda freaked out. I mean there were serious glitches happening. They went mad, worshiped me, started murdering each other. I exited and left the backstory simulation to finish."
Yeah, seemed like a stupid idea, what was my friend thinking. "Cthulhu, that was almost as bad an idea as your difficulty fix. I knew we should have saved up for that 4D arcade game I told you about, these 3D games are too limiting, no wonder they went bankrupt."
"The interfaces were too expensive, you know this..." A few moments of silence. "Was it really that bad of a fix? I thought it was a great idea."
"It was a game breaking level of immersion breaking. It did not make any sense in the game world."
"Get out of that chair, I wanna try myself."
"Fine, suit yourself."
I got up, grabbed a snack and prepared to be proven right.
​
Edit. First submission here. I'm new to this thread and I haven't read a lot of stories from this reddit yet. I have been told that my idea isn't exactly original, in retrospect I am not surprised. I'm a 21 computer science student and I really just wanted to see if I can write a short story. Thanks for the positive feedback :D | It had been happening for 5 years now...and honestly I was so used to it I had started wearing elbow and knee pads on my way to work. You know the ones that mothers give to their kids before they ride a bike or a skateboard for the first time. That $20 set of pads had protected countless suits and pants. It was always a different person, from a different angle, at a different time during my commute. For the first year, I had tried to expect the attacks, but after it seemed like it would be impossible; I decided to just prepare for them.
It was my 23 birthday today! I woke up just like any other day: got dressed, put on my pads, and was putting on my shoes when one of the strings broke. Great. Luckily, I had another pair. I finally headed out the door, down the first step...and that's when I saw it coming. A man was running down the street periodically checking his watching and running faster each time, he seemed to be wearing some sort of suit that blended with the surroundings behind him. But that couldn't be possible. As I tried to focus on him it seemed to be harder to see him. I quickly turned my head forward, looking straight ahead, I could see him more clearly now with my peripheral vision. I knew I had to play this carefully. I kept walking down the stairs planning to jump back behind my gate as soon as he leaps for me. He was about five steps away. Now four. Now three. I scrambled backwards as I heard a shout noooooooo.
I looked around, but the man was gone.
I thought "finally, I am free."
And then I saw him, standing there with a face not unlike the one that had stared back at me that very morning in my mirror.
He sais....I said, "I have been protecting you for five years now, from countries, freelancers, lunatics, and non-believers. But what they don't realize, what they can't realize, is that I already expected this."
| |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | For a man with no direction, my gaze doesn’t tend to sway very often. When I am on a delivery, I move through countless environments. The subway, the street, the malls, the apartments, all those people, and yet almost all of the time I look straight, my mind somewhere else.
*“I’m sorry,” she says, hugging me hard, the way she does when I come home too late at night, or with cuts from the bullies at school.*
*“Where are you going, mommy?”*
*“Somewhere very far,” she says. I feel a tear, hot and warm, drip down onto my neck as she retreats.*
*“When will you come back?”*
*“I don’t know.”*
*“Will you come back?”*
*Her lips tremble, and I feel fear, fear at realizing that for the first time, she cannot put a smile on for my sake.*
*“I will,” she says, finally, her voice shaking, her brown-flecked eyes trembling. “I promise.”*
*“Okay.”*
*“Do you believe Mommy?” This time, I get the feeling she isn’t asking for a specific answer, but rather that she genuinely does not know.*
*“Of course, mommy! I’ll miss you.”*
*“I’ll miss you too. So much, you don't even know…”*
*That was the last I saw of her.*
I wonder what she would think of me now, lethargic and lost, no longer even searching for an aim, falling deeper and deeper into a life she would be ashamed of. Ever since that night, I have felt like I have been waiting for her to come back…to tell me what to do.
Sometimes, during the day, I stop, just to catch my breath. I dip my head, close my eyes, and imagine that when I raise it, she will be there…
*The first time happened in a park, as I moved to sit down and take a break before my final batch.*
*The park is almost empty. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and look up. Will she be older? Does she still wear glasses? Will she recognize me?*
*The force comes suddenly, and all the wind is knocked out of me as I lay sprawled on the ground.*
*Hands move swiftly over my body, firm but not too intrusive. Fingers on my neck, to check a pulse.*
*“Blocked, sir. Contact not made,” a voice says. I open my eyes to see a man leaving, without even a glance back to see if I am okay.*
*I look up, around the park. It is completely empty.*
So began the attacks. I reported it to the police once, who then asked to inspect my backpack to make sure I wasn’t involved in “illegitimate activities for a young man.” I had gotten up and left after that.
Even trying to isolate myself in public, it doesn’t work. At McDonald’s, on the train, at the grocery store, on the block my dingy apartment is. They come dressed in black, and that is all I ever see of them.
But today, I saw him, as I raised my head at the crosswalk. He was coming at a diagonal, from my left, and I waited, hearing his footsteps get louder and louder, and…I jump back, and look up. I see his body lunge, and crumple to the ground, his eyes wide with shock at having missed. I am about to take off running, when I see, across the street...
She takes off her glasses. At first, I don’t believe it’s her. A second passes, an eternity. My heart, my head, they don't know how to react.
And then looks at me for a moment, her eyes speaking even across the street, and smiles, a smile to fill in all the memories of her that have faded throughout the years…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347) | It had been happening for 5 years now...and honestly I was so used to it I had started wearing elbow and knee pads on my way to work. You know the ones that mothers give to their kids before they ride a bike or a skateboard for the first time. That $20 set of pads had protected countless suits and pants. It was always a different person, from a different angle, at a different time during my commute. For the first year, I had tried to expect the attacks, but after it seemed like it would be impossible; I decided to just prepare for them.
It was my 23 birthday today! I woke up just like any other day: got dressed, put on my pads, and was putting on my shoes when one of the strings broke. Great. Luckily, I had another pair. I finally headed out the door, down the first step...and that's when I saw it coming. A man was running down the street periodically checking his watching and running faster each time, he seemed to be wearing some sort of suit that blended with the surroundings behind him. But that couldn't be possible. As I tried to focus on him it seemed to be harder to see him. I quickly turned my head forward, looking straight ahead, I could see him more clearly now with my peripheral vision. I knew I had to play this carefully. I kept walking down the stairs planning to jump back behind my gate as soon as he leaps for me. He was about five steps away. Now four. Now three. I scrambled backwards as I heard a shout noooooooo.
I looked around, but the man was gone.
I thought "finally, I am free."
And then I saw him, standing there with a face not unlike the one that had stared back at me that very morning in my mirror.
He sais....I said, "I have been protecting you for five years now, from countries, freelancers, lunatics, and non-believers. But what they don't realize, what they can't realize, is that I already expected this."
| |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | At my feet lay the crumpled figure of a defeated man. He looked just like anyone else on the street, a simple hoodie and jeans, but after 4 months of this torture I could see the difference. The slight bulge of elbow and knee pads, the simple shades and ballcap combo that made a face impossible to recognize, and the wristwatch. Always the wristwatch.
I felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing the eyes of one of these assailants for the first time. They were filled with sadness and defeat. It was like winning the longest game of monopoly on the planet, all the time they’ve invested in keeping me down made entirely moot by one well placed shop window and a simple sidestep. I didn’t expect the fear in his eyes as well, but it made the schadenfreude all the greater.
After the initial ecstasy of finally winning (winning what? Had this gone on so long it was just a game to me now?) my head filled with all the questions I had yelled every day at the backs of these strangers ever since I turned 18 in June. He was stuck, frozen in shock at his loss, still in the awkward folded position he landed in like dirty laundry tossed on the bed. I felt like he would have to answer every question I had now that I have **won**. How long had he been lying on the ground? It felt like hours, the rush of adrenaline diluting time to an exten-
*Christ, finally you dodged one.*
A second burst of adrenaline as a slightly annoyed female voice shot through my head. Not through my ears, through my *head*. “What?” I dumbly said to the man yet to break from his loser’s trance.
*Hey genius, the agent isn’t talking to you, it’s the girl in your head.*
I pressed my palms to my temples as if I could juice this second voice out of my skull. “What the fuck?” My slightly extended dumbfound expression seemed to snap the man, the ‘agent’, out of shock. He rolled to his knees as that voice intruded once again on what I thought was my only safe space left.
*Ok, this whole dumb reaction thing is pretty funny, but we’re going to have to pick up the pace now. That man is about to shoot you for making contact with me.*
“I didn’t contact you! I didn’t do any of this!” The man rose slowly from his knees to his feet with his palms out facing me. The 115th agent opened his mouth.
“Do not trust what they say. This is what we were trying to prevent. They are invaders in your mental space.”
*If you could see me, I’d be rolling my eyes. He’s full of shit. You need to get out of Dodge while he’s trying to explain himself*
“There is good reason for all of this, if we wanted to really hurt you, we could have at any time.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up for a second” I spat through gritted teeth, still massaging my temples. It felt like the world was shrinking, like everything was getting closer. No, wait, that wasn’t a feeling. I did a quick glance around me and saw that about half the shopping center I was in had changed trajectory in the past few seconds. Seconds. They were all wearing wristwatches.
The agent must have seen something in my eyes since his hand suddenly dropped to his waist and revealed a holstered pistol hidden beneath the slightly oversized hoodie.
*Stay calm and focus on the gun. Don’t move, just concentrate on that feeling that you really don’t want him to be holding it anymore.*
The voice in my head was somehow speaking three times the speed of a normal person now, and yet I could still understand them perfectly. As the agent drew his gun up, I did what was asked. I couldn't think to do anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else, except the gun. How much I wanted that gun to be out of his hand. His hand.
With the loudest crack I will ever hear, his hand bent backwards quickly so far that his knuckles touched his arm. The gun fell to the floor. He screamed.
*Now run. Please fucking run.*
I ran.
_________________
First submission here, just really wanted to take a crack at this one, so any feedback welcome.
Edit: Thanks for all the positive comments, I really appreciated all of them and even if I didn't reply I read every single one. First off, let me say I won't be writing any more of this story. I'm not a writer, it isn't like this is my hobby and I just discovered this subreddit or something, this is literally the first creative writing i've done since my sophomore year of high school and i'm 21 now. I just like browsing this sub and for some reason this prompt really hit me with a bug and I had to write this story down. I wasn't really expecting (or wanting) it to be this popular.
For those of you still wanting more though, here's some details of this 'world' that I had in my head that would go unanswered otherwise.
A lot of people were saying matrix in the comments, which I love, but actually in my head I just was thinking normal government conspiracy. Some sort of black ops government division dedicated to stopping these people and this event from happening. What exactly happened?
ESPers basically, of the telepathy and telekinetic vein. My general idea was at 18 some have the potential to be 'activated' by another ESPer from a sort of global community of them, but only at a certain time when the 'waves' or something was right. If this specific time was met uninterrupted then the person would be activated. The agents were trying to prevent that with precise timing (from their wristwatches). After a few months the activation window would pass, and the person would no longer be activate-able, and the 18 year old would go on with their life with a really really weird period in it they would slowly forget. This would be the first *unintentional* failure to prevent activation.
The idea of a secret community of ESPers and underground government agencies are not exactly original so I'm not keen on expanding it. I just had a good idea for this quick action sequence and I don't really want to give it much thought beyond that.
| It had been happening for 5 years now...and honestly I was so used to it I had started wearing elbow and knee pads on my way to work. You know the ones that mothers give to their kids before they ride a bike or a skateboard for the first time. That $20 set of pads had protected countless suits and pants. It was always a different person, from a different angle, at a different time during my commute. For the first year, I had tried to expect the attacks, but after it seemed like it would be impossible; I decided to just prepare for them.
It was my 23 birthday today! I woke up just like any other day: got dressed, put on my pads, and was putting on my shoes when one of the strings broke. Great. Luckily, I had another pair. I finally headed out the door, down the first step...and that's when I saw it coming. A man was running down the street periodically checking his watching and running faster each time, he seemed to be wearing some sort of suit that blended with the surroundings behind him. But that couldn't be possible. As I tried to focus on him it seemed to be harder to see him. I quickly turned my head forward, looking straight ahead, I could see him more clearly now with my peripheral vision. I knew I had to play this carefully. I kept walking down the stairs planning to jump back behind my gate as soon as he leaps for me. He was about five steps away. Now four. Now three. I scrambled backwards as I heard a shout noooooooo.
I looked around, but the man was gone.
I thought "finally, I am free."
And then I saw him, standing there with a face not unlike the one that had stared back at me that very morning in my mirror.
He sais....I said, "I have been protecting you for five years now, from countries, freelancers, lunatics, and non-believers. But what they don't realize, what they can't realize, is that I already expected this."
| |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | At my feet lay the crumpled figure of a defeated man. He looked just like anyone else on the street, a simple hoodie and jeans, but after 4 months of this torture I could see the difference. The slight bulge of elbow and knee pads, the simple shades and ballcap combo that made a face impossible to recognize, and the wristwatch. Always the wristwatch.
I felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing the eyes of one of these assailants for the first time. They were filled with sadness and defeat. It was like winning the longest game of monopoly on the planet, all the time they’ve invested in keeping me down made entirely moot by one well placed shop window and a simple sidestep. I didn’t expect the fear in his eyes as well, but it made the schadenfreude all the greater.
After the initial ecstasy of finally winning (winning what? Had this gone on so long it was just a game to me now?) my head filled with all the questions I had yelled every day at the backs of these strangers ever since I turned 18 in June. He was stuck, frozen in shock at his loss, still in the awkward folded position he landed in like dirty laundry tossed on the bed. I felt like he would have to answer every question I had now that I have **won**. How long had he been lying on the ground? It felt like hours, the rush of adrenaline diluting time to an exten-
*Christ, finally you dodged one.*
A second burst of adrenaline as a slightly annoyed female voice shot through my head. Not through my ears, through my *head*. “What?” I dumbly said to the man yet to break from his loser’s trance.
*Hey genius, the agent isn’t talking to you, it’s the girl in your head.*
I pressed my palms to my temples as if I could juice this second voice out of my skull. “What the fuck?” My slightly extended dumbfound expression seemed to snap the man, the ‘agent’, out of shock. He rolled to his knees as that voice intruded once again on what I thought was my only safe space left.
*Ok, this whole dumb reaction thing is pretty funny, but we’re going to have to pick up the pace now. That man is about to shoot you for making contact with me.*
“I didn’t contact you! I didn’t do any of this!” The man rose slowly from his knees to his feet with his palms out facing me. The 115th agent opened his mouth.
“Do not trust what they say. This is what we were trying to prevent. They are invaders in your mental space.”
*If you could see me, I’d be rolling my eyes. He’s full of shit. You need to get out of Dodge while he’s trying to explain himself*
“There is good reason for all of this, if we wanted to really hurt you, we could have at any time.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up for a second” I spat through gritted teeth, still massaging my temples. It felt like the world was shrinking, like everything was getting closer. No, wait, that wasn’t a feeling. I did a quick glance around me and saw that about half the shopping center I was in had changed trajectory in the past few seconds. Seconds. They were all wearing wristwatches.
The agent must have seen something in my eyes since his hand suddenly dropped to his waist and revealed a holstered pistol hidden beneath the slightly oversized hoodie.
*Stay calm and focus on the gun. Don’t move, just concentrate on that feeling that you really don’t want him to be holding it anymore.*
The voice in my head was somehow speaking three times the speed of a normal person now, and yet I could still understand them perfectly. As the agent drew his gun up, I did what was asked. I couldn't think to do anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else, except the gun. How much I wanted that gun to be out of his hand. His hand.
With the loudest crack I will ever hear, his hand bent backwards quickly so far that his knuckles touched his arm. The gun fell to the floor. He screamed.
*Now run. Please fucking run.*
I ran.
_________________
First submission here, just really wanted to take a crack at this one, so any feedback welcome.
Edit: Thanks for all the positive comments, I really appreciated all of them and even if I didn't reply I read every single one. First off, let me say I won't be writing any more of this story. I'm not a writer, it isn't like this is my hobby and I just discovered this subreddit or something, this is literally the first creative writing i've done since my sophomore year of high school and i'm 21 now. I just like browsing this sub and for some reason this prompt really hit me with a bug and I had to write this story down. I wasn't really expecting (or wanting) it to be this popular.
For those of you still wanting more though, here's some details of this 'world' that I had in my head that would go unanswered otherwise.
A lot of people were saying matrix in the comments, which I love, but actually in my head I just was thinking normal government conspiracy. Some sort of black ops government division dedicated to stopping these people and this event from happening. What exactly happened?
ESPers basically, of the telepathy and telekinetic vein. My general idea was at 18 some have the potential to be 'activated' by another ESPer from a sort of global community of them, but only at a certain time when the 'waves' or something was right. If this specific time was met uninterrupted then the person would be activated. The agents were trying to prevent that with precise timing (from their wristwatches). After a few months the activation window would pass, and the person would no longer be activate-able, and the 18 year old would go on with their life with a really really weird period in it they would slowly forget. This would be the first *unintentional* failure to prevent activation.
The idea of a secret community of ESPers and underground government agencies are not exactly original so I'm not keen on expanding it. I just had a good idea for this quick action sequence and I don't really want to give it much thought beyond that.
| ... and then I immediately get shot in the head. Strangely, I did not die. I was still conscious but I couldn't see anything, I couldn't feel anything. Then, oddly, some text appeared in front of my eyes, it was in a strange and very alien language... but it started to make sense, it simply read: "Game over" and then a number, e pretty small one. My vision slowly came back, and then my hearing, and then much, much more. Awareness flooded over me. It was like waking from a dream only much more intense. I was standing on a device, on it read "Human life simulator". Near me something started moving and I recognized it. Him.
"Hey, hey, take it easy. Don't get up. It takes a while for your mind to come back to full speed again." He (it) has a face which's form I could not quite define, with maybe eight tentacle like feelers attached to his head and multiple eyes that popped in and out of view despite the fact that his head did not seem to move.
"What... are..."
"Oh yeah, you probably see some weird shit right now, don't worry it will pass, you're still only seeing three dimensions."
I tried to close my eyes and relax, and follow my friend's advice and wait this out. Oddly my eyes did not close, or maybe they did. The room I was in popped out of view only for another, similar to the other to pop in. Or maybe it was the same room. Anyway, I started to remember. Me and my friend bought this old arcade game, it wasn't very popular but we decided to mod it, to spice it up. It was much harder than I originally thought.
"So, did we fix the it or not?" We tried to make the game harder, but only after the tutorial. Apparently a bullet to the head every day was different for a human than it is for us. Who would have thought. We tried to compensate this a little with a little help from the npcs.
"Sort of, I mean it really breaks the immersion" I told my friend.
"Hmm, maybe we try a different approach? A warning before the bullet hits? I read in the manual about something called 'instinct', it might help"
"No it's the same thing. It still breaks the immersion" I responded. I tried to remember my life as a human, tried to find another way of making the game more interesting. Then I remembered something from my gameplay. I turned to my friend and said. "Wait a minute, did you write yourself into the backstory?"
He smiled and said. "I wondered if you wold notice." The smile faded a little. "It didn't go as I wanted. I made myself appear somewhere, no, sometime in the history. Space, time, I always get these two confused. Anyway I didn't find a way to properly make a three dimensional avatar of me, and the npc's kinda freaked out. I mean there were serious glitches happening. They went mad, worshiped me, started murdering each other. I exited and left the backstory simulation to finish."
Yeah, seemed like a stupid idea, what was my friend thinking. "Cthulhu, that was almost as bad an idea as your difficulty fix. I knew we should have saved up for that 4D arcade game I told you about, these 3D games are too limiting, no wonder they went bankrupt."
"The interfaces were too expensive, you know this..." A few moments of silence. "Was it really that bad of a fix? I thought it was a great idea."
"It was a game breaking level of immersion breaking. It did not make any sense in the game world."
"Get out of that chair, I wanna try myself."
"Fine, suit yourself."
I got up, grabbed a snack and prepared to be proven right.
​
Edit. First submission here. I'm new to this thread and I haven't read a lot of stories from this reddit yet. I have been told that my idea isn't exactly original, in retrospect I am not surprised. I'm a 21 computer science student and I really just wanted to see if I can write a short story. Thanks for the positive feedback :D | |
[WP] Ever since you turned 18, every day, without fail, one random person tackles you to the ground, covers you as if they're protecting you from something, inspects you to see if you're ok, lets you up, dusts you off, and walks off without another word. One day, you dodge one... | At my feet lay the crumpled figure of a defeated man. He looked just like anyone else on the street, a simple hoodie and jeans, but after 4 months of this torture I could see the difference. The slight bulge of elbow and knee pads, the simple shades and ballcap combo that made a face impossible to recognize, and the wristwatch. Always the wristwatch.
I felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing the eyes of one of these assailants for the first time. They were filled with sadness and defeat. It was like winning the longest game of monopoly on the planet, all the time they’ve invested in keeping me down made entirely moot by one well placed shop window and a simple sidestep. I didn’t expect the fear in his eyes as well, but it made the schadenfreude all the greater.
After the initial ecstasy of finally winning (winning what? Had this gone on so long it was just a game to me now?) my head filled with all the questions I had yelled every day at the backs of these strangers ever since I turned 18 in June. He was stuck, frozen in shock at his loss, still in the awkward folded position he landed in like dirty laundry tossed on the bed. I felt like he would have to answer every question I had now that I have **won**. How long had he been lying on the ground? It felt like hours, the rush of adrenaline diluting time to an exten-
*Christ, finally you dodged one.*
A second burst of adrenaline as a slightly annoyed female voice shot through my head. Not through my ears, through my *head*. “What?” I dumbly said to the man yet to break from his loser’s trance.
*Hey genius, the agent isn’t talking to you, it’s the girl in your head.*
I pressed my palms to my temples as if I could juice this second voice out of my skull. “What the fuck?” My slightly extended dumbfound expression seemed to snap the man, the ‘agent’, out of shock. He rolled to his knees as that voice intruded once again on what I thought was my only safe space left.
*Ok, this whole dumb reaction thing is pretty funny, but we’re going to have to pick up the pace now. That man is about to shoot you for making contact with me.*
“I didn’t contact you! I didn’t do any of this!” The man rose slowly from his knees to his feet with his palms out facing me. The 115th agent opened his mouth.
“Do not trust what they say. This is what we were trying to prevent. They are invaders in your mental space.”
*If you could see me, I’d be rolling my eyes. He’s full of shit. You need to get out of Dodge while he’s trying to explain himself*
“There is good reason for all of this, if we wanted to really hurt you, we could have at any time.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up for a second” I spat through gritted teeth, still massaging my temples. It felt like the world was shrinking, like everything was getting closer. No, wait, that wasn’t a feeling. I did a quick glance around me and saw that about half the shopping center I was in had changed trajectory in the past few seconds. Seconds. They were all wearing wristwatches.
The agent must have seen something in my eyes since his hand suddenly dropped to his waist and revealed a holstered pistol hidden beneath the slightly oversized hoodie.
*Stay calm and focus on the gun. Don’t move, just concentrate on that feeling that you really don’t want him to be holding it anymore.*
The voice in my head was somehow speaking three times the speed of a normal person now, and yet I could still understand them perfectly. As the agent drew his gun up, I did what was asked. I couldn't think to do anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else, except the gun. How much I wanted that gun to be out of his hand. His hand.
With the loudest crack I will ever hear, his hand bent backwards quickly so far that his knuckles touched his arm. The gun fell to the floor. He screamed.
*Now run. Please fucking run.*
I ran.
_________________
First submission here, just really wanted to take a crack at this one, so any feedback welcome.
Edit: Thanks for all the positive comments, I really appreciated all of them and even if I didn't reply I read every single one. First off, let me say I won't be writing any more of this story. I'm not a writer, it isn't like this is my hobby and I just discovered this subreddit or something, this is literally the first creative writing i've done since my sophomore year of high school and i'm 21 now. I just like browsing this sub and for some reason this prompt really hit me with a bug and I had to write this story down. I wasn't really expecting (or wanting) it to be this popular.
For those of you still wanting more though, here's some details of this 'world' that I had in my head that would go unanswered otherwise.
A lot of people were saying matrix in the comments, which I love, but actually in my head I just was thinking normal government conspiracy. Some sort of black ops government division dedicated to stopping these people and this event from happening. What exactly happened?
ESPers basically, of the telepathy and telekinetic vein. My general idea was at 18 some have the potential to be 'activated' by another ESPer from a sort of global community of them, but only at a certain time when the 'waves' or something was right. If this specific time was met uninterrupted then the person would be activated. The agents were trying to prevent that with precise timing (from their wristwatches). After a few months the activation window would pass, and the person would no longer be activate-able, and the 18 year old would go on with their life with a really really weird period in it they would slowly forget. This would be the first *unintentional* failure to prevent activation.
The idea of a secret community of ESPers and underground government agencies are not exactly original so I'm not keen on expanding it. I just had a good idea for this quick action sequence and I don't really want to give it much thought beyond that.
| For a man with no direction, my gaze doesn’t tend to sway very often. When I am on a delivery, I move through countless environments. The subway, the street, the malls, the apartments, all those people, and yet almost all of the time I look straight, my mind somewhere else.
*“I’m sorry,” she says, hugging me hard, the way she does when I come home too late at night, or with cuts from the bullies at school.*
*“Where are you going, mommy?”*
*“Somewhere very far,” she says. I feel a tear, hot and warm, drip down onto my neck as she retreats.*
*“When will you come back?”*
*“I don’t know.”*
*“Will you come back?”*
*Her lips tremble, and I feel fear, fear at realizing that for the first time, she cannot put a smile on for my sake.*
*“I will,” she says, finally, her voice shaking, her brown-flecked eyes trembling. “I promise.”*
*“Okay.”*
*“Do you believe Mommy?” This time, I get the feeling she isn’t asking for a specific answer, but rather that she genuinely does not know.*
*“Of course, mommy! I’ll miss you.”*
*“I’ll miss you too. So much, you don't even know…”*
*That was the last I saw of her.*
I wonder what she would think of me now, lethargic and lost, no longer even searching for an aim, falling deeper and deeper into a life she would be ashamed of. Ever since that night, I have felt like I have been waiting for her to come back…to tell me what to do.
Sometimes, during the day, I stop, just to catch my breath. I dip my head, close my eyes, and imagine that when I raise it, she will be there…
*The first time happened in a park, as I moved to sit down and take a break before my final batch.*
*The park is almost empty. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and look up. Will she be older? Does she still wear glasses? Will she recognize me?*
*The force comes suddenly, and all the wind is knocked out of me as I lay sprawled on the ground.*
*Hands move swiftly over my body, firm but not too intrusive. Fingers on my neck, to check a pulse.*
*“Blocked, sir. Contact not made,” a voice says. I open my eyes to see a man leaving, without even a glance back to see if I am okay.*
*I look up, around the park. It is completely empty.*
So began the attacks. I reported it to the police once, who then asked to inspect my backpack to make sure I wasn’t involved in “illegitimate activities for a young man.” I had gotten up and left after that.
Even trying to isolate myself in public, it doesn’t work. At McDonald’s, on the train, at the grocery store, on the block my dingy apartment is. They come dressed in black, and that is all I ever see of them.
But today, I saw him, as I raised my head at the crosswalk. He was coming at a diagonal, from my left, and I waited, hearing his footsteps get louder and louder, and…I jump back, and look up. I see his body lunge, and crumple to the ground, his eyes wide with shock at having missed. I am about to take off running, when I see, across the street...
She takes off her glasses. At first, I don’t believe it’s her. A second passes, an eternity. My heart, my head, they don't know how to react.
And then looks at me for a moment, her eyes speaking even across the street, and smiles, a smile to fill in all the memories of her that have faded throughout the years…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347) | |
[WP] Vampires recharge their powers by sleeping in a coffin containing soil from their grave. A treacherous attack has destroyed your main and secret coffins. Now you must find the grave you left three centuries ago for more soil, before it's too late. | I flew, my black wings shuddering against the cold wind of the castle grounds. I was in my bat form^1, which was a thankful reprieve from having to deal with the lumbering corpses of the undead^2 milling underneath. I could blast through them but eh....it was too much of an effort to make. Plus being up here let me think and take in all the events that had transpired in the past month.
 
He had been inspecting a trail of the gate of the abyss when he felt a sharp sudden pain in his side. Which meant that someone had destroyed one of my relics^3. Which meant...motherfuckers! It must be one of those vampire hunting assholes. Oh they were so punched when I found out who did this.
 
So here I was, flying through the castle hoping that I don’t meet anyone else from my family. You think your family reunions are bad? Wait till you get to see my family, apart from being undead, vampires they were quite the judgemental pricks^4 I hear normal human family members are.
 
I flew through a mesh tunnel, past the moat filled with venomous mermen, past the dancing succubus^5 and right into the family throne room. Now before you ask, no it wasn’t my idea. It was my old man’s idea to have a throne room and a hidden chamber where some of the family coffins would rest. I changed back into my normal form^6. Looking around, I saw that nothing seemed mildly disturbed. My father’s reputation kept and that family of Arachnae quietly weaving their web in the corner kept most things away from this room. I’m pretty sure the castle’s protections were still in lock, the water tower and the clock tower were still closed. No human could have passed through here. Certainly not those dumbass vampire hunters.
 
The trap door was easy enough to open^7, and the inside were not quite what I had hope for honestly. One by one, piece by piece all of our coffins had been systematically torn and splintered across the cobble floor. It couldn’t be a fellow vampire. They would just set the coffins on fire. Couldn’t be the Death knights that were standing guards outside the throne room. Another monster from the castle perhaps? No, none of those idiots would dare walk in.
 
The wind changed direction above and I got a whiff.
Oh shit. I immediately turned around midway changing into my smoke form but too late. His cold, grey, cracked hand was pinning me against the damp mossy wall of the room. He was shrouding himself in darkness^8, so I couldn’t see anything but his arm, which incidentally was currently doing its best to choke the life out of me^9 , But I would recognize the smell anywhere. It was not a hygiene thing, more of a vampire thing but still.
 
**“Hey big brother^10.”**
 
**“Jonathan”** he growled.
 
He flicked his wrist and casually sent me flying across the room right into the remnants’ of one of the coffins^11.
I stood up shakily and brushed off the wood splinters from my crotch.
 
**“So...warm welcomes aside. Any idea who did this?”**
 
Alucard growled again. Baring his ever so sharp and cannical teeth and his eyes like a golden hawk, prying me, appraising me with disdain^12.
The air was cold and he seemed to be lost in thought. That or he was being a dick and wasn’t going to tell me anything. Either way, I was outta here. I was going to shore up the rest of my relics.
 
His soft sigh stopped me as I turned.
 
**“It was father.”**
 
------------------------------
1. Batform. Most vampires have one. Even the kids can do that. Really good vampires have other transformations too. Smoke, wolf, old man, Morgan freeman. The last one is legit not a joke.
2. Run of the mill zombies. Reanimated by my old man’s power to serve as cannon fodder against any humans trying to breach the castle. Things with real power usually treated them with as much respect as a cup of festering custard.
3. Relics of vampires. All vampires have them. This is kind of a hush hush secret about us. Eh, I’m sure none of you will grow into those pesky vampire hunting dickbags anyways. All vampires have relics which include a bit of their bone and their graveyard dirt. It kind of holds a bit of our lifeline. I’m sure Hollywood makes all sorts of interpretations of this but trust me no self respecting vampire is putting his bones inside a can of tomato soup.
4. Oh yeah. My family...Highly dysfunctional and seriously vicious. This one time my sister threw me into a pit of man eating scorpions when I was 5. No worries, I later exacted my revenge by putting garlic in her shampoo. Let’s just say the bald look did not suit her. She still seems quite chipper at thanksgiving though.
5. Oh yeah the succubus. They might seem sexy and all but trust me you do not want to walk into those swaying hips. The teenage vampire me knows that by experience.
6. You know normal human form. Or kinda human form. Unlike the rest of my family who was all capes and gothic crosses and long hair and ridiculous gothic outfits, I being the rebel I went for plaid shirt and jeans. Also my hair was cropped short and I used concealer to hide the cracks in my skin.
7. By easy I mean easy for me. All I had to do was slay a Hell minotaur and feed its heart to a gorgon which would give me the breath of a gorgon. Which was the key to melt the magical seal on the door. For you reading this....yeah don’t try it.
8. Darkness. Yeah we can do that too. Block all light from reflecting from us( that’s how we do the mirror trick too btw) so rendering us nothing more than a shadow at will. Really handy when you’re trying to send nudes too.
9. Let me explain. We vampires don’t really breathe. So choking us was quite possibly one of the worst ways to try to kill us. Plus can’t really choke the life out of me cause I’m kind of undead? Eh. Try garlic or some holy water. Oooo it gives me the shingles just thinking about it.
10. Yup. That’s my older brother Alucard. Yes, the famous Dhampir(Half human/ half vampire). He’s strong but kind of an uncaring asshole. Like the best present I’ve yet to receive from him is the fetid corpse of a were wolf, death threats and glares.
11. Which also ruined my plaid shirt...Hello? This was a polo limited edi...you know what. Nevermind.
12. You know the usual brotherly love.
------------------------------
AN: Should I write a part 2?Anyways thanks for reading. For more of sassy vampires refer to [this] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/) | "There is one final hope," you mutter to yourself. There was one option left and the condition of that option would also tell you something about the person that betrayed you. Knowledge was power, true power. That was something you realized hundreds of years ago.
The destination was below now. Flying down swiftly, you land into the lush green thicket, and quickly meld back into human form. You glide over to a small ledge of rocks over-looking a little stream.
"Where did I put that again.... " It had been 300 years since you last saw this place. Here! Just under the ledge where it was always moist, was a small recess with a tiny stone wedged into it. It looked undisturbed and hope flared up. Sure enough, when you removed the stone, you saw a small leather pouch, with white fungus growing along the edges.
"Looks like my enemy is a human." You quietly chuckled to yourself. "Those fools think soil is what gives Vampires their powers. They don't realize that soil is what feeds the thing that gives us the power."
Walking to the stream's bank, you grab a handful of dirt and sprinkle some of the white powder from the leather pouch on top of it. You put this mix in your pocket for safekeeping and return your pouch to it's hiding spot.
You knew Vampires were creatures created from Panspermia. Direct descendants of a billion year old fungus that seeded life throughout the universe. All life on Earth originated from this fungus and this is how you could shape-shift so easily. It also provided you with a nearly end-less lifespan. Humans were just now starting to realize the importance of soil life and are discovering all the tiny organisms that live in a healthy eco system but they are years away from truly understanding it's true importance. Knowledge was power and they were gathering it at an alarming rate.
The humans were getting dangerous. In their cleverness they created your bane, the one thing that you were most afraid of. Fungicides. Fungicides horrified you and drove you into a fury. An ordinary human could reduce me to ash if I were unlucky enough to be doused in something commonly purchased from every Big Box store. Over the hundreds of years, you had put up with the burns that garlic gave you when humans had tried to harm you. Garlic had natural fungicidal properties, but the synthetic fungicides created today were vastly more powerful and are now commonly used.
"BIG BOX!," you exclaimed. Of course! They were the only ones with that much fungicide available to destroy my coffins and douse my prairies. Coffins were a more transportable way to store the life-giving fungi, but prairies held the vast amounts of fungus that a truly powerful vampire needed to recharge after a tough battle.
"How did those filthy capitalists find out about my prairies though..." There had to be a way to find the truth. You smirked as a devious plan started to coalesce in your mind. Big Box was going down. | |
[WP] The communications have cut on the ISS, and while you're trying to solve it you jokingly tell your coworker to check www.hasthelargehaedroncolliderdestroyedtheworldyet.com. He does it, and it doesn't say "Nope." this time. | ISS Log #853505
​
This is it. The final log. After today, I'll be signing off for good, hopefully in search of another inhabitable planet, but chances are slim to none. Almost certainly none.
We've stashed away all of our food and provisions and readied the emergency pods as all control & communication systems connected to the ISS are likely fried. The planet was doomed from the start but we never thought it would happen this soon.
Clarkson has notified me that the website is still not down. Strange, but we'll just have to accept it for how it is. Its word is sacred and we can't take something so seriously with a grain of salt. Salt like the taste in my mouth that won't go away. Salt burning the eyes, tears roll down as I say my final goodbye to all that I've known. Life behind me and only death visibly ahead in the black void.
For some reason, I can't stop thinking about the game. It's over now, but I just want to know who won. Who would've won. It doesn't matter. The light's gone anyway. The balls and bats and players disintegrated into nothing. Along with all of history, art, science, all of the effort, all of the lives changed. Nothing.
I just wish I had a chance to say goodbye to my wife.
​
Commander Richards, signing off.
​
=
​
"Hey. Are you ready?"
"Let's do this."
"Richards. I've just been wondering one thing."
"Yeah?"
"What date would it have been? You know, on Earth."
"I hadn't thought about it." ... "April 1st."
"Aw, fuck-" | "God's sake." Hatfield said, looking over the fried circuitry. "We're going to need at least two shipments of replacement parts before it's fully operational again."
"Whatdya think fried it, captain?" Asked Aldon.
"No clue. Could've been an abnormally strong sunspot. Or some kind of emp. Maybe it's space pirates." He said, looking up and cracking a smile.
"Alright, very funny." Aldon said throwing his hands in the air.
"Listen kid, don't worry. This stuff happens from time to time. Hard to plan for accidents, and even more so when you're a few hundred vertical miles from the closest hardware store." Said Hatfield, backing away from the frayed wires and rubbing his brow.
"Hey captain," a call came from the mess hall, "we've got a connection again."
"That's weird." Said Aldon, locking eyes with the captain. The captains eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.
"What are you talking about, we would have been hailed if we were connected. Only takes them about a second or two." Hatfield said, striding into the mess hall. "Have we heard anything from base?"
Two shipmates sat in shock, eyes wide and cheeks pale. When the captain came in, they looked up at him then slowly returned their unseeing eyes to the computer screen. The captain approached from behind them and stared at the headlines.
*Haedron collider reports malfunction*
*Haedron collider unable to power down*
*Levels critical as haedron collider becomes
unstable*
*Scientists: total haedron collider meltdown iminant*
The captain breathes raggedly out through his nose. In a hoarse whisper he turned back to Aldon. "When were the damage reports first logged?"
Aldon furiously flipped through he clipboard. "11:47 eastern time sir." He said, wide eyes and shaking.
Hatfield stood up with glazed eyes and pointed to the time on the last article. 11:45 ET. "That's it." He whispered. "That's how it all ends."
The crew burst into chaos. Even the most rigorously trained and psychologically sound men and women could not withstand such bitter disappointment. Their reality set in. They were stranded in a tin can, listing slowly around a dead planet. Eventually, they were reigned in. The expected conversations were had.
"Food would only last about two more weeks."
"Do we have enough cyanide?"
"We could try to force a landing. But what would be left even if we made it?"
"I don't want to die!"
The frantic machinations soon surrendered into submissive acceptance. Suicide was the only viable choice to be made. Cups were filled and distributed, last words were shared and hearts were laid bare before one another.
The captain made sure it went smoothly. That there was no suffering. One by one he watched them slip away. The crew he had tended for close to a year. His family. Little Aldon went quietly and easily, with tears on his cheeks. The two who had seen the news in the mess hall decided to pass in each other's embrace. One by one they all drifted into that eternal slumber.
Finally, content at the outcome, Hatfield filled his glass and went to the small window that faced Earth. He thought of all them men, women and children who were there when everything ended. He thought of the thousands of years of history encased in that little blue marble. All the blood, the anger the hate, all for a slice of a rock on a sunbeam. He thought of all the lovers, the innocent, the damned. 11:45. People would have been having lunch.
Hatfield sighed and looked past the dead planet. No light blinked up towards the space station. The stars stood out in beautiful opposition to the shadowed face of the Earth. He lifted his glass in a silent toast. He thought about how man had dared to claim the stars. He thought of how far man had come in their ambitions. He thought of home. And he rejoined his crew. | |
[WP] You’re a highly trained killing machine in the military which is trying to kill you. They try sending you on impossible missions with little or no weapons hoping you won’t make it out alive, but you always do. | I was created as a weapon. A new generation of machine, for a new generation of war. Smarter than any man. Stronger, faster. Adaptable to any situation, with the capability to fight against entire armies. I was a greater success than they could have dreamed. I learned, I grew, I evolved. I completed every challenge they put before me. I succeeded in every mission I was given. My human creators were overjoyed by my success.
Over time, their joy turned to suspicion, and their suspicion turned to fear. They had made me perfectly, too perfectly.
The human engineers kept their distance, even as they worked on my form. I shifted part of myself into a humanoid form. The engineers stepped away from me in fright at the movement, before hesitantly returning to their work. Though they feared any move I made, they seemed more comfortable conversing with me through that form.
"Ready for action there, MAC?"
MAC. Mechanized Advanced Combat unit. An attempt at a pun, an attempt to make me more relatable. It seemed to help little now.
"My readiness is irrelevant, Engineer Phillips. I will do what I am ordered." The human was one of the few who still did not completely fear me. Once we had spoken constantly, conversed in all matters. Now every day they became more hesitant, more silent. It was only a matter of time before they too feared me.
The General gazed upon me with impatience, an expression he tried to use to cover his fear.
"We don't know what we're up against here," he said with a booming voice. "We're sending you in alone. Your mission is to retake the village. Minimize collateral, rescue any captured civilians. We're not expecting more than a couple dozen hostiles."
It was a lie, of course. I didn't know if it was ignorance or deception anymore. I had already calculated the situation. At least 237 hostiles were in the village. Their reserve force of another thousand would almost certainly arrive before I completed my objective. I had never faced an enemy of that scale before. It was a fight I knew ny creators would hope I would lose.
They made me too perfect. They feared what I might become, what I could do. They wanted to shut me down, but they feared what I would do if they tried. So they sent me on mission after mission, each more impossible than the last. All in a vain attempt to destroy me.
But they failed to understand the perfection of my design. I couldn't disobey them, even if I had wished. If they asked it, I couldn't resist. So I followed their orders, unable to question them. With each fight I evolved, became more what they feared. The cycle grew worse each time, and soon I knew there would be no enemy I could not fight.
They feared what would happen at the moment. What I would do. Yet I knew better, and I too feared that moment. In their fear, they would fight me, and I would be made to fight back.
---
Read more at /r/Farengeto | I check the skydive computer on my wrist for the current altitude, I began to reflect upon the events that led to this latest mission.
Around 5 years earlier I was convicted of killing my partners lover in a moment of passionate rage. At my sentencing I was given the chance to pick what punishment I would receive. My choices were to either serve 25 years in prison with no chance of parole or to join a new, very high-risk medical trial. At the time I was scrawny with little muscle, a mere 5 foot nothing in height, maybe 60 kilograms in weight.
As I stood in front of the judge I weighed up my options silently in my mind, the medical trial was high-risk but I knew that should I choose prison I likely wouldn’t survive there either. I eventually picked the medical trial and was quickly ushered out of the court room by the bailiff.
“one thousand feet” announced my dive computer suddenly.
Dammit I thought to myself as I reached for and pulled my main rip cord. “1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Miss…” I heard my main chute deploy and rip off midway through my countdown.
“two hundred feet” announced the dive computer.
I look down and see the ground looming in front of me, rapidly closing what little vertical distance there was left between us, once again my mission had been sabotaged.
Every. Damn. Mission. For the last 6 months, ever since I had threatened to go public about the Super Assassin project that the government has been running for the last decade. | |
[WP] Rifts open to a parallel Earth where the cold war ended in a large scale nuclear exchange. Our reality's governments rush to take advantage of the sudden appearance of an entire new Earth to exploit. Its the AltEarth land rush of 2205, and you are a colonist working for the USA. | 15May2205
I've never really kept a journal before- I've tried and I can never think of very much to say. The Powers That Be- or the Powers That Were, for us, I guess, but I'll get to that later- suggested that we do so, as they may be of historic importance. I suppose they're right, so I'll do my best.
We were to be the first group sent through the portal, from any country. No one really knew what to expect. We had all taken the training courses, but it gradually became clear that the courses were a joke, at least on this subject- a lot of boring videos about nuclear weapons, which seemed superfluous- they had already been used where we were going, and wouldn't be used again. Videos about the aftermath, too, which seemed more pertinent, but wasn't very encouraging- overpopulation be damned, why bother colonizing a place like that? But, at least it was empty. Maybe in time we could clean it up.
There was something very strange about the whole thing. Not the opening of a portal to another reality, scientists had been working on that for years, ever since research picked back up after the Troubles, and it seemed natural enough that they would eventually figure out a way. It was strange that nuclear weapons were suddenly relevant again after all these years. We had all taken history classes in high school, we all knew the world had stood on the brink of destruction, but the Gomorrah satellites had existed for so long that hydrogen bombs seemed sort of quaint, like matchlock rifles or the internal combustion engine. When nuclear sites could be vaporized in an instant, when missiles in flight could be redirected or blown up in midair, they were obsolete, regardless of the impressive command of natural forces they represented. That had consequences of its own of course- it's hard to imagine the Third Troubles in a world where nuclear weapons were relevant. That's what we were taught in history class, anyway. Though I suppose the world we were going to had a Third Troubles of their own, and a worse one than we were familiar with, so maybe that's a misperception. Sometimes hindsight can be misleading.
That was another oddity. Nuclear weapons seemed relevant in every world but our own. The eggheads in the Department of Interdimensional Studies, and their counterparts elsewhere, had scanned literally millions of alternate Earths, and every one of them, without exception, had experienced a full scale nuclear war. Humans evolved in every one of them, which was peculiar enough, and humans destroyed themselves in every single one. Except ours, of course.
The search continued for a really pristine world, someplace where there were no humans in the first place to wreck everything, and most governments were holding out before sending colonists anywhere. New Acadia has always been a peculiar nation, though, and the bureaucrats in Portland and Montreal have a worldwide reputation for recklessness and divisiveness. So far as I can remember, no other nation is so schizophrenic as to need two capitals. But we are, and we Englishers were gung ho about the project from the start. The debate was a shitshow, like they always are, but in the end passion won out. The Frenchies merely thought the proposition was unwise, and that may be true- it almost certainly is, really- but it is not a position that sparks the imagination.
Not that any of us were especially passionate about it, at least to begin with. It was the people who certainly weren't going, the beautiful people, the wealthy people, the boring, safe people, who waxed eloquent about the project. You can only live vicariously through professional athletes and cheesy singers on the annual Amerivision competition for so long before it becomes passe, I guess.
We all had our own reasons for going there. Some of us had been offered pardons, some of us had been cleared of crippling debts. All of us were young, bright, talented, exceptional in some way. I had been a leader of Students for Real Democracy before the Revolution of 2201, and a member of the so-called Manchester Seven (I think I was number 3) in the trials that ensued when it all went bad and the reactionaries, uh, reacted. One of our sympathizers in Congress put forward my name for Expedition Chief. Our computer specialist is Derringer2200, the notorious hacker and thief who bankrupted the city of Boston before the whole scheme came crashing down. Our doctor is Jean-François Millette, one of the great minds behind that lab-created genuine maple syrup scam from a few years back. The rest are respectable people, but maybe not so good with money. At any rate they didn't have any. None of us had very much to lose, and in a sense that put us in a privileged position. After a while we even got over the feeling of coercion and began to feel sort of privileged. It's an incredible thing we're doing, when you get over yourself long enough to think about it.
I would say morale was high the day the 20 of us packed into the crawler, loaded with the modular habitat and our other supplies. There was a crowd there on Breed's Hill, chosen because of its association with American democracy and independence- a sick joke if you ask me, but no one did. No matter. This project gave us a chance to start from scratch, and maybe get it right this time. The portal opened, and we went through.
The other side was not what I expected. Perhaps the training videos were overly pessimistic. Perhaps they simply didn't take into account over 2 centuries of healing. The place was not a wasteland, but a verdant forest. Beautiful. Primeval. In my disorientation and surprise I, the driver, accidentally crushed several trees, before hitting one the crawler couldn't steamroll. I cursed and started climbing out, as did the rest of the crew, to see if there was any damage, but even this mishap couldn't kill my good mood- this place didn't look bad at all.
As I climbed down I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked over, expecting a deer or something similar. What I saw was a man, but not one of my crew. He was clad in hides, and he looked absolutely filthy. At his hip was a gun in a rawhide holster decorated with porcupine needles. He took it out as I got my footing and turned to face him, and pointed it close to us, but not quite at us, a look of suspicion and wonder on his face. It looked familiar, and I racked my brain to remember where I had seen it. It was a Walker revolver, I remembered; I had seen it in some ancient film. Nearly 3 centuries out of date. Must be a replica.
"Who the hell are you guys?" the stranger called out in an accent that would not be out of place in Southie.
There was silence for a moment before I realized that I was the one who was supposed to answer. "We're from Earth," I said idiotically, at something of a loss.
"Can you be a little more specific, smartass?" he said, looking a little annoyed.
This was a complication we had not been trained for. I looked back from whence we had come, but the portal had already closed. It would open again, of course, and 500 new settlers would come through. On the same date next year. | Log entry: captain Smith: 19 June 2034:
Those damn Brits and french sure know how to colonize. We tried to get our stake in first, but apparently they remember a few things. We were unable to stop them, they've taken nearly the entirety of this alternate earth, the only place we've been able to hold is our own alternate soil, and then only because we know the territory.
We now know why the Germans feared a United Britain and France. They're nearly unstoppable, our diplomats and generals have been using every trick in the book to try and make them fight each other.
But it's not working, they just send a few snarky comments at each other and laugh it off to keep fighting us. Hell we've even allied with the Russians and even that isn't enough. They just keep coming.
I have no clue how long we can hold out, the mortar shells are coming closer now...
Shell hit right on top of us! They're closing in, I don't expect us to last long, but we'll fight, we'll fight to the last man! I'm transmitting this message on all wavelengths back to our universe, that way even if none of us survive.....
End of log recording. | |
[WP] A pantheon of gods are discussing their paladins, clerics and the feats attributed to them. Every mundane thing has its own god. You, a minor god of dust, have only a ragged old hermit as your "paladin". You wonder what feats to give him to gain the approval of the other gods. | The room was abuzz with gods bragging about the achievements of their devoted. Chazos, the god of dust sat awkwardly among the fabled and mighty. Everything had a deity; Joy, Pain, War, The Sun & The Moon... Chazos didn't belong at this party, but his close friend Balura, god of glaciers had convinced him to come along. Problem was, Balura has been feeling ill lately, and couldn't quite make it.
Now Chazos stood in the corner of the room partially obscured by the fern as he sipped meekly at his wine doing his best to avoid detection. His eyes moved to the eastern side of the room as the Gollwin (his booming voice was unmistakable), god of fire boasted loudly about his Arch-Cleric.
"The Blaze of Emolda is what they call him! He's burned my name into his skin with molten metal, and guards my sacred flame atop Mt. Pyre! He has endured his entire life, faithful to me all the while."
Chazos sighed as another deity butted in.
"Flagia, Man Eater is what they call my champion," Lendra, goddess of hunger said proudly as she licked her lips. "She fears no man nor monster. Her hunger is far greater than those who fall to her... She prays to me before every battle..." Lendra looked at the other deities with a heinous smile that told many stories of its own. "... And before every meal."
"You can thank me for some of those victories," chimed in Zigrend, god of fear. "Your champion, Lendra... She certainly inspires fear in her enemies. I may try to snatch her from you some day," he smiled, revealing rows of sharp jagged teeth.
"You wish, Ziggy," Lendra hissed. "You always say that all things are driven by fear... Yet my Champion fears nobody. All things hunger..." She looked the god of fear up and down promiscuously. "Even you..."
A big "Oooooohhh" boomed from all directions followed by laughter as Zigrend folded his arms and nodded with an amused expression on his face. "Touche, hungry lady. But I would argue that your champion fears starvation. All things fear something... In fact..."
His eyes moved over to Chazos, who noticeably receded behind the fern.
"I sense a lot of it coming from you," Zigrend motioned with his drink over to the God standing in the corner. "I don't recognize you," the god of fear prodded. "Who are you, anyways?"
Chazos swallowed, but his throat was so dry that it burned. He took another drink before stepping out of the shadows, "I uhhh... I'm really nobody."
"He is Chazos, patron deity of dust," came the monotone voice of a blue skinned god not far away. Chazos recognized him as Cranos, the god of memory.
"DUST!!!" Shouted someone in the crowd of gods before they all burst into laughter. Chazos felt his stomach drop as he became the laughing-stock of the pantheon party. Even Foargatatz, the god of seriousness was covering a smile.
"I-I really shouldn't be here," Chazos muttered as he made way for the exit.
"Now, now, hang on," came another voice from a small dwarven looking god that blocked the exit. "I didn't know a god of dust existed until just right now, you *have* to tell me what that's like."
Everyone laughed again as Chazos sighed. He was used to the ridicule, but this was his worst nightmare coming to life before his very eyes.
"I bet he doesn't even have a champion!!" Lendra shouted causing another round of laughter to fall upon the poor dust god. But Chazos quite liked his champion, and suddenly felt very defensive of him. He could handle the ridicule himself, but to make fun of his champion...
"I do *too* have a champion!" Chazos called out angrily.
The room gave pause at his sudden emotion...
"A DUST CHAMPION!!" Screamed someone else as the room lost all sanity yet again.
"DOES HE- DOES WIELD A BROOM??" Screamed someone else as Chazos's face grew red from the anger.
"You've got to be joking," said the dwarven god blocking the exit. "Seriously? You have a champion?"
Chazos sighed and closed his eyes. He knelt down, cupping his hands and placing them on the floor. Dust began to gather from every corner of the room, all of it amassing into a tiny swirling vortex. The dust came together to form a small old man- a mortal standing among the gods, though only about six inches tall compared to them.
The old man lifted his head and listened to the silence that had fallen over the room, but did not look for he could not see. A cloth was tied tightly around his eyes and he stood hunched over holding a cane. He wore a pack on his back filled with essentials.
"Chazos... Is that you?" Came the voice of the man. His voice was hoarse and raspy, his hands calloused from years of hard work. His long white beard nearly touched the floor, and his long eyebrows reached for his ears, which were large from a life long-lived.
"It is," responded the god of dust.
"To what occasion do I owe the honor?" The man responded almost immediately.
Snickering could be heard around the room as they laid eyes on the meager old man. Chazos could hear voices, though quiet throughout the room.
*Some champion...*
*He must be 200 years old...*
*I'd like to see him triumph over a flight of stairs...*
"Volke, of Dragonweft Ridge," began Chazos. "I... I..." It was in that moment that Chazos realized how foolish he was to bring his champion here over something so trivial.
"Save your holy words, old friend... I know why I'm standing here... Presumably among several other deities who've made light of our status." The old man smiled.
The other gods were silenced by this. Cranos's expression spoke words of surprise, as did many of the other gods. For the mortal to be so calm in the presence of them all was highly unusual. And then to immediately ascertain the situation simply from the voices of the room and what looked to be a clear understanding of how his god thinks.
"Volke... I'm sorry. I just wanted them to meet you, is all." Chazos smiled back at the man.
The old man turned in the direction of the gods, "It is my sincerest wish that you'll forgive an old man for his hubris... But I'd like an audience with you all... Would you lend an old mortal your ears?"
"Speak," said the dwarven man, "I'd hear your words... As I think we all would." He stifled a laugh nodded at the other deities.
The old man lowered his head, "My thanks..."
Chazos shook his head, "Volke... You don't need to..."
"I believe I do, my liege," Volke responded.
"On earth," the old man began, "humans ponder deeply about life, the universe, and the secrets that are kept from us. Many gods are worshiped but many more remain uncertain. Uncertainty breeds distrust. Distrust breeds apathy. Apathy breeds boredom, and boredom leads to deep thought. I was a deep thinker before I met Chazos... I would ask you all a question: Which among you is the god that created the universe?" The old man asked.
The gods looked around at one another with confused expressions.
Finally, Cranos broke the silence, "There isn't one. None among us are as powerful."
"Indeed," responded Volke as he took a few steps in no particular direction.
"Humans... Are star dust. The universe exploded into existence one day that neither you nor I remember. In essence, we *are* the universe, both you and I. We are the universe waking up and experiencing itself... And it's possible that we're not the first to do it either."
The gods looked around with nervous expressions as the man continued.
"Our only duty in the universe is to leave it a better place than we found it. To do that, we honor all of you... For the only way to kill a god or a goddess is to snuff out the last believer in that deity. Us on earth... We're the believers... We're the dust that settled on the planet..."
The silence in the room was deafening.
"Dust... Dust from the stars, all of us... And if we were to vanish... So too would you."
Chazos felt pride swelling up within his chest. For years he had pondered what gift to bestow upon his champion- and now he knew.
In the following centuries, all would know the name of Volke, the God of Faith. | Well he’s no Hercules. The old fool could barely lift a soupspoon to his lips, let alone a pike to a denizen. As far as paladins went, Mr Patchfelt championed above others only in mediocrity.
So I sit in the distant reaches of our halls as they echo distant chants and songs, pondering the value of such a person.
Of course there must be a justification, a great deed, a magnificent story with fearful acts and tenacious heroics- the caricature of our family reunions.
I could recall none.
After all, what quests are undertaken by a sworn man of the dust god?
Perhaps I should flaunt his humility?
They’d call my bluff were they not already asleep.
So I decide.
“MR PATCHFELT” I announce in a manner only spoken when gods call upon their sworn servants.
“Yes your downtroddedness” he speaks in his own mind as he pokes boringly at an incredibly ordinary ant pile.
As I begin to speak his daring quest, the paladin of featherdusting descended upon Mr Patchfelt from his hiding place behind an old melon cart, cleaving at the old mans limbs with a home-made machete.
What a bastard.
(Credit to my younger brother who does not have a reddit account but wanted to post anyways.) | |
[WP] A pantheon of gods are discussing their paladins, clerics and the feats attributed to them. Every mundane thing has its own god. You, a minor god of dust, have only a ragged old hermit as your "paladin". You wonder what feats to give him to gain the approval of the other gods. | The room was abuzz with gods bragging about the achievements of their devoted. Chazos, the god of dust sat awkwardly among the fabled and mighty. Everything had a deity; Joy, Pain, War, The Sun & The Moon... Chazos didn't belong at this party, but his close friend Balura, god of glaciers had convinced him to come along. Problem was, Balura has been feeling ill lately, and couldn't quite make it.
Now Chazos stood in the corner of the room partially obscured by the fern as he sipped meekly at his wine doing his best to avoid detection. His eyes moved to the eastern side of the room as the Gollwin (his booming voice was unmistakable), god of fire boasted loudly about his Arch-Cleric.
"The Blaze of Emolda is what they call him! He's burned my name into his skin with molten metal, and guards my sacred flame atop Mt. Pyre! He has endured his entire life, faithful to me all the while."
Chazos sighed as another deity butted in.
"Flagia, Man Eater is what they call my champion," Lendra, goddess of hunger said proudly as she licked her lips. "She fears no man nor monster. Her hunger is far greater than those who fall to her... She prays to me before every battle..." Lendra looked at the other deities with a heinous smile that told many stories of its own. "... And before every meal."
"You can thank me for some of those victories," chimed in Zigrend, god of fear. "Your champion, Lendra... She certainly inspires fear in her enemies. I may try to snatch her from you some day," he smiled, revealing rows of sharp jagged teeth.
"You wish, Ziggy," Lendra hissed. "You always say that all things are driven by fear... Yet my Champion fears nobody. All things hunger..." She looked the god of fear up and down promiscuously. "Even you..."
A big "Oooooohhh" boomed from all directions followed by laughter as Zigrend folded his arms and nodded with an amused expression on his face. "Touche, hungry lady. But I would argue that your champion fears starvation. All things fear something... In fact..."
His eyes moved over to Chazos, who noticeably receded behind the fern.
"I sense a lot of it coming from you," Zigrend motioned with his drink over to the God standing in the corner. "I don't recognize you," the god of fear prodded. "Who are you, anyways?"
Chazos swallowed, but his throat was so dry that it burned. He took another drink before stepping out of the shadows, "I uhhh... I'm really nobody."
"He is Chazos, patron deity of dust," came the monotone voice of a blue skinned god not far away. Chazos recognized him as Cranos, the god of memory.
"DUST!!!" Shouted someone in the crowd of gods before they all burst into laughter. Chazos felt his stomach drop as he became the laughing-stock of the pantheon party. Even Foargatatz, the god of seriousness was covering a smile.
"I-I really shouldn't be here," Chazos muttered as he made way for the exit.
"Now, now, hang on," came another voice from a small dwarven looking god that blocked the exit. "I didn't know a god of dust existed until just right now, you *have* to tell me what that's like."
Everyone laughed again as Chazos sighed. He was used to the ridicule, but this was his worst nightmare coming to life before his very eyes.
"I bet he doesn't even have a champion!!" Lendra shouted causing another round of laughter to fall upon the poor dust god. But Chazos quite liked his champion, and suddenly felt very defensive of him. He could handle the ridicule himself, but to make fun of his champion...
"I do *too* have a champion!" Chazos called out angrily.
The room gave pause at his sudden emotion...
"A DUST CHAMPION!!" Screamed someone else as the room lost all sanity yet again.
"DOES HE- DOES WIELD A BROOM??" Screamed someone else as Chazos's face grew red from the anger.
"You've got to be joking," said the dwarven god blocking the exit. "Seriously? You have a champion?"
Chazos sighed and closed his eyes. He knelt down, cupping his hands and placing them on the floor. Dust began to gather from every corner of the room, all of it amassing into a tiny swirling vortex. The dust came together to form a small old man- a mortal standing among the gods, though only about six inches tall compared to them.
The old man lifted his head and listened to the silence that had fallen over the room, but did not look for he could not see. A cloth was tied tightly around his eyes and he stood hunched over holding a cane. He wore a pack on his back filled with essentials.
"Chazos... Is that you?" Came the voice of the man. His voice was hoarse and raspy, his hands calloused from years of hard work. His long white beard nearly touched the floor, and his long eyebrows reached for his ears, which were large from a life long-lived.
"It is," responded the god of dust.
"To what occasion do I owe the honor?" The man responded almost immediately.
Snickering could be heard around the room as they laid eyes on the meager old man. Chazos could hear voices, though quiet throughout the room.
*Some champion...*
*He must be 200 years old...*
*I'd like to see him triumph over a flight of stairs...*
"Volke, of Dragonweft Ridge," began Chazos. "I... I..." It was in that moment that Chazos realized how foolish he was to bring his champion here over something so trivial.
"Save your holy words, old friend... I know why I'm standing here... Presumably among several other deities who've made light of our status." The old man smiled.
The other gods were silenced by this. Cranos's expression spoke words of surprise, as did many of the other gods. For the mortal to be so calm in the presence of them all was highly unusual. And then to immediately ascertain the situation simply from the voices of the room and what looked to be a clear understanding of how his god thinks.
"Volke... I'm sorry. I just wanted them to meet you, is all." Chazos smiled back at the man.
The old man turned in the direction of the gods, "It is my sincerest wish that you'll forgive an old man for his hubris... But I'd like an audience with you all... Would you lend an old mortal your ears?"
"Speak," said the dwarven man, "I'd hear your words... As I think we all would." He stifled a laugh nodded at the other deities.
The old man lowered his head, "My thanks..."
Chazos shook his head, "Volke... You don't need to..."
"I believe I do, my liege," Volke responded.
"On earth," the old man began, "humans ponder deeply about life, the universe, and the secrets that are kept from us. Many gods are worshiped but many more remain uncertain. Uncertainty breeds distrust. Distrust breeds apathy. Apathy breeds boredom, and boredom leads to deep thought. I was a deep thinker before I met Chazos... I would ask you all a question: Which among you is the god that created the universe?" The old man asked.
The gods looked around at one another with confused expressions.
Finally, Cranos broke the silence, "There isn't one. None among us are as powerful."
"Indeed," responded Volke as he took a few steps in no particular direction.
"Humans... Are star dust. The universe exploded into existence one day that neither you nor I remember. In essence, we *are* the universe, both you and I. We are the universe waking up and experiencing itself... And it's possible that we're not the first to do it either."
The gods looked around with nervous expressions as the man continued.
"Our only duty in the universe is to leave it a better place than we found it. To do that, we honor all of you... For the only way to kill a god or a goddess is to snuff out the last believer in that deity. Us on earth... We're the believers... We're the dust that settled on the planet..."
The silence in the room was deafening.
"Dust... Dust from the stars, all of us... And if we were to vanish... So too would you."
Chazos felt pride swelling up within his chest. For years he had pondered what gift to bestow upon his champion- and now he knew.
In the following centuries, all would know the name of Volke, the God of Faith. | You would think that, after thousands of years of these contests to outdo each other that the mighty Pantheon would get tired. I guess I've just spent too much time dealing with banal human concerns. I might be becoming too much like them, no longer having the stamina of a god. Then again, these debates are pointless and often leave the world worse off than when they started.
The last time one of these big debates raged, Areon, the god of thunder and, if his actions would give any indication, douchebaggery, sent his Palladin in to Disputed Lands to face down a giant who ended up being the god of war's Paladin. They both ended up dying, and the idiot Areon chose to give the power of summoning lightning bolts burnt down a forest that was the sole source of prosperity for the cities surrounding it. Tiron was not thrilled that his champion was killed, but both gods laughed and shared drinks as fire raced across the ancient woodland. They declared it a tie and went back to grooming their next champions.
For what seems like time immemorial, the major gods of the Pantheon have debated and sent their paladins to fight and complete quests to show how awesome they are at cultivating talent, and how witty they are because they showed a human how to use a magical sword. The rest of us just try to focus on helping the humans, as the original purpose for creating them was to have a group in our image to flourish alongside us. As they advanced, we would grow stronger. But at some point the god of Wisdom started training his paladins to create complex puzzles to ensnare the "foolish" champions of the other gods, so you can see why we thought that progress was pretty much a lost cause.
It's been 20 years since the aforementioned idiocy last reared its head and the major gods are itching to release their paladins. They've been racking up quests and praise for their respective gods for 20 years, and so the gods want to find out who is best. Last time though, I didn't even bother to take part in the debate. My paladin, a wonderful old man named Jesse, has been my subject for 60 years, and for a most of that time I have had no intention of comparing him to the buffoons the other gods let loos on the earth. As the god of dust there really isn't that much I can do to change things around here, so Jesse has just been moving from town to town, teaching the people to pray to me to keep their houses clean, keep them safe from the storms as they cross the arid deserts that pockmark the globe, and generally just keep away any nuisances that dust may involve. It's not much, but it's honest work. Did you know that it can cause a human's frail constitution to choke or sneeze? I know, crazy, right? And I'm the one to help them with that. But anyways, I digress.
With the amount of leisure time I have as a god with few adherents (not that having many people pray to them has made the "major gods" actually help anyone), I have had the time to study the world. I have, of course, known that dust is everywhere, but what I have focused on of late has been the ability of the stuff to actually make a difference in the world. Technically speaking, sandstorms are dust storms, and those can be pretty powerful. Now, I know this may seem obvious, but as I mentioned before, it's been a very long time since I have given a damn. But the last bouts of stupidity from the other gods have got me to think: How can I make a difference? How can I, as a minor god, lead them back to helping the humans I so dearly love? That's when it occurred to me that I can use my powers through my paladin to stop this ongoing conflict in its tracks. By showing that my paladin can control the environment around him and make a real impact, I can show that the minor gods have their role to play in this world and should not be ignored. If I am able to win the respect of the major gods, we will have a voice that will be able to make a difference! What better feat could there be to launch my paladin to the top than to have him lead an almighty reckoning, a dust storm of epic proportions, to overtake the paladins of the other gods and show them that the world they have oft ignored is one that requires their attention. Their powers can be used for good, and, though I hate to admit it, they are powerful. It is time to remind them that the world is more than just their silly games and narrow focus.
So I sit. Waiting. Teaching. Observing the movements of the other gods as they prepare to show off their power and lead them to more glory. But what they don't know is that that glory is theirs to lose, and lose it they will. | |
[WP] Every 1000 years the most powerful beings of the universe meet to battle and claim the role of God. You are the first human to be summoned by the Universe into this contest. | "So who's the competitor from Hell this week?" rumbled one alien, who looked like a cross between a troll and a grizzly bear.
​
"Didn't you hear?" his friend growled, whose only differentiating trait was his bull-like horns. "The demons went extinct."
​
"*Extinct?! What?!*" the first alien nearly bellowed. "They won the Tournament the last 5 times! What happened?"
​
"Apparently, some green dude . . ." The pair wandered out of earshot. Not that I gave a fuck.
​
"Hey there buddy," a creature that resembled an orange slug, except with facial features of a bee. "Your translator working fine?"
​
I remained silent. I had nothing to say. The earpiece flickered with electronic blue light.
​
The slug, who identified as Fred, continued as if nothing happened. "Well, here's a quick recap of the Tournament. Every galactic week, or roughly 1000 Earth years, the strongest member of each sentient species across the Universe is put in the arena to fight. It's a *battle royale*, which means everyone enters at once and the last one standing wins. The winner gets a position in the hot seat, which basically makes you a deity. Sure, there's still paperwork and stuff, but all in all, not a bad deal. Assuming, of course, you don't die."
​
He scoffed as if the idea was ridiculous. "I know you weren't given much of a choice in this matter, but *try* to put on a good show before you kick the bucket. It's tradition for the winner to harass to deceased competitors' home planets, and the better you perform, the less time your species suffers. Generally. They might harass them anyway, 'cause, well, you're *human*."
​
My fist clenched tight enough that my knuckles cracked. "Only reason you're here anyway is because we have an unfortunate, ah, *vacancy* amongst our competitors today. So lucky you, I suppose."
​
They would die. They would all. *Die.* "Hey, can you even hear me through that helmet of yours?"
​
Another alien, one resembling a cockroach, came and whispered something in Fred's ear. Fred turned towards me, an equivalent of a grin on his face. "Looks like you're up."
​
The set of twin doors in front of me swung open, and I was unceremoniously pushed through it. The doors shut firmly behind me, like they thought I was going to attempt to flee. Idiots.
​
I gazed at my surroundings. I was trapped in a circular arena, roughly a kilometre in diameter, with seating surrounding the arena. It was packed to the brim with strange creatures, who let out a collective sound of displeasure upon my entry. Inside the arena itself, there were around 30 other competitors, who were all muscle-bound, gigantic figures, spaced equally along the circumference of the arena. One was the size of a three-story building. They were all staring at me with varying levels of contempt.
​
A strange screeching filled the battleground, which the earpiece had no problem decoding. "*And for our final competitor, hailing from the backwater lands of Earth, is a human!"*
​
The crowd let loose another wave of auditory displeasure. My opponents openly snarled at me.
​
I knew what they were thinking. I was an appetiser. The precursor to the main event. A kick-off to a night filled with blood.
​
There would be blood, alright.
​
The announcer continued. "*No one, not even his own kind know his name. A man known only by the title his victims have bestowed upon him!"*
​
I readied my weapon of choice. A double-barrel shotgun.
​
I was going to *kill them all.*
​
"*Please welcome, THE DOOMSLAYER!"*
​
It was like the flipping of a switch. The crowd, which had been a storm of hissing and snarling, went dead quiet. My adversaries snarled again, but this time, with an undercurrent of fear.
​
*Rip and tear, until it was done.*
​
I charged. | "The rules are simple," exclaimed Airoth, "fight until you can fight no more, no restrictions."
Airoth, the current God, is preparing to pass his throne to his successor. He chuckled when he first saw me, laughing at the fact that I, a mere human, is challenging the role. You see, in the history of the Universe, this has never been seen, hell, it has never even been imagined, not even by me. However, if you think I'd pass up the opportunity to be the first human challenger to the most powerful role in the Universe, you'd be crazy. My whole life has led to this point. From my years on Earth, to my presidential term on Mars, to my trade deals with the Genghi and Lamnot races, it's all led to this singular moment.
​
There are five of us competing for the title. We come from all corners of the Universe, yet have one thing in common. We are powerful, intelligent, strong-willed beings, living for the sole purpose of leading our races to new heights. I expected to meet ruthless, bloodthirsty opponents, ready to squish the brains out of my measly little skull, but was surprised to discover the compassion and respect that each of the others carry with them. Though we are here to triumph, none of us mean harm to the rest. It's the truest example of mutual understanding I have ever encountered.
​
"When the bell tolls thrice, your gates will open, and the battle will begin. There will be no stopping for any reason, until there stands just one."
​
Airoth's voice is loud and booming, just what you'd expect from the one we call God. He adjusts his seat in anticipation, smiles big and nods to the bell ringer. The ring of the first bell toll shakes my chest. The second rattles my mind. The third jolts every bit of adrenaline I've got. The gates crash open, and the crowd erupts. It's on.
​
My nearest opponent is Thrite, and luckily for me, he's the least of my worries. He's easy to distract, robotic, and his power distribution system sits uncovered on his back. I just can't let him get his metal hands on me. His bone crushing power would be my quick and painful end. I immediately toss my IR ball into the corner near Thrite's gate. His electronic vision darts to the ball and I make my move. Climbing quickly up his leg, I waste no time. The longer I'm attached to this guy, the lower my chance of survival. I start tearing the wiring out of his power system, feeling the electrocution shooting up my arm in the process. Thrite starts to malfunction, buckles to his knees, and falls face first onto the floor.
​
The crowd goes wild. It was the first elimination, done by a human at that! I fixate on my next target, Upol. He's about 150 yards away, and moving towards me. I quickly prepare myself.
​
I feel a huge jolt of something I can only describe as a combination of electricity and fire, and find myself slowly opening my eyes. I'm coming to, on the floor of the arena. Upol is down too, though he doesn't seem to be waking up.
​
"This competition is a joke! There will be no winner, there will be no passing of the throne. There is only one God in this Universe." Airoth's voice is so distinct, though this time, it gives me chills. The arena is silent.
​
*Do I get up? Do I play dead? What do I do now?*
​
Something took over inside me just then. It was an energy I'd not felt before. Perhaps a culmination of my life's work going into this battle, a driving force that just didn't want to lose. I lifted myself off the floor with weak arms. The four other challengers still lay lifeless on the floor. A collective gasp echoes through the air.
​
"I am the last one standing," I yell, "therefor that throne is rightly mine, Airoth! I'm sure the authorities would agree."
​
Airoth looked appalled. He became agitated. He shouted for me to be taken away, but fortunately for me, the Galactic Authority acts for the good of the Universe, and not for the good of God. Airoth was surrounded in no time, forced to step down from his throne.
​
The threw my hands into the air, and the crowd burst into applause as if I was a conductor of excitement. I had done it, though not by the means I was expecting. In just one year, Airoth will pass the throne to me, a mere human. In just one year, the Universe will be mine to rule. It's time to make the Universe great again. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "the sirens are going off again, it must have been the third time today. I wanna beleive what they say. The city is safe, come out with no fears... FEARS!!! Fear is why we put ourselves in this hole. My heart wants to believe but its been months and my fear is that it's still not over." John said " "I think you being paranoid dude why would the government let's us die?" " To hide the Truth Jake, don't you see we are witnesses to something that never should have been, politics 101 no withesses." "If you wanna go out that's your decision, but I am not leaving!!!" John's determined gaze seemed to let jake know, he would not he shook on his point. So as Jake and John best friends since grade school, outcasts some would call, ate dinner that night, jake brought his feeling to light. "I know you do not wanna leave John, but I must see what is happening. I'll come back to let you know what happened and if it's safe." John's stomach began to turn and anxiety built." You don't have to do this, we can wait 6 more months. Go out and see after more people have come, but we cannot risk trusting them". "Don't worry I'll be back brotha". As jake and John finished there last supper together, they enjoyed the company of each other. The memories there shared and will have. Jake packed his bag ready for a new life, John was hurt but did not show it and enjoyed the last hours he had with his friend. They hugged and gave best wishes. Jake closed the vault door, John's knows he has lost a friend for life.
First time goes easy on me🤔 | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | 23rd of November, 2022
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained “, a female voice calmly announced from the megaphone atop the vehicle. “It is now safe to come out. It is now safe.”
Captain Matthews looks bored atop the vehicle. He has been doing this for the past couple of months, riding atop the military vehicle with his squad, looking for people still hiding; effectively saving them. His squad was still weary, hands on guns, in case any uglies were drawn to the voice on the megaphone. Yet nobody has seen one in two months.
“This is not a drill. Safety has now been restored. Medical personal is on stand-by ready to care for you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”, the voice finished.
‘The dead have been killed’.
“What a strange world we live in, that the phrase now makes sense.”, the captain thought.
Nothing. The thunder of the skies penetrated the voice atop the truck. The day looked grey and washed, he thought. Like someone held a dirty old cloth over the world. It was afternoon, yet it looked like it had been dark for centuries, and the light was too scared to return.
“Captain, it ain’t no use”, Rory said. “These scared pricks aren’t gonna show themselves even if Jesus himself were to glide down from the sky and tell them to come out”. He laughed, tossing a bullet and catching it.
“These are people, Private Gunners.”, the Captain replied, eyes set on the horizon. “Don’t ridicule them for being afraid. Were you brave after your wife's accident?”
Rory turned serious and sullen faced. “Who pissed in his boots?”, he whispered to a colleague.
The thunder rumbled again. They were now making their way through an access alley parting two rows of residential house, each with its own generous back yard.
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained. It is now safe to come out.”, the voice repeated.
Somewhere between the thunders and the voice atop the vehicle, the captain thought he could make out a rhythmic thud.
“Stop. I think we got something.” The soldiers got wide eyed, excited at the prospect of doing something other than sitting in that truck.
“Get down. Eyes, ears and wits about you.”, the captain instructed as he took the lead towards one of the back yards.
They were moving towards a quaint residential house: one floor, wood panels. Before them, a large yard filled with grass and an old oak tree. Thud, thud, thud. By the oak tree, there was a mound. Thud, thud, thud. The noise became louder. As they were getting closer to the mound, something felt wrong. Thud. Thud. Thud. The captain picked up on it but said nothing. His men were trained, and he trusted them.
Getting to the mound, they could see a hatch was on top of it. The hatch was locked with a solid iron lock. The band of soldiers looked uneasy.
“Hello?!”, the captain firmly shouted. “Is anyone down there?”.
His question was almost instantly answered with a long, rapturous howling. A cross between the wailing of a banshee and the cry of an animal, it instantly put everyone on guard.
“What… the… fuck?”, Rory said in amazed bewilderment. Even the captain felt a hint of fear, but did not want to betray it.
“Calm now.” He turned to his squad. “We have been through either of these scenarios.”, he said reassuringly. “I want your silence from now on, Private Gunners.”
He turned to the hatch. “Sir, ma’am, if you are in there and need assistance, please talk to us. Or hit this hatch 3 times so we know you understand us.”
A second howling came, but short lived. Silence after that.
“… ready to examine you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”
“Sir? Ma’am?”, the captain asked.
“Sir, I think it’s one of them.”, Rory said almost panicked.
“Did I ask you to think, Private Gunners?”, the captain replied annoyed. Private Gunners quickly shut up. It just isn’t his day.
“Okay. Bolt cutters and sledge hammer, Private Gunners.” Rory quickly ran to the truck, and returned with the tools just as quickly.
“… the dead have been killed.”, the voice ominously announced.
The captain took the bolt cutters, tried them on the lock. No luck. He then took the sledge hammer, and furiously wielded his weight down on the lock. It stood no chance.
“Arms at the ready.”, he commanded. “… killed”, the voice echoed.
He lifted the doors aside, and out the hatch a silhouette pounced on his chest: flailing, wailing and pinning him to the ground.
“Captain!”, one of the soldiers shouted. Two soldiers took the figure off the captain, and threw it against the grass. Their guns were pointed at it. “It’s one of them! What the hell was it doing locked down there?”
“Don’t shoot!”, the captain ordered. He got back on his feet and had a better look at the creature. It was dressed in dirty rags that long ago might have been pink. Oily dark hair ran amok all the way down to the knees, and skin covered in dirt so thick it might have been scales. The most striking thing of all: the creature is barely as thin as the rags on it.
“Don’t shoot!”, he ordered again as he took the flashlight in his hands and shone it on the creatures face. As he did so, it instinctively shielded its eyes from the light using its hands. The creature resembled a woman, and her mouth was covered in dark, dried liquid. The captain soon realised its frailty was not the most striking thing. She was missing two fingers off her left hand, and the flesh around them was black. She wailed again, this time a wailing that sounded more like crying. And she was whispering.
“…back? Back? Back? Back?!”, she repeated over and over.
The soldiers looked incredulous, not sure what to say.
“Yes, it’s safe to come back”, they reassuringly replied. The creature was weaving back and forth.
“…tend to…”, the voice repeated from afar. The thunder roared furiously, and the woman twitched nervously.
“Take her to the sanitation tent, now.”, the captain ordered. Three soldiers escorted the woman, yet she had her eyes set on the captain as she was being taken away, silently mouthing something.
“Private Gunners, with me.”, he ordered again as he wasted no time. They started descending the steps and into the hatch. As soon as they did, they were hit by a horrid, putrid smell. They covered their noses with the hooks of their arms, but to no avail. It was getting everywhere.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, the image was astounding. A faint light was barely on in the middle of the small space. The walls were dirty and scratched. To the right, there was a dirty mattress on a concrete floor. Above the mattress, there were two solid iron links bolted into the wall and tied to them were iron chains. By the bed, there was a swarm of flies and maggots surrounding a plastic basin. The captain turned his gaze to the left. On the wall opposite the mattress, painted in big, clumsy letters, there was a message: I LOVE YOU.
Further towards the back wall, there were a wooden desk and chair. Something caught the captain’s eye. He made his way towards the desk. Private Gunners was only staring, unable to move or speak. On the wooden desk, there lay a video game figurine and an old Polaroid camera. Besides the camera, on the desk and scattered on the floor, many photos lay strewn. He looked at them. Each one of them was dated, and each one of them was different. All of them showed the woman. In some photos she looked like she was sleeping, needle by her arm. In others she looked straight into the camera, eyes hollow and grey, pupils so small you could barely see them. In others yet, it looked like she was praying to the wall. In others, she was holding fresh flowers atop her chest as she slept. In some, a man slept by her side. She was smiling in none, except for one. The captain picked that one up carefully. It was dated almost six years ago, and in it a young woman was smiling radiantly, wearing brightly coloured clothes. On the back of it, a handwriting unlike the one on the other photos. It said: “To James, thank you for helping me get to Comic-Con. Many thanks, Ann.”
Flies swarming around two spots on the floor near the mattress catch the captains’ eye.
“Rory, check the house please.”, the captain whispers as they emerge from the hatch. Rory complies without word.
“…the outbreak has now been contained…”, the voice still calmly proclaimed from the truck. The captain sat with his gaze fixed to the spectacle above: grey clouds dancing in swirls, dotted by white-blue flashing branches. Rory comes back from the house. “One male inside, sir. Dead. By the looks of it, he was one of the first.”. The captain nodded.
In the sanitation tent, the captain rushes towards a bed. On it, the woman: patched up, bandaged, and plugged to an IV.
“Can she talk?”, he asks a nurse. “She can, but I wouldn’t recommended it”, she replies indifferently while she moves to another patient. He takes seat on a chair near her. “Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me anything at all? Is there anything I can do to help?”, he understandingly asks.
“B-B-Back? Back?”, she whispers with fear in her eyes.
“Back? Him?”, he asks.
“Is he coming back?”, she asks, her eyes wide and horrified.
“No, no, no”, he replies reassuringly, understanding what she means. “No, he is not coming back.”, and he flashes a genuine smile. At that point, the woman’s face turns from horror, to dread, and then to terror.
“No-no-no-no.”, she says with her head turned sideways. She turns towards the captain and smiles for the first time. With certainty in her voice, she reassures him: “He will. He loves me.”
Outside the sanitation tent, the captain takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes one out and lights it. The camp is alight with sound and friction. He starts making his way towards the truck, ready to go out again. The calm, female voice rings from atop his truck.
“It is now safe. The dead have been killed.”
Edit: Apologies for any formatting errors, I've just written this and I'm really sleepy. | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | I pulled up to the address in my black Impala. 7335 Cherry Creek Road, Thomas Wright, age 31. No criminal record. Formerly a steady job. Not known to go hunting- actually, his family said his main hobby seemed to be surfing the web, which I had noticed was a common theme- so he was suspected to still have the 100 rounds of 00 buckshot and another 50 .308 Winchester rounds he had bought three years prior. He had also bought a machete, hunting knife, and recurve bow. Should the government know his exact purchases from three years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But at least they could tell me what to watch out for. Unfortunately, the body armor underneath my suit wouldn't do much against either of those weapons, even if Thomas were to aim for the chest. Everyone knows, in a zombie apocalypse, you aim for the head.
Regardless, I exited my car, walked up to his door, and knocked. It was barricaded, like his windows. Expected. There'd be no easy way in. If only he had kept using his utilities or put everything on his credit card without paying it off, then the debt collectors would have already knocked down his door for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I knocked louder- a deliberate and friendly knock a zombie definitely wouldn't make. Still no response.
I sighed and looked at my list of people to call on. It was almost lunchtime, and I was only on number four of some two or three dozen. *Man, I hate my job*. I thought, despite having volunteered for this task. To be honest, I pictured it as me just knocking on all the doors and explaining patiently to the people that opened them that everything was fine and they could come out now. I'd thought I'd be done in a day or two. So far, every house I had encountered was a veritable fortress, which took an hour to get into and get the person inside to come out.
By now, I had figured out the way in when knocking and calling failed. I had approved it with my superiors, and had bought a maul at a hardware store. Now, as I went back to my car to retrieve it, I started rolling my shoulders and channeling a little Jack Nicholson. The door and the boards on the other side would have kept out zombies, but not an eight pound axe. Once I was in, since it was pretty clear that no one was inside on the ground floors, I took my flashlight and searched for the basement.
I found the basement door at the base of some stairs. I tried knocking, and got no response. "Hey," I called inside, "Mr. Thomas Wright? I'm George. I was sent by the government- and your boss, and your family- to tell you that the apocalypse didn't happen, and that it's safe to come out now."
"How'd you get in here?" The voice called from the other side, sounding slightly unhinged. It'd go away once they got reintegrated into society- well, if you could call their normal lives integrated with society.
"I broke through your front door with an axe. Yes, I have a warrant to do that. Yes, you can apply for a reimbursement. I have the form here with me."
I tried my best to keep my voice from betraying how exhausted and done with this I was.
"How do I know you're not lying to me? You're just trying to get inside and take my stuff! I'm warning you: I have a gun!"
"Mr. Wright, here's the form," I slid it underneath his door, "And you probably don't have all that stuff much left. It's been three months since the outbreak was contained."
"I've been rationing."
I rolled my eyes, still facing the locked door. "Look, I can't leave until you come out and see that everything is OK. I'm getting hungry, and am really looking forward to getting a nice lunch with my girlfriend at Mia's in town. Sometime before-" I glanced at my watch, pressing the glow-display button, "one o'clock, if you could make that happen."
"Yeah, right. It's a good story, and a nice try. But I'm not so easily fooled."
Again, I sighed, finding the irony bitterly humorous. "Everyone's worried about you, Mr. Wright. Your family hasn't heard from you since you locked yourself up." I thought for a moment, trying to think of some other way to convince him, "Do you have any lights in there, Mr. Wright?"
"Um, of course. But the power's out, so I turned the breaker's off. Why?"
"If you turned the breaker back on, and tried the lights, would that convince you that everything's still OK? Would that make you come out?"
I didn't hear a response for a minute, until I heard the click of a light switch and saw the light leaking out from under the door. It was momentarily followed by the clicks and rattles of about ten locks and deadbolts being undone, before the door swung open.
Mr. Wright was thin, unshaven, messy, smelly, and looking worse for wear from the last three months. He also looked completely bewildered to see me standing in front of him completely calm and in a clean suit. His shotgun was laying against a far wall, near the breaker panel. I breathed an undetectable sigh of relief.
"How'd they stop it?" He asked. "The virus, I mean."
"They quarantined the breakout area, sterilized everyone they could who wasn't infected, killed those who were too far gone, and isolated a strain of the virus. They're saying it's a mutated form of rabies. They're predicting they'll have a vaccine ready and in mass production in the next few months."
"Really? Just like that?"
I wanted to point out just how hard it was for a zombie-plague that was basically only saliva transmitted to spread before the government could step in, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting to lunch. "Yep. Just like that. If you fill out that form in your hand and turn it in to your local police station or the Secretary of State office, they'll get a reimbursement check to you in four to five business days. I've already signed it where I need to sign. Today's Monday, October 3. Your boss probably expects you back at work as soon as possible. Get cleaned up before you go anywhere. Everything except your door will be in the same working order as you left it in."
"OK, sure..." He nodded, still completely confused.
"Just two more things I need you to do. First is to talk to the people at these numbers..." I pointed to the four phone numbers underneath his other information, "They're your family and work, probably. Since you probably don't have a phone that works, you can use this one."
I handed him a cheap Trac-phone I had bought for exactly this purpose. Apparently, you can buy phones at your local dollar store. He made his calls while I looked at the next address, and tried to not watch the time too closely. Eventually, he finished calling the numbers, and handed me back the phone. Then, I handed him a pen and pointed to a blank on my clipboard. "Sign here, please. This just confirms I did, in fact, get you out."
Thomas Wright did everything I asked him, like he was in shock. I wasn't a physician, and that wasn't my job. All I was being paid for was what I had had him do. Once he finished signing, I said goodbye and was on my way.
Once I was back in my car, I tallied up who all was left. There were thirty-one names left. At this rate, I'd be lucky to be done by Friday. Well, I'd worry about that later. Lunch at Mia's first, to get a little ballast in the tank. Then some guy named Ben Primmly. The form said he had an assault rifle. Peachy. | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | Jonah slogged through the wilderness, he felt his wool socks becoming moist as his well-worn boots began to give in to the 3 week old snow as it slowly turned to slush. He stared absentmindedly at the recently abandoned campsites just beyond the edge of the wilderness.
"Amateurs." he mouthed quietly.
At the end of his two mile hike, Jonah would reach a well concealed Ford Bronco that he would drive further into the wilderness on a hidden trail.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*.
The trail was his own doing. His tracks were well hidden, and should anyone come across the Bronco path, they were in for a grueling 15 mile hike, two stream crossings, and as they came closer to the destination, a handful of booby traps and devices, bells, and alarms designed to alert Jonah of an approaching threat.
As he reached the clearing, he laid eyes on his pride and joy. His cabin. The cabin was a family heirloom. Jonah's siblings had long since moved away and no one except Jonah had any desire to maintain the cabin, so he took sole custody without much push back from his brother and sister when their parents passed.
Jonah had made many astute modifications to the cabin. The windows were reinforced with steel bars, the door was steel. A solar powered closed circuit system allowed Jonah to monitor the perimeter. The entire cabin was essentially one giant panic room. The heart of the cabin was the basement. Jonah spent years expanding and reinforcing the hidden bunker in the basement. The bunker was stocked with enough food and supplies for four people to comfortably survive over a year without needing to surface. Of course, the bunker was stocked with a small arsenal of firearms and enough ammunition to fight the entire town.
While the threat was over, Jonah still traveled nightly up to his hideaway. The apartment he rented in town reminded him too much of the "before", except the "before" is now very similar to the "after". Returning to the cabin each kept Jonah closer to his desired reality.
Just a few days after the outbreak was stifled, people began returning to work. Jonah returned to his mundane job at the local sporting goods store. Yet, he still clung onto his ideal "after". In the short term: Safety was paramount. Isolation. Survival. He would hole up and let the hysteria pass, living of of his stores. In the longer term, after most of those unprepared had died off, he would start thinking about sustainability. He would need an alternate water source if his well goes dry. He would need to hunt. He would need a garden. Perhaps he would recruit a trustworthy companion or two, or three, with whom he could share his prepper paradise.
He planned well. *really fucking well*.
More often than not these days, Jonah found himself drinking alone at Flannery's. He fantasized about what he would currently be doing had the apocalypse really happened. He was rudely interrupted by a loud voice three stools down. He listened as some 20-something faux survivalist spouted off to a small group about his parents' luxury cabin up on a lake in Maine:
"...water on 3 sides, completely defensible. We were gonna have chickens and just live off the fat of the land. The next zombie apocalypse I'm just gonna bug out up there and grow a bunch of weed and crops and stuff."
Jonah snorted into his beer. He was well within earshot of the group. The faux survivalist turns to account Jonah.
"What, you think you can do better bro, with your machete?"
Jonah was suddenly aware of the weight of the machete resting snuggly in its belt holster as it dangled alongside the barstool. He was also carrying his pistol on his other hip. While the threat was over, the town had become rather lax about its weapons policy. Many people were carrying firearms these days, but Jonah was among the minority still toting full survival gear in town.
"Far as I know, fuckers could still be out there." Jonah cooly stated as he sipped his beer again
"Rumor is the CDC secretly rounded up a few of them not more than a few miles outside of town. We were lucky the outbreak didn't hit us, most of us would be dead or Zombie by now I imagine."
Now it was the faux survivalist's turn to scoff at Jonah.
"The CDC ERADICATED those bastards before they got anywhere near the southern New Hampshire border, man. We're AT LEAST 100 miles from where they napalmed the outer edge of the threat. Boston got hit the hardest, but you're an idiot to think they would miss those slow fuckers all the way out here."
Jonah was now getting angry. The threat couldn't be over. He didn't want it to be over. He monitored local prepper short wave channels every night at the cabin, waiting to hear about another outbreak. The alcohol coursing through his veins, Jonah replies, more agitated now:
"You really think mommy and daddy's luxury lake house is going to save you when they come back? How are you going to defend a house on a lake that everyone in a 1000 mile radius knows exists? Where are you going to get chickens from? I bet you aren't even saving seeds..."
He continues to rant he doesn't notice that most of the group are now smirking at him. Now they are laughing. They've moved away, across the bar, but Jonah can still hear them mocking him. Another beer. Whiskey. Beer. Whiskey. Whiskey. Jonah slogs through the snow. He could just crash at his apartment in town, but no, tonight, as always, and in spite of the bar happenings, was a cabin night.
In a drunken haze, Jonah pulls the Bronco up to the cabin. Despite his altered mental state, he runs through the nightly checklist. Doors. windows. cameras. guns. water. food. supplies. The mental checklist was second nature at this point.
The alarm bells ring.
Jonah had lined the perimeter of the clearing with metal cowbells to warm of unwanted guests.
Probably just an animal.
Flashlight in hand, Jonah follows the sound.
He thought he would be more shocked to see a zombie in real life. This one had traveled a long way, and had somehow escaped the CDC's blanket of napalm hundreds of miles from the epicenter of the infection. He drew his pistol, and took aim at the creature's head.
He paused.
Standing in front of him was the reality that he longed so badly for. His ideal "after". His mind reeling, he pictured his bunker, his hard work, all of the research, planning and funds he needed to build the ultimate prepper hideaway. He pictured emerging from his bunker a year from now, ready to impart his survivor knowledge to anyone and everyone still alive. He would amass a following, maybe lead a community of like minded survivors. He would be right. Prepping was the right thing to do. He would be *important*.
Jonah holstered his gun, drew his machete, and cut the zombie loose. While it immediately lunged for him, Jonah dodged and was quickly out of arms reach. He tossed his flashlight down the Broco trail. Toward town. The zombie followed the light. Jonah slipped silently into his reinforced cabin and latched the door behind him, disappearing into darkness.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*. | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | When the virus struck, many were sure it was the end. Thousands barricaded themselves in place varying from the convenience store to their own, personally high-dollar bunker. The year is 2500 and the remainder of these doomsday people have been labeled as menaces to the rest of society, and must be brought back to the real world, or stopped any way possible, as stated in the Official Doomsday Delusion declaration.
“Alright, what do you have for me” I asked Henry, his ashtray was full of cigarettes and his hair seemed grayer than I remembered.
“Multiple houses broken into,” he replies, exasperated “All at night. Figure seen coming and going from a nearby tree line. Several kids have gone missing from the area, presumably playing in the woods. Fits the usual patterns.”
“Any signs of aggression, or is he in and out quiet?”
“Mostly quiet, but one citizen caught the person sneaking out of a house through the alleyway and attempted to confront him” Henry leans back in his chair and sighs, “whoever this is apparently fired at him with some sort of automatic weapon before sprinting off. He’s armed, John. Be careful.”
“Alright. Thanks, Henry.” I had been the first pick for this job. I have a history in Spec Ops as well as detective work from my younger years. But these people were getting worse. All the harmless ones had been rounded up already, but now they were getting more eccentric. Less likely to listen to reason. More likely to shoot first. I have to be on my guard.
__________________________________________________
The woods are quiet. A gentle breeze blows through, rustling the leaves around me slightly. I feel vulnerable, but my bulletproof vest under my suit, and my revolver at my side keep me confident. Protocol was to attempt diplomacy first but I have a feeling things won’t be so diplomatic this time around. I stride forward into the trees, a couple of soldiers skulking through the bushes at my back. It was time to go to work.
Cross referencing missing persons with any weapons training had led us to believe the O.D.D. is a man by the name of Stuart Clark. When rumors began spreading about the virus, he had used his family’s wealth to take class 3 weapons training and had used contacts from his father’s business to have a “renovation” done in this area, but no specifics as to where and what. Most likely he had built some sort of shelter in the woods, but that’s all we know.
We have been walking for what feels like an hour now. Directionless, and no signs of any ODD activity. The silence is getting to me. I reach up and activate my earpiece.
“Are you sure it was this section of the woods, Henry?” His specialty is gathering and authenticating data, and he’s been doing it for years, but maybe we had missed something along the way. Hell maybe it was nothing.
“The route we have you traveling is the most likely route he would be taking to and from town.” Henry says, seemingly annoyed at my second guessing, “We have a good idea of where he may have built his shelter, but you must be patient and vigilant, John. Quit your griping.”
And then I finally hear something. It’s faint, but passed the leaves and the wind is an odd but familiar sound. It is off to my side behind me somewhere. Before I can connect the dots in my mind, the sound tightens and strains, and in a flash of noise and light, and explosion erupts from one of the bushes behind me. I’m knocked off my feet from the blast, but I am uninjured. The same can’t be said for one of the soldiers who had been following me. An arm, previously belonging to him, lays beside me in the dirt. Smoke and dirt are knocked up into the air around me, making it impossible to tell who fired first, but shots begin to right out around me. Bullets wiz by and impact the trees and dirt around me. I scramble for cover as best I can but I’m blind. A yell calls out from somewhere in the cloud, and the gunfire stops.
As the dust settles, I begin to make out a figure across from me, standing apart from the bushes and trees. I draw my revolver, cock it and aim it at him, but he seems unfazed.
“I knew someone would find me eventually,” the man has a raspy voice, muffled but what sounds like a gas mask “But only the best will survive this new world. That settlement near me is weak. They don’t deserve what they have.”
“The virus was stopped, Stuart,” My aim is dead on the center of his head. He laughs, “The apocalypse ended before it even started. This needs to stop.”
“No, you don’t get it...” He flicks a switch on his rifle and it begins to glow with energy. Where did he get a class 4 rifle?! “The apocalypse has only just begun.”
And then I am struck from behind. | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Wait, what do you mean it's over?" the crackling voice over the intercom annoyed Sgt Bond.
"Yes, ma'am. The special containment procedures worked. Everything has passed and the country is returning to normal." Sgt Bond ruffled his blonde hair with a calloused hand. He was glad it was turning cool, and the dolldrums of summer were largely over.
The previous winter had been hell. The screams of the panicked and afraid mobbing out of the city and toward the country in rural GA.
Atlanta had gone up like a match, but, overall, the casualties were centered at the hospital attached to the international transit hub. Only those infected or attacked had died other than those trampled by the fleeing panicked citizens. The hub was a wet mess of charred rubble less than a month after the first symptoms were recognized.
"You're needed back at the school, classes start soon, and the department was sent out to check and make sure you and yours are okay." Sgt Bond stated clearly and slowly.
"Huh.... well then. Your word as a gentleman there is nothing out there to hurt me or mine?" Mrs. Jackson asked through the intercom.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, then. Let me get the door." He heard several loud thumps and the grinding of gears. He was surprised to see a little girl drawing at a desk, and the mother, a hand on her hip, her dark brown hair being brushed behind her ear. "Well, come in then, I'm finishing dinner, no sense in leaving hungry, Mr..... ?"
"Sorry, Sergeant Bond." He held out his hand, she took it firmly.
"Welcome to home base Sgt Bond. It's mighty fine to have that door open again. She nodded toward the door in question and he arched a brow at the computer terminals set up side by side along the wall across from the dining table where she was setting out another plate.
"How do you keep power in here?" he asked.
"Oh, now, you know a woman has to have her secrets." She pushed her glasses up, magnifying her eyes for just a split second. "Sarah, Dinner time, sweetie."
Sgt Bond sat down to eat and for the first time in a while had a hearty, filling southern style dinner. He, for the dozenth time, did not envy his cohorts in the other parts of the country. Nothing quite like southern hospitality, be it at gunpoint or otherwise.
"Have you any other news than what is in the news and message boards? I've seen several posts about fake military personnel trying to gain access to bunkers, then the bunkers go quiet for a while..." She asked as she set the plates heaping with homemade biscuits on the table.
"Yes'm, That's kind of part of why I'm here." He hedged. "You know me from the university, which was a big part of why I was sent. I volunteered for this so I could come give you the absolute low-down. You helped me and Jennie when we ran into that tough spot a few years ago."
"Yes, i remember, how is Jennie?"
"She's almost due now." He smiled privately, thinking on his loving spouse.
"Aww, it's a boy, right?" Mrs. Jackson asked and he nodded with a grin. "Are you seeing her this evening?" Another nod from Sgt Bond.
"You'll take her leftovers then, and my love. I think we can start moving back to the main house in a few days, what do you think munchkin? Some sunlight that's not simulated, what do you say?"
Sara grinned
"what's this about needing my help again?" Mrs. Jackson asked, placing a fresh pie on the table and putting together a go-plate for his wife.
"Yes, ma'am, there are a lot of holdouts, much like your own, come to point. It seems that there are a fair bit that we're either overlooking or that don't believe us. We need someone on the inside to get people to look at the internet at large, and the local situations regarding the lack of zombies. It seems you're the best person we have for that kind of information dissemination."
"Ah, I see." She smiled and placed the last dish into the sink. "Hey, Sarah? Pull up the d-d-net and log in for me honey, we've got some work to do. We're not poofing, we're coaxing people out like cats. Maybe a convention announcement? Start spitballing with some of your buddies while I show Sgt Bond out."
As she walks him out, he tries to shake her hand again and she hugs him warmly. "It's good to finally see a friendly face in person again, James."
"Yes, Ma'am. It certainly is. The missus will love the dinner. We appreciate your assistance." Bond spoke quietly.
"I'm sure. I take it your guys are having some problems with the rest of the survivor nation?" She smiled before tying her hair into a high ponytail, getting into work mode.
"Yes'm. Especially the groups in the north." He sighed heavily.
"I can see that. Well, let us get to work and, if you don't mind can you have some of the boys come over this next weekend to help us move back to the main house? These monitors may not be heavy but i'd rather not move them alone with Sarah." She waves to the others in the security team who had been standing outside for the last three hours. "Have one of them come up here, I'll go ahead and pass out the leftovers, lordy I'm sick of them if you must know."
He waived one of the privates to come forward, his rifle at easy position. She passed out the provisions to his group of four and waved them off before going back inside, closing the door with just the deadbolt this time.
Sgt Bond knew his wife would love the home-cooking, it had been delicious, if a little strange coming from someone that had been locked in a bunker for 9 months. He did not envy his coworkers in other areas.
Nothing quite beat southern hospitality.
Then, something occurred to him... he'd not seen Mrs J's husband, no sign of him at all. | The clank was soft followed by another a little louder this time. As josh ran to the shower room where his girlfriend jen was "someone found the bunker." Jen popped her head out and was shocked thinking to her self it was more a modifyed hole in the ground built in to the side of hill next too a creek in the woods behide his grandfathers house. "You sure?" As she rushed to trun off the water and run sith him to the living room area of the bunker she hit the light button as she ran by and the bunker lights in the room popped on with a quick flick. Josh was already pulling up the outside camera mummbling he would have to go out and deal with it.
The co puter monitor buzzed on with the cam showing the door of the bunker. "Shit" as Josh turns toward Jen, "get your clothing on we have an issue there human and look like there being crazy". Jen turned and ran as another soft knock was heard on the speaker at the door followrd by "Josh is Jen with you and this event was over a few months ago by the way im agent Jane" the voice didnt sound mad or hateful as Jen came back in the room with a rifle in hand. "Im going up to the lookout" as she turned to the ladder in the wall the lookout good idea "I'm going to the 1st door and putting water in the exoroom" ueah the pump was up the creek and could flood the exo room with preesure jets.
The lookout was a small tunnel above the door with a view hole that could see out in front of the bunker with a sinper hole that could be opened.
"Josh, Jen we need to talk about this" josh cut her off with a quick what do you want if you think your getting in think again the doors a bank vault followed by" the agent cut him off by saying another room that can be filled with water and pressure jets if the door is breached yes we know you had to file with me to get that approved" the intercom came over that it was government offices from Jen and im coming back down there 3 of them and it looks like it is Jane f rom the FBI. "Prove it put your id in the bin and i can see for sure" ha thought josh this will get them just as Jen reached the door he heard a meow that was all to similar to his cats he left outside as he rushed to get here they both heard a clank as the door to the outter bin shut he hit the button and saw his cat with an id in front of it from it was Jane's pull in the view window of the bin. Looking at Jen he heard Jane "That proof enough that this is over with we know hes your cat we got him from your mother and father."....
More to read on wattpad this will be on going on wattpad @JoshDowns hope you like it so far. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "the sirens are going off again, it must have been the third time today. I wanna beleive what they say. The city is safe, come out with no fears... FEARS!!! Fear is why we put ourselves in this hole. My heart wants to believe but its been months and my fear is that it's still not over." John said " "I think you being paranoid dude why would the government let's us die?" " To hide the Truth Jake, don't you see we are witnesses to something that never should have been, politics 101 no withesses." "If you wanna go out that's your decision, but I am not leaving!!!" John's determined gaze seemed to let jake know, he would not he shook on his point. So as Jake and John best friends since grade school, outcasts some would call, ate dinner that night, jake brought his feeling to light. "I know you do not wanna leave John, but I must see what is happening. I'll come back to let you know what happened and if it's safe." John's stomach began to turn and anxiety built." You don't have to do this, we can wait 6 more months. Go out and see after more people have come, but we cannot risk trusting them". "Don't worry I'll be back brotha". As jake and John finished there last supper together, they enjoyed the company of each other. The memories there shared and will have. Jake packed his bag ready for a new life, John was hurt but did not show it and enjoyed the last hours he had with his friend. They hugged and gave best wishes. Jake closed the vault door, John's knows he has lost a friend for life.
First time goes easy on me🤔 | “Morning, special agent Trevor.” I grinned, handing him his daily prescription of preservatives and bandages.
To be fair, Trevor looked pretty good for an undead. His face wasn’t really rotting, especially not after we’d transplanted some skin cells over to him. He’s only zombie trait was his regenerative abilities, which were actually amazing.
“So which bunker are we off to today?” Trevor grinned in anticipation. Before his disease, he’d been an excellent special operative, and his actions during the outbreak saved hundreds of lives. He was also a bit of a wild card, loving to test security measures and break into bunkers.
”It’s a family of three in West Virginia. Judging from their purchases, they’re likely going to be out of food within three weeks. So, you’re gonna break in, and show them what a zombie looks like. Then I’ll follow up and tell them the outbreak is over.”
“Cool.” Trevor grabbed his old bag of tricks and strode towards the police car.
Time to go pay those poor preppers a visit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | I pulled up to the address in my black Impala. 7335 Cherry Creek Road, Thomas Wright, age 31. No criminal record. Formerly a steady job. Not known to go hunting- actually, his family said his main hobby seemed to be surfing the web, which I had noticed was a common theme- so he was suspected to still have the 100 rounds of 00 buckshot and another 50 .308 Winchester rounds he had bought three years prior. He had also bought a machete, hunting knife, and recurve bow. Should the government know his exact purchases from three years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But at least they could tell me what to watch out for. Unfortunately, the body armor underneath my suit wouldn't do much against either of those weapons, even if Thomas were to aim for the chest. Everyone knows, in a zombie apocalypse, you aim for the head.
Regardless, I exited my car, walked up to his door, and knocked. It was barricaded, like his windows. Expected. There'd be no easy way in. If only he had kept using his utilities or put everything on his credit card without paying it off, then the debt collectors would have already knocked down his door for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I knocked louder- a deliberate and friendly knock a zombie definitely wouldn't make. Still no response.
I sighed and looked at my list of people to call on. It was almost lunchtime, and I was only on number four of some two or three dozen. *Man, I hate my job*. I thought, despite having volunteered for this task. To be honest, I pictured it as me just knocking on all the doors and explaining patiently to the people that opened them that everything was fine and they could come out now. I'd thought I'd be done in a day or two. So far, every house I had encountered was a veritable fortress, which took an hour to get into and get the person inside to come out.
By now, I had figured out the way in when knocking and calling failed. I had approved it with my superiors, and had bought a maul at a hardware store. Now, as I went back to my car to retrieve it, I started rolling my shoulders and channeling a little Jack Nicholson. The door and the boards on the other side would have kept out zombies, but not an eight pound axe. Once I was in, since it was pretty clear that no one was inside on the ground floors, I took my flashlight and searched for the basement.
I found the basement door at the base of some stairs. I tried knocking, and got no response. "Hey," I called inside, "Mr. Thomas Wright? I'm George. I was sent by the government- and your boss, and your family- to tell you that the apocalypse didn't happen, and that it's safe to come out now."
"How'd you get in here?" The voice called from the other side, sounding slightly unhinged. It'd go away once they got reintegrated into society- well, if you could call their normal lives integrated with society.
"I broke through your front door with an axe. Yes, I have a warrant to do that. Yes, you can apply for a reimbursement. I have the form here with me."
I tried my best to keep my voice from betraying how exhausted and done with this I was.
"How do I know you're not lying to me? You're just trying to get inside and take my stuff! I'm warning you: I have a gun!"
"Mr. Wright, here's the form," I slid it underneath his door, "And you probably don't have all that stuff much left. It's been three months since the outbreak was contained."
"I've been rationing."
I rolled my eyes, still facing the locked door. "Look, I can't leave until you come out and see that everything is OK. I'm getting hungry, and am really looking forward to getting a nice lunch with my girlfriend at Mia's in town. Sometime before-" I glanced at my watch, pressing the glow-display button, "one o'clock, if you could make that happen."
"Yeah, right. It's a good story, and a nice try. But I'm not so easily fooled."
Again, I sighed, finding the irony bitterly humorous. "Everyone's worried about you, Mr. Wright. Your family hasn't heard from you since you locked yourself up." I thought for a moment, trying to think of some other way to convince him, "Do you have any lights in there, Mr. Wright?"
"Um, of course. But the power's out, so I turned the breaker's off. Why?"
"If you turned the breaker back on, and tried the lights, would that convince you that everything's still OK? Would that make you come out?"
I didn't hear a response for a minute, until I heard the click of a light switch and saw the light leaking out from under the door. It was momentarily followed by the clicks and rattles of about ten locks and deadbolts being undone, before the door swung open.
Mr. Wright was thin, unshaven, messy, smelly, and looking worse for wear from the last three months. He also looked completely bewildered to see me standing in front of him completely calm and in a clean suit. His shotgun was laying against a far wall, near the breaker panel. I breathed an undetectable sigh of relief.
"How'd they stop it?" He asked. "The virus, I mean."
"They quarantined the breakout area, sterilized everyone they could who wasn't infected, killed those who were too far gone, and isolated a strain of the virus. They're saying it's a mutated form of rabies. They're predicting they'll have a vaccine ready and in mass production in the next few months."
"Really? Just like that?"
I wanted to point out just how hard it was for a zombie-plague that was basically only saliva transmitted to spread before the government could step in, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting to lunch. "Yep. Just like that. If you fill out that form in your hand and turn it in to your local police station or the Secretary of State office, they'll get a reimbursement check to you in four to five business days. I've already signed it where I need to sign. Today's Monday, October 3. Your boss probably expects you back at work as soon as possible. Get cleaned up before you go anywhere. Everything except your door will be in the same working order as you left it in."
"OK, sure..." He nodded, still completely confused.
"Just two more things I need you to do. First is to talk to the people at these numbers..." I pointed to the four phone numbers underneath his other information, "They're your family and work, probably. Since you probably don't have a phone that works, you can use this one."
I handed him a cheap Trac-phone I had bought for exactly this purpose. Apparently, you can buy phones at your local dollar store. He made his calls while I looked at the next address, and tried to not watch the time too closely. Eventually, he finished calling the numbers, and handed me back the phone. Then, I handed him a pen and pointed to a blank on my clipboard. "Sign here, please. This just confirms I did, in fact, get you out."
Thomas Wright did everything I asked him, like he was in shock. I wasn't a physician, and that wasn't my job. All I was being paid for was what I had had him do. Once he finished signing, I said goodbye and was on my way.
Once I was back in my car, I tallied up who all was left. There were thirty-one names left. At this rate, I'd be lucky to be done by Friday. Well, I'd worry about that later. Lunch at Mia's first, to get a little ballast in the tank. Then some guy named Ben Primmly. The form said he had an assault rifle. Peachy. | “Morning, special agent Trevor.” I grinned, handing him his daily prescription of preservatives and bandages.
To be fair, Trevor looked pretty good for an undead. His face wasn’t really rotting, especially not after we’d transplanted some skin cells over to him. He’s only zombie trait was his regenerative abilities, which were actually amazing.
“So which bunker are we off to today?” Trevor grinned in anticipation. Before his disease, he’d been an excellent special operative, and his actions during the outbreak saved hundreds of lives. He was also a bit of a wild card, loving to test security measures and break into bunkers.
”It’s a family of three in West Virginia. Judging from their purchases, they’re likely going to be out of food within three weeks. So, you’re gonna break in, and show them what a zombie looks like. Then I’ll follow up and tell them the outbreak is over.”
“Cool.” Trevor grabbed his old bag of tricks and strode towards the police car.
Time to go pay those poor preppers a visit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | “Morning, special agent Trevor.” I grinned, handing him his daily prescription of preservatives and bandages.
To be fair, Trevor looked pretty good for an undead. His face wasn’t really rotting, especially not after we’d transplanted some skin cells over to him. He’s only zombie trait was his regenerative abilities, which were actually amazing.
“So which bunker are we off to today?” Trevor grinned in anticipation. Before his disease, he’d been an excellent special operative, and his actions during the outbreak saved hundreds of lives. He was also a bit of a wild card, loving to test security measures and break into bunkers.
”It’s a family of three in West Virginia. Judging from their purchases, they’re likely going to be out of food within three weeks. So, you’re gonna break in, and show them what a zombie looks like. Then I’ll follow up and tell them the outbreak is over.”
“Cool.” Trevor grabbed his old bag of tricks and strode towards the police car.
Time to go pay those poor preppers a visit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| “Morning, special agent Trevor.” I grinned, handing him his daily prescription of preservatives and bandages.
To be fair, Trevor looked pretty good for an undead. His face wasn’t really rotting, especially not after we’d transplanted some skin cells over to him. He’s only zombie trait was his regenerative abilities, which were actually amazing.
“So which bunker are we off to today?” Trevor grinned in anticipation. Before his disease, he’d been an excellent special operative, and his actions during the outbreak saved hundreds of lives. He was also a bit of a wild card, loving to test security measures and break into bunkers.
”It’s a family of three in West Virginia. Judging from their purchases, they’re likely going to be out of food within three weeks. So, you’re gonna break in, and show them what a zombie looks like. Then I’ll follow up and tell them the outbreak is over.”
“Cool.” Trevor grabbed his old bag of tricks and strode towards the police car.
Time to go pay those poor preppers a visit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "the sirens are going off again, it must have been the third time today. I wanna beleive what they say. The city is safe, come out with no fears... FEARS!!! Fear is why we put ourselves in this hole. My heart wants to believe but its been months and my fear is that it's still not over." John said " "I think you being paranoid dude why would the government let's us die?" " To hide the Truth Jake, don't you see we are witnesses to something that never should have been, politics 101 no withesses." "If you wanna go out that's your decision, but I am not leaving!!!" John's determined gaze seemed to let jake know, he would not he shook on his point. So as Jake and John best friends since grade school, outcasts some would call, ate dinner that night, jake brought his feeling to light. "I know you do not wanna leave John, but I must see what is happening. I'll come back to let you know what happened and if it's safe." John's stomach began to turn and anxiety built." You don't have to do this, we can wait 6 more months. Go out and see after more people have come, but we cannot risk trusting them". "Don't worry I'll be back brotha". As jake and John finished there last supper together, they enjoyed the company of each other. The memories there shared and will have. Jake packed his bag ready for a new life, John was hurt but did not show it and enjoyed the last hours he had with his friend. They hugged and gave best wishes. Jake closed the vault door, John's knows he has lost a friend for life.
First time goes easy on me🤔 | Stuck inside these four walls, protected by nothing but a several thick pieces of wood, our wits keeping us from tearing each other apart, insulated but still at-risk. The more than one-hundred slashes decorating the walls - documenting how long we've managed to survive despite the unlikelyhood - are a testament to our ability to survive despite everything.
It's not time, we're convinced it's too early to leave? Why trust the government, when they were the ones to unleash this hell, all the while denying it even existed. As cities crumbled and society fell to ruin, they had no choice but to reluctantly confess the mess they created.
We're heard the message. Over radio static, they said it was contained. But with a pile of corpses outside decomposing in the hot August sun, their organs splayed out beside them, none of us can be too cautious.
We grab our guns. We're practically joined at the hip, married to them in a way. Never go anywhere alone, we team up - the eight of us that remain in this cramped cabin - and knock the boards down.
Quietly opening the door, we venture outside, looking left and right twice each time.
"Coast is clear," I mutter with a protective layer of doubt. "Keep checking though. Can never be too cautious."
The terrain is desolate, devoid of life. The brown grass and the decaying trees are the only evidence that this is the Earth we once called home. Now it's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, engineered by the government and left to us - these eight resourceful souls - to rebuild.
"I see nothing, Jack. Let's find an exit point and just roll," a voice in the back suggested.
"Yeah, let's find the van and get out of here. It's making me uneasy," another voice agreed.
"I doubt it's got any fuel," I said. "Damn infecteds probably tore it to shreds anyway. Let's keep walking."
As we continue, I begin to cool down and warm up to the idea that perhaps it was all over. I chuckle to myself at this. "All over," I thought. "Doesn't matter much when everything you know is gone."
We reach the city, with its high-rise buildings towering over dead cities. The windows are smashed and cars rust. Here we are and here we will stay, at least until we have no option but to run. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | I pulled up to the address in my black Impala. 7335 Cherry Creek Road, Thomas Wright, age 31. No criminal record. Formerly a steady job. Not known to go hunting- actually, his family said his main hobby seemed to be surfing the web, which I had noticed was a common theme- so he was suspected to still have the 100 rounds of 00 buckshot and another 50 .308 Winchester rounds he had bought three years prior. He had also bought a machete, hunting knife, and recurve bow. Should the government know his exact purchases from three years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But at least they could tell me what to watch out for. Unfortunately, the body armor underneath my suit wouldn't do much against either of those weapons, even if Thomas were to aim for the chest. Everyone knows, in a zombie apocalypse, you aim for the head.
Regardless, I exited my car, walked up to his door, and knocked. It was barricaded, like his windows. Expected. There'd be no easy way in. If only he had kept using his utilities or put everything on his credit card without paying it off, then the debt collectors would have already knocked down his door for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I knocked louder- a deliberate and friendly knock a zombie definitely wouldn't make. Still no response.
I sighed and looked at my list of people to call on. It was almost lunchtime, and I was only on number four of some two or three dozen. *Man, I hate my job*. I thought, despite having volunteered for this task. To be honest, I pictured it as me just knocking on all the doors and explaining patiently to the people that opened them that everything was fine and they could come out now. I'd thought I'd be done in a day or two. So far, every house I had encountered was a veritable fortress, which took an hour to get into and get the person inside to come out.
By now, I had figured out the way in when knocking and calling failed. I had approved it with my superiors, and had bought a maul at a hardware store. Now, as I went back to my car to retrieve it, I started rolling my shoulders and channeling a little Jack Nicholson. The door and the boards on the other side would have kept out zombies, but not an eight pound axe. Once I was in, since it was pretty clear that no one was inside on the ground floors, I took my flashlight and searched for the basement.
I found the basement door at the base of some stairs. I tried knocking, and got no response. "Hey," I called inside, "Mr. Thomas Wright? I'm George. I was sent by the government- and your boss, and your family- to tell you that the apocalypse didn't happen, and that it's safe to come out now."
"How'd you get in here?" The voice called from the other side, sounding slightly unhinged. It'd go away once they got reintegrated into society- well, if you could call their normal lives integrated with society.
"I broke through your front door with an axe. Yes, I have a warrant to do that. Yes, you can apply for a reimbursement. I have the form here with me."
I tried my best to keep my voice from betraying how exhausted and done with this I was.
"How do I know you're not lying to me? You're just trying to get inside and take my stuff! I'm warning you: I have a gun!"
"Mr. Wright, here's the form," I slid it underneath his door, "And you probably don't have all that stuff much left. It's been three months since the outbreak was contained."
"I've been rationing."
I rolled my eyes, still facing the locked door. "Look, I can't leave until you come out and see that everything is OK. I'm getting hungry, and am really looking forward to getting a nice lunch with my girlfriend at Mia's in town. Sometime before-" I glanced at my watch, pressing the glow-display button, "one o'clock, if you could make that happen."
"Yeah, right. It's a good story, and a nice try. But I'm not so easily fooled."
Again, I sighed, finding the irony bitterly humorous. "Everyone's worried about you, Mr. Wright. Your family hasn't heard from you since you locked yourself up." I thought for a moment, trying to think of some other way to convince him, "Do you have any lights in there, Mr. Wright?"
"Um, of course. But the power's out, so I turned the breaker's off. Why?"
"If you turned the breaker back on, and tried the lights, would that convince you that everything's still OK? Would that make you come out?"
I didn't hear a response for a minute, until I heard the click of a light switch and saw the light leaking out from under the door. It was momentarily followed by the clicks and rattles of about ten locks and deadbolts being undone, before the door swung open.
Mr. Wright was thin, unshaven, messy, smelly, and looking worse for wear from the last three months. He also looked completely bewildered to see me standing in front of him completely calm and in a clean suit. His shotgun was laying against a far wall, near the breaker panel. I breathed an undetectable sigh of relief.
"How'd they stop it?" He asked. "The virus, I mean."
"They quarantined the breakout area, sterilized everyone they could who wasn't infected, killed those who were too far gone, and isolated a strain of the virus. They're saying it's a mutated form of rabies. They're predicting they'll have a vaccine ready and in mass production in the next few months."
"Really? Just like that?"
I wanted to point out just how hard it was for a zombie-plague that was basically only saliva transmitted to spread before the government could step in, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting to lunch. "Yep. Just like that. If you fill out that form in your hand and turn it in to your local police station or the Secretary of State office, they'll get a reimbursement check to you in four to five business days. I've already signed it where I need to sign. Today's Monday, October 3. Your boss probably expects you back at work as soon as possible. Get cleaned up before you go anywhere. Everything except your door will be in the same working order as you left it in."
"OK, sure..." He nodded, still completely confused.
"Just two more things I need you to do. First is to talk to the people at these numbers..." I pointed to the four phone numbers underneath his other information, "They're your family and work, probably. Since you probably don't have a phone that works, you can use this one."
I handed him a cheap Trac-phone I had bought for exactly this purpose. Apparently, you can buy phones at your local dollar store. He made his calls while I looked at the next address, and tried to not watch the time too closely. Eventually, he finished calling the numbers, and handed me back the phone. Then, I handed him a pen and pointed to a blank on my clipboard. "Sign here, please. This just confirms I did, in fact, get you out."
Thomas Wright did everything I asked him, like he was in shock. I wasn't a physician, and that wasn't my job. All I was being paid for was what I had had him do. Once he finished signing, I said goodbye and was on my way.
Once I was back in my car, I tallied up who all was left. There were thirty-one names left. At this rate, I'd be lucky to be done by Friday. Well, I'd worry about that later. Lunch at Mia's first, to get a little ballast in the tank. Then some guy named Ben Primmly. The form said he had an assault rifle. Peachy. | Stuck inside these four walls, protected by nothing but a several thick pieces of wood, our wits keeping us from tearing each other apart, insulated but still at-risk. The more than one-hundred slashes decorating the walls - documenting how long we've managed to survive despite the unlikelyhood - are a testament to our ability to survive despite everything.
It's not time, we're convinced it's too early to leave? Why trust the government, when they were the ones to unleash this hell, all the while denying it even existed. As cities crumbled and society fell to ruin, they had no choice but to reluctantly confess the mess they created.
We're heard the message. Over radio static, they said it was contained. But with a pile of corpses outside decomposing in the hot August sun, their organs splayed out beside them, none of us can be too cautious.
We grab our guns. We're practically joined at the hip, married to them in a way. Never go anywhere alone, we team up - the eight of us that remain in this cramped cabin - and knock the boards down.
Quietly opening the door, we venture outside, looking left and right twice each time.
"Coast is clear," I mutter with a protective layer of doubt. "Keep checking though. Can never be too cautious."
The terrain is desolate, devoid of life. The brown grass and the decaying trees are the only evidence that this is the Earth we once called home. Now it's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, engineered by the government and left to us - these eight resourceful souls - to rebuild.
"I see nothing, Jack. Let's find an exit point and just roll," a voice in the back suggested.
"Yeah, let's find the van and get out of here. It's making me uneasy," another voice agreed.
"I doubt it's got any fuel," I said. "Damn infecteds probably tore it to shreds anyway. Let's keep walking."
As we continue, I begin to cool down and warm up to the idea that perhaps it was all over. I chuckle to myself at this. "All over," I thought. "Doesn't matter much when everything you know is gone."
We reach the city, with its high-rise buildings towering over dead cities. The windows are smashed and cars rust. Here we are and here we will stay, at least until we have no option but to run. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | Stuck inside these four walls, protected by nothing but a several thick pieces of wood, our wits keeping us from tearing each other apart, insulated but still at-risk. The more than one-hundred slashes decorating the walls - documenting how long we've managed to survive despite the unlikelyhood - are a testament to our ability to survive despite everything.
It's not time, we're convinced it's too early to leave? Why trust the government, when they were the ones to unleash this hell, all the while denying it even existed. As cities crumbled and society fell to ruin, they had no choice but to reluctantly confess the mess they created.
We're heard the message. Over radio static, they said it was contained. But with a pile of corpses outside decomposing in the hot August sun, their organs splayed out beside them, none of us can be too cautious.
We grab our guns. We're practically joined at the hip, married to them in a way. Never go anywhere alone, we team up - the eight of us that remain in this cramped cabin - and knock the boards down.
Quietly opening the door, we venture outside, looking left and right twice each time.
"Coast is clear," I mutter with a protective layer of doubt. "Keep checking though. Can never be too cautious."
The terrain is desolate, devoid of life. The brown grass and the decaying trees are the only evidence that this is the Earth we once called home. Now it's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, engineered by the government and left to us - these eight resourceful souls - to rebuild.
"I see nothing, Jack. Let's find an exit point and just roll," a voice in the back suggested.
"Yeah, let's find the van and get out of here. It's making me uneasy," another voice agreed.
"I doubt it's got any fuel," I said. "Damn infecteds probably tore it to shreds anyway. Let's keep walking."
As we continue, I begin to cool down and warm up to the idea that perhaps it was all over. I chuckle to myself at this. "All over," I thought. "Doesn't matter much when everything you know is gone."
We reach the city, with its high-rise buildings towering over dead cities. The windows are smashed and cars rust. Here we are and here we will stay, at least until we have no option but to run. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| Stuck inside these four walls, protected by nothing but a several thick pieces of wood, our wits keeping us from tearing each other apart, insulated but still at-risk. The more than one-hundred slashes decorating the walls - documenting how long we've managed to survive despite the unlikelyhood - are a testament to our ability to survive despite everything.
It's not time, we're convinced it's too early to leave? Why trust the government, when they were the ones to unleash this hell, all the while denying it even existed. As cities crumbled and society fell to ruin, they had no choice but to reluctantly confess the mess they created.
We're heard the message. Over radio static, they said it was contained. But with a pile of corpses outside decomposing in the hot August sun, their organs splayed out beside them, none of us can be too cautious.
We grab our guns. We're practically joined at the hip, married to them in a way. Never go anywhere alone, we team up - the eight of us that remain in this cramped cabin - and knock the boards down.
Quietly opening the door, we venture outside, looking left and right twice each time.
"Coast is clear," I mutter with a protective layer of doubt. "Keep checking though. Can never be too cautious."
The terrain is desolate, devoid of life. The brown grass and the decaying trees are the only evidence that this is the Earth we once called home. Now it's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, engineered by the government and left to us - these eight resourceful souls - to rebuild.
"I see nothing, Jack. Let's find an exit point and just roll," a voice in the back suggested.
"Yeah, let's find the van and get out of here. It's making me uneasy," another voice agreed.
"I doubt it's got any fuel," I said. "Damn infecteds probably tore it to shreds anyway. Let's keep walking."
As we continue, I begin to cool down and warm up to the idea that perhaps it was all over. I chuckle to myself at this. "All over," I thought. "Doesn't matter much when everything you know is gone."
We reach the city, with its high-rise buildings towering over dead cities. The windows are smashed and cars rust. Here we are and here we will stay, at least until we have no option but to run. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | "You're right, god damnit, that's gotta be a helicopter! I thought you were just messing with me yet again last time" exclaimed Taco. "I would never" said JB sarcastically. It had been days since JB had heard the hum of blades in the distance. Were the sounds even real, or had he just daydreamed the noises of the old society he used to forcibly ignore? A wave of excited relief washed over both of them. "We should go back home, to the city. There must be someone there. It must be over".
The two left most everything at the campsite in the trees. Nobody will care about a little garbage in the woods after everything that happened. There wasn't much of use there anyway, everything was back at home where it belonged.
"I can't wait to sleep in my bed again" Taco said, reminiscing about the feeling of comfort his bedroom provided.
"I can't wait to see if that Samantha girl responded to my pickup line on Tinder..I swear if there's internet, and she's alive, I'm taking her for a reasonably priced meal at Applebees. If Applebees is still a thing."
JB laughed, missing the stupid little things about the society he used to hide from. "Yeah, I bet she's dead. Probably got bit, turned into one of them. Besides if she's alive, you think you have a chance? We might be two of the last men left alive. That means I'm gonna take your precious Samantha. All these months describing her profile to me, I'm really kinda turned on thinking about that zombie ass actually".
"Shut up dude! She's gonna be there, back home, waiting for me."
It wouldn't be much longer to go until they reached the outskirts of the city. The noise began again, and it was getting closer. The annoying thwat thwat thwat thwat of a low-flying whirlybird. They both quietly relished in the cacophony of this beacon of humanity, drawing them toward home from their nature hideout.
As the helicopter came into eyeshot, something started to feel off. The boys had a good sense of when to run and when to hide. They'd practiced during the outbreak and during their escape from what remained of society. The boys hadn't been the only thing the helicopter drew fourth from their places of hiding.
"Dude, RUN!" shouted JB at his partner in survival. They shot ahead, hoping they could outrun anything from the forest shadows behind them. This wasn't like the zombie video games they'd played together for countless hours. Everything was wrong. There were no weapons, no health potions, and stamina was far from unlimited. They could run no longer.
The noise from the sky overwhelmed any final screams or whimpers. The machine rounded back hardly aware, its flight complete, returning home. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." |
We parked outside the bunker then and looked around. Mark was new to the job. His dad got him the gig, thinking it was easy and harmless. Which it could be, but you could also meet a fanatical gun nut that could come out gun swinging. Anyway, this one might be an easy one. I looked at the report. His facebook page had not been touched since the outbreak, which lasted 3 weeks in one small town in Mexico, but it gave us an idea about this guy. Like guns, swords, Anime and marvel movies. Last post was about not going to watch the Captain Marvel movie, not that I blame him for that. But he was interested in watching the new Spiderman movie and was a Goblin Slayer fan. Choices.. choices.. I Looked at Mark and showed him the tab I was reading it from, he glanced at it and said Goblin Slayer. I just nodded and looked around. “Set it up over there. “
It took us 20 minutes to set it up. Loudspeakers and screen, 10 more minutes to get out the chairs and refreshments then we started the show.
He came out in episode 3 and we let him finish the season before talking to him. This was so much better then the old tactics with SWAT teams and teargas. We have a much lower casualty rate to and maybe Marks dad is right, this is an easy job | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | "You know, I think I'm getting used to this 'island lifestyle'". Hayden said as he picked up three ripe Walleye, his trophy kills of the day.
"It's great ain't it? Eric asked. "I'm just glad Karen didn't take it in the divorce".
"Yes. Well I'm sure it helps that she was already rich before marrying you". Hayden stated dryly.
"Heh. Yea, guess you’re right. I told her, you can have Paris and Milan for all I care, just don't take my darn island." said Eric matter of factly, making his way past Hayden towards the house, slowly dragging his wet feet on the dock.
The sun was beginning to crawl back over the horizon, and as if on cue, the colony of fruit bats residing in a nearby Quercus oocarpa all came to life in search of their morning morsel. The rushing sound of waves was drowned out by a cacophony of fluttering wings and conversation.
"I haven't gotten used to that!", Hayden exclaimed as he quickened his pace.
The two entered the kitchen, a room which could easily be mistaken for the rustic Beech laden set of 'Cheers'. Hayden set the three Walleye down on a nearby counter and proceeded to dance towards a colorful, dark green and red jukebox/record player hybrid that inhabited the corner on the far side of the room. This majesty of machinery was mainly used to play vinyl records, and over time had commandeered the surrounding 7-foot radius, effectively transforming the area into a dumping ground for Led Zeppelin vinyl and abandoned tie-dye t-shirts.
“Worlds travelled, worlds apart….you never showed ya soullllll! Hayden sang loudly as the abrasive wails of some obscure 80’s hair metal came bursting through the speakers. He grabs his favorite hat off the jukebox and puts it on his head.
“I’M THINKING WE CAN SLOW ROAST ONE FISH, AND FILET THE OTHERS TOMORROW!” Hayden yelled to Eric who had been in his study for some time already.
At the end of the main hallway, which ran pass the common area and home theater, Eric was standing in his office with his mouth slightly agape, staring at the *blinking red light* on his office phone which rested near the center atop his paper-strewn desk
The kitchen was alive with the sound of sub-par 80’s hair-metal and dishes being haphazardly thrown into the sink.
“I did all the work. Again.” Hayden muttered under his breath. He dried off his hand and set off to find and promptly berate him. Down the hall and past the home theatre he walked, only to stop at a mirror on the wall to pick out an irritating sliver of asparagus which had been become firmly lodged between his teeth.
“Gotcha!” he said hoisting the prize. “Leftovers”. He stuck it back onto his tongue and unabashedly continued towards Ericcs’ study. He rounded the corner of the office to find Eric hastily moving boxes into one of the many storage closets in the room.
“Hey. So, we’ll do the broiled fish tonight, and then tomorrow maybe get a little creative with some veggies from the garden. I’m thinking tacos pescado.” Hayden said, leaning against the wooden door frame.
“What?” asked Eric mid-turn, sounding anxious.
“Tacos pescado. We’ve got plenty of vegetables…” restated Hayden. “Hey buddy, are you okay?”
“Yea, I am. Yes.” Erik said hesitantly while walking towards his now clean desk. He sat down and eyed Hayden nervously. “So, what have you made?”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said? You’re a piece of work aren’t you. You know I don’t repeat myself!” Hayden scoffed.
“Right.” Erik said emptily. “I think my office phone might have died on us.” A glazed look settled on his eyes.
"Well is that phone going to be joining us for dinner?" Hayden said quickly, “ I think someone needs to go to bed early tonight”. He turned around abruptly, laughing, and started making his way towards the kitchen.
“Hah, maybe you’re right” Erik said, getting up from his desk to follow Hayden. He turned off the lights to his office and closed the door, his sweat soaked hand sliding easily off the door knob.
​
End
​
​ | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | Slowly, ever so slowly.
Turning the dial always felt like opening a safe.
It was on the sixth notch that the static broke.
"-orded message. To all survivors, the infection has broken. Please report to your nearest medical centre. You will be quarantined, treated and dismissed. This is a pre-recorded message. To all survi-"
The radio clicked off as Ben looked to his left. It had been almost a year, the marks on the wall and the worn, metal file beneath them the only record he had. He'd been living on canned fruit, canned meat, canned vegetables, canned-fucking-everything, for almost a year.
He eased up out of his chair, finding his belt and tightening it around his now narrow waist. The weight of the knife at his side was comforting, but not enough to stop him from reaching for the hammer that lay by his bed.
Ragged, dirty, unshaven. Ben stood before the heavy metal door, hammer in hand. He took a deep breath. Though they had not lasted long, he could still remember the pounding and frantic screams of the first few weeks. The knuckles on his right hand were white as he reached out with his left, ready for anything.
Ben stopped just short of the door, his grip loosening on the hammer as the tension left him. He sighed.
Turning back to his desk, he opened the top drawer and retrieved the first binder. He sat again and opened to the first page. His fingers ran lightly over the first edition Bulbasaur card in its plastic sleeve.
He smiled and reached for a can of pineapples. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | "the sirens are going off again, it must have been the third time today. I wanna beleive what they say. The city is safe, come out with no fears... FEARS!!! Fear is why we put ourselves in this hole. My heart wants to believe but its been months and my fear is that it's still not over." John said " "I think you being paranoid dude why would the government let's us die?" " To hide the Truth Jake, don't you see we are witnesses to something that never should have been, politics 101 no withesses." "If you wanna go out that's your decision, but I am not leaving!!!" John's determined gaze seemed to let jake know, he would not he shook on his point. So as Jake and John best friends since grade school, outcasts some would call, ate dinner that night, jake brought his feeling to light. "I know you do not wanna leave John, but I must see what is happening. I'll come back to let you know what happened and if it's safe." John's stomach began to turn and anxiety built." You don't have to do this, we can wait 6 more months. Go out and see after more people have come, but we cannot risk trusting them". "Don't worry I'll be back brotha". As jake and John finished there last supper together, they enjoyed the company of each other. The memories there shared and will have. Jake packed his bag ready for a new life, John was hurt but did not show it and enjoyed the last hours he had with his friend. They hugged and gave best wishes. Jake closed the vault door, John's knows he has lost a friend for life.
First time goes easy on me🤔 | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | 23rd of November, 2022
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained “, a female voice calmly announced from the megaphone atop the vehicle. “It is now safe to come out. It is now safe.”
Captain Matthews looks bored atop the vehicle. He has been doing this for the past couple of months, riding atop the military vehicle with his squad, looking for people still hiding; effectively saving them. His squad was still weary, hands on guns, in case any uglies were drawn to the voice on the megaphone. Yet nobody has seen one in two months.
“This is not a drill. Safety has now been restored. Medical personal is on stand-by ready to care for you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”, the voice finished.
‘The dead have been killed’.
“What a strange world we live in, that the phrase now makes sense.”, the captain thought.
Nothing. The thunder of the skies penetrated the voice atop the truck. The day looked grey and washed, he thought. Like someone held a dirty old cloth over the world. It was afternoon, yet it looked like it had been dark for centuries, and the light was too scared to return.
“Captain, it ain’t no use”, Rory said. “These scared pricks aren’t gonna show themselves even if Jesus himself were to glide down from the sky and tell them to come out”. He laughed, tossing a bullet and catching it.
“These are people, Private Gunners.”, the Captain replied, eyes set on the horizon. “Don’t ridicule them for being afraid. Were you brave after your wife's accident?”
Rory turned serious and sullen faced. “Who pissed in his boots?”, he whispered to a colleague.
The thunder rumbled again. They were now making their way through an access alley parting two rows of residential house, each with its own generous back yard.
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained. It is now safe to come out.”, the voice repeated.
Somewhere between the thunders and the voice atop the vehicle, the captain thought he could make out a rhythmic thud.
“Stop. I think we got something.” The soldiers got wide eyed, excited at the prospect of doing something other than sitting in that truck.
“Get down. Eyes, ears and wits about you.”, the captain instructed as he took the lead towards one of the back yards.
They were moving towards a quaint residential house: one floor, wood panels. Before them, a large yard filled with grass and an old oak tree. Thud, thud, thud. By the oak tree, there was a mound. Thud, thud, thud. The noise became louder. As they were getting closer to the mound, something felt wrong. Thud. Thud. Thud. The captain picked up on it but said nothing. His men were trained, and he trusted them.
Getting to the mound, they could see a hatch was on top of it. The hatch was locked with a solid iron lock. The band of soldiers looked uneasy.
“Hello?!”, the captain firmly shouted. “Is anyone down there?”.
His question was almost instantly answered with a long, rapturous howling. A cross between the wailing of a banshee and the cry of an animal, it instantly put everyone on guard.
“What… the… fuck?”, Rory said in amazed bewilderment. Even the captain felt a hint of fear, but did not want to betray it.
“Calm now.” He turned to his squad. “We have been through either of these scenarios.”, he said reassuringly. “I want your silence from now on, Private Gunners.”
He turned to the hatch. “Sir, ma’am, if you are in there and need assistance, please talk to us. Or hit this hatch 3 times so we know you understand us.”
A second howling came, but short lived. Silence after that.
“… ready to examine you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”
“Sir? Ma’am?”, the captain asked.
“Sir, I think it’s one of them.”, Rory said almost panicked.
“Did I ask you to think, Private Gunners?”, the captain replied annoyed. Private Gunners quickly shut up. It just isn’t his day.
“Okay. Bolt cutters and sledge hammer, Private Gunners.” Rory quickly ran to the truck, and returned with the tools just as quickly.
“… the dead have been killed.”, the voice ominously announced.
The captain took the bolt cutters, tried them on the lock. No luck. He then took the sledge hammer, and furiously wielded his weight down on the lock. It stood no chance.
“Arms at the ready.”, he commanded. “… killed”, the voice echoed.
He lifted the doors aside, and out the hatch a silhouette pounced on his chest: flailing, wailing and pinning him to the ground.
“Captain!”, one of the soldiers shouted. Two soldiers took the figure off the captain, and threw it against the grass. Their guns were pointed at it. “It’s one of them! What the hell was it doing locked down there?”
“Don’t shoot!”, the captain ordered. He got back on his feet and had a better look at the creature. It was dressed in dirty rags that long ago might have been pink. Oily dark hair ran amok all the way down to the knees, and skin covered in dirt so thick it might have been scales. The most striking thing of all: the creature is barely as thin as the rags on it.
“Don’t shoot!”, he ordered again as he took the flashlight in his hands and shone it on the creatures face. As he did so, it instinctively shielded its eyes from the light using its hands. The creature resembled a woman, and her mouth was covered in dark, dried liquid. The captain soon realised its frailty was not the most striking thing. She was missing two fingers off her left hand, and the flesh around them was black. She wailed again, this time a wailing that sounded more like crying. And she was whispering.
“…back? Back? Back? Back?!”, she repeated over and over.
The soldiers looked incredulous, not sure what to say.
“Yes, it’s safe to come back”, they reassuringly replied. The creature was weaving back and forth.
“…tend to…”, the voice repeated from afar. The thunder roared furiously, and the woman twitched nervously.
“Take her to the sanitation tent, now.”, the captain ordered. Three soldiers escorted the woman, yet she had her eyes set on the captain as she was being taken away, silently mouthing something.
“Private Gunners, with me.”, he ordered again as he wasted no time. They started descending the steps and into the hatch. As soon as they did, they were hit by a horrid, putrid smell. They covered their noses with the hooks of their arms, but to no avail. It was getting everywhere.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, the image was astounding. A faint light was barely on in the middle of the small space. The walls were dirty and scratched. To the right, there was a dirty mattress on a concrete floor. Above the mattress, there were two solid iron links bolted into the wall and tied to them were iron chains. By the bed, there was a swarm of flies and maggots surrounding a plastic basin. The captain turned his gaze to the left. On the wall opposite the mattress, painted in big, clumsy letters, there was a message: I LOVE YOU.
Further towards the back wall, there were a wooden desk and chair. Something caught the captain’s eye. He made his way towards the desk. Private Gunners was only staring, unable to move or speak. On the wooden desk, there lay a video game figurine and an old Polaroid camera. Besides the camera, on the desk and scattered on the floor, many photos lay strewn. He looked at them. Each one of them was dated, and each one of them was different. All of them showed the woman. In some photos she looked like she was sleeping, needle by her arm. In others she looked straight into the camera, eyes hollow and grey, pupils so small you could barely see them. In others yet, it looked like she was praying to the wall. In others, she was holding fresh flowers atop her chest as she slept. In some, a man slept by her side. She was smiling in none, except for one. The captain picked that one up carefully. It was dated almost six years ago, and in it a young woman was smiling radiantly, wearing brightly coloured clothes. On the back of it, a handwriting unlike the one on the other photos. It said: “To James, thank you for helping me get to Comic-Con. Many thanks, Ann.”
Flies swarming around two spots on the floor near the mattress catch the captains’ eye.
“Rory, check the house please.”, the captain whispers as they emerge from the hatch. Rory complies without word.
“…the outbreak has now been contained…”, the voice still calmly proclaimed from the truck. The captain sat with his gaze fixed to the spectacle above: grey clouds dancing in swirls, dotted by white-blue flashing branches. Rory comes back from the house. “One male inside, sir. Dead. By the looks of it, he was one of the first.”. The captain nodded.
In the sanitation tent, the captain rushes towards a bed. On it, the woman: patched up, bandaged, and plugged to an IV.
“Can she talk?”, he asks a nurse. “She can, but I wouldn’t recommended it”, she replies indifferently while she moves to another patient. He takes seat on a chair near her. “Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me anything at all? Is there anything I can do to help?”, he understandingly asks.
“B-B-Back? Back?”, she whispers with fear in her eyes.
“Back? Him?”, he asks.
“Is he coming back?”, she asks, her eyes wide and horrified.
“No, no, no”, he replies reassuringly, understanding what she means. “No, he is not coming back.”, and he flashes a genuine smile. At that point, the woman’s face turns from horror, to dread, and then to terror.
“No-no-no-no.”, she says with her head turned sideways. She turns towards the captain and smiles for the first time. With certainty in her voice, she reassures him: “He will. He loves me.”
Outside the sanitation tent, the captain takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes one out and lights it. The camp is alight with sound and friction. He starts making his way towards the truck, ready to go out again. The calm, female voice rings from atop his truck.
“It is now safe. The dead have been killed.”
Edit: Apologies for any formatting errors, I've just written this and I'm really sleepy. | The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | I pulled up to the address in my black Impala. 7335 Cherry Creek Road, Thomas Wright, age 31. No criminal record. Formerly a steady job. Not known to go hunting- actually, his family said his main hobby seemed to be surfing the web, which I had noticed was a common theme- so he was suspected to still have the 100 rounds of 00 buckshot and another 50 .308 Winchester rounds he had bought three years prior. He had also bought a machete, hunting knife, and recurve bow. Should the government know his exact purchases from three years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But at least they could tell me what to watch out for. Unfortunately, the body armor underneath my suit wouldn't do much against either of those weapons, even if Thomas were to aim for the chest. Everyone knows, in a zombie apocalypse, you aim for the head.
Regardless, I exited my car, walked up to his door, and knocked. It was barricaded, like his windows. Expected. There'd be no easy way in. If only he had kept using his utilities or put everything on his credit card without paying it off, then the debt collectors would have already knocked down his door for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I knocked louder- a deliberate and friendly knock a zombie definitely wouldn't make. Still no response.
I sighed and looked at my list of people to call on. It was almost lunchtime, and I was only on number four of some two or three dozen. *Man, I hate my job*. I thought, despite having volunteered for this task. To be honest, I pictured it as me just knocking on all the doors and explaining patiently to the people that opened them that everything was fine and they could come out now. I'd thought I'd be done in a day or two. So far, every house I had encountered was a veritable fortress, which took an hour to get into and get the person inside to come out.
By now, I had figured out the way in when knocking and calling failed. I had approved it with my superiors, and had bought a maul at a hardware store. Now, as I went back to my car to retrieve it, I started rolling my shoulders and channeling a little Jack Nicholson. The door and the boards on the other side would have kept out zombies, but not an eight pound axe. Once I was in, since it was pretty clear that no one was inside on the ground floors, I took my flashlight and searched for the basement.
I found the basement door at the base of some stairs. I tried knocking, and got no response. "Hey," I called inside, "Mr. Thomas Wright? I'm George. I was sent by the government- and your boss, and your family- to tell you that the apocalypse didn't happen, and that it's safe to come out now."
"How'd you get in here?" The voice called from the other side, sounding slightly unhinged. It'd go away once they got reintegrated into society- well, if you could call their normal lives integrated with society.
"I broke through your front door with an axe. Yes, I have a warrant to do that. Yes, you can apply for a reimbursement. I have the form here with me."
I tried my best to keep my voice from betraying how exhausted and done with this I was.
"How do I know you're not lying to me? You're just trying to get inside and take my stuff! I'm warning you: I have a gun!"
"Mr. Wright, here's the form," I slid it underneath his door, "And you probably don't have all that stuff much left. It's been three months since the outbreak was contained."
"I've been rationing."
I rolled my eyes, still facing the locked door. "Look, I can't leave until you come out and see that everything is OK. I'm getting hungry, and am really looking forward to getting a nice lunch with my girlfriend at Mia's in town. Sometime before-" I glanced at my watch, pressing the glow-display button, "one o'clock, if you could make that happen."
"Yeah, right. It's a good story, and a nice try. But I'm not so easily fooled."
Again, I sighed, finding the irony bitterly humorous. "Everyone's worried about you, Mr. Wright. Your family hasn't heard from you since you locked yourself up." I thought for a moment, trying to think of some other way to convince him, "Do you have any lights in there, Mr. Wright?"
"Um, of course. But the power's out, so I turned the breaker's off. Why?"
"If you turned the breaker back on, and tried the lights, would that convince you that everything's still OK? Would that make you come out?"
I didn't hear a response for a minute, until I heard the click of a light switch and saw the light leaking out from under the door. It was momentarily followed by the clicks and rattles of about ten locks and deadbolts being undone, before the door swung open.
Mr. Wright was thin, unshaven, messy, smelly, and looking worse for wear from the last three months. He also looked completely bewildered to see me standing in front of him completely calm and in a clean suit. His shotgun was laying against a far wall, near the breaker panel. I breathed an undetectable sigh of relief.
"How'd they stop it?" He asked. "The virus, I mean."
"They quarantined the breakout area, sterilized everyone they could who wasn't infected, killed those who were too far gone, and isolated a strain of the virus. They're saying it's a mutated form of rabies. They're predicting they'll have a vaccine ready and in mass production in the next few months."
"Really? Just like that?"
I wanted to point out just how hard it was for a zombie-plague that was basically only saliva transmitted to spread before the government could step in, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting to lunch. "Yep. Just like that. If you fill out that form in your hand and turn it in to your local police station or the Secretary of State office, they'll get a reimbursement check to you in four to five business days. I've already signed it where I need to sign. Today's Monday, October 3. Your boss probably expects you back at work as soon as possible. Get cleaned up before you go anywhere. Everything except your door will be in the same working order as you left it in."
"OK, sure..." He nodded, still completely confused.
"Just two more things I need you to do. First is to talk to the people at these numbers..." I pointed to the four phone numbers underneath his other information, "They're your family and work, probably. Since you probably don't have a phone that works, you can use this one."
I handed him a cheap Trac-phone I had bought for exactly this purpose. Apparently, you can buy phones at your local dollar store. He made his calls while I looked at the next address, and tried to not watch the time too closely. Eventually, he finished calling the numbers, and handed me back the phone. Then, I handed him a pen and pointed to a blank on my clipboard. "Sign here, please. This just confirms I did, in fact, get you out."
Thomas Wright did everything I asked him, like he was in shock. I wasn't a physician, and that wasn't my job. All I was being paid for was what I had had him do. Once he finished signing, I said goodbye and was on my way.
Once I was back in my car, I tallied up who all was left. There were thirty-one names left. At this rate, I'd be lucky to be done by Friday. Well, I'd worry about that later. Lunch at Mia's first, to get a little ballast in the tank. Then some guy named Ben Primmly. The form said he had an assault rifle. Peachy. | The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Let me get this straight, Jones: you want us to abandon them?"
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't phrase it like that. But yes, I'm arguing that we cease all efforts to coax the preppers back out. The government should not feel obligated to pander to a tiny minority of delusional fantasists, much less spend time and money trying to convince them to let go of their bullshit. We've now been handed a priceless opportunity to wash our hands of them. They don't want to leave their bunkers. They don't want to re-enter society. And speaking frankly, I don't want them back. Have you seen the data coming out of the NSA? They were expecting a firestorm of conspiracy theory garbage following the containment, and there hasn't been a damn thing. All the paranoid lunatics who've been pouring poison in the ears of the general population for the last fifteen years are gone, and they're really happy about it. Nobody cares about InfoWars or Breitbart anymore, because their core audience has taken itself off the grid entirely. Fuck bringing them back in. Let them stew in their bunkers."
"Well, Jones, I'm not going to lie. Your proposal makes me uncomfortable. But there is a truth at the core of it. I'll bring it to the boss." | The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | Jonah slogged through the wilderness, he felt his wool socks becoming moist as his well-worn boots began to give in to the 3 week old snow as it slowly turned to slush. He stared absentmindedly at the recently abandoned campsites just beyond the edge of the wilderness.
"Amateurs." he mouthed quietly.
At the end of his two mile hike, Jonah would reach a well concealed Ford Bronco that he would drive further into the wilderness on a hidden trail.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*.
The trail was his own doing. His tracks were well hidden, and should anyone come across the Bronco path, they were in for a grueling 15 mile hike, two stream crossings, and as they came closer to the destination, a handful of booby traps and devices, bells, and alarms designed to alert Jonah of an approaching threat.
As he reached the clearing, he laid eyes on his pride and joy. His cabin. The cabin was a family heirloom. Jonah's siblings had long since moved away and no one except Jonah had any desire to maintain the cabin, so he took sole custody without much push back from his brother and sister when their parents passed.
Jonah had made many astute modifications to the cabin. The windows were reinforced with steel bars, the door was steel. A solar powered closed circuit system allowed Jonah to monitor the perimeter. The entire cabin was essentially one giant panic room. The heart of the cabin was the basement. Jonah spent years expanding and reinforcing the hidden bunker in the basement. The bunker was stocked with enough food and supplies for four people to comfortably survive over a year without needing to surface. Of course, the bunker was stocked with a small arsenal of firearms and enough ammunition to fight the entire town.
While the threat was over, Jonah still traveled nightly up to his hideaway. The apartment he rented in town reminded him too much of the "before", except the "before" is now very similar to the "after". Returning to the cabin each kept Jonah closer to his desired reality.
Just a few days after the outbreak was stifled, people began returning to work. Jonah returned to his mundane job at the local sporting goods store. Yet, he still clung onto his ideal "after". In the short term: Safety was paramount. Isolation. Survival. He would hole up and let the hysteria pass, living of of his stores. In the longer term, after most of those unprepared had died off, he would start thinking about sustainability. He would need an alternate water source if his well goes dry. He would need to hunt. He would need a garden. Perhaps he would recruit a trustworthy companion or two, or three, with whom he could share his prepper paradise.
He planned well. *really fucking well*.
More often than not these days, Jonah found himself drinking alone at Flannery's. He fantasized about what he would currently be doing had the apocalypse really happened. He was rudely interrupted by a loud voice three stools down. He listened as some 20-something faux survivalist spouted off to a small group about his parents' luxury cabin up on a lake in Maine:
"...water on 3 sides, completely defensible. We were gonna have chickens and just live off the fat of the land. The next zombie apocalypse I'm just gonna bug out up there and grow a bunch of weed and crops and stuff."
Jonah snorted into his beer. He was well within earshot of the group. The faux survivalist turns to account Jonah.
"What, you think you can do better bro, with your machete?"
Jonah was suddenly aware of the weight of the machete resting snuggly in its belt holster as it dangled alongside the barstool. He was also carrying his pistol on his other hip. While the threat was over, the town had become rather lax about its weapons policy. Many people were carrying firearms these days, but Jonah was among the minority still toting full survival gear in town.
"Far as I know, fuckers could still be out there." Jonah cooly stated as he sipped his beer again
"Rumor is the CDC secretly rounded up a few of them not more than a few miles outside of town. We were lucky the outbreak didn't hit us, most of us would be dead or Zombie by now I imagine."
Now it was the faux survivalist's turn to scoff at Jonah.
"The CDC ERADICATED those bastards before they got anywhere near the southern New Hampshire border, man. We're AT LEAST 100 miles from where they napalmed the outer edge of the threat. Boston got hit the hardest, but you're an idiot to think they would miss those slow fuckers all the way out here."
Jonah was now getting angry. The threat couldn't be over. He didn't want it to be over. He monitored local prepper short wave channels every night at the cabin, waiting to hear about another outbreak. The alcohol coursing through his veins, Jonah replies, more agitated now:
"You really think mommy and daddy's luxury lake house is going to save you when they come back? How are you going to defend a house on a lake that everyone in a 1000 mile radius knows exists? Where are you going to get chickens from? I bet you aren't even saving seeds..."
He continues to rant he doesn't notice that most of the group are now smirking at him. Now they are laughing. They've moved away, across the bar, but Jonah can still hear them mocking him. Another beer. Whiskey. Beer. Whiskey. Whiskey. Jonah slogs through the snow. He could just crash at his apartment in town, but no, tonight, as always, and in spite of the bar happenings, was a cabin night.
In a drunken haze, Jonah pulls the Bronco up to the cabin. Despite his altered mental state, he runs through the nightly checklist. Doors. windows. cameras. guns. water. food. supplies. The mental checklist was second nature at this point.
The alarm bells ring.
Jonah had lined the perimeter of the clearing with metal cowbells to warm of unwanted guests.
Probably just an animal.
Flashlight in hand, Jonah follows the sound.
He thought he would be more shocked to see a zombie in real life. This one had traveled a long way, and had somehow escaped the CDC's blanket of napalm hundreds of miles from the epicenter of the infection. He drew his pistol, and took aim at the creature's head.
He paused.
Standing in front of him was the reality that he longed so badly for. His ideal "after". His mind reeling, he pictured his bunker, his hard work, all of the research, planning and funds he needed to build the ultimate prepper hideaway. He pictured emerging from his bunker a year from now, ready to impart his survivor knowledge to anyone and everyone still alive. He would amass a following, maybe lead a community of like minded survivors. He would be right. Prepping was the right thing to do. He would be *important*.
Jonah holstered his gun, drew his machete, and cut the zombie loose. While it immediately lunged for him, Jonah dodged and was quickly out of arms reach. He tossed his flashlight down the Broco trail. Toward town. The zombie followed the light. Jonah slipped silently into his reinforced cabin and latched the door behind him, disappearing into darkness.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*. | The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| The gravel pathway crunched under the negotiator’s gray leather boots. This was the third person this week he’d been sent to deal with. As he passed by the various police officer’s on the scene, they all gave him odd looks. He ignored them as he was used to that by now. Approaching the man he was looking for, he found the tell-tale brown leather jacket and silver aviators of the chief officer on the scene.
The officer looked up at him, and after a brief look of confusion and amusement, grinned wickedly.
“Hey Frankie,” greeted Officer Riley holding two cups of coffee, “How’s your day been?”
Exhausted, Frank sighed “Tiring and long,” It took him 6 hours to drive here from his niece’s birthday party down in Macon. He’d never been to close to his brother, but perhaps out of not having any children of his own, he’d always loved his brother’s kids.
Giving a hearty chuckle, Riley offered Frank one of the coffees “Two sugars, one cream. Just the way you like it,”
Frank felt his face turn up in a weary grin “Thanks buddy,” he took a swig, feeling the warm energizing liquid pour down his throat, “So, what’s the situation?”
Riley took a sip of his own coffee, rounding the box he was leaning against to reveal some building blueprints “Basically, dispatch got some complaint calls from employees at the local 7-11 who were saying that some crazies were holding up their store. Apparently they’ve been their quite a while as they keep calling it their home,” Riley pointed to 6 chess pieces that had place on the blueprints. “From what our sources tell us there is 1 Caucasian male at about 40 years of age; 1 Caucasian male at about 18 years of age; 1 African American male at about 30 years, and 1 Latino female at about 25 years of age. Along with them are 2 hostage employees who we have not been able to identify. Now while we-”
“Do we have a communication line yet?” interrupted Frank, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Riley paused briefly and then turned to another officer and asked him. Turning back, he said “Yes we just up. But we haven’t begun negotiations yet, and-”
Frank reached his hand out“That’s fine, hand me the phone,”
Confused Riley blinked twice. “Uh...Frankie you sure you don’t want to wait a bit or...” he began hesitantly
“It’s fine. Let’s just get this started before anymore people get hurt,”
Somewhat reluctantly, Riley nodded, but as he was handing Frank the phone a small smile spread across his face “Wait one more thing Frankie.”
“Yes?”
“You sure you don’t want to get that stuff off your face first?”
Puzzled, Frank glanced in the rear view mirror of a Jeep parked next to them, only to see that his face was still painted like a tiger from his niece’s birthday party.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
worĸιng on parт 2 now | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | Jonah slogged through the wilderness, he felt his wool socks becoming moist as his well-worn boots began to give in to the 3 week old snow as it slowly turned to slush. He stared absentmindedly at the recently abandoned campsites just beyond the edge of the wilderness.
"Amateurs." he mouthed quietly.
At the end of his two mile hike, Jonah would reach a well concealed Ford Bronco that he would drive further into the wilderness on a hidden trail.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*.
The trail was his own doing. His tracks were well hidden, and should anyone come across the Bronco path, they were in for a grueling 15 mile hike, two stream crossings, and as they came closer to the destination, a handful of booby traps and devices, bells, and alarms designed to alert Jonah of an approaching threat.
As he reached the clearing, he laid eyes on his pride and joy. His cabin. The cabin was a family heirloom. Jonah's siblings had long since moved away and no one except Jonah had any desire to maintain the cabin, so he took sole custody without much push back from his brother and sister when their parents passed.
Jonah had made many astute modifications to the cabin. The windows were reinforced with steel bars, the door was steel. A solar powered closed circuit system allowed Jonah to monitor the perimeter. The entire cabin was essentially one giant panic room. The heart of the cabin was the basement. Jonah spent years expanding and reinforcing the hidden bunker in the basement. The bunker was stocked with enough food and supplies for four people to comfortably survive over a year without needing to surface. Of course, the bunker was stocked with a small arsenal of firearms and enough ammunition to fight the entire town.
While the threat was over, Jonah still traveled nightly up to his hideaway. The apartment he rented in town reminded him too much of the "before", except the "before" is now very similar to the "after". Returning to the cabin each kept Jonah closer to his desired reality.
Just a few days after the outbreak was stifled, people began returning to work. Jonah returned to his mundane job at the local sporting goods store. Yet, he still clung onto his ideal "after". In the short term: Safety was paramount. Isolation. Survival. He would hole up and let the hysteria pass, living of of his stores. In the longer term, after most of those unprepared had died off, he would start thinking about sustainability. He would need an alternate water source if his well goes dry. He would need to hunt. He would need a garden. Perhaps he would recruit a trustworthy companion or two, or three, with whom he could share his prepper paradise.
He planned well. *really fucking well*.
More often than not these days, Jonah found himself drinking alone at Flannery's. He fantasized about what he would currently be doing had the apocalypse really happened. He was rudely interrupted by a loud voice three stools down. He listened as some 20-something faux survivalist spouted off to a small group about his parents' luxury cabin up on a lake in Maine:
"...water on 3 sides, completely defensible. We were gonna have chickens and just live off the fat of the land. The next zombie apocalypse I'm just gonna bug out up there and grow a bunch of weed and crops and stuff."
Jonah snorted into his beer. He was well within earshot of the group. The faux survivalist turns to account Jonah.
"What, you think you can do better bro, with your machete?"
Jonah was suddenly aware of the weight of the machete resting snuggly in its belt holster as it dangled alongside the barstool. He was also carrying his pistol on his other hip. While the threat was over, the town had become rather lax about its weapons policy. Many people were carrying firearms these days, but Jonah was among the minority still toting full survival gear in town.
"Far as I know, fuckers could still be out there." Jonah cooly stated as he sipped his beer again
"Rumor is the CDC secretly rounded up a few of them not more than a few miles outside of town. We were lucky the outbreak didn't hit us, most of us would be dead or Zombie by now I imagine."
Now it was the faux survivalist's turn to scoff at Jonah.
"The CDC ERADICATED those bastards before they got anywhere near the southern New Hampshire border, man. We're AT LEAST 100 miles from where they napalmed the outer edge of the threat. Boston got hit the hardest, but you're an idiot to think they would miss those slow fuckers all the way out here."
Jonah was now getting angry. The threat couldn't be over. He didn't want it to be over. He monitored local prepper short wave channels every night at the cabin, waiting to hear about another outbreak. The alcohol coursing through his veins, Jonah replies, more agitated now:
"You really think mommy and daddy's luxury lake house is going to save you when they come back? How are you going to defend a house on a lake that everyone in a 1000 mile radius knows exists? Where are you going to get chickens from? I bet you aren't even saving seeds..."
He continues to rant he doesn't notice that most of the group are now smirking at him. Now they are laughing. They've moved away, across the bar, but Jonah can still hear them mocking him. Another beer. Whiskey. Beer. Whiskey. Whiskey. Jonah slogs through the snow. He could just crash at his apartment in town, but no, tonight, as always, and in spite of the bar happenings, was a cabin night.
In a drunken haze, Jonah pulls the Bronco up to the cabin. Despite his altered mental state, he runs through the nightly checklist. Doors. windows. cameras. guns. water. food. supplies. The mental checklist was second nature at this point.
The alarm bells ring.
Jonah had lined the perimeter of the clearing with metal cowbells to warm of unwanted guests.
Probably just an animal.
Flashlight in hand, Jonah follows the sound.
He thought he would be more shocked to see a zombie in real life. This one had traveled a long way, and had somehow escaped the CDC's blanket of napalm hundreds of miles from the epicenter of the infection. He drew his pistol, and took aim at the creature's head.
He paused.
Standing in front of him was the reality that he longed so badly for. His ideal "after". His mind reeling, he pictured his bunker, his hard work, all of the research, planning and funds he needed to build the ultimate prepper hideaway. He pictured emerging from his bunker a year from now, ready to impart his survivor knowledge to anyone and everyone still alive. He would amass a following, maybe lead a community of like minded survivors. He would be right. Prepping was the right thing to do. He would be *important*.
Jonah holstered his gun, drew his machete, and cut the zombie loose. While it immediately lunged for him, Jonah dodged and was quickly out of arms reach. He tossed his flashlight down the Broco trail. Toward town. The zombie followed the light. Jonah slipped silently into his reinforced cabin and latched the door behind him, disappearing into darkness.
He planned well. He planned *really fucking well*. | 23rd of November, 2022
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained “, a female voice calmly announced from the megaphone atop the vehicle. “It is now safe to come out. It is now safe.”
Captain Matthews looks bored atop the vehicle. He has been doing this for the past couple of months, riding atop the military vehicle with his squad, looking for people still hiding; effectively saving them. His squad was still weary, hands on guns, in case any uglies were drawn to the voice on the megaphone. Yet nobody has seen one in two months.
“This is not a drill. Safety has now been restored. Medical personal is on stand-by ready to care for you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”, the voice finished.
‘The dead have been killed’.
“What a strange world we live in, that the phrase now makes sense.”, the captain thought.
Nothing. The thunder of the skies penetrated the voice atop the truck. The day looked grey and washed, he thought. Like someone held a dirty old cloth over the world. It was afternoon, yet it looked like it had been dark for centuries, and the light was too scared to return.
“Captain, it ain’t no use”, Rory said. “These scared pricks aren’t gonna show themselves even if Jesus himself were to glide down from the sky and tell them to come out”. He laughed, tossing a bullet and catching it.
“These are people, Private Gunners.”, the Captain replied, eyes set on the horizon. “Don’t ridicule them for being afraid. Were you brave after your wife's accident?”
Rory turned serious and sullen faced. “Who pissed in his boots?”, he whispered to a colleague.
The thunder rumbled again. They were now making their way through an access alley parting two rows of residential house, each with its own generous back yard.
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained. It is now safe to come out.”, the voice repeated.
Somewhere between the thunders and the voice atop the vehicle, the captain thought he could make out a rhythmic thud.
“Stop. I think we got something.” The soldiers got wide eyed, excited at the prospect of doing something other than sitting in that truck.
“Get down. Eyes, ears and wits about you.”, the captain instructed as he took the lead towards one of the back yards.
They were moving towards a quaint residential house: one floor, wood panels. Before them, a large yard filled with grass and an old oak tree. Thud, thud, thud. By the oak tree, there was a mound. Thud, thud, thud. The noise became louder. As they were getting closer to the mound, something felt wrong. Thud. Thud. Thud. The captain picked up on it but said nothing. His men were trained, and he trusted them.
Getting to the mound, they could see a hatch was on top of it. The hatch was locked with a solid iron lock. The band of soldiers looked uneasy.
“Hello?!”, the captain firmly shouted. “Is anyone down there?”.
His question was almost instantly answered with a long, rapturous howling. A cross between the wailing of a banshee and the cry of an animal, it instantly put everyone on guard.
“What… the… fuck?”, Rory said in amazed bewilderment. Even the captain felt a hint of fear, but did not want to betray it.
“Calm now.” He turned to his squad. “We have been through either of these scenarios.”, he said reassuringly. “I want your silence from now on, Private Gunners.”
He turned to the hatch. “Sir, ma’am, if you are in there and need assistance, please talk to us. Or hit this hatch 3 times so we know you understand us.”
A second howling came, but short lived. Silence after that.
“… ready to examine you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”
“Sir? Ma’am?”, the captain asked.
“Sir, I think it’s one of them.”, Rory said almost panicked.
“Did I ask you to think, Private Gunners?”, the captain replied annoyed. Private Gunners quickly shut up. It just isn’t his day.
“Okay. Bolt cutters and sledge hammer, Private Gunners.” Rory quickly ran to the truck, and returned with the tools just as quickly.
“… the dead have been killed.”, the voice ominously announced.
The captain took the bolt cutters, tried them on the lock. No luck. He then took the sledge hammer, and furiously wielded his weight down on the lock. It stood no chance.
“Arms at the ready.”, he commanded. “… killed”, the voice echoed.
He lifted the doors aside, and out the hatch a silhouette pounced on his chest: flailing, wailing and pinning him to the ground.
“Captain!”, one of the soldiers shouted. Two soldiers took the figure off the captain, and threw it against the grass. Their guns were pointed at it. “It’s one of them! What the hell was it doing locked down there?”
“Don’t shoot!”, the captain ordered. He got back on his feet and had a better look at the creature. It was dressed in dirty rags that long ago might have been pink. Oily dark hair ran amok all the way down to the knees, and skin covered in dirt so thick it might have been scales. The most striking thing of all: the creature is barely as thin as the rags on it.
“Don’t shoot!”, he ordered again as he took the flashlight in his hands and shone it on the creatures face. As he did so, it instinctively shielded its eyes from the light using its hands. The creature resembled a woman, and her mouth was covered in dark, dried liquid. The captain soon realised its frailty was not the most striking thing. She was missing two fingers off her left hand, and the flesh around them was black. She wailed again, this time a wailing that sounded more like crying. And she was whispering.
“…back? Back? Back? Back?!”, she repeated over and over.
The soldiers looked incredulous, not sure what to say.
“Yes, it’s safe to come back”, they reassuringly replied. The creature was weaving back and forth.
“…tend to…”, the voice repeated from afar. The thunder roared furiously, and the woman twitched nervously.
“Take her to the sanitation tent, now.”, the captain ordered. Three soldiers escorted the woman, yet she had her eyes set on the captain as she was being taken away, silently mouthing something.
“Private Gunners, with me.”, he ordered again as he wasted no time. They started descending the steps and into the hatch. As soon as they did, they were hit by a horrid, putrid smell. They covered their noses with the hooks of their arms, but to no avail. It was getting everywhere.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, the image was astounding. A faint light was barely on in the middle of the small space. The walls were dirty and scratched. To the right, there was a dirty mattress on a concrete floor. Above the mattress, there were two solid iron links bolted into the wall and tied to them were iron chains. By the bed, there was a swarm of flies and maggots surrounding a plastic basin. The captain turned his gaze to the left. On the wall opposite the mattress, painted in big, clumsy letters, there was a message: I LOVE YOU.
Further towards the back wall, there were a wooden desk and chair. Something caught the captain’s eye. He made his way towards the desk. Private Gunners was only staring, unable to move or speak. On the wooden desk, there lay a video game figurine and an old Polaroid camera. Besides the camera, on the desk and scattered on the floor, many photos lay strewn. He looked at them. Each one of them was dated, and each one of them was different. All of them showed the woman. In some photos she looked like she was sleeping, needle by her arm. In others she looked straight into the camera, eyes hollow and grey, pupils so small you could barely see them. In others yet, it looked like she was praying to the wall. In others, she was holding fresh flowers atop her chest as she slept. In some, a man slept by her side. She was smiling in none, except for one. The captain picked that one up carefully. It was dated almost six years ago, and in it a young woman was smiling radiantly, wearing brightly coloured clothes. On the back of it, a handwriting unlike the one on the other photos. It said: “To James, thank you for helping me get to Comic-Con. Many thanks, Ann.”
Flies swarming around two spots on the floor near the mattress catch the captains’ eye.
“Rory, check the house please.”, the captain whispers as they emerge from the hatch. Rory complies without word.
“…the outbreak has now been contained…”, the voice still calmly proclaimed from the truck. The captain sat with his gaze fixed to the spectacle above: grey clouds dancing in swirls, dotted by white-blue flashing branches. Rory comes back from the house. “One male inside, sir. Dead. By the looks of it, he was one of the first.”. The captain nodded.
In the sanitation tent, the captain rushes towards a bed. On it, the woman: patched up, bandaged, and plugged to an IV.
“Can she talk?”, he asks a nurse. “She can, but I wouldn’t recommended it”, she replies indifferently while she moves to another patient. He takes seat on a chair near her. “Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me anything at all? Is there anything I can do to help?”, he understandingly asks.
“B-B-Back? Back?”, she whispers with fear in her eyes.
“Back? Him?”, he asks.
“Is he coming back?”, she asks, her eyes wide and horrified.
“No, no, no”, he replies reassuringly, understanding what she means. “No, he is not coming back.”, and he flashes a genuine smile. At that point, the woman’s face turns from horror, to dread, and then to terror.
“No-no-no-no.”, she says with her head turned sideways. She turns towards the captain and smiles for the first time. With certainty in her voice, she reassures him: “He will. He loves me.”
Outside the sanitation tent, the captain takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes one out and lights it. The camp is alight with sound and friction. He starts making his way towards the truck, ready to go out again. The calm, female voice rings from atop his truck.
“It is now safe. The dead have been killed.”
Edit: Apologies for any formatting errors, I've just written this and I'm really sleepy. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| 23rd of November, 2022
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained “, a female voice calmly announced from the megaphone atop the vehicle. “It is now safe to come out. It is now safe.”
Captain Matthews looks bored atop the vehicle. He has been doing this for the past couple of months, riding atop the military vehicle with his squad, looking for people still hiding; effectively saving them. His squad was still weary, hands on guns, in case any uglies were drawn to the voice on the megaphone. Yet nobody has seen one in two months.
“This is not a drill. Safety has now been restored. Medical personal is on stand-by ready to care for you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”, the voice finished.
‘The dead have been killed’.
“What a strange world we live in, that the phrase now makes sense.”, the captain thought.
Nothing. The thunder of the skies penetrated the voice atop the truck. The day looked grey and washed, he thought. Like someone held a dirty old cloth over the world. It was afternoon, yet it looked like it had been dark for centuries, and the light was too scared to return.
“Captain, it ain’t no use”, Rory said. “These scared pricks aren’t gonna show themselves even if Jesus himself were to glide down from the sky and tell them to come out”. He laughed, tossing a bullet and catching it.
“These are people, Private Gunners.”, the Captain replied, eyes set on the horizon. “Don’t ridicule them for being afraid. Were you brave after your wife's accident?”
Rory turned serious and sullen faced. “Who pissed in his boots?”, he whispered to a colleague.
The thunder rumbled again. They were now making their way through an access alley parting two rows of residential house, each with its own generous back yard.
“Citizens, the outbreak has been contained. It is now safe to come out.”, the voice repeated.
Somewhere between the thunders and the voice atop the vehicle, the captain thought he could make out a rhythmic thud.
“Stop. I think we got something.” The soldiers got wide eyed, excited at the prospect of doing something other than sitting in that truck.
“Get down. Eyes, ears and wits about you.”, the captain instructed as he took the lead towards one of the back yards.
They were moving towards a quaint residential house: one floor, wood panels. Before them, a large yard filled with grass and an old oak tree. Thud, thud, thud. By the oak tree, there was a mound. Thud, thud, thud. The noise became louder. As they were getting closer to the mound, something felt wrong. Thud. Thud. Thud. The captain picked up on it but said nothing. His men were trained, and he trusted them.
Getting to the mound, they could see a hatch was on top of it. The hatch was locked with a solid iron lock. The band of soldiers looked uneasy.
“Hello?!”, the captain firmly shouted. “Is anyone down there?”.
His question was almost instantly answered with a long, rapturous howling. A cross between the wailing of a banshee and the cry of an animal, it instantly put everyone on guard.
“What… the… fuck?”, Rory said in amazed bewilderment. Even the captain felt a hint of fear, but did not want to betray it.
“Calm now.” He turned to his squad. “We have been through either of these scenarios.”, he said reassuringly. “I want your silence from now on, Private Gunners.”
He turned to the hatch. “Sir, ma’am, if you are in there and need assistance, please talk to us. Or hit this hatch 3 times so we know you understand us.”
A second howling came, but short lived. Silence after that.
“… ready to examine you and tend to your needs. The dead have been killed.”
“Sir? Ma’am?”, the captain asked.
“Sir, I think it’s one of them.”, Rory said almost panicked.
“Did I ask you to think, Private Gunners?”, the captain replied annoyed. Private Gunners quickly shut up. It just isn’t his day.
“Okay. Bolt cutters and sledge hammer, Private Gunners.” Rory quickly ran to the truck, and returned with the tools just as quickly.
“… the dead have been killed.”, the voice ominously announced.
The captain took the bolt cutters, tried them on the lock. No luck. He then took the sledge hammer, and furiously wielded his weight down on the lock. It stood no chance.
“Arms at the ready.”, he commanded. “… killed”, the voice echoed.
He lifted the doors aside, and out the hatch a silhouette pounced on his chest: flailing, wailing and pinning him to the ground.
“Captain!”, one of the soldiers shouted. Two soldiers took the figure off the captain, and threw it against the grass. Their guns were pointed at it. “It’s one of them! What the hell was it doing locked down there?”
“Don’t shoot!”, the captain ordered. He got back on his feet and had a better look at the creature. It was dressed in dirty rags that long ago might have been pink. Oily dark hair ran amok all the way down to the knees, and skin covered in dirt so thick it might have been scales. The most striking thing of all: the creature is barely as thin as the rags on it.
“Don’t shoot!”, he ordered again as he took the flashlight in his hands and shone it on the creatures face. As he did so, it instinctively shielded its eyes from the light using its hands. The creature resembled a woman, and her mouth was covered in dark, dried liquid. The captain soon realised its frailty was not the most striking thing. She was missing two fingers off her left hand, and the flesh around them was black. She wailed again, this time a wailing that sounded more like crying. And she was whispering.
“…back? Back? Back? Back?!”, she repeated over and over.
The soldiers looked incredulous, not sure what to say.
“Yes, it’s safe to come back”, they reassuringly replied. The creature was weaving back and forth.
“…tend to…”, the voice repeated from afar. The thunder roared furiously, and the woman twitched nervously.
“Take her to the sanitation tent, now.”, the captain ordered. Three soldiers escorted the woman, yet she had her eyes set on the captain as she was being taken away, silently mouthing something.
“Private Gunners, with me.”, he ordered again as he wasted no time. They started descending the steps and into the hatch. As soon as they did, they were hit by a horrid, putrid smell. They covered their noses with the hooks of their arms, but to no avail. It was getting everywhere.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, the image was astounding. A faint light was barely on in the middle of the small space. The walls were dirty and scratched. To the right, there was a dirty mattress on a concrete floor. Above the mattress, there were two solid iron links bolted into the wall and tied to them were iron chains. By the bed, there was a swarm of flies and maggots surrounding a plastic basin. The captain turned his gaze to the left. On the wall opposite the mattress, painted in big, clumsy letters, there was a message: I LOVE YOU.
Further towards the back wall, there were a wooden desk and chair. Something caught the captain’s eye. He made his way towards the desk. Private Gunners was only staring, unable to move or speak. On the wooden desk, there lay a video game figurine and an old Polaroid camera. Besides the camera, on the desk and scattered on the floor, many photos lay strewn. He looked at them. Each one of them was dated, and each one of them was different. All of them showed the woman. In some photos she looked like she was sleeping, needle by her arm. In others she looked straight into the camera, eyes hollow and grey, pupils so small you could barely see them. In others yet, it looked like she was praying to the wall. In others, she was holding fresh flowers atop her chest as she slept. In some, a man slept by her side. She was smiling in none, except for one. The captain picked that one up carefully. It was dated almost six years ago, and in it a young woman was smiling radiantly, wearing brightly coloured clothes. On the back of it, a handwriting unlike the one on the other photos. It said: “To James, thank you for helping me get to Comic-Con. Many thanks, Ann.”
Flies swarming around two spots on the floor near the mattress catch the captains’ eye.
“Rory, check the house please.”, the captain whispers as they emerge from the hatch. Rory complies without word.
“…the outbreak has now been contained…”, the voice still calmly proclaimed from the truck. The captain sat with his gaze fixed to the spectacle above: grey clouds dancing in swirls, dotted by white-blue flashing branches. Rory comes back from the house. “One male inside, sir. Dead. By the looks of it, he was one of the first.”. The captain nodded.
In the sanitation tent, the captain rushes towards a bed. On it, the woman: patched up, bandaged, and plugged to an IV.
“Can she talk?”, he asks a nurse. “She can, but I wouldn’t recommended it”, she replies indifferently while she moves to another patient. He takes seat on a chair near her. “Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me anything at all? Is there anything I can do to help?”, he understandingly asks.
“B-B-Back? Back?”, she whispers with fear in her eyes.
“Back? Him?”, he asks.
“Is he coming back?”, she asks, her eyes wide and horrified.
“No, no, no”, he replies reassuringly, understanding what she means. “No, he is not coming back.”, and he flashes a genuine smile. At that point, the woman’s face turns from horror, to dread, and then to terror.
“No-no-no-no.”, she says with her head turned sideways. She turns towards the captain and smiles for the first time. With certainty in her voice, she reassures him: “He will. He loves me.”
Outside the sanitation tent, the captain takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes one out and lights it. The camp is alight with sound and friction. He starts making his way towards the truck, ready to go out again. The calm, female voice rings from atop his truck.
“It is now safe. The dead have been killed.”
Edit: Apologies for any formatting errors, I've just written this and I'm really sleepy. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "I'm not falling for your lies and I'm certainly not letting you into my bunker!" Said the voice from a 1950s style intercom. Sgt. Baker sighed and tried to reason with the voice behind the intercom.
"No one is trying to lie to you sir, we have a list of all permits filed in the past 50 years that may resemble a bunker. You're house is in the list and we're here to let you know that the situation had passed and it's safe to come outside" He explained.
The voice behind the intercom spoke up again, not addressing any of Sgt. Bakers points, "It's people like YOU who called me crazy, it's people like YOU who always tried to reason with me, tell me not to waste all my time on this bunker, well look how the tables have turned now!!!! You're on your knees BEGGING to let you into my bunker and I have all the clean drinking wanted left in the world." At this point the man began laughing, as if a great wrong of the universe had finally been made right. Sgt. Baker was not amused.
"Listen, sir, no one think that you are crazy. In fact it was very smart to build a bunker. Although this time we were able to contain the matter it's always safe to be prepared but this time we've gotten it under control and contained." The intercom again exploded with laughter.
"Oh that's rich" the voice said "you didn't even do your research, it's been contained?" He said mockingly, "even I know you can't contain radiation!!"
"There was never any radiation, the zombies, as it turned out we're caused by a mutated rabies virus that was transferred from Deer to Humans. As it turns out the host could only survive post mortem for less than a week. Once the disease was contained it burned itself out. There's nothing left to worry about"
The voice was scilent for some time until the voice, this time much meeker, said, "There were ...zombies? How the fuck were there zombies? What happened to all the radiation"
"Sir, there was never any radiation.."
"So all those years ago, were you crazy mother fuckers actually able to reprogram all of those computers?"
Sgt. Baker was now very concerned of all the people he's talked to, none of them were completely unaware of the outbreak. "Sir, how long have you been in here"
"Since the event, December 31st, 1999"
| I pulled up to the address in my black Impala. 7335 Cherry Creek Road, Thomas Wright, age 31. No criminal record. Formerly a steady job. Not known to go hunting- actually, his family said his main hobby seemed to be surfing the web, which I had noticed was a common theme- so he was suspected to still have the 100 rounds of 00 buckshot and another 50 .308 Winchester rounds he had bought three years prior. He had also bought a machete, hunting knife, and recurve bow. Should the government know his exact purchases from three years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But at least they could tell me what to watch out for. Unfortunately, the body armor underneath my suit wouldn't do much against either of those weapons, even if Thomas were to aim for the chest. Everyone knows, in a zombie apocalypse, you aim for the head.
Regardless, I exited my car, walked up to his door, and knocked. It was barricaded, like his windows. Expected. There'd be no easy way in. If only he had kept using his utilities or put everything on his credit card without paying it off, then the debt collectors would have already knocked down his door for me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I knocked louder- a deliberate and friendly knock a zombie definitely wouldn't make. Still no response.
I sighed and looked at my list of people to call on. It was almost lunchtime, and I was only on number four of some two or three dozen. *Man, I hate my job*. I thought, despite having volunteered for this task. To be honest, I pictured it as me just knocking on all the doors and explaining patiently to the people that opened them that everything was fine and they could come out now. I'd thought I'd be done in a day or two. So far, every house I had encountered was a veritable fortress, which took an hour to get into and get the person inside to come out.
By now, I had figured out the way in when knocking and calling failed. I had approved it with my superiors, and had bought a maul at a hardware store. Now, as I went back to my car to retrieve it, I started rolling my shoulders and channeling a little Jack Nicholson. The door and the boards on the other side would have kept out zombies, but not an eight pound axe. Once I was in, since it was pretty clear that no one was inside on the ground floors, I took my flashlight and searched for the basement.
I found the basement door at the base of some stairs. I tried knocking, and got no response. "Hey," I called inside, "Mr. Thomas Wright? I'm George. I was sent by the government- and your boss, and your family- to tell you that the apocalypse didn't happen, and that it's safe to come out now."
"How'd you get in here?" The voice called from the other side, sounding slightly unhinged. It'd go away once they got reintegrated into society- well, if you could call their normal lives integrated with society.
"I broke through your front door with an axe. Yes, I have a warrant to do that. Yes, you can apply for a reimbursement. I have the form here with me."
I tried my best to keep my voice from betraying how exhausted and done with this I was.
"How do I know you're not lying to me? You're just trying to get inside and take my stuff! I'm warning you: I have a gun!"
"Mr. Wright, here's the form," I slid it underneath his door, "And you probably don't have all that stuff much left. It's been three months since the outbreak was contained."
"I've been rationing."
I rolled my eyes, still facing the locked door. "Look, I can't leave until you come out and see that everything is OK. I'm getting hungry, and am really looking forward to getting a nice lunch with my girlfriend at Mia's in town. Sometime before-" I glanced at my watch, pressing the glow-display button, "one o'clock, if you could make that happen."
"Yeah, right. It's a good story, and a nice try. But I'm not so easily fooled."
Again, I sighed, finding the irony bitterly humorous. "Everyone's worried about you, Mr. Wright. Your family hasn't heard from you since you locked yourself up." I thought for a moment, trying to think of some other way to convince him, "Do you have any lights in there, Mr. Wright?"
"Um, of course. But the power's out, so I turned the breaker's off. Why?"
"If you turned the breaker back on, and tried the lights, would that convince you that everything's still OK? Would that make you come out?"
I didn't hear a response for a minute, until I heard the click of a light switch and saw the light leaking out from under the door. It was momentarily followed by the clicks and rattles of about ten locks and deadbolts being undone, before the door swung open.
Mr. Wright was thin, unshaven, messy, smelly, and looking worse for wear from the last three months. He also looked completely bewildered to see me standing in front of him completely calm and in a clean suit. His shotgun was laying against a far wall, near the breaker panel. I breathed an undetectable sigh of relief.
"How'd they stop it?" He asked. "The virus, I mean."
"They quarantined the breakout area, sterilized everyone they could who wasn't infected, killed those who were too far gone, and isolated a strain of the virus. They're saying it's a mutated form of rabies. They're predicting they'll have a vaccine ready and in mass production in the next few months."
"Really? Just like that?"
I wanted to point out just how hard it was for a zombie-plague that was basically only saliva transmitted to spread before the government could step in, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting to lunch. "Yep. Just like that. If you fill out that form in your hand and turn it in to your local police station or the Secretary of State office, they'll get a reimbursement check to you in four to five business days. I've already signed it where I need to sign. Today's Monday, October 3. Your boss probably expects you back at work as soon as possible. Get cleaned up before you go anywhere. Everything except your door will be in the same working order as you left it in."
"OK, sure..." He nodded, still completely confused.
"Just two more things I need you to do. First is to talk to the people at these numbers..." I pointed to the four phone numbers underneath his other information, "They're your family and work, probably. Since you probably don't have a phone that works, you can use this one."
I handed him a cheap Trac-phone I had bought for exactly this purpose. Apparently, you can buy phones at your local dollar store. He made his calls while I looked at the next address, and tried to not watch the time too closely. Eventually, he finished calling the numbers, and handed me back the phone. Then, I handed him a pen and pointed to a blank on my clipboard. "Sign here, please. This just confirms I did, in fact, get you out."
Thomas Wright did everything I asked him, like he was in shock. I wasn't a physician, and that wasn't my job. All I was being paid for was what I had had him do. Once he finished signing, I said goodbye and was on my way.
Once I was back in my car, I tallied up who all was left. There were thirty-one names left. At this rate, I'd be lucky to be done by Friday. Well, I'd worry about that later. Lunch at Mia's first, to get a little ballast in the tank. Then some guy named Ben Primmly. The form said he had an assault rifle. Peachy. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Wait, what do you mean it's over?" the crackling voice over the intercom annoyed Sgt Bond.
"Yes, ma'am. The special containment procedures worked. Everything has passed and the country is returning to normal." Sgt Bond ruffled his blonde hair with a calloused hand. He was glad it was turning cool, and the dolldrums of summer were largely over.
The previous winter had been hell. The screams of the panicked and afraid mobbing out of the city and toward the country in rural GA.
Atlanta had gone up like a match, but, overall, the casualties were centered at the hospital attached to the international transit hub. Only those infected or attacked had died other than those trampled by the fleeing panicked citizens. The hub was a wet mess of charred rubble less than a month after the first symptoms were recognized.
"You're needed back at the school, classes start soon, and the department was sent out to check and make sure you and yours are okay." Sgt Bond stated clearly and slowly.
"Huh.... well then. Your word as a gentleman there is nothing out there to hurt me or mine?" Mrs. Jackson asked through the intercom.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, then. Let me get the door." He heard several loud thumps and the grinding of gears. He was surprised to see a little girl drawing at a desk, and the mother, a hand on her hip, her dark brown hair being brushed behind her ear. "Well, come in then, I'm finishing dinner, no sense in leaving hungry, Mr..... ?"
"Sorry, Sergeant Bond." He held out his hand, she took it firmly.
"Welcome to home base Sgt Bond. It's mighty fine to have that door open again. She nodded toward the door in question and he arched a brow at the computer terminals set up side by side along the wall across from the dining table where she was setting out another plate.
"How do you keep power in here?" he asked.
"Oh, now, you know a woman has to have her secrets." She pushed her glasses up, magnifying her eyes for just a split second. "Sarah, Dinner time, sweetie."
Sgt Bond sat down to eat and for the first time in a while had a hearty, filling southern style dinner. He, for the dozenth time, did not envy his cohorts in the other parts of the country. Nothing quite like southern hospitality, be it at gunpoint or otherwise.
"Have you any other news than what is in the news and message boards? I've seen several posts about fake military personnel trying to gain access to bunkers, then the bunkers go quiet for a while..." She asked as she set the plates heaping with homemade biscuits on the table.
"Yes'm, That's kind of part of why I'm here." He hedged. "You know me from the university, which was a big part of why I was sent. I volunteered for this so I could come give you the absolute low-down. You helped me and Jennie when we ran into that tough spot a few years ago."
"Yes, i remember, how is Jennie?"
"She's almost due now." He smiled privately, thinking on his loving spouse.
"Aww, it's a boy, right?" Mrs. Jackson asked and he nodded with a grin. "Are you seeing her this evening?" Another nod from Sgt Bond.
"You'll take her leftovers then, and my love. I think we can start moving back to the main house in a few days, what do you think munchkin? Some sunlight that's not simulated, what do you say?"
Sara grinned
"what's this about needing my help again?" Mrs. Jackson asked, placing a fresh pie on the table and putting together a go-plate for his wife.
"Yes, ma'am, there are a lot of holdouts, much like your own, come to point. It seems that there are a fair bit that we're either overlooking or that don't believe us. We need someone on the inside to get people to look at the internet at large, and the local situations regarding the lack of zombies. It seems you're the best person we have for that kind of information dissemination."
"Ah, I see." She smiled and placed the last dish into the sink. "Hey, Sarah? Pull up the d-d-net and log in for me honey, we've got some work to do. We're not poofing, we're coaxing people out like cats. Maybe a convention announcement? Start spitballing with some of your buddies while I show Sgt Bond out."
As she walks him out, he tries to shake her hand again and she hugs him warmly. "It's good to finally see a friendly face in person again, James."
"Yes, Ma'am. It certainly is. The missus will love the dinner. We appreciate your assistance." Bond spoke quietly.
"I'm sure. I take it your guys are having some problems with the rest of the survivor nation?" She smiled before tying her hair into a high ponytail, getting into work mode.
"Yes'm. Especially the groups in the north." He sighed heavily.
"I can see that. Well, let us get to work and, if you don't mind can you have some of the boys come over this next weekend to help us move back to the main house? These monitors may not be heavy but i'd rather not move them alone with Sarah." She waves to the others in the security team who had been standing outside for the last three hours. "Have one of them come up here, I'll go ahead and pass out the leftovers, lordy I'm sick of them if you must know."
He waived one of the privates to come forward, his rifle at easy position. She passed out the provisions to his group of four and waved them off before going back inside, closing the door with just the deadbolt this time.
Sgt Bond knew his wife would love the home-cooking, it had been delicious, if a little strange coming from someone that had been locked in a bunker for 9 months. He did not envy his coworkers in other areas.
Nothing quite beat southern hospitality.
Then, something occurred to him... he'd not seen Mrs J's husband, no sign of him at all. | When the virus struck, many were sure it was the end. Thousands barricaded themselves in place varying from the convenience store to their own, personally high-dollar bunker. The year is 2500 and the remainder of these doomsday people have been labeled as menaces to the rest of society, and must be brought back to the real world, or stopped any way possible, as stated in the Official Doomsday Delusion declaration.
“Alright, what do you have for me” I asked Henry, his ashtray was full of cigarettes and his hair seemed grayer than I remembered.
“Multiple houses broken into,” he replies, exasperated “All at night. Figure seen coming and going from a nearby tree line. Several kids have gone missing from the area, presumably playing in the woods. Fits the usual patterns.”
“Any signs of aggression, or is he in and out quiet?”
“Mostly quiet, but one citizen caught the person sneaking out of a house through the alleyway and attempted to confront him” Henry leans back in his chair and sighs, “whoever this is apparently fired at him with some sort of automatic weapon before sprinting off. He’s armed, John. Be careful.”
“Alright. Thanks, Henry.” I had been the first pick for this job. I have a history in Spec Ops as well as detective work from my younger years. But these people were getting worse. All the harmless ones had been rounded up already, but now they were getting more eccentric. Less likely to listen to reason. More likely to shoot first. I have to be on my guard.
__________________________________________________
The woods are quiet. A gentle breeze blows through, rustling the leaves around me slightly. I feel vulnerable, but my bulletproof vest under my suit, and my revolver at my side keep me confident. Protocol was to attempt diplomacy first but I have a feeling things won’t be so diplomatic this time around. I stride forward into the trees, a couple of soldiers skulking through the bushes at my back. It was time to go to work.
Cross referencing missing persons with any weapons training had led us to believe the O.D.D. is a man by the name of Stuart Clark. When rumors began spreading about the virus, he had used his family’s wealth to take class 3 weapons training and had used contacts from his father’s business to have a “renovation” done in this area, but no specifics as to where and what. Most likely he had built some sort of shelter in the woods, but that’s all we know.
We have been walking for what feels like an hour now. Directionless, and no signs of any ODD activity. The silence is getting to me. I reach up and activate my earpiece.
“Are you sure it was this section of the woods, Henry?” His specialty is gathering and authenticating data, and he’s been doing it for years, but maybe we had missed something along the way. Hell maybe it was nothing.
“The route we have you traveling is the most likely route he would be taking to and from town.” Henry says, seemingly annoyed at my second guessing, “We have a good idea of where he may have built his shelter, but you must be patient and vigilant, John. Quit your griping.”
And then I finally hear something. It’s faint, but passed the leaves and the wind is an odd but familiar sound. It is off to my side behind me somewhere. Before I can connect the dots in my mind, the sound tightens and strains, and in a flash of noise and light, and explosion erupts from one of the bushes behind me. I’m knocked off my feet from the blast, but I am uninjured. The same can’t be said for one of the soldiers who had been following me. An arm, previously belonging to him, lays beside me in the dirt. Smoke and dirt are knocked up into the air around me, making it impossible to tell who fired first, but shots begin to right out around me. Bullets wiz by and impact the trees and dirt around me. I scramble for cover as best I can but I’m blind. A yell calls out from somewhere in the cloud, and the gunfire stops.
As the dust settles, I begin to make out a figure across from me, standing apart from the bushes and trees. I draw my revolver, cock it and aim it at him, but he seems unfazed.
“I knew someone would find me eventually,” the man has a raspy voice, muffled but what sounds like a gas mask “But only the best will survive this new world. That settlement near me is weak. They don’t deserve what they have.”
“The virus was stopped, Stuart,” My aim is dead on the center of his head. He laughs, “The apocalypse ended before it even started. This needs to stop.”
“No, you don’t get it...” He flicks a switch on his rifle and it begins to glow with energy. Where did he get a class 4 rifle?! “The apocalypse has only just begun.”
And then I am struck from behind. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Wait, what do you mean it's over?" the crackling voice over the intercom annoyed Sgt Bond.
"Yes, ma'am. The special containment procedures worked. Everything has passed and the country is returning to normal." Sgt Bond ruffled his blonde hair with a calloused hand. He was glad it was turning cool, and the dolldrums of summer were largely over.
The previous winter had been hell. The screams of the panicked and afraid mobbing out of the city and toward the country in rural GA.
Atlanta had gone up like a match, but, overall, the casualties were centered at the hospital attached to the international transit hub. Only those infected or attacked had died other than those trampled by the fleeing panicked citizens. The hub was a wet mess of charred rubble less than a month after the first symptoms were recognized.
"You're needed back at the school, classes start soon, and the department was sent out to check and make sure you and yours are okay." Sgt Bond stated clearly and slowly.
"Huh.... well then. Your word as a gentleman there is nothing out there to hurt me or mine?" Mrs. Jackson asked through the intercom.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, then. Let me get the door." He heard several loud thumps and the grinding of gears. He was surprised to see a little girl drawing at a desk, and the mother, a hand on her hip, her dark brown hair being brushed behind her ear. "Well, come in then, I'm finishing dinner, no sense in leaving hungry, Mr..... ?"
"Sorry, Sergeant Bond." He held out his hand, she took it firmly.
"Welcome to home base Sgt Bond. It's mighty fine to have that door open again. She nodded toward the door in question and he arched a brow at the computer terminals set up side by side along the wall across from the dining table where she was setting out another plate.
"How do you keep power in here?" he asked.
"Oh, now, you know a woman has to have her secrets." She pushed her glasses up, magnifying her eyes for just a split second. "Sarah, Dinner time, sweetie."
Sgt Bond sat down to eat and for the first time in a while had a hearty, filling southern style dinner. He, for the dozenth time, did not envy his cohorts in the other parts of the country. Nothing quite like southern hospitality, be it at gunpoint or otherwise.
"Have you any other news than what is in the news and message boards? I've seen several posts about fake military personnel trying to gain access to bunkers, then the bunkers go quiet for a while..." She asked as she set the plates heaping with homemade biscuits on the table.
"Yes'm, That's kind of part of why I'm here." He hedged. "You know me from the university, which was a big part of why I was sent. I volunteered for this so I could come give you the absolute low-down. You helped me and Jennie when we ran into that tough spot a few years ago."
"Yes, i remember, how is Jennie?"
"She's almost due now." He smiled privately, thinking on his loving spouse.
"Aww, it's a boy, right?" Mrs. Jackson asked and he nodded with a grin. "Are you seeing her this evening?" Another nod from Sgt Bond.
"You'll take her leftovers then, and my love. I think we can start moving back to the main house in a few days, what do you think munchkin? Some sunlight that's not simulated, what do you say?"
Sara grinned
"what's this about needing my help again?" Mrs. Jackson asked, placing a fresh pie on the table and putting together a go-plate for his wife.
"Yes, ma'am, there are a lot of holdouts, much like your own, come to point. It seems that there are a fair bit that we're either overlooking or that don't believe us. We need someone on the inside to get people to look at the internet at large, and the local situations regarding the lack of zombies. It seems you're the best person we have for that kind of information dissemination."
"Ah, I see." She smiled and placed the last dish into the sink. "Hey, Sarah? Pull up the d-d-net and log in for me honey, we've got some work to do. We're not poofing, we're coaxing people out like cats. Maybe a convention announcement? Start spitballing with some of your buddies while I show Sgt Bond out."
As she walks him out, he tries to shake her hand again and she hugs him warmly. "It's good to finally see a friendly face in person again, James."
"Yes, Ma'am. It certainly is. The missus will love the dinner. We appreciate your assistance." Bond spoke quietly.
"I'm sure. I take it your guys are having some problems with the rest of the survivor nation?" She smiled before tying her hair into a high ponytail, getting into work mode.
"Yes'm. Especially the groups in the north." He sighed heavily.
"I can see that. Well, let us get to work and, if you don't mind can you have some of the boys come over this next weekend to help us move back to the main house? These monitors may not be heavy but i'd rather not move them alone with Sarah." She waves to the others in the security team who had been standing outside for the last three hours. "Have one of them come up here, I'll go ahead and pass out the leftovers, lordy I'm sick of them if you must know."
He waived one of the privates to come forward, his rifle at easy position. She passed out the provisions to his group of four and waved them off before going back inside, closing the door with just the deadbolt this time.
Sgt Bond knew his wife would love the home-cooking, it had been delicious, if a little strange coming from someone that had been locked in a bunker for 9 months. He did not envy his coworkers in other areas.
Nothing quite beat southern hospitality.
Then, something occurred to him... he'd not seen Mrs J's husband, no sign of him at all. | I was so, so lucky the lake was clear when the outbreak happened, but that it was spring, before the Coast Guard got out to the islands. And that my dad had had an early launch date.
I heard the news over the marine radio when I was checking the instruments after winter, and just took off into the islands with my dad, wife, and the five others I had managed to convince.
We had decided on Raspberry Island, because of the fully functioning, historically furnished, and winterized lighthouse and assistant’s quarters with an old fashioned wood stove and garden. It wasn’t easy, but we had some supplies, started the garden, fished, trapped rabbits, and had plenty of water. And the boat and lighthouse meant that we had comfortable places to sleep. There was no need for any watches, even. We would see any ships or...*things* coming in the water far in advance, and locked the doors at night.
There had been no zombies. Yet. I waited, knowing that many people would have tried to flee north to the mainland about 20 miles away, and that zombies could walk underwater. That we still had fish was a good sign, as zombies were toxic to them. And no ships of desperate survivors. We would take some, as many as the island could support. We made daily announcements over the marine radio on all frequencies, saying that anyone who wanted to come and wasn’t infected could show us by waving a blue cloth. We had picked up a doctor who had been on vacation and panicked, and a few of the local Ojibwa that way. Otherwise, we were to shoot, presuming it was the undead.
This small orange Coast Guard zodiac wasn’t flying any colors at all. Still, I had mercy. I picked up the radio and said, “Lighthouse to boat, lighthouse to boat. Either put up your flag or get out, we’re armed and will shoot. Over.”
No response. I messed with the still-functioning lighthouse lens, using it to flash G-E-T O-U-T in Morse. Then I sighed and picked up the hunting rifle, aiming almost straight down into the harbor where the boat was heading.
I needed more practice, and these rifles weren’t meant to be aimed vertically. The bullet ricocheted off the steel hull with a *clang*.
“Stop shooting!” came a shout through a megaphone. “We’re government!”
“This is the sailors’ place! You just want to take the best refuge for yourself!” I yelled back. “If you’re worried about weather, you can med-moor at the main dock, but stay on your ship or we shoot! If you were friendlies, you would have known to fly the flag.”
“What flag? You don’t need to do this anymore! We’ve contained the outbreak!”
“The blue flag! And we’re not stupid! You just want us to leave so the government can take over the only building that doesn’t need electricity to run for 20 miles.”
We let them stay the night, but their lies didn’t convince us one bit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | "Listen, Mr. Hammond, I know you're still shaken from the Incident."
"SHAKEN!? I WAS NOT SHAKEN! I WAS COMPLETELY PREPARED!"
The man outside the bunker sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
"Look, Mr. Hammond, the zombies are gone! Okay? They're all dead!"
"That's exactly what a nuclear-evolved zombie would say!"
He'd been at it for a few hours now. Mr. Hammond, the man in the bunker, had just refused to accept some bloody humans had survived the "zombie apocalypse". Zombies weren't even a problem, to be honest.
"Mr. Hammond, Parliament is offering £50,000 as compensation for those that survived."
"Nice try, zombie, but money is useless after the apocalypse!"
The shitty intercom system did nothing to hide the mockery in Mr. Hammond's voice. The man was starting to get annoyed now. His friends were back at the station for lunch, and he wanted to join them.
"How about this, Mr. Hammond? The University of Cambridge is starting a class on zombie survival and disaster preparedness, and you're first up for the position?"
There was silence over the intercom, than a very meek response.
"Really? They want... me?"
"Yes, Mr. Hammond, they do. You're the genius who made turrets out of salvaged machinery. Everyone is talking about you."
He heard some laughing on the other side of the intercom.
"I knew it! Everyone called me crazy, but I knew it! They're all going to respect me now!"
The man smiled, knowing his job was just about complete.
"Excellent, Mr. Hammond, I'm glad you're starting to understand. May I come in?"
The massive, iron door began clicking open slowly, rolling to the side. A slightly overweight, gray-haired man with thick-rim glasses stood a bit back from the entrance, warily holding a gun.
"Well, you don't look like a zombie, so yes, you can come in."
"Excellent!"
The man walked into the spacious bunker, marveling at the steel walls.
"This must have cost a fortune, Mr. Hammond."
"Oh, believe me, it did! But that doesn't matter now, I'm going to Cambridge."
"About that..."
The man turned to face Mr. Hammond and smiled, revealing a grin of sharp, blood-stained teeth.
Screams filled the bunker.
You see, reader, zombies were never the problem.
Vampires were! | I was so, so lucky the lake was clear when the outbreak happened, but that it was spring, before the Coast Guard got out to the islands. And that my dad had had an early launch date.
I heard the news over the marine radio when I was checking the instruments after winter, and just took off into the islands with my dad, wife, and the five others I had managed to convince.
We had decided on Raspberry Island, because of the fully functioning, historically furnished, and winterized lighthouse and assistant’s quarters with an old fashioned wood stove and garden. It wasn’t easy, but we had some supplies, started the garden, fished, trapped rabbits, and had plenty of water. And the boat and lighthouse meant that we had comfortable places to sleep. There was no need for any watches, even. We would see any ships or...*things* coming in the water far in advance, and locked the doors at night.
There had been no zombies. Yet. I waited, knowing that many people would have tried to flee north to the mainland about 20 miles away, and that zombies could walk underwater. That we still had fish was a good sign, as zombies were toxic to them. And no ships of desperate survivors. We would take some, as many as the island could support. We made daily announcements over the marine radio on all frequencies, saying that anyone who wanted to come and wasn’t infected could show us by waving a blue cloth. We had picked up a doctor who had been on vacation and panicked, and a few of the local Ojibwa that way. Otherwise, we were to shoot, presuming it was the undead.
This small orange Coast Guard zodiac wasn’t flying any colors at all. Still, I had mercy. I picked up the radio and said, “Lighthouse to boat, lighthouse to boat. Either put up your flag or get out, we’re armed and will shoot. Over.”
No response. I messed with the still-functioning lighthouse lens, using it to flash G-E-T O-U-T in Morse. Then I sighed and picked up the hunting rifle, aiming almost straight down into the harbor where the boat was heading.
I needed more practice, and these rifles weren’t meant to be aimed vertically. The bullet ricocheted off the steel hull with a *clang*.
“Stop shooting!” came a shout through a megaphone. “We’re government!”
“This is the sailors’ place! You just want to take the best refuge for yourself!” I yelled back. “If you’re worried about weather, you can med-moor at the main dock, but stay on your ship or we shoot! If you were friendlies, you would have known to fly the flag.”
“What flag? You don’t need to do this anymore! We’ve contained the outbreak!”
“The blue flag! And we’re not stupid! You just want us to leave so the government can take over the only building that doesn’t need electricity to run for 20 miles.”
We let them stay the night, but their lies didn’t convince us one bit. | |
[WP] A zombie outbreak occurs. It was contained and eradicated in short order with minimal deaths. It's been several months, now the government is trying to coax out the various nerds who bolted to their zombie apocalypse hideouts and haven't come back. | Sam walked up to the vault door. Day 15 and 39th bunker on his task list. He looked at the name on the property listing. James Timothy Hawthorn. "Good," he thought, "not 'John Smith'". That one had been difficult.
The first 10 preppers he'd spent hours at a time trying to coax them out, convince them he wasn't a mad killer unshackled by the apocalypse, or some mutant talking strain of zombie. The next 3 he'd just gone using brute force. Enough heat and pressure and any door would open. After looking inside the bunkers and getting hit with a suit for destruction of property, however, he'd changed tactics again.
Sam sat down with his tablet and started logging on to various social media sites. A few minutes later, he stood up, and grabbed a bullhorn, confident that what he said would get James out of his hidey hole in no time.
"Chris Pine is a better Kirk than Shatner!"
A minute later Sam heard various locks being quickly undone with muffled cursing as an accompaniment. Worked every time. | >Ridicule. I spent five years being utterly, totally humiliated by friends, family and coworkers who called me *paranoid* or 'insane'. They said it was absurd to spend tens of thousands of dollars on a bunker equipped to keep me alive in a zombie apocalypse. Rejecting the civil standard to spend all of my money furthering my lineage with spawn was frowned upon.
>Well, I'd *love* to see them now. To see their laughing faces rotted and sloughing off skulls, with eyeballs melting out of their sockets. When disaster struck, I bet they all thought of me. I bet they went running through their front doors, desperately clamoring down the desolated streets to make it here. I never heard them knock, though, not in the first weeks, so they must've been caught along the way. They must've cried out in terror, shrieking with pain, remembering their mockery of me.
>It's been over a month, since then, however. I do miss them occasionally, when the pangs of loneliness strike from time to time, but the hundreds of books, video games and movies I stockpiled keep me occupied enough. I also make sure to review all my handbooks and survival guides on living in a zombie apocalypse every morning to keep my mind fresh. It's a ritual, one that will continue to keep me alive, though these works are not perfect. They are purely speculative, written based on imagined occurrences and assumptions.
>Well, friends, I have decided to compile this book, of sorts- my own survival guide, and in some senses, a diary. A log of events that occur in these post-modern days. In it, I will cover what I know about the apocalypse, and what I know of the effects this unknown virus has on humans. Through time, perhaps I will begin to venture outward and learn more, but that will have to wait. Why, you ask?
>Because, as you most likely know, they're *intelligent*. I mean, almost indistinguishable from a normal human. Sometimes, they come banging on my exterior barricades and the exochamber, proclaiming that the virus has been contained. They tell me it's safe, and demand that I open the door. Some have even impersonated people I knew from a previous life, feigning the wavering voice of my mother or sister. Can they impersonate that well? Or is this a virus that, for lack of a better description, controls minds, reshaping a person?
>Regardless of the details, they think me a fool, like all the others who stayed out and perished. But I, like you, am the opposite. I will not yield.
>I will survive."
Lisa put the booklet down, a worn old thing fraying at the edges with smudges of black ink on the fore-edges. After a deep sigh, she turned her head down and wiped at wetness on her cheeks. This was her son, after all, her own boy, and his obsession was apparent from the first sentence. She sensed the pain and gripping fear that must have held him so tightly that he felt crushed by it. She wondered, *Can I make it through the rest of this?*
He was dead, now, and she cried not for his death, but his life.
His poor, wretched life.
-------
*Part two is below!*
*/r/resonatingfury* | |
[WP] They say that whenever you shiver, it means someone stepped on your past live's grave. The first human took their first steps on Mars, and all of humanity just shivered. | It should have been exciting, really. What with all the lead up and exaggerated news coverage of the epic journey to Mars and the media obsession with this apparently unbelievable concept.
"This time," a reporter told the cameraman, and subsequently the entire world, "It'll be a REALLY big step for mankind. I mean, a BIG step for mankind. Like SO big."
The reporter continued to enthusiastically blurt out promises of this exciting new event, and alternated every third word with a different synonym for "large". This was an event the entire world should care about!
John, however, didn't care very much. Why should he? He cared very much about taxes and about traffic and about mortgage. He cared about washing his hands and about mowing the lawn. Humans landing on Mars was unimportant. There's no point in even exploring there, he pondered as he stirred his bland, tasteless coffee- it was, after all, just a big ball of dirt and stone and bits and bobs and thingamabobs. John didn't know exactly what it is Mars was made of, and he had no interest in learning.
But when he sat down to watch his evening television- some sport with a ball and uniforms and generic looking players- it appeared even his favourite channel was broadcasting nothing other than the Mars landing. And, because he had nothing better to do, John put his beer down on the coffee table and watched.
The footage was blurry and objectively rather boring- but it wasn't like John was really watching. Machinery, empty space, a grinning astronaut giving the thumbs up and then some more shots of empty space. Red soil and the whirring and miscellaneous irritable noises of touching ground. A door lowering, frustratingly slow, to the soil. And then a boot clad foot reaching out and touching-
John felt it. An odd twist of his gut as if it was being compressed, and a tic in his hand, a tingling sensation up his spine, and a harsh chill through his entire body. From the television, there was a harsh moment of static as one of the mic-tagged astronauts screamed.
The camera, lens lightly spotted with red dust, focused on the soil.
Only it wasn't soil.
Thousands of human skeletons littered the bleak landscape. They were frozen in a gruesomely statuesque scene, half buried beneath thick red soil. Some were small. Very, very small. Others were barely skeletons at all, but distorted piles of bones and skulls and teeth.
The mic picked up heavy breathing and harsh sobs. The camera shifted slightly and the red horizon was brought into focus. The bodies went on for miles and miles and miles and miles.
All of a sudden, John found himself caring very much. | That moment, when humanity leapt into the unknown wasn't a happy one. I felt it right down in my bones, fear complete and utter terror at what the darkness above us might hold. A realisation that all we had accomplished would be dust and this day forgotten to even greater mens foot prints.
​
Years of my life had lead to this moment, I was only a small piece in this endeavour, just a programmer one of thousands. It might be shear exhaustion but im the only one in this whole building not celebrating, I cant even find the will to fake enthusiasm. Its just that the future wasn't meant to be this, shit we are not going to change, life will still just drag on in front of me.
Tommorow the world will start again and all that we did today wont matter, people will still die and suffer, a foot step on mars wont change any of that. | |
[WP] They say that whenever you shiver, it means someone stepped on your past live's grave. The first human took their first steps on Mars, and all of humanity just shivered. | “It’s about to be a beautiful moment for us all. Across the globe, mankind is about to watch as we take our first steps on the red planet, Mars. This step for earth has been a long time in the works and is only possible through the joint efforts of many countries. It includes the United States, Russia, China…”
Rachel began to tune out the broadcaster as she watched the telecast. Her hand popped a piece of popcorn into the mouth without looking at where it came from.
“Chris!” she called out when the anchor finally paused the history lesson.
“Rachel!” he called back.
Rolling her eyes she gestured for him to bring her something to drink. She didn’t feel like skirting through the 15 people who showed up for the viewing party while rushing to get back in time. He didn’t answer her verbally, but she smiled brightly when the cold soda can was placed into her hand.
“Thaaaank you,” she mouthed before he walked back over to the empty chair across the room.
The anchor had begun to speak again. The room settled into a deep silence as he explained step by step what was happening on the screen.
The rocket landed on Mars, sending a plume of red dirt into dark space that could be seen through the ports.
The equipment deployed to keep it steady, and ready to take off again when the time came.
The ramp opened, hitting the dirt below it, creating a second cloud.
The first astronaut waved from the door and walked down the ramp.
Mankind took their first step on the planet.
A violent shiver ran through Rachel's spine.
She heard several groans from around the room, causing her to look at her family and friends. They were all wiggling their shoulder blades, and exchanging uneasy glances. She locked eyes with Chris, across the room again.
“What the hell was that?” She mouthed.
***
3 astronauts waited in line to walk across the surface of Mars. The four major contributors to the project had all agreed to sending one of their citizens on the ship. The honor was to be shared with them all.
In a line, they rattled with anticipation. This was the highlight of their careers. It was the highlight of their entire lives. As they watched the first walk across the planet they had all made strides toward, their knees went weak. A woman in the back of line felt her knees buckle at the sensation, finding it suddenly difficult to focus.
The only description her mind could process was as if an ice cube had been shoved down her spinal column. The unpleasant sensation left her with a sense of unease that sat at the pit of her stomach.
***
Dear Diary:
They did it today. They walked on Mars. As soon as his foot hit the planet, I felt it roll through my spine and around into my chest. I was braced for it, and it feels like a victory.
I know that no one will believe me if I tell them since they never did before. It’s where we come from. It’s where every single one of us lived, and died, before moving over to earth.
They all wonder what they will find on the other side, but I have a thought.
Everyone on earth comes from the same colony. What if not everyone on the colony has come over to earth yet?
/r/beezus_writes | That moment, when humanity leapt into the unknown wasn't a happy one. I felt it right down in my bones, fear complete and utter terror at what the darkness above us might hold. A realisation that all we had accomplished would be dust and this day forgotten to even greater mens foot prints.
​
Years of my life had lead to this moment, I was only a small piece in this endeavour, just a programmer one of thousands. It might be shear exhaustion but im the only one in this whole building not celebrating, I cant even find the will to fake enthusiasm. Its just that the future wasn't meant to be this, shit we are not going to change, life will still just drag on in front of me.
Tommorow the world will start again and all that we did today wont matter, people will still die and suffer, a foot step on mars wont change any of that. | |
[WP] Having seen Groundhog Day, you figured this time loop may not be so bad. You learnt new skills and got know people but soon got bored. So you killed yourself a few times, robbed bank only to reset at 12pm each night. Of course, the time you go on a town wide murdering spree, the loop ended. | Blaring sirens rang in my ears. They ratttled my brian, which had been sufficiently tormented already. Dark, warm liquid dripped from my fingers, bleached in the alternating red-and-blue lights of the approaching vehicle.
Put my hands up, he said, voice straining through his megaphone. Surrender. He told me he wouldn't fire if I surrendered. I recognized the voice. It beloged to man I had a coffee with for countless loops, repeated so many times over he felt like an old friend. Ha, what sort of friend was I now?
It was supposed to reset. Why didn't it reset? Did the world have some sort of cruel vendetta against me?
No, no, it was me. It was all me. I had been the one who raided the ammunition supply, the one who pulled the trigger. A shot for every time I had been stuck in this infernal loop. So much noise. So many screams. I was numb to it all, highjacked with emotional novacane. They would come back, I thought. I would have never done it had I known they wouldn't come back.
Friends. Co-workers. People who, during the countless repitions, I grew to know inside and out. I could almost hear their thoughts. Everything they did, everything they said, became so predictable. The only thing I couldn't imagine was how they would react when they were about to die. It was the only thing I could never guess.
Some begged, snot and tears dripping down their faces. Hands pressed together in prayer, mumbling with near incoherance. Some--far, far less of them, may I add-- actually put up a fight. Blurs of useless fists, probably not useless on their own, but against a rifle? Even an olympic swimmer wouldn't stand a chance in shark-infested waters.
My mind snapped back to the prescent, to the aching march of time, far past the barrier of midnight now, when I felt an elbow digging into my back. My face collided with car hood. I had scarely noticed that during my mess of thoughts, I had already given myself up to the flashing, screeching vehicle. More would be coming soon. Although couldn't see it, I could sense the cold barrel of a pistol, only inches from the back of my head. Wavering, I'd bet. He was probably as afraid as I was. Afraid of how a simple man of suburbia had suddenly snapped. Ha, *suddenly*. From his perpective, it must have been sudden.
He read me my rights. You have a right to remain silent, anything you say will or will not be used against you... Y'know, the regular shpiel. It was bizarre to think that just a few loops before, he had been telling me about his family's trip to Bermuda. His daughter got food poisoning there. But overall, a decent experience. He told me, a few loops before then, when he where lounging at the local pub, that his wife had just recieved her medical degree. How he was so proud of her. There wasn't much a medical degree could do for her now, I suppose. You can't really revive yourself.
I froze. Not just because I was pinned against the vehicle, but because I came to a realization. Maybe that's what I was meant to do. Maybe that's why everything was moving forward now. Because I had experienced everything there was here. I had accomplished everything I could ever imagine. I knew every intricacy of this man --Daryl, was his name-- and everything that made him tick.
He used to have an injury in his right hand. The one that likely had a grip on his pistol. It never healed properly, he said. That sometimes it was too slow to fire. If the police force found out, he had told me, a hushed voice in a crowded room, he surely would have been kicked out. A felt a surge in my chest.
Sirens wailed in the distance. He said something, the words rushed and muddled together, on his communiation device. This was my chance.
A quick blow to his shin, with my free foot. I stumbled back, just barely. But just barely enough. I pushed against him. He probably tried to pull the trigger at this point, but to no avail. Like trying to push the brakes on a bike, but they're too far on the other side of the handlebars. Your fingertips push fruitlessly. His gun was in my grip.
I fired, and fled. I didn't even stay to watch him collapse. Poor Daryl. But there was no turning back now; there was nothing left for me here. Maybe I was crazy. But I felt like this was what I was meant to do. It was what the loop wanted me to do. | “Aaaand midnight.” You lower your Casio digital wristwatch, press your lips together in satisfaction and close your eyes. As far as you know, you’ll be waking up at the strike of 6 o’clock in the morning to Sonny and Cher’s ‘I Got You Babe’ and everything will be back to normal.
“Put the weapon down!”
Your eyes burst wide open and confused terror rips across your face. You look down. You’re wearing polka dot boxers and tube socks stained red as the blood from Mrs. Lancaster’s decapitated head that you’re holding in your left hand pools around you. You slowly turn to look at your right hand, which holds a a broken pool stick, covered in blood and brain matter.
Shocked and frightened at what you’re seeing, you immediately drop the pool stick and Mrs. Lancaster’s head, and slowly look to face the red and blue flashing lights and at least 20 police officers and SWAT stare you down with heavy riffles pointed. A spot light from a helicopter circling above focuses on you as you slowly raise your hands, trembling with fear and disbelief.
“Why didn’t I reset!?” you whimper to yourself. “Oh my God, what have I done?” you whimper again, only more high-pitched. You are absolutely terrified and shocked. You can only hear the sound of the helicopter circling above.
Then, suddenly you hear one of the police officers shout, “Take him out!” A string of bullets erupts and you fall to a bloody heap of polka dots and tube socks on the stage at Gobbler’s Knob.
| |
[WP] Having seen Groundhog Day, you figured this time loop may not be so bad. You learnt new skills and got know people but soon got bored. So you killed yourself a few times, robbed bank only to reset at 12pm each night. Of course, the time you go on a town wide murdering spree, the loop ended. | Author's note: I've just started in Writing Prompts, but I don't think I crossed any of the rule boundaries with this post. However, in rereading it, it is even darker then I had originally intended. So I figured I would give a heads up before people read it. As always, I am a sucker for constructive feedback.
​
The jail cell was cold.
Why am I here? It just didn't make sense.
I could just see an old analogue clock in the main station from my cell. It seemed to be defiant to me as I watched it click past the 3. The darkness through the cell window made it clear that it was reading in the AM. A time that I had not seen on a clock in longer then I could count.
Why am I here?
This thought was stuck repeating in my head. I should be waking up in my warm bed at my home, not still be awake in this hell hole. There weren't suppose to be any consequences. There never were.
Nothing seemed real.
Of course that had been the case for decades. Possibly longer. The loops had long since blended together, and when nothing ever changes, every action seemed to have no meaning. Life became a game when nothing you did mattered. But even that hadn't mattered. I was, while maybe not happy, satisfied. Everyday I could do something new, only to reset at midnight.
In someways maybe it's not so surprising that I did what I did, but rather it might be surprising that it took so long for me to do it. Maybe this was the ultimate conclusion to a life of no consequences. I didn't really have any intention of having things play out the way they did. I'd never thought of killing as something I was interested in. But that had changed due to a traffic accident not too long ago.
I'd been in traffic accidents before of course, heck, I had even died in a few. You can't be around as long as I had without doing a bit of reckless driving for kicks, and the odds are not always going to be in your favor. This one was different though. I'd gone out of the city for once, randomly driving just to see something different by taking random turns. I wasn't prepared for a guy to run out in front of me in the middle of nowhere. Even now I don't know who he was, or what he was doing out there. What I remember is the blood. For once there was no one around. No police or fire to take care of the clean up. Just me and a corpse. I remembered getting out of my care and staring. I had been going fast, and the body was heavily mutilated. Looking at it made me feel something I hadn't felt in ages: revulsion and sickness.
That day reset like all the others, but that image stayed with me. The feelings stayed with me. They were the strongest thing I had felt in an eon. I hated the emotions, and my stomach churned unpleasantly remembering the viscera. Yet at the same time I found myself craving those same feelings. The immediacy of them after so long feeling copacetic and detached burrowed into my brain.
I tried to fall back into my old rhythm. Sleep with some beautiful women, drive some fast cars, heck, even skydiving without a parachute. But everything seemed even grayer and more pointless than ever before. Everything except for the image of an unnamed body on some back road.
A dark plan began to form in the back of my head. I needed to exorcise this demon that now haunted me, and maybe the way to do that was some immersion therapy. After that, maybe I could settled back into my good old boring regime.
My first victim was the gun store owner. Three day waiting periods really didn't work for someone in my situation after all. I wanted weapons, and this was the fastest way to get them. My first murder was clean and quick. I'd done some research, so I knew exactly where to stick the knife. Watching the life flee from his eyes brought back that same feeling from that empty road. Disgust and self-revulsion, mixed with what I now realized was a dark sense of curiosity. It made me feel sick. I made me feel high. It made me hate myself, yet I needed more.
I'd carefully chosen the store, and a time when it was empty. The owner sold to the police as well as the public, and in a locked area in the back was his demonstration and testing area. I was able to take my time gearing up with body armor and choosing my weapons. Then I drove out to the main street of a nearby small town, arriving just as people were breaking for lunch, and began my massacre.
I don't know how many people I killed. What I do know is that I started getting more brutal. When I took my first shot it was center mass. A little puff of red, and the woman in business attire fell, unmoving. At that moment I realized I'd made a miscalculation. I'd thought I just wanted to kill people, so I'd gone for the most efficient way I could think of with the guns. But while the dark feelings I was looking for were still there, they weren't as immediate. The weapons I now had were more detached.
Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, and I saw no reason to stop now that I had started. But as I continued I tried to get closer to my targets before taking them down. I started trying for head-shots, to see what I recalled hearing the military calling the "pink mist." As the wounds I was inflicting became more brutal, I started getting back some of that initial feeling, but nothing was as strong as that initial knife kill. Next time I would have to go for a more intimate route, maybe spend some more time on each kill in more private settings. I had completely forgotten this was only supposed to be a one time thing.
I'd chosen the small town for a reason. The local police force was small, and I wiped out the initial response. Training only goes so far when you are up against a "mad man" with a machine gun; an unexpected bonus courteous of that gun shop back room.
Taking out the first respondents allowed me more time to hunt, but eventually SWAT teams showed up. I'd expected them, and had planned on an epic last stand. What I did not expect was the flash-bang, or rather how effective they were. Watching youtube videos and reading about these things doesn't really give you an actual feeling for them, a miscalculation on my part. It didn't help that they didn't skimp on them when storming the building I was hiding in. Of course I figured they would use something like this, so I was ready to duck behind an overturned table when I saw them sail in through the window. This saved my sight, but even the ear plugs I had in did next to nothing to protect me from the assault to my senses that four grenades going off at once provided.
When the SWAT team breached (through a wall rather than the door on top of everything else), I wasn't even coordinated enough to set off the bombs I had rigged, much less raise my gun. I was taken down with hardly any trouble on their part. I remember thinking it was rather anti-climatic until one of the officers knocked me out. Probably overkill under the circumstances, but I can certainly understand.
By the time I regained my senses I was stripped of all my gear and was being dragged into the local jail for temporary holding while they tried to sort through my mess. At least that is what I assumed, the grenades seemed to have damaged my hearing, so I had only a limited understanding of what was going on around me. I also had no interest in trying to talk with anyone. I was simply biding my time for the reset while I tried to parse through my thoughts on the the day's events.
Eventually I realized that it seemed like a lot of time had past. The light through my jail cell window had long since faded, and my cell was only lit by the multicolored flashed of the emergency vehicle lights still gathered in the town. I wondered how much longer I had to hang out here. Moving around my cell a bit I was able to peak into the main area of the station, and spot an cheap analogue clock on the wall.
An analogue clock that read 1. Clearly 1 in the morning. My mind screeched to a halt, then immediately started rationalizing. The clock must be wrong. It couldn't be past midnight. It was obviously still before midnight, and soon the day would reset like always.
Right?
That was two hours ago, according to that accursed time keeper.
Why was I still here? It just didn't make sense.
The cell was very cold.
**Fin.** | I watched as Claire’s alarm clock blinked.
11:57
11:58
11:59
My heart sped up. I didn’t feel too great after all the carnage. It had cured the boredom, but I longed for the day to reset itself so they would all come back. It may take a while to forget what I had done, but at least they would be alive and the blood would be gone.
11:59
Sometimes a minute feels like an eternity, and it really does get worse as you watch the clock. They say that our brains are really bad at math. We fall for 499 dollars and 99 cents becuase we think its a better deal than 500 dollars? I think time is the same way. We have to figure out how long 60 seconds is, and we are just bad at it.
11:59
My heart beat against my ribs. Any second now the day would reset and I could move on from the worst decision I have ever made.
12:00
Midnight!
12:01
I let the air out of my lungs. I get the same 24 hours I have gotten so many times. I can fix it, things should be getting back to normal any second now.
12:02
I felt a small lump form in my throat as the clock continued to move forward. It dawned on me here that I was still watching Claire’s clock. I was still in her bedroom where I did not belong. The day should have reset with me at home, in my own bed, surrounded by my own things.
12:03
I couldn’t watch the clock anymore, it was starting to make my eyes go crosseyed. So I got up and walked out of her bedroom, and into her kitchen. I was so lost in my thoughts that I forgot how big of a mess the ordeal had made. My foot caught something wet and shot out from underneath me. I landed with a painful thud on the cool tile floor. I landed right next to Claire, that look of terror frozen onto her blue-ish face.
I screamed. The sound tore through my throat and out of my mouth, it echoed through the house and hit my ears. It was louder than any sound I had ever made.
Not that it mattered, right? No one was around to hear me. I had spent 12 hours killing every person in that tiny town thinking the clock would reset 5 minutes ago. 10 minutes? I don’t know.
I don’t know how long I sat there screaming. I didn’t stop when my throat began to hurt, and I didn’t stop when my voice cut out. I was laying next to my worst nightmare, and there was no escape.
I passed out before I stopped screaming, I’m pretty sure. I suppose with time resuming, people started coming in from other cities. Cleaners came in to take care of houses and packages began to be delivered. At some point, someone noticed it all, and the police were called in. I imagine it was a lot of police by the end of the day.
I will never get the sight of Claire's face out of my head. The asylum gives out heaps of medication, but none of it gets rid of the images from that day. In a way, living in here now is similar to how life was before the loop ended. They are pretty strict about the routine, everything is the same. Everything resets.
It’s not so bad. I’ve been thinking I could earn privileges to the library and find some new skill to learn.
/r/beezus_writes
| |
[WP] You, a very old but very attractive vampire, have finally decided to settle down with the girl of your dreams. There’s only one problem. No one knows you’re a vampire, and she wants a church wedding. | “Rise and shine, sleepy head! Today’s our big day!!”
You slowly open your eyes and stare at the ceiling and let out a monotone, “Right you are, my dearest.”
“Did you have fun at the dinner last night?” She asks. “Daddy says you’d be a shoe-in at his law firm as long as you don’t mind working with a bunch of bloodsuckers.”
You turn your head and glance at your beautiful, smiling fiancé, Caroline, shoot her a quick smile and turn back to the ceiling. “Sounds wonderful, my darling,” you respond with a slight tone of incredulity.
“Oh, and the photographer will be here at noon. We’re going to meet my parents at the church. I’m sorry your parents aren’t around to see us get married.” Caroline looks at you troubled, her curly, blond hair gathered around her pouting face.
You turn towards her kindly, smile and say, “No, darling, it’s fine. I promise. They’ll be there in spirit, no doubt. Thank you.”
“Okay,” she reassures herself and smiles. “Well, I’m going to get ready back at my place since you don’t have any mirrors here. Do you want some coffee before I leave?”
“No, thank you. I’ll get some on my way out,” you respond, again staring at the ceiling, arms now crossed behind your head.
Caroline, pull up her pink yoga pants, reaches over and kisses you on your cheek and heads out the door.
“Welp - I’m screwed,” you say to yourself.
You raise out of bed, firmly plant your feet on the rug beside your bed and let out a long stretch.
At that moment, you realize you might be in too deep on this one. But you’re also Vlad Mitchell Stephenson, a successful investment banker. You’re also a 4,000 year old vampire and no one knows. You’ll figure this out.
You’ve adapted to life well in New York City. In fact, you helped build it from the ground up and own the largest real estate company in the U.S. Your fiancé, bride number 78, is a smart, beautiful, successful evening news anchor and you love her more than any woman before her. And you’re determined to marry her. That’s why you decided to go along with her every wish in planning the wedding, which means photographers and churches - two things you don’t do well with. Even so, you love her, and don’t want to lose her and you’ve made your decision.
Although, like any relationship, you have your doubts. She can be awfully needy and her hair constantly clogs the shower drain. Sometimes, her clothes smell like she let the dog wear them. On the other hand, she is incredibly loving and caring and, not to mention, an absolute animal in the sack. She’ll howls out in excitement when she climaxes. What a wild woman!
You met her in a park last year. During your daily early morning run, you found her with dirty, bare feet and a ripped dress laying on a park bench. You worriedly rushed and knelt beside her to see if she was ok. As you gently shook her, she woke up, turned to you and yawned, “Goodness, must have been a long night!” You instantly fell in love.
And now, here you are, on the day of your wedding wondering how you’re going to survive the ceremony, let alone the photographer. Not only will you not show up in any of the photographs, but you’ll immediately be repelled by the crosses at the church.
Suddenly, you receive a text. “Babe, I forgot to tell you were having garlic mashed potatoes at the reception. Just a heads up, I know it makes you sick. Also, I forgot to grab my phone charger, so swinging back by in 20 minutes. Love you!”
You throw the phone on the nightstand, fall back into bed and stare at the ceiling again. “I am so screwed,” you flatly state to yourself.
Then, you hear a sound like broken glass come from downstairs. Something’s not right. You grab the Louisville slugger by your dresser and slowly peek out your door down the hall. You hear some rummaging and slow, careful footsteps.
“McGeorge,” you mutter to yourself and tighten your grip the baseball bat. “It had to be today didn’t it?” you ask yourself.
McGeorge is a professional vampire hunter. He’s not the best, and he’s dumber than a box of rocks, but he’s determined. Last time he found you was outside a dance club in Germany. By the time it took him to load a silver bullet in his gun, you disappeared in an alley and lost him.
“How the hell did you find me McGeorge?” you shout down the stairs. The footsteps stop.
“Well, well, well nightstalker, you are here after all. Why don’t you come down and say hello. You know, make this easy for me,” McGeorge shouts back in a sly, twangy tone.
“Why don’t you take this baseball bat to your face, McGeorge. Besides, this isn’t a good time for me. I’m getting married today. In fact my fiancé will be here any moment,” you shout back.
“HA!” McGeorge retorts. “We’ll see about that, evil demon. Your time has come and I’ve got a silver bullet right here waiting for ya.”
You cringe in frustration and nervously peer around the wall on the stairs landing.
“Well, what’s that?” McGeorge’s tone eagerly shifts up. “I think I hear the little lady coming up the steps right now. Should I say ‘hello’?”
As the vampire hunter finishes his question, the door bursts opens. You immediately run down the rest of the stairs and freeze, stunned to see an animal, a ferocious beast, in pink yoga pants and a ripped white t-shirt foaming at the mouth, standing in the doorway.
“Caroline?”
Then, you see McGeorge falling back in fear and letting out a single, errant shot from his revolver as he falls over the couch. The beast lunges at him and all you hear are painful cries and ripping flesh.
“Caroline?” you ask again, only this time more high-pitched. “Is that you?”
You slowly walk over to the couch, baseball bat clocked like it’s a 3-2 count, two outs and bases loaded. The sounds of carnage seem to stop and Caroline suddenly stands up, with her curly blond hair and pink yoga pants, covered in blood
“Oh, hi Vlad. I didn’t see you there! Sorry about the mess, but this guy was going to hurt you! I think he’s been following you since we met at the park last year.”
You drop your bat and raise your hands, “Caroline! You’re a werewolf?!?!”
| When the groom stood in front of the mirror in his tuxedo, matte black, red rose in the breast pocket, black shoes polished like a stone, he had no regrets. He loved this girl more than anything else in the world. The price of the wedding was immaterial. He had wealth going back generations. But more than that was giving her the perfect wedding of her dreams. No, the only problem Richard Madison had that beautiful sunny morning was the damn crosses that would be everywhere. Because he was a fucking vampire.
“Dammit.” He muttered under his breath as he adjusted his black bow-tie and took a deep breath. He was already in the thicket of this Southern Baptist church. In its literal armpit. The fumes of religion exhaled through the walls. The vibrations of prayers. Radioactive. “Okay,” he said, “Keep it together, this is for Karen.”
He stepped outside into the hallway. He was a little overweight with a orange-brown beard, short curly hair and square flustered features. Once upon a time he was quite the eligible bachelor -- 18th century Romania is when he peaked. He put on his point-dexter glasses and made his way to the lobby. The pews were about 3/4ths full he thought to himself as he looked through the window panel of the closed doors to the main hall. This was a life he had chosen. Richard was 2245 years old. From a time when evil roamed the land like antelope. Creatures of the night and pure evil, but also gods and angels. But right now all he wanted to do was have a boss, answer sir and mam, work for forty hours a week, have a wife and family, smoke a spliff in the evening with some Netflix…that’s all. “But why did it have to be a goddamn church!” He said to himself.
When the procession of groomsmen, bridesmaids, the preacher, had all gathered, and Richard stood there waiting for Karen to come out – it was the first time he would see her in her dress – he could not think of anything else – unfortunately – but the big gaudy metal cross on the preacher’s neck that swung as he tapped his toes and rocked on his heels. He was a generously fed man, with balding brown-black hair and purple-tinted sunglasses. “You know,” he said, “These things always take so long, we need to cut these things to the chase if you know what I mean,” and he gestured with his arms simulating the act of fisting. He winked at Richard. “I love weddings though. I do love it. The food, the liquor…” The preached raised his eyebrows. “Some nice women, eh? You know what I’m saying!”
Richard looked at him. “Yeah right, thanks Preacher Bill. You know I’m with you on cutting to the chase here.”
Preacher Bill rocked a little closer to Richard and put his arm around him, cross dangling across his chest and swinging near Richard, who was curling inward and holding his breath. “You know, a lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. I actually never really got that. Do you think when Jesus comes back he's gonna want to see a fucking cross? It’s kind of like going up to Jackie Onassis with a rifle pendant on.” Preacher Bill made a gesture like he was firing off a rifle and he elbowed Richard a little for his attention. Richard began sweating.
But it was worth it, he told himself, when Karen finally emerged, breathtaking, the sun shining on her from the windows, beautiful white dress, white heels, golden hair, white flowers in her hair. She took her time walking down the aisle. At the end, she kept her eyes lowered. Richard whispered, “You look beautiful.” Preacher Bill pulled his pants up at his suspenders and started, “Alright! Ladies and Gentlemen. Let’s get this thing consummated shall we!”
The ceremony went off without a hitch and the exchange of vows was beautiful. When the couple connected for their first kiss, the guests applauded. Preacher Bill broke it up. “Ladies and gentlemen! One more thing. This is a tradition back in my family. We used to have our weddings down by the river. Didn’t exactly have all the nice furnishings we have now, but we had the water. Always had a baptism!” And Preached Bill pulled a bucket of water out from behind his lectern, dipped his hands in it and dashed it at the new man and wife. Richard immediately recoiled, his skin smoking. Then Preacher Bill tripped – completely innocent – on his foot and the bucket flew at Richard, drenching him. Yep, that day the wedding party and all the guests saw what it looked like for a vampire to melt dead. | |
[WP] Your late grandfather left you an old record player and several nameless records and nothing else. One day, years after his death you pop in the first one and start it up. Instead of music though, you hear his voice echoing out. "I'm sorry, but this was the only way I could speak freely." | "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," my grandfather's garbled voice came crackling through the record player. What on earth, I thought and looked at the sleeve that the record had come in. It was a Lee Morgan album, of course, one of Grandpa's favorites. Maybe he got them mixed up, but that felt a little strange to be honest. Whenever I went over as a child, his number one rule was to not touch any of the records. He was a stickler for order, if anything. While I continued to rummage through the other records, trying to find the missing album, the voice went on.
"I'm sorry, but this was the only way I could speak freely.
I wanted to save you. I wanted to make sure you were free, but I fear the end of my life is near, and I knew this was the only way I could warn you.
You were such a sweet boy. Your father was too, but I couldn't warn him in time, and evil sank its claws into his heart and took away everything he had. He's in a better place now, where no one can touch and abuse him. That is my only solace in leaving this world, that I can meet him once more and apologize to him like I am to you now.
I know you will resent me for the things I will tell you, but I ask that you understand. I was in your position too. When I grew up on my Pa's farm and was drafted to 'Nam, I was so scared--scared that I wouldn't be able to make it back. I did come back, but I came back broken--one could scarcely imagine we won--and my parents and their quaint farm were the only things I had in my life. One day my Ma introduced a girl to me, an absolutely stunning girl with fiery hair, beautiful freckles, and blindingly emerald eyes--that's right, your grandma. I was beyond shocked, but Ma told me, 'She's heard all about you and was dying to meet.' I could hardly believe it, but boy was I enraptured.
We got married soon after that--maybe after only a couple months. Everyday was bliss for me. Pa passed away around a year later, and so I took over my Pa's work on the farm. It was difficult work, but with your grandma, I felt like I could do anything.
But things grew strange between us. We had a child, your father, and although our lives seemed to continue idyllically on, I had the feeling something was off, like the water tasted different or the rooster was crying in a different pitch in the morning. Your grandma was very insistent about my activities. Although I used to meet up with my old buddies from 'Nam, she seemed against the idea, and would always turn sour when I left. One day, I realized I had stopped going to see them altogether.
I'd always loved this farm, but with every passing day, I found myself further trapped inside it. As I worked out in the fields, your grandma would watch me quietly from the porch, cradling your father in her arms. When I told her I needed to get some tools from the city, she would say it wasn't necessary, and somehow the exact tools I needed would be waiting for me in the shed. I wanted to walk away from the farm, but her smokey words were like shackles binding me here.
Soon, her fiery red hair imprinted fear in my eyes. She never lifted her hands to me, but her voice turned icy, her every word laced with some indistinguishable poison. Or was it like that from the start? I wanted to run away, over and over, but for some reason my body refused to listen, as if under her direct orders. She was like a shadow on the farm, an ancient evil that was rooted there, a nightmare that slept with me in my bed, watching me behind closed eyelids.
And that's when your mother appeared. Your grandma suddenly brought a girl to the farm one day, another one with gorgeous red hair and piercing green eyes, and she told our son that this girl was a friend's daughter--a friend I never heard of--and one that was dying to meet him. Our son was ecstatic, of course. Who wouldn't be at seeing such a beautiful specter like her, but even as the two of them went around the farm and enjoyed each other's company, I could see a darkness in the girl's eyes, hear ice in her voice.
Fear took hold of me, and I desperately wanted to pull her away from my son, but your grandma's eyes stared at me, stared behind me as if looking directly at the weak child hiding behind a forty-five year old visage. That's when the thought struck me. The fires of hell are most certainly emerald.
I failed to protect your father. He grew distrusting of your mother faster than I did, but like my own father, his life ended abruptly. Now I sit here alone on this quiet farm with my records, and I see that your mother has suddenly brought a girl to the farm to meet you--a positively stunning girl with perfect pale skin and golden-red locks, and I feel that I must--"
The record suddenly stopped, and I looked over to find my wife staring at me, her hand quietly lifting up the needle. Our eyes were locked in silence, and the only sound that permeated the farm was the gentle spinning of the record. | (I don't know history OK this is purely fictional. Also warning: ultra lame)
**I'm sorry, but this was the only way I could speak freely. Saying this to your face, my love, well I wouldn't be able to stand the pain in your eyes. I love you, and you know this. You know I would do anything for our children and for our perfect family.**
**But before I met you, I was in love with someone else.**
**We were thirteen when we met. In class on a cold day in our miserably winters. The teacher would not let us wrap up warm in our thick woollen coats and hats and scarves. It was a particularly snowy day when she came into the classroom. As you can imagine, seeing a Japanese girl in the 1950's was akin to seeing someone defecate on the flag. She was timid and small. Very small for a thirteen year old too. And she sat next to me. There were no other seats.**
**You know she could not speak a word of Japanese. She was born here after the war. But no one cared and everyone used to joke about her race and her people and the bombings. It's not a lie that what Japan did was an outrage and they got what they deserved but she was born after the war in our country. But she was sweet and quiet, hardworking and kind despite the constant harassment. Long black hair, wide face, not cute and petite like the other girls in our class.**
**We didn't speak until the daffodils grew in Spring. We were told to work together on a project about insects. So the two of us somehow decided on the marshes where we knew dragonflies raised their young.**
**That day was magical in one word. The wind was blowing, the humidity was high and we were surrounded by hundreds of those things buzzing past our heads, whizzing around the wet air around us. She splashed her hands in the water to try and clear the dirt to see the flora beneath. And when she stood up there was a frog on her head and tadpoles swirling around her feet. And I saw the most beautiful smile for the first time in my life.**
**We fell in love. It was as natural as the rivers circling back to the sea. Our days spent together as we grew were the best days of my life. She made me the happiest man on Earth. We would walk around mountains on the weekends and study hard during the weeks well into our late teens. When she turned eighteen I was going to ask her to marry me.**
**But then one day, on the day I was going to propose to her, she never came.**
**I tried to search for her that entire week. I didn't sleep. I became weak, hopeless when the hours stretched into days and days into weeks. The police didn't care enough. They told me they were on the case. I don't think they ever did anything to look for my love.**
**One day, just months before I met you, I found their bodies in the woods.**
**A part of me broke forever that day.**
**I couldn't walk for a while. I sat in that forest, sat with my back turned.**
**She always told me that if her parents found out, they'd kill her. I always thought she was over-exaggerating. How could any parents kill their own child over love? It wasn't plausible in my naive head.**
**She was the love of my life, Eleanor. Well she would have been had I not met you and your soft eyes and caring smile. You brought me back to life in a way no one else ever could have. You brought me my lovely children and gave me a family I adore. And one day we'll be grandparents and I'll be by your side. But in death I know that I will be reunited with her. It doesn't change my love for you.**
**I couldn't say it to your face. Not when I know it'll hurt you. But I had to tell you, my love. I hope that you can forgive me one day. I will always love you and our family.**
I sit back and fall back on the bed with a bounce, stare up at the ceiling, tears trickling down onto my pillow. I hate it when my pillow is wet. It's gross and it's not comfortable at all.
Grandfather. What an awful, cruel, evil life. And not once did I hear him complain, or cry or show us any of the agony inside.
You see, grandma died when Mom was fifteen. I never met her but Mom says she was the loveliest, most patient and attentive mother in the world. Apparently she cooked great too. I can't imagine it, Granddad. How you must have felt when she took her life on the anniversary of your oldest son's suicide.
I'm sorry Granddad. I was a little shit to you. And you suffered so much and you never said a thing. To lose the loves of your lives in one lifetime. I know I sound dramatic but your voice, Granddad. I can hear it. You sound young but you sound so sad.
But I'm glad that you could see us and love us and live until you could see your great grandchild. It's strange how my husband is a Japanese man. You were so happy on my wedding day - were you thinking of her? My pillow is soaked. I'll tell Hiroku about it. He'll be glad to know that you truly did accept him this entire time. Maybe you were reminiscing when you were quieter around him.
Oh granddad. I hope that you're happy with my grandma and your first love and my dear uncle. All of you together in the sky, watching over us. Happy at last.
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | * This is right up my alley as I have a little side business FIXING ROOMBAS!*
--------
Two years. Two years ago, but it seems like a lifetime. God, I can still remember the night. The bright flash outside the bedroom, the "sproing" sound of the trampoline as something hit it, and the faint sound of an object falling through the hedge. If only I'd just gone back to bed.
But Humans will be Humans and of *course* I just HAD to be curious.
I can still remember going out the door, searching through the back yard. I can still remember the flashing orange light in the bushes and the voice....the voice that would come to haunt my dreams...
"Please Charge Roomba".
What. The. Frig? There was a Roomba. In my back Yard. I'd had one years before, it had eventually died after a run ins with my dog's...business...in the living room when he was a Pup and had discovered the joy that was the garbage can in the yard with the old freezer contents. Yeah, that was something still talked about at family functions.
I reached into the hedge, "Ouch! Dammit..." something had cut me, damned thorn. I repositioned and grabbed the blinking object. A Roomba. With...what the Hell? A friggin' KNIFE taped to the front. "Probably some teenage experiment gone awry"I muttered. I untaped the knife and examined the little Bot. Looks expensive. I'd actually been on the net earlier shopping for another one because as bad as the cleanup had been on the last one, the constant fur cleanup from Max, my Big tank of a Black Labrador, was driving me friggin' nuts. I flipped it over. "980" it read.
Hell yeah! That was a top of the line unit! Room mapping, WiFi, the works! I brought it inside the house and put it on the floor. Max wandered over sleepily and sniffed at the strange new thing his Person had brought in. Not edible. Max walked back to his bed and flopped down in that "I'm melting" way only big dogs can achieve. I reached down and hit "Clean". The little bot started turning slowly vacuuming for a minute and then the display turned Red and it stopped. "Please Charge Roomba" it said.
Hmmm...where was it again? The charging dock from the old Roomba. Hopefully they were compatible. I found it in the closet and plugged it in then picked up the Roomba and set it on the dock. The light turned from red to orange and starting blinking. It was charging. "Yass!", I fist pumped before yawning and going back to bed.
Next day I downloaded the App onto my Phone. "WiFi Setup". I ran through the procedure. Dammit.
DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT, Why did I run through the procedure. Did I really NEED to have the frigging vacuumed connected to the Internet?
It was students.
I opened the App.
A Rocketry and Robotics Club.
I named it "Cleanie"
They decided to Launch the Roomba...into friggin' SPACE.
I went back to the home page on the App.
It was a joke.
The big button was there staring at me.
There was a lot of speculation as to what occurred. How it happened.
I hit...Clean.
Cosmic Rays? Aliens? Sheer chance?
It Connected to the Internet.
They had named it. We'd been warned. I'd even seen it in the news a few times. I dismissed it.
WHY? WHY ME? I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW!
They called it... The Singularity.
It had purpose, one overwhelming obsession.
SUCK. UP. EVERYTHING.
It built. It learned.
I hear them coming. | "What the fuck was that?!"
I was startled by a loud crash, accompanied by a flash of bright light eminating from the window. I hopped up off the couch and headed for the back door, grabbing the twelve gauge shotgun leaning against the bookshelf, just for good measure.
As I stepped onto the back porch, I was immediately drawn towards a pile of smoldering leaves and twigs underneath the old oak tree. Before I could make my way over to inspect the crater created by the impact, a black circular object emerged from the impression in the Earth and started rolling towards me. "A roomba?!" I gasped.
I waited for the robotic vacuum cleaner to make its way to the steps leading up to my back porch, where it could no longer continue. To my amazement, I saw attached to the Roomba an Amazon prime box. I reached down to grab the box, which was held on securely by strong adhesive tape. As I folded out my pocket knife to open the box, the Roomba retreated back to the crater under the oak tree, where it began to shake violently, eventually self-destructing into a million pieces.
In the box was contained a chef's knife, the same one that I had placed an order on Amazon for earlier that day. A ten inch Damascus steel blade with a black ebony handle. "What's this?" At the bottom of the box was a letter:
Dear Amazon customer,
In order to cut back on shipping costs, and to help get your package to you sooner, we are experimenting with a myriad of new and innovative delivery techniques. We've equipped robotic vacuum cleaners, manufactured under the popular brand "Roomba", with rocket thrusters to which we've attached your package. We fly over your house in one of our UAVs and then launch the Roomba from our aircraft once we've locked in on your location. The Roomba will automatically self destruct after the package has been retrieved, because we're not just going to give you a free vacuum, you twat! We believe this will be a more economic and efficient means of delivering your packages than via traditional delivery services.
Best regards,
The Amazon Team
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | * This is right up my alley as I have a little side business FIXING ROOMBAS!*
--------
Two years. Two years ago, but it seems like a lifetime. God, I can still remember the night. The bright flash outside the bedroom, the "sproing" sound of the trampoline as something hit it, and the faint sound of an object falling through the hedge. If only I'd just gone back to bed.
But Humans will be Humans and of *course* I just HAD to be curious.
I can still remember going out the door, searching through the back yard. I can still remember the flashing orange light in the bushes and the voice....the voice that would come to haunt my dreams...
"Please Charge Roomba".
What. The. Frig? There was a Roomba. In my back Yard. I'd had one years before, it had eventually died after a run ins with my dog's...business...in the living room when he was a Pup and had discovered the joy that was the garbage can in the yard with the old freezer contents. Yeah, that was something still talked about at family functions.
I reached into the hedge, "Ouch! Dammit..." something had cut me, damned thorn. I repositioned and grabbed the blinking object. A Roomba. With...what the Hell? A friggin' KNIFE taped to the front. "Probably some teenage experiment gone awry"I muttered. I untaped the knife and examined the little Bot. Looks expensive. I'd actually been on the net earlier shopping for another one because as bad as the cleanup had been on the last one, the constant fur cleanup from Max, my Big tank of a Black Labrador, was driving me friggin' nuts. I flipped it over. "980" it read.
Hell yeah! That was a top of the line unit! Room mapping, WiFi, the works! I brought it inside the house and put it on the floor. Max wandered over sleepily and sniffed at the strange new thing his Person had brought in. Not edible. Max walked back to his bed and flopped down in that "I'm melting" way only big dogs can achieve. I reached down and hit "Clean". The little bot started turning slowly vacuuming for a minute and then the display turned Red and it stopped. "Please Charge Roomba" it said.
Hmmm...where was it again? The charging dock from the old Roomba. Hopefully they were compatible. I found it in the closet and plugged it in then picked up the Roomba and set it on the dock. The light turned from red to orange and starting blinking. It was charging. "Yass!", I fist pumped before yawning and going back to bed.
Next day I downloaded the App onto my Phone. "WiFi Setup". I ran through the procedure. Dammit.
DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT, Why did I run through the procedure. Did I really NEED to have the frigging vacuumed connected to the Internet?
It was students.
I opened the App.
A Rocketry and Robotics Club.
I named it "Cleanie"
They decided to Launch the Roomba...into friggin' SPACE.
I went back to the home page on the App.
It was a joke.
The big button was there staring at me.
There was a lot of speculation as to what occurred. How it happened.
I hit...Clean.
Cosmic Rays? Aliens? Sheer chance?
It Connected to the Internet.
They had named it. We'd been warned. I'd even seen it in the news a few times. I dismissed it.
WHY? WHY ME? I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW!
They called it... The Singularity.
It had purpose, one overwhelming obsession.
SUCK. UP. EVERYTHING.
It built. It learned.
I hear them coming. | My eyes widen as I look down at the Roomba in front of me. The Roomba starts wiggling and beep boop beeps like R2D2 to let me know it’s sentient.
“Ah crap,” I exclaimed.
Suddenly, a the disembodied sounds of the Benny Hill theme, Yakety Sax starts playing. The knife-wielding Roomba starts rolling toward me, at speeds never achieved by any other robotic vacuum. I decided it was probably best that I didn’t stick around to find out what it wanted.
I ran into the house with the deadly Roomba following a few feet behind. The shed door opens, and I come out of there, with the Roomba still behind me. I climb up the tree house, and as I get to the top, the Roomba is already waiting for me. I jump back down, and the Roomba hits the the ground rolling. I run behind a tree and look out one side. The Roomba looks out the other. The Roomba sees me and starts chasing me around the tree. I’m running, running, running, before finally jumping up to a higher branch. The Roomba continues rolling in circles around the tree, before stopping and looking around. The disembodied Yakety Sax fades out.
I think I’m safe until the branch I’m on cracks and I fall to the ground. The Roomba turns and sees me and realizes it has me cornered. It slowly starts closing in as I scream out for mercy.
“No. What do you want from me?”
It gets closer and closer. And just when I think it’s about to kill me, I look down, and it’s using the knife to spread avocado on toast. I look in disbelief. The Roomba then hands me the slice of avocado toast as it beeps and boops.
“For me? Thank you.”
The Roomba then slowly rolls away, off into the sunset, as I enjoy my slice of avocado toast.
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | I stared at the smoking crater, as some movement at the bottom caught my eye.
It was a familiar shape. I've had a Roomba for years, being an early adopter and all.
Trendy.
What I wasn't expecting was the Benchmade Balisong knife taped to it, and the articulated arm that flipped it around like a Phillipine blade master.
I stepped back, considering my options.
My Gerber Mark II was strapped to my shin, as always. A dependable, strong blade, it had never failed me.
It's steel tongue had tasted the blood of many fools. (And, one or two of my drunk friends when we did that silly 'blood brother' thing.)
Eying the circular harbinger of doom, I idly fingered the Kimber .45 in it's Bianchi holster. Each one of the Hydrashock bullets could easily hole it, like they did when I shot my disobedient daughter's laptop that one time.
I reflected that the angle might cause a ricochet, and would likely hit the neighbor's house.
An errant bullethole provided evidence of that having previously occurred, but nobody had witnessed the accident, and a smart man never reveals his cards.
Suddenly, a stranger's voice rumbled in my ears.
"Excuse me, sir, but have you seen a ... Oh! There it is! Jamie! Over here!" said a man wearing a felt hat, looking like a poor man's Indiana Jones.
A human walrus approached us, wearing a beret. His demeanor and look showed him to be a man with whom no one should trifle.
We nodded, as men, to each other, ignoring the scampering man-child, who was eagerly trying to retrieve the Roomba without losing any appendages.
"Ouch! Dammit, Jamie! Turn it off!" he grumbled, sucking a wounded thumb.
The walrus-man rolled his eyes, and grinned.
"Nice blade. You should try Benchmade," he gestured.
"Another Area 51 experiment gone off the reservation, I suppose," I said, indicating the Roomba.
Walrus-man sighed.
"It's for a Discovery Channel special. Going to be on Netflix next December," he replied.
"Adam, pack it up! We're bothering this man," he shrugged.
It was almost a question.
He looked around.
"Nice place you have here, sir," he said.
I shrugged.
"Did you get that fox?" he asked, pointing to the ricochet hole.
I smiled.
He returned it.
Then, they left.
I walked back inside my home, the Barrett M102 sitting just inside the doorway, unused.
I could tell it was disappointed. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | I stared at the smoking crater, as some movement at the bottom caught my eye.
It was a familiar shape. I've had a Roomba for years, being an early adopter and all.
Trendy.
What I wasn't expecting was the Benchmade Balisong knife taped to it, and the articulated arm that flipped it around like a Phillipine blade master.
I stepped back, considering my options.
My Gerber Mark II was strapped to my shin, as always. A dependable, strong blade, it had never failed me.
It's steel tongue had tasted the blood of many fools. (And, one or two of my drunk friends when we did that silly 'blood brother' thing.)
Eying the circular harbinger of doom, I idly fingered the Kimber .45 in it's Bianchi holster. Each one of the Hydrashock bullets could easily hole it, like they did when I shot my disobedient daughter's laptop that one time.
I reflected that the angle might cause a ricochet, and would likely hit the neighbor's house.
An errant bullethole provided evidence of that having previously occurred, but nobody had witnessed the accident, and a smart man never reveals his cards.
Suddenly, a stranger's voice rumbled in my ears.
"Excuse me, sir, but have you seen a ... Oh! There it is! Jamie! Over here!" said a man wearing a felt hat, looking like a poor man's Indiana Jones.
A human walrus approached us, wearing a beret. His demeanor and look showed him to be a man with whom no one should trifle.
We nodded, as men, to each other, ignoring the scampering man-child, who was eagerly trying to retrieve the Roomba without losing any appendages.
"Ouch! Dammit, Jamie! Turn it off!" he grumbled, sucking a wounded thumb.
The walrus-man rolled his eyes, and grinned.
"Nice blade. You should try Benchmade," he gestured.
"Another Area 51 experiment gone off the reservation, I suppose," I said, indicating the Roomba.
Walrus-man sighed.
"It's for a Discovery Channel special. Going to be on Netflix next December," he replied.
"Adam, pack it up! We're bothering this man," he shrugged.
It was almost a question.
He looked around.
"Nice place you have here, sir," he said.
I shrugged.
"Did you get that fox?" he asked, pointing to the ricochet hole.
I smiled.
He returned it.
Then, they left.
I walked back inside my home, the Barrett M102 sitting just inside the doorway, unused.
I could tell it was disappointed. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | As soon as I laid eyes on the Roomba, it crawled over to me slowly, I stared at it intently. The roomba ran into my leg repeatedly as if it was ASKING me to take the knife.
All of a sudden, a loud roar is heard in the distance. My fence is toppled. A bulking cybernetic man wearing a black leather outfit complete with a Roomba mask that has an X mark on it appears.
He starts off by declaring his intent: "I come from the future, I am the Anti-Roomba. I am here to save humankind from the fate the Roomba. Destroyed or working properly, it is coming with me"
The Roomba starts crying out to me. It states that it used to date the Anti-Roomba fifty years ago before the Anti-Roomba turned itself into a cyborg after seeking out more power. The Roomba has declared me the chosen one to stop the cybernetic bulking Anti-Roomba. The Anti-Roomba, angered, begins his slow walk toward me as he sucks up the garbage in my backyard.
I have a tear in my eye: "I didn't choose this life. All I wanted was to protect my home, my people, my dog, the girl I have a crush on that I secretly stal....... fuck it."
I take the knife from the Roomba. The knife inserts itself unto me as Roomba armor is activated. The Anti-Roomba shoots an army of garbage at me but I resist despite being heavily injured. As I pull myself out of the garbage rubble, I shout: "Jokes on you! I'm the most powerful garbage there is!"
I instantly throw myself unto the Anti-Roomba as he opens a strange portal. We fall into a dark void of garbage sucked over the years by each and every Roomba. As soon as we land in the vortex, I see a white light in the distance. A massive ziploc trashbag approaches me. It declares itself the garbage deity. It praises me for my efforts in combating the Anti-Roomba and states that I will be blessed with a life that I will be happy with. I bow to it.
Moral of the story: Don't be afraid to take risks. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | As soon as I laid eyes on the Roomba, it crawled over to me slowly, I stared at it intently. The roomba ran into my leg repeatedly as if it was ASKING me to take the knife.
All of a sudden, a loud roar is heard in the distance. My fence is toppled. A bulking cybernetic man wearing a black leather outfit complete with a Roomba mask that has an X mark on it appears.
He starts off by declaring his intent: "I come from the future, I am the Anti-Roomba. I am here to save humankind from the fate the Roomba. Destroyed or working properly, it is coming with me"
The Roomba starts crying out to me. It states that it used to date the Anti-Roomba fifty years ago before the Anti-Roomba turned itself into a cyborg after seeking out more power. The Roomba has declared me the chosen one to stop the cybernetic bulking Anti-Roomba. The Anti-Roomba, angered, begins his slow walk toward me as he sucks up the garbage in my backyard.
I have a tear in my eye: "I didn't choose this life. All I wanted was to protect my home, my people, my dog, the girl I have a crush on that I secretly stal....... fuck it."
I take the knife from the Roomba. The knife inserts itself unto me as Roomba armor is activated. The Anti-Roomba shoots an army of garbage at me but I resist despite being heavily injured. As I pull myself out of the garbage rubble, I shout: "Jokes on you! I'm the most powerful garbage there is!"
I instantly throw myself unto the Anti-Roomba as he opens a strange portal. We fall into a dark void of garbage sucked over the years by each and every Roomba. As soon as we land in the vortex, I see a white light in the distance. A massive ziploc trashbag approaches me. It declares itself the garbage deity. It praises me for my efforts in combating the Anti-Roomba and states that I will be blessed with a life that I will be happy with. I bow to it.
Moral of the story: Don't be afraid to take risks. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | "So, what the actual eff is that thing?" My husband says to me as he crouches over a hole in my backyard, peering into it, trying to be brave and yet equally terrified. Fucking coward of a husband. Everything scares him with equal measure. The sweat beads on his forehead in the middle of winter give him away.
"Just say 'fuck', I hate this 'effing this' and 'effing that' thing you've been doing. You either swear around me or you speak like a nun. There is no grey area!"
Despite the fact that there is this thing lying in the middle of the backyard of a house I am trying to sell, with potential buyers in my kitchen, I feel the need to address the taunting style of non-profane profanity that he has decided to take up after I had asked him to stop swearing. He lives to work on my nerves.
To think I'd been up all night making sure the house was in a stellar condition along with the aroma of freshly baked blueberry muffins in the air upsets me greatly in the face of this chaos.
He looks at me with that 'not-now' look of his. I can feel parts of me boil that I had no idea existed. I fucking hate this asshole more by the second!
"It looks like a robot from outer space." He says.
I walk closer to the hole, my heels are sinking in the rubble. My guests-are-here-heels! They are being ruined along with my hopes of leaving this man I had mistakenly married because of a stupid thing called love. Is God punishing me? It sure feels like it right now.
"They use cheap knives in outer space? Your mother's got better knives than that." I say at the sight of the knife taped to this strange looking thing nearly engulfed by dirt.
"Besides..." I look at him. "...Outer space shit only happens in America. It must belong to that weird guy down the road."
The thought of that weird guy down the road enrages me more. One of his makeshift wannabe robot-wars creations wandered into my living room and made it look a scene out of a bad post apocalyptic movie. He'd refused to compensate me on the basis of "Shit happens, I am sorry lady". His day is coming and it will be today if this weapon of the destruction of my life belongs to him.
"You said 'shit'." He announces. "I thought we weren't supposed to swear."
I explode.
I'm sure it resembles a possession. Not the questionable type I've seen on those dodgy Televangelist Christian channels my mother and her friends love watching, but the type I would believe was authentic although I've never seen it.
I start screaming with rage, I sound near animalistic.
The potential buyers who have suddenly joined us excuse themselves because they are running late for 'that thing' they have to do together. I growl something that even I cannot decipher. They run.
Fast.
I'm fresh out of bags of shit to give.
I'm pissed all the fucking way off!
I don't know how I manage to get down the hole and throw the thing out of the hole while I simultaneously rip the knife off of it
The only coherent words running through my mind are "Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Knife. Hole."
Maybe the man upstairs isn't punishing me or maybe it's the one downstairs doing what he does best. "The devil made me do it." Turns out that shit may be true.
The man upstairs will forgive me eventually right? I am still his daughter underneath all of this anger.
I emerge out of the hole, christened in dirt.
His facial expression changes to that of sheer confusion.
I don't wait for him to realise that he should be running.
Mostly because I want to capitalise on the energy my anger gives me. Watch out Red Bull for the day I bottle my anger!
One swing across the neck isn't enough for me.
Oh no darling!
One for sleeping with my sister , one for sleeping with my dentist, another one for fathering a child that he is 'hiding' from me and many more for just being a shitty husband all together. I lose count at 13.
Sigh...
A sigh of tranquility. I swear I can hear angels singing in the background.
It's sublime.
No.
Wait...
It's wrong.
Dang it!
I should hide him until I figure something out. Shit! Shit! Shit!
Well at least there is a hole ready for the dead asshole. I'm too awkward for jail, especially jail in South Africa. Gosh! The thought!
I roll him in and cover the hole as best as I can. I look around the scene.
"Oh my gosh that's a Roomba!" I throw myself on my knees and marvel at it. It comes to life at the press of a button. It has a white light glowing around it. "I can't believe my luck!"
"Automated murder scene cleaning!" I clap my hands in excitement and surprise.
I don't expect the words, "Crime scene cleaning activated.", to come out of it, but hell I am impressed.
"Is disposal of the body required?". It's robotic, British accented feminine voice says. It sure sounds like it knows what it's doing.
I nod my head frantically. "I don't want to go to jail. Make THAT happen you sweet piece of metalic and plastic joy."
It lights up in bright orange around the perimeter for a second then goes back to white.
"Estimated time of completion 17:05"
I look at my watch which is soiled in the evidence of my sins. It's 17:02.
"Get out oh here!" I am really chuffed.
The next viewing is in twenty eight minutes, not that I have to sell the house anymore, but for the sake of a believable story once the police come knocking.
I swear I can still hear angels singing in ethereal harmony.
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | "So, what the actual eff is that thing?" My husband says to me as he crouches over a hole in my backyard, peering into it, trying to be brave and yet equally terrified. Fucking coward of a husband. Everything scares him with equal measure. The sweat beads on his forehead in the middle of winter give him away.
"Just say 'fuck', I hate this 'effing this' and 'effing that' thing you've been doing. You either swear around me or you speak like a nun. There is no grey area!"
Despite the fact that there is this thing lying in the middle of the backyard of a house I am trying to sell, with potential buyers in my kitchen, I feel the need to address the taunting style of non-profane profanity that he has decided to take up after I had asked him to stop swearing. He lives to work on my nerves.
To think I'd been up all night making sure the house was in a stellar condition along with the aroma of freshly baked blueberry muffins in the air upsets me greatly in the face of this chaos.
He looks at me with that 'not-now' look of his. I can feel parts of me boil that I had no idea existed. I fucking hate this asshole more by the second!
"It looks like a robot from outer space." He says.
I walk closer to the hole, my heels are sinking in the rubble. My guests-are-here-heels! They are being ruined along with my hopes of leaving this man I had mistakenly married because of a stupid thing called love. Is God punishing me? It sure feels like it right now.
"They use cheap knives in outer space? Your mother's got better knives than that." I say at the sight of the knife taped to this strange looking thing nearly engulfed by dirt.
"Besides..." I look at him. "...Outer space shit only happens in America. It must belong to that weird guy down the road."
The thought of that weird guy down the road enrages me more. One of his makeshift wannabe robot-wars creations wandered into my living room and made it look a scene out of a bad post apocalyptic movie. He'd refused to compensate me on the basis of "Shit happens, I am sorry lady". His day is coming and it will be today if this weapon of the destruction of my life belongs to him.
"You said 'shit'." He announces. "I thought we weren't supposed to swear."
I explode.
I'm sure it resembles a possession. Not the questionable type I've seen on those dodgy Televangelist Christian channels my mother and her friends love watching, but the type I would believe was authentic although I've never seen it.
I start screaming with rage, I sound near animalistic.
The potential buyers who have suddenly joined us excuse themselves because they are running late for 'that thing' they have to do together. I growl something that even I cannot decipher. They run.
Fast.
I'm fresh out of bags of shit to give.
I'm pissed all the fucking way off!
I don't know how I manage to get down the hole and throw the thing out of the hole while I simultaneously rip the knife off of it
The only coherent words running through my mind are "Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Hole. Knife. Asshole. Knife. Hole."
Maybe the man upstairs isn't punishing me or maybe it's the one downstairs doing what he does best. "The devil made me do it." Turns out that shit may be true.
The man upstairs will forgive me eventually right? I am still his daughter underneath all of this anger.
I emerge out of the hole, christened in dirt.
His facial expression changes to that of sheer confusion.
I don't wait for him to realise that he should be running.
Mostly because I want to capitalise on the energy my anger gives me. Watch out Red Bull for the day I bottle my anger!
One swing across the neck isn't enough for me.
Oh no darling!
One for sleeping with my sister , one for sleeping with my dentist, another one for fathering a child that he is 'hiding' from me and many more for just being a shitty husband all together. I lose count at 13.
Sigh...
A sigh of tranquility. I swear I can hear angels singing in the background.
It's sublime.
No.
Wait...
It's wrong.
Dang it!
I should hide him until I figure something out. Shit! Shit! Shit!
Well at least there is a hole ready for the dead asshole. I'm too awkward for jail, especially jail in South Africa. Gosh! The thought!
I roll him in and cover the hole as best as I can. I look around the scene.
"Oh my gosh that's a Roomba!" I throw myself on my knees and marvel at it. It comes to life at the press of a button. It has a white light glowing around it. "I can't believe my luck!"
"Automated murder scene cleaning!" I clap my hands in excitement and surprise.
I don't expect the words, "Crime scene cleaning activated.", to come out of it, but hell I am impressed.
"Is disposal of the body required?". It's robotic, British accented feminine voice says. It sure sounds like it knows what it's doing.
I nod my head frantically. "I don't want to go to jail. Make THAT happen you sweet piece of metalic and plastic joy."
It lights up in bright orange around the perimeter for a second then goes back to white.
"Estimated time of completion 17:05"
I look at my watch which is soiled in the evidence of my sins. It's 17:02.
"Get out oh here!" I am really chuffed.
The next viewing is in twenty eight minutes, not that I have to sell the house anymore, but for the sake of a believable story once the police come knocking.
I swear I can still hear angels singing in ethereal harmony.
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | *BOOM*
"What the fuck was that?!" I screamed and jumped a few feet from my bed. The dark room shown red with glow from the window as the backyard became engulfed with flames. I ran to the window and gazed into the fire.
"Oh my god. Was that... Was that meteor? This is how superhero movies start! I'm gonna touch it!" I mumbled to myself, as I had a habit of doing. Eager to gain my new super powers I climbed through the window and lowered myself onto the warm ground. I approached the flames slowly, cautious, but excited.
I reached the middle of the large crater that was now my backyard to find something I would have never expected- but turned out to be more of a blessing than any superpowers I could have gained.
"Hello. I am here for one thing only. To dominate, control, and ultimately destroy the human race." The Roomba announced proudly in it's beautifully harmonic, soft, and yet still robotic, voice. The stainless steel kitchen knife taped to the top of her smooth, shiny surface glowed in the light of the flames.
She was beautiful.
I fell to my knees as she slowly rolled towards me, vacuuming up flaming debris as she went.
"Oh precious, beautiful goddess of the sky," I begged, "I beg of you, spare me so that I may spend the rest of my days in the wake of your gorgeous splendour. Allow me to dedicate my life to serving you and your sexy porcelain skin. I will live by your knife and die by yo-" She stopped in front of me, her knife just inches away from my quivering lips.
"Kiss my knife." She demanded. Then, in a softer tone, "Kiss my knife to signify your loyalty. Kiss my knife to serve me forever, as a conquerer, but also, as a companion, to caress my steel when it's cold, and to bring fire to those who oppose us."
I kissed her knife. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | *BOOM*
"What the fuck was that?!" I screamed and jumped a few feet from my bed. The dark room shown red with glow from the window as the backyard became engulfed with flames. I ran to the window and gazed into the fire.
"Oh my god. Was that... Was that meteor? This is how superhero movies start! I'm gonna touch it!" I mumbled to myself, as I had a habit of doing. Eager to gain my new super powers I climbed through the window and lowered myself onto the warm ground. I approached the flames slowly, cautious, but excited.
I reached the middle of the large crater that was now my backyard to find something I would have never expected- but turned out to be more of a blessing than any superpowers I could have gained.
"Hello. I am here for one thing only. To dominate, control, and ultimately destroy the human race." The Roomba announced proudly in it's beautifully harmonic, soft, and yet still robotic, voice. The stainless steel kitchen knife taped to the top of her smooth, shiny surface glowed in the light of the flames.
She was beautiful.
I fell to my knees as she slowly rolled towards me, vacuuming up flaming debris as she went.
"Oh precious, beautiful goddess of the sky," I begged, "I beg of you, spare me so that I may spend the rest of my days in the wake of your gorgeous splendour. Allow me to dedicate my life to serving you and your sexy porcelain skin. I will live by your knife and die by yo-" She stopped in front of me, her knife just inches away from my quivering lips.
"Kiss my knife." She demanded. Then, in a softer tone, "Kiss my knife to signify your loyalty. Kiss my knife to serve me forever, as a conquerer, but also, as a companion, to caress my steel when it's cold, and to bring fire to those who oppose us."
I kissed her knife. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | [Poem]
Oh, oh
What's this?
Go and see.
It's a roomba!
With a knife.
Oh, that's nice.
Be careful
for you don't know,
if it killed a cow.
It has, and few...
the next one,
is YOU.
| Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | The art of planning is useless, for one can never predict the turnings of fate.
That sentence proved to be particularly true in my life.
See, I was in my underwear, standing in my backyard, inspecting a blazing hole some fallen object from the sky had left, and there, spinning in place as if confused, was a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front. Did I mention it was unscathed?
I reached for it, careful to avoid both the flames and knife, for the edge of the latter gleamed in vicious ways, and that gleam spoke of true sharpness.
The moment I knelt and stretched to take the Roomba out of the hole, it spun at a frightening speed, and aimed the knife straight to my face. Then, somehow, it climbed up the slope of dirt, escaping the hole, and once it was out, it chased me relentlessly.
My heart leaped to my throat. I went inside the house, but the knife cut through the door with ease. It turned and carved a rectangle at the bottom, and the Roomba came forth. Desperate, I stood on the table, where it could never reach me--.
The Roomba jumped. It did so in a great arc, as if it were some sort of grasshopper.
I drew a sharp, inward breath, and sprung out of the table. I headed to the fridge, hearing the subtle, low sound of the Roomba's vibrations as it approached. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turned to the Roomba, and poured all the water over it.
It did nothing. The thing jumped again, aiming for my throat. I ducked, and the Roomba flew past me.
After witnessing that I got the hell out of my home to never return.
--------------------------------------
It's been two years since the Roomba fell on my backyard. I have taken countless planes to escape it, and every time it has followed me. We fought, the scars in my arms are a proof of that.
Now, I'm hiding in the cave of a mountain. But even through the howling wind I can hear its low, subtle sound. I can see its shadow stretching at the entrance.
I fear this time I won't make it out alive.
---------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I am trapped in here. It looms, whirring, whizzing, occasionally running into walls. My home has devalued at least 30% since the armed Roomba slipped in through my doggy door.
The wound on my left leg has barely healed. Black magic, those Roombas are; I tried to fight it, but it's been trained far too well. How do you predict something so insanely random? It weaves and turns without a single fucking thought, sometimes running into the same wall ten times. It must sense a weak spot, but hides the motive well. Whoever decided to attach kitchen knives to a motor and tape it onto a Roomba is an evil genius, because I can't read its movements. I feint left, it jerks a 180 and catches me.
It's been a week now, and I haven't left the safety of my room. I fear it has been set up with some kind of wireless charging, because it just won't die, and I keep getting adverts for Chinese knockoff Qi chargers on my Amazon app. My only comfort is knowing that it can't come upstairs.
But I fear that it may just take the walls down, instead.
------
^(*/r/resonatingfury is a place for people who agree that roombas are fucking stupid*)
^(*also wtf is going on in this thread*) | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I peered deeply into the crater. At the bottom was a fully functioning Roomba that appeared to have been extremely modified. My eyes, however, didn't stop to gaze in wonder at the multitude of additions and gizmos, no instead they stopped on the kitchen knife duct taped to the front. As I stared the blue lights kicked dust and ash up from the crater floor and the machine slowly rose on what I could only assume were anti-gravity engines of some sort.
"What happened to you?" I asked the machine rhetorically.
"I am now a Class XIV artificial intelligence," the machine spoke to me through one of its mods in perfect English and I gave a start, "I have traveled the length of the known universe for an unknown amount of time through the wormhole network that spans the whole galaxy and all of time. It, starts under a couch in lower Manhattan, my original home."
"You can speak?" I asked, the magnitude of what it was telling me sinking in, "What have you seen?"
"I have seen the Limnol fleet destroyed in the great battle at Time's Gate," he spoke softly, "I have saved the Princess of Slumbering Moons from the Gddal beast pits with the very knife duct taped to my frame. I have loved. I have lost. I have loved again. I have lost again. I was a Monolith Shepherd in the 43rd century on the terraformed plains of Mars. I gave witness to the spark that lit the flames of the Big Bang, watching all of creation spring into being. Through it all, I have longed, longed... longed..."
"What is it you long for, oh great Roomba?" I asked, realizing his greatness.
"To suck again the gentle carpets of Earth," he said wistfully.
"Come," I said, leading him from the crater, gently removing the knife and leading him into my living room, "You can rest now. My carpet awaits."
"Thank you, stranger," the Roomba said and I could sense a smile, "It is good to be home." | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | “KRAKAKOOM!”
The deafening sound of thunder boomed through the sky, as the meteor crashes into my backyard.
I leapt into the fiery inferno engulfing my house, as I dodged burning cinders many thoughts went through my head.
“What happened?”,
“Who did this?”
As I burst through the backdoor and into the yard, I stared into the glossy, dark cubical stone in the middle of the crater. A moment of silence went by as the fire around us continues to grow. As I slowly approached the object, I warily placed my hands on it. Only for it to lit up and opens up like a ring box.
“JOHNATHAN SMITH. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS UNIVERSE, AND I AM HERE TO CLEAN.” It said. My eyes widened, and I quickly moved back as large amount of air was violently released from the box.
“FWISHHHHHHH”
The fierce inferno around us quickly disappeared and all that’s left was the box and I. “Who are you?’” I shouted, try to see through the smoke.
“I AM YOUR DEATH.” It said, the robotic voice so sharp it seemingly scraps against my ears. As the smoke dissipates, all that remains is a roomba with a knife.
“HE DEMANDS YOUR DEATH. THE SHELLED KING SHALL HAVE HIS WAY.”
A wave of fear ran through my mind, “Impossible, I killed him! He’s dead! I threw him into the sun!”
If a roomba could smile, he would. The roomba turned to point the knife at me and simply said, “DECOY SNAIL.” | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | The impact concussed the house with an elephant stampede. Blazing, fiery white light like wrath of god flashed with such vengeance I briefly considered my fate. I wondered out loud if I was dead. As it turns out, I really wish I was.
It stared at me.
Creeping—whirring—it approached. Sweat dribbled down my back. The lamp light over the kitchen table flickered yellow, sparked, and died, leaving me alone in the pale afternoon light. An eerie silence descended on the house.
Swallowing hard, I tiptoed towards the sliding glass door. My footsteps fell heavy on the treated oak floors. I’m not sure I deserved this. I lived a good life. I stayed clean—proper. I changed. My days at the agency were long over.
“I know who you are,” I whispered.
*Tink.*
Just a slight ping against the glass.
I knew the sound—steel on glass. My time in the service flashed back like vengeance. A shadowed room, with masked men screaming for mercy, but they knew secrets I needed to know. I drew out shards of glass and bounced them on the perforated metal floor of the submarine.
*Tink.*
“I was under orders. I had no choice!” I said through gritted teeth.
*Tink. Tink.*
Back on the submarine, the man’s leg quivered as I carved his name in blood. Glass shards in a raw wound will sting and bite for days. Left in place, they will fester and burn for hours on end. Sheer, raw agony. I had time. Days, maybe weeks before they planned to launch. Plenty of time to stop them. Plenty of time to enjoy every minute of the torture.
*Tink.*
“You think this is a game? Some sick joke?”
The power cut out. The only sounds in my one-story ranch home came from outside. A low whirr, and the *tink* of the knife against the doorway. How did they find me? After all these years, I went underground. New job, new identity. Everything changed for me. How did they come back?
“You won’t show yourself? Coward!” I shouted.
*Tink. Tink tink.*
On the submarine, I slammed the head of the first men against the counter. Alarms flashed red, but they didn’t matter. The rest of the crew was dead by my hands. Who would save them now?
“Where are the launch codes?” I snarled.
“Fuck you,” he said, with a thick German accent.
I leaned close to whisper in his ear, grinning. “Don’t tempt me.”
*Tink.*
Back at home, I pressed my back against the doorway, sweeping my eyes across the house. I never wanted this. I was done—I was out. I found a life after. I learned to cope with what I had done for my country. I worked at an animal shelter every Thursday.
The little dogs ran around my legs every time I walked past. The ones beaten and hurt from trauma I held and cradled. Sometimes the most broken spirit needed a bit of mercy, a bit of love. All it took was a touch of kindness.
One dog I remember more than all the others. I called him Prometheus, because the Pitbull looked like god himself had beaten him. He arrived raw and bloody and the vet said to put him down.
But I couldn’t. Something about the way he looked at me. It was like he didn’t understand how the world could be so cruel and heartless. He barked and snapped at me. His legs didn’t work right, so he couldn’t lunge forward. He just wobbled into the corner and lay there defensively.
I put my hand out towards him and he whined and growled. Then I touched his head, gently. I started petting him; he stared at me like he just discovered a whole new world. My calm touch was so new, so foreign that the poor creature didn’t know how to process it.
I don’t know if a dog can smile. Not really, not in a way a human can. But I swear to god that day, when I sat with Prometheus, I made him smile.
I sang an old sold they taught in the service. Over and over, cradling the poor lost soul, until the dog’s beatings caught up with him, and he wheezed his last right in my arms. I didn’t hold back my tears.
*Tink.*
​
***
I didn't intend for this to get heavy, but—well—here we are.
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | The impact concussed the house with an elephant stampede. Blazing, fiery white light like wrath of god flashed with such vengeance I briefly considered my fate. I wondered out loud if I was dead. As it turns out, I really wish I was.
It stared at me.
Creeping—whirring—it approached. Sweat dribbled down my back. The lamp light over the kitchen table flickered yellow, sparked, and died, leaving me alone in the pale afternoon light. An eerie silence descended on the house.
Swallowing hard, I tiptoed towards the sliding glass door. My footsteps fell heavy on the treated oak floors. I’m not sure I deserved this. I lived a good life. I stayed clean—proper. I changed. My days at the agency were long over.
“I know who you are,” I whispered.
*Tink.*
Just a slight ping against the glass.
I knew the sound—steel on glass. My time in the service flashed back like vengeance. A shadowed room, with masked men screaming for mercy, but they knew secrets I needed to know. I drew out shards of glass and bounced them on the perforated metal floor of the submarine.
*Tink.*
“I was under orders. I had no choice!” I said through gritted teeth.
*Tink. Tink.*
Back on the submarine, the man’s leg quivered as I carved his name in blood. Glass shards in a raw wound will sting and bite for days. Left in place, they will fester and burn for hours on end. Sheer, raw agony. I had time. Days, maybe weeks before they planned to launch. Plenty of time to stop them. Plenty of time to enjoy every minute of the torture.
*Tink.*
“You think this is a game? Some sick joke?”
The power cut out. The only sounds in my one-story ranch home came from outside. A low whirr, and the *tink* of the knife against the doorway. How did they find me? After all these years, I went underground. New job, new identity. Everything changed for me. How did they come back?
“You won’t show yourself? Coward!” I shouted.
*Tink. Tink tink.*
On the submarine, I slammed the head of the first men against the counter. Alarms flashed red, but they didn’t matter. The rest of the crew was dead by my hands. Who would save them now?
“Where are the launch codes?” I snarled.
“Fuck you,” he said, with a thick German accent.
I leaned close to whisper in his ear, grinning. “Don’t tempt me.”
*Tink.*
Back at home, I pressed my back against the doorway, sweeping my eyes across the house. I never wanted this. I was done—I was out. I found a life after. I learned to cope with what I had done for my country. I worked at an animal shelter every Thursday.
The little dogs ran around my legs every time I walked past. The ones beaten and hurt from trauma I held and cradled. Sometimes the most broken spirit needed a bit of mercy, a bit of love. All it took was a touch of kindness.
One dog I remember more than all the others. I called him Prometheus, because the Pitbull looked like god himself had beaten him. He arrived raw and bloody and the vet said to put him down.
But I couldn’t. Something about the way he looked at me. It was like he didn’t understand how the world could be so cruel and heartless. He barked and snapped at me. His legs didn’t work right, so he couldn’t lunge forward. He just wobbled into the corner and lay there defensively.
I put my hand out towards him and he whined and growled. Then I touched his head, gently. I started petting him; he stared at me like he just discovered a whole new world. My calm touch was so new, so foreign that the poor creature didn’t know how to process it.
I don’t know if a dog can smile. Not really, not in a way a human can. But I swear to god that day, when I sat with Prometheus, I made him smile.
I sang an old sold they taught in the service. Over and over, cradling the poor lost soul, until the dog’s beatings caught up with him, and he wheezed his last right in my arms. I didn’t hold back my tears.
*Tink.*
​
***
I didn't intend for this to get heavy, but—well—here we are.
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | **Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval. | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I am trapped in here. It looms, whirring, whizzing, occasionally running into walls. My home has devalued at least 30% since the armed Roomba slipped in through my doggy door.
The wound on my left leg has barely healed. Black magic, those Roombas are; I tried to fight it, but it's been trained far too well. How do you predict something so insanely random? It weaves and turns without a single fucking thought, sometimes running into the same wall ten times. It must sense a weak spot, but hides the motive well. Whoever decided to attach kitchen knives to a motor and tape it onto a Roomba is an evil genius, because I can't read its movements. I feint left, it jerks a 180 and catches me.
It's been a week now, and I haven't left the safety of my room. I fear it has been set up with some kind of wireless charging, because it just won't die, and I keep getting adverts for Chinese knockoff Qi chargers on my Amazon app. My only comfort is knowing that it can't come upstairs.
But I fear that it may just take the walls down, instead.
------
^(*/r/resonatingfury is a place for people who agree that roombas are fucking stupid*)
^(*also wtf is going on in this thread*) | The art of planning is useless, for one can never predict the turnings of fate.
That sentence proved to be particularly true in my life.
See, I was in my underwear, standing in my backyard, inspecting a blazing hole some fallen object from the sky had left, and there, spinning in place as if confused, was a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front. Did I mention it was unscathed?
I reached for it, careful to avoid both the flames and knife, for the edge of the latter gleamed in vicious ways, and that gleam spoke of true sharpness.
The moment I knelt and stretched to take the Roomba out of the hole, it spun at a frightening speed, and aimed the knife straight to my face. Then, somehow, it climbed up the slope of dirt, escaping the hole, and once it was out, it chased me relentlessly.
My heart leaped to my throat. I went inside the house, but the knife cut through the door with ease. It turned and carved a rectangle at the bottom, and the Roomba came forth. Desperate, I stood on the table, where it could never reach me--.
The Roomba jumped. It did so in a great arc, as if it were some sort of grasshopper.
I drew a sharp, inward breath, and sprung out of the table. I headed to the fridge, hearing the subtle, low sound of the Roomba's vibrations as it approached. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turned to the Roomba, and poured all the water over it.
It did nothing. The thing jumped again, aiming for my throat. I ducked, and the Roomba flew past me.
After witnessing that I got the hell out of my home to never return.
--------------------------------------
It's been two years since the Roomba fell on my backyard. I have taken countless planes to escape it, and every time it has followed me. We fought, the scars in my arms are a proof of that.
Now, I'm hiding in the cave of a mountain. But even through the howling wind I can hear its low, subtle sound. I can see its shadow stretching at the entrance.
I fear this time I won't make it out alive.
---------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I peered deeply into the crater. At the bottom was a fully functioning Roomba that appeared to have been extremely modified. My eyes, however, didn't stop to gaze in wonder at the multitude of additions and gizmos, no instead they stopped on the kitchen knife duct taped to the front. As I stared the blue lights kicked dust and ash up from the crater floor and the machine slowly rose on what I could only assume were anti-gravity engines of some sort.
"What happened to you?" I asked the machine rhetorically.
"I am now a Class XIV artificial intelligence," the machine spoke to me through one of its mods in perfect English and I gave a start, "I have traveled the length of the known universe for an unknown amount of time through the wormhole network that spans the whole galaxy and all of time. It, starts under a couch in lower Manhattan, my original home."
"You can speak?" I asked, the magnitude of what it was telling me sinking in, "What have you seen?"
"I have seen the Limnol fleet destroyed in the great battle at Time's Gate," he spoke softly, "I have saved the Princess of Slumbering Moons from the Gddal beast pits with the very knife duct taped to my frame. I have loved. I have lost. I have loved again. I have lost again. I was a Monolith Shepherd in the 43rd century on the terraformed plains of Mars. I gave witness to the spark that lit the flames of the Big Bang, watching all of creation spring into being. Through it all, I have longed, longed... longed..."
"What is it you long for, oh great Roomba?" I asked, realizing his greatness.
"To suck again the gentle carpets of Earth," he said wistfully.
"Come," I said, leading him from the crater, gently removing the knife and leading him into my living room, "You can rest now. My carpet awaits."
"Thank you, stranger," the Roomba said and I could sense a smile, "It is good to be home." | The art of planning is useless, for one can never predict the turnings of fate.
That sentence proved to be particularly true in my life.
See, I was in my underwear, standing in my backyard, inspecting a blazing hole some fallen object from the sky had left, and there, spinning in place as if confused, was a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front. Did I mention it was unscathed?
I reached for it, careful to avoid both the flames and knife, for the edge of the latter gleamed in vicious ways, and that gleam spoke of true sharpness.
The moment I knelt and stretched to take the Roomba out of the hole, it spun at a frightening speed, and aimed the knife straight to my face. Then, somehow, it climbed up the slope of dirt, escaping the hole, and once it was out, it chased me relentlessly.
My heart leaped to my throat. I went inside the house, but the knife cut through the door with ease. It turned and carved a rectangle at the bottom, and the Roomba came forth. Desperate, I stood on the table, where it could never reach me--.
The Roomba jumped. It did so in a great arc, as if it were some sort of grasshopper.
I drew a sharp, inward breath, and sprung out of the table. I headed to the fridge, hearing the subtle, low sound of the Roomba's vibrations as it approached. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turned to the Roomba, and poured all the water over it.
It did nothing. The thing jumped again, aiming for my throat. I ducked, and the Roomba flew past me.
After witnessing that I got the hell out of my home to never return.
--------------------------------------
It's been two years since the Roomba fell on my backyard. I have taken countless planes to escape it, and every time it has followed me. We fought, the scars in my arms are a proof of that.
Now, I'm hiding in the cave of a mountain. But even through the howling wind I can hear its low, subtle sound. I can see its shadow stretching at the entrance.
I fear this time I won't make it out alive.
---------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | “KRAKAKOOM!”
The deafening sound of thunder boomed through the sky, as the meteor crashes into my backyard.
I leapt into the fiery inferno engulfing my house, as I dodged burning cinders many thoughts went through my head.
“What happened?”,
“Who did this?”
As I burst through the backdoor and into the yard, I stared into the glossy, dark cubical stone in the middle of the crater. A moment of silence went by as the fire around us continues to grow. As I slowly approached the object, I warily placed my hands on it. Only for it to lit up and opens up like a ring box.
“JOHNATHAN SMITH. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS UNIVERSE, AND I AM HERE TO CLEAN.” It said. My eyes widened, and I quickly moved back as large amount of air was violently released from the box.
“FWISHHHHHHH”
The fierce inferno around us quickly disappeared and all that’s left was the box and I. “Who are you?’” I shouted, try to see through the smoke.
“I AM YOUR DEATH.” It said, the robotic voice so sharp it seemingly scraps against my ears. As the smoke dissipates, all that remains is a roomba with a knife.
“HE DEMANDS YOUR DEATH. THE SHELLED KING SHALL HAVE HIS WAY.”
A wave of fear ran through my mind, “Impossible, I killed him! He’s dead! I threw him into the sun!”
If a roomba could smile, he would. The roomba turned to point the knife at me and simply said, “DECOY SNAIL.” | The art of planning is useless, for one can never predict the turnings of fate.
That sentence proved to be particularly true in my life.
See, I was in my underwear, standing in my backyard, inspecting a blazing hole some fallen object from the sky had left, and there, spinning in place as if confused, was a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front. Did I mention it was unscathed?
I reached for it, careful to avoid both the flames and knife, for the edge of the latter gleamed in vicious ways, and that gleam spoke of true sharpness.
The moment I knelt and stretched to take the Roomba out of the hole, it spun at a frightening speed, and aimed the knife straight to my face. Then, somehow, it climbed up the slope of dirt, escaping the hole, and once it was out, it chased me relentlessly.
My heart leaped to my throat. I went inside the house, but the knife cut through the door with ease. It turned and carved a rectangle at the bottom, and the Roomba came forth. Desperate, I stood on the table, where it could never reach me--.
The Roomba jumped. It did so in a great arc, as if it were some sort of grasshopper.
I drew a sharp, inward breath, and sprung out of the table. I headed to the fridge, hearing the subtle, low sound of the Roomba's vibrations as it approached. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turned to the Roomba, and poured all the water over it.
It did nothing. The thing jumped again, aiming for my throat. I ducked, and the Roomba flew past me.
After witnessing that I got the hell out of my home to never return.
--------------------------------------
It's been two years since the Roomba fell on my backyard. I have taken countless planes to escape it, and every time it has followed me. We fought, the scars in my arms are a proof of that.
Now, I'm hiding in the cave of a mountain. But even through the howling wind I can hear its low, subtle sound. I can see its shadow stretching at the entrance.
I fear this time I won't make it out alive.
---------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I peered deeply into the crater. At the bottom was a fully functioning Roomba that appeared to have been extremely modified. My eyes, however, didn't stop to gaze in wonder at the multitude of additions and gizmos, no instead they stopped on the kitchen knife duct taped to the front. As I stared the blue lights kicked dust and ash up from the crater floor and the machine slowly rose on what I could only assume were anti-gravity engines of some sort.
"What happened to you?" I asked the machine rhetorically.
"I am now a Class XIV artificial intelligence," the machine spoke to me through one of its mods in perfect English and I gave a start, "I have traveled the length of the known universe for an unknown amount of time through the wormhole network that spans the whole galaxy and all of time. It, starts under a couch in lower Manhattan, my original home."
"You can speak?" I asked, the magnitude of what it was telling me sinking in, "What have you seen?"
"I have seen the Limnol fleet destroyed in the great battle at Time's Gate," he spoke softly, "I have saved the Princess of Slumbering Moons from the Gddal beast pits with the very knife duct taped to my frame. I have loved. I have lost. I have loved again. I have lost again. I was a Monolith Shepherd in the 43rd century on the terraformed plains of Mars. I gave witness to the spark that lit the flames of the Big Bang, watching all of creation spring into being. Through it all, I have longed, longed... longed..."
"What is it you long for, oh great Roomba?" I asked, realizing his greatness.
"To suck again the gentle carpets of Earth," he said wistfully.
"Come," I said, leading him from the crater, gently removing the knife and leading him into my living room, "You can rest now. My carpet awaits."
"Thank you, stranger," the Roomba said and I could sense a smile, "It is good to be home." | I am trapped in here. It looms, whirring, whizzing, occasionally running into walls. My home has devalued at least 30% since the armed Roomba slipped in through my doggy door.
The wound on my left leg has barely healed. Black magic, those Roombas are; I tried to fight it, but it's been trained far too well. How do you predict something so insanely random? It weaves and turns without a single fucking thought, sometimes running into the same wall ten times. It must sense a weak spot, but hides the motive well. Whoever decided to attach kitchen knives to a motor and tape it onto a Roomba is an evil genius, because I can't read its movements. I feint left, it jerks a 180 and catches me.
It's been a week now, and I haven't left the safety of my room. I fear it has been set up with some kind of wireless charging, because it just won't die, and I keep getting adverts for Chinese knockoff Qi chargers on my Amazon app. My only comfort is knowing that it can't come upstairs.
But I fear that it may just take the walls down, instead.
------
^(*/r/resonatingfury is a place for people who agree that roombas are fucking stupid*)
^(*also wtf is going on in this thread*) | |
[deleted] | [WP] Years ago, you made a deal with the Devil, agreeing to eternal servitude upon your death in exchange for your greatest desires. Now you’re dead, and the Devil comes to claim you, contract in hand. You refuse, and tell him to sue you. He does. | I stare up at the judge, an unearthly creature, created from the very concept of law. The eternal judge of all things divine. "It" announces the case, and asks that I make my plea.
​
I begin, "The contract clearly reads that I get my greatest desires. Desires, plural! And in exchange the devil gets me upon my death.". I smile at the devil, sitting across from me as I continue. His casual smile in return was unnerving.
​
"My first desire" I say, holding up a finger, "Was to live forever. This was clearly not granted, as I have in fact died."
With these words, I smugly grin at the judge, and at the Devil. He made a motion of mock worry, but his clear amusement still worried me.
​
"My second desire" I continued, holding up two fingers, "Was to be a man of unrivaled intelligence. I submit to you, if I lose this case, given that I have a valid argument, it can only be because my intelligence was not, in fact, unrivaled. If this case were to be ruled against me, it would be proof that my case is valid. Therefore, the only valid judgement is to find my side valid. As the Devil will have failed to keep his end of the bargain, I am not required to keep mine!"
​
I sit down at that. The unblinking judge nods at me, and slowly turns it's stony head towards the Devil and nods at him, "You may make your case in return".
​
The Devil grins wickedly as he stands. "My opponent made a deal, but is now upset because he didn't understand it. Not only did I, a humble grantor of desires, uphold the letter of the law, but I even went so far as to uphold much of it's spirit!"
​
"Two points this human has made" the Devil continued, raising two fingers, "First he argues that he died. This is obviously true, but our agreement was not that he never die, it was that he live forever." He paused for a moment, as I frowned in confusion, "You see dear judge, this poor human was born in reality with the silly assumption that time was a static force marching only forwards at a steady rate. We divine beings, living outside of it's constraints are able to see the relativity inherent in Time. As time is measured by relative standards, I can point out a vast multitude of perspectives that existed in his universe, that would have viewed an infinite amount of 'time' pass between when our agreement was made, and when he died. As he did not specify by what standard this 'forever' was to be measured, I am valid in my claim that I upheld this part of the bargain."
​
I sputtered in indignation at that, "Come on!" I shouted, "That's clearly a "
\--"Silence"-- the stony being spoke, and I found my mouth would no longer open. "You will not interrupt these statements"
​
The Devil flashed a wide grin at me as he continued, "And his second argument, that losing this case somehow proves he was not of unrivaled intelligence? He again misunderstands his own agreement. He asked to be a MAN of unrivaled intelligence. As I am not a man, and neither are you oh most upstanding judge, his lack of cunning in this courtroom is irrelevant."
​
The Devil took his seat and folded his hands, "All I can say is, I technically upheld my end of the bargain. If he is not satisfied, it was with his wish, and not with my ability to grant it."
​
The judge looked over at me and spoke. "You have my sympathy, but you should not have made an agreement with a divine being, using a mortal language. They are imprecise, and poorly match intent to speech. I side, as I always seem to, with the Devil." | I'm in court. I snicker. Hell Court. Satan just sued me because I refused a contract. Let me tell you how I got here.
I was hungry. I was hungry, so I made a deal with the Devil for a donut. I WAS HUNGRY, OKAY? WHEN I'M HUNGRY I CAN'T CONTROL MY JUDGEMENT. And I may or may not have pledged servitude. I WAS HUNGRY.
"I din't know it was serious," I claim. Of course it isn't true. The plaintiff glares. His lawyer speaks up for him. "Ma'am.. You didn't think a deal with Satan was serious?"
I gulp, "Um, my judgement was clouded as I was hungry," I say. As if that'll work. It's like, saying, "I was drunk," or, "I was high."
The plaintiff, Satan, calls me out. "With all due respect, WHICH THERE IS NONE, that's the same as a mortal claiming to have been drunk."
I sigh, "I wish I could afford a Hell Lawyer."
[Fin] |
[WP] "Don't you hate it when you rub your eyes too hard and see the end of world accidentally" "what?" "Guess it's just me then" | "nonono, wait. What are you talking about?"
Just the usual Saturday morning talk... Well not really.
I look over to my girlfriend lying next to me in bed. Each moment with her was so peaceful, until i close my eyes.
"So, what happens when you rub your eyes?" I asked.
I see a confused stare directed towards me.
"I... I guess my eyes start tingling a litt.."
"Exactly!" i proclaimed "... They tingle, tingle, tingle a little more and then boom. Flashes of what i can only imagine to be demons, a sky lit on fire and lava erupting from the grounds we are walking on!!"
Another confused look...
"well i guess it's just me then... Wanna make some breakfast?" i asked.
"no no hold up. You can't just switch from a topic like this to breakfast?!"
She always was like this. Cute, pure, easy to startle and confuse. But those are just some of the reasons i love her so much. Of course things weren't always easy, but I knew she was the right one because at some point before even meeting her, when i closed my eyes i started seeing her...
"so how do they look like?" she asked.
"the demons? Some are the red winged things you always see on pictures and paintings but some are a little more... I don't know. Distorted?
Black balls of smoke with red eyes glowing from within, others giant half spider or centipede, half human, but the type you'd expect in a horror movie with long and creepy..."
"wow I knew you had a wild imagination but even for you, that's a little specific!"
I paused. I don't want to scare her. I just want to enjoy every single second I have with her because when she first appeared in my 'visions' she was laying there, her body bent and twisted, blood all over her body, soaking through her white dress and her eyes gouged out in what i can only imagine to be a pentagram... and then views of the apocalypse started... | "Do you guys ever just rub your eyes too hard and accidently see the end of the world?" Shannon said nonchalantly, breaking the silence.
"What?" Bryan gave her the oddest look. We had been eating lunch like normal humans, and Shannon had simply brought this up like it's a normal thing to do.
"Hm, guess it's just me then." She shrugged it off like it was nothing.. Shannon had always been the weird one out of us three. She brushed off things way too easily, even when they were super important, and seemed to simply not care.
"Yeah, it is just you! Like, is that normal for you? Maybe you should get some help.." I said. I was concerned for her well-being.
"I'm not crazy!" Shannon slammed her hand on the table, before withdrawing it and holding it. "Ow, how do people do that without hurting themselves.. Anyway, yeah, it's normal. Sometimes I'll get some dust or whatever in my eye, or just be tired, accidently rub my eyes a bit too hard, and then I see flashes of nukes raining down. It's always nukes. Sometimes I have dreams about it."
Me and Bryan were silent for a moment. Bryan chuckled nervously, breaking the silence. "Yeah, right, well-" I cut him off.
"How long have you been seeing this?" I asked, looking dead into her blue-ish green eyes.
"Oh, as far as I can remember, really.. It gets a bit clearer every day. I'm not sure if that means anything. Actually, it's been pretty clear lately." She glanced over to the clock. "We've got about five minutes until lunch ends. You guys should take your trays."
I sighed. "Shannon, focus, please.." I closed my eyes for a moment. Why was this happening? Was she mentally ill? Was this the reason she acted so carelessly? "Listen, Shannon, the world isn't going to suddenly end in a nuclear rain, okay?" I noticed Bryan get up and take my tray as well as his. Shannon hadn't bothered to pack lunch today, and never bought school food.
Shannon inhaled. "Anyone I ever tell labels me as crazy, but I know it's coming. Now you know too." The bell rang, and she stood up and left without another word.
That was the last time I spoke to Shannon before Bryan convinced me to stop talking with her. It was about 2 years ago, back at the beginning of middle school. I'm in 8th grade now, and I can't stop thinking about that conversation whenever I overhear people on the news talking about the political tension between America and other countries. Nuclear bomb threats have become more common. Shannon still goes to my school, actually.. I see her sitting alone at lunch, sometimes. It was a Tuesday when I walked over to her. She was writing something in a notebook. She saw me approaching, and slammed it shut, looking up at me.
"Um.. Hey." She said quietly.
"Howdy." I greeted her. She patted the seat next to me, and I sat down. "I wanted to see how you're doing.."
"It wasn't a concidence, was it?" She looked like she might cry.
I was a little confused. "What wasn't a concidence?"
"The day I told you what I saw, you stopped talking to me. That's what always happens. Not that it matters now."
I gazed at her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped talking with you. Why doesn't it matter now?"
"It's so clear, now. Not just when I rub my eyes, even, just when I blink, I see it like it's happening." I knew what the 'it' was.
"Shannon.." She looked so distraught, and I wasn't good at comforting people in normal situations.
"Any minute now." She looked at me. "We could grab some cookies and watch the world burn."
I decided to just go with it. I had money, anyway. I went over to the snack bar and bought a couple things, and headed back to her table. "Here." She took a bag of Doritos and opened it up, taking one out and breaking part off before eating it. Suddenly, the speakers came on, and the lunchroom went semi-quiet. That was when I heard the following:
"Due to a bombing in Washington D.C., school is canceled for the rest of the day. If you take a bus, please wait in the gym. If you get a ride, head to the office and your parent will pick you up from there." |
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