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[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | “What was it this time?” I asked the demon.
Charlie had the decency to look chagrined at the blood dripping down the walls, shoving his hands, which, like the rest of him, had dark red skin, into his pockets. “Sharon broke up with me.”
My eyes widened. “No! Oh, man, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” He sighed, glancing to the paint I’d brought over, which matched the bedroom wall of the room he rented in my home. “She just went back to live with her mom, who’s still in Hell, so I won’t even have the pleasure of bumping into her every once in a while.”
“Well, help yourself to a beer or two of mine,” I told him. “This too shall pass.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Leaving the room, my pace quickened as I reached the top of the stairwell, hearing the buzz of the doorbell.
The house hadn’t always belonged to me, of course. It was left to me by grandparents, my grandmother having been a psychic. She’d noticed two spirits here but told them they could stick around. As long as they didn’t cause trouble, of course. When grandpa died and then granny died shortly after, the house went to me, and I was flattered, as I’d assumed I’d be renting the rest of my millennial life.
Granny and grandpa were still here, of course, in the master bedroom on the third floor. But the house was still in my name.
Swinging open the door, I gave a friendly smile to the woman and her son on the front doorstep. “Hey there,” I said. The weather outside beyond my property seemed party cloudy, but per usual, there was a large, dark gray cloud that hung over the house, stretching to the edge of the front and back yards. It usually rained every two days or so, which meant I’d needed to invest in some better irrigation to reroute the water, but everything was green all the time, which was nice. And my garden prospered easily.
“Hi,” said the woman tentatively. “I’m Harriet, this is Billy. We were coming through town on a road trip, and someone told us about this place, and we thought-”
“Of course, sure,” I said, nodding. “We get visitors all the time. Usually I ask for some notice, it’s all on the website, but if this is more impromptu than that, no worries. It’s $50 per person, so $100 for the two of you.”
Her eyes bulged in shock. “A hundred dollars? For a tour of a house?”
“The most haunted house in the country,” I corrected her. “But seriously, I’m a writer, and an average one at that. I make my money off rent and tourists and sell maybe three books a month. This house is a home, but it’s also a business. So? What’ll it be?”
Harriet let out an indignant huff but nodded as she came inside. “All right. Better be worth it.”
“I make no promises,” I replied, which only got me another look from her.
“Whoa,” Billy breathed. At this point he was only looking at the home itself, which was sizeable, well cared for, and over a hundred years old, so ‘whoa’ wasn’t uncommon. The woman took five twenties from her pocket and reluctantly handed them over.
I rang the doorbell three times in succession, which alerted everyone to tourists being on the premises, before shutting the front door. “So, this is Lawrence House, built by Mr. Lawrence in 1893,” I told them. “But what he didn’t know was that the house was built on a confluence of several ley lines, and choosing this site determined the fate of the house long before it was even built.”
“Boo!” exclaimed a young man, popping up from beneath the floorboards.
The tourists both shrieked and I grinned at the specter now floating a foot above the ground. “This is Arnold, he lives here and has for about five years. He was gruesomely murdered,” I said, my voice lowering to drive home the point.
“It’s true,” Arnold told them, lowering himself to the floor so he stood there like any living person would. Except for his semi-transparency. That was something he could turn on and off, though, so he was playing his role here for the tourists. “I was the victim of a serial killer twenty years ago. He strung me up and slit my throat, draining it into a bowl,” he whispered. “And it was never confirmed, but some say he was a vampire because according to him-”
“This is not something I want my son to hear!” Harriet cried, covering her son’s ears.
I shared a baffled look with Arnold before looking back to her. “He looks old enough. What is he, twelve? Thirteen?”
“Twelve,” she said sharply.
“You know this is a *haunted house tour*,” I said slowly. “What were you expecting?”
“Not tales of serial killers who string people up,” she hissed.
I let out a sigh. “All right. It’s not true anyway. Arnold died of a heart attack.” The woman blinked in surprise. “This house was bought by my grandparents in 1960,” I said, leading them into the living room. The looks on their faces to see another demon there, complete with the same red skin as Charlie and horns, was sufficient enough reaction I supposed. “That’s Jay, he’s one of two demons who have a room here, though he prefers to hang out in the living room, extrovert that he is.”
“Hey guys,” he said with a salute. Probably most surprising to the visitors was that he was knitting, halfway through a scarf. Used to the weather in Hell, central Florida wasn’t that difficult for him most of the time, but he did have trouble during the few days of winter we suffered through.
“Over here is the kitchen,” I continued. “We stock blood for the demons, though they usually drink it as a treat, like we drink wine. And despite my best efforts, sometimes things do break down in the presence of the ghosts that live here, so we try to keep things running smoothly by sticking to older tech. My computer is in my room, which is warded for protection. No garbage disposal, no microwave, not even a TV.”
“You don’t have TV?” Billy asked, horrified even beyond when he’d set his sights on Jay.
“Nope,” I replied. “But the hardline internet works in my room so I can get Netflix and anything else I want to stream.” Billy seemed calmed by that reply.
I showed them upstairs next, popping in on each of the guests, the ghosts going translucent. The pipes rattled, the house creaked ominously around us, and the occasional light flickered, but that was just par for the course living here, not purposeful special effects. If anyone lost their temper, I’d usually need to change a bulb or two, and I joked that soon I’d have to buy stock in the Philips company. We also looked in on Charlie as he continued to paint over the blood trailing down his wall, who was putting in some extra effort to look grouchy, though to me he just looked constipated.
They had another jump scare as a little girl popped into existence seemingly out of nowhere, but I skipped the story about how she’d slit the throats of her parents and haunted the nearest place she could find that suited her devilish demeanor. I also skipped the truth, that she’d died from leukemia. They were here for the unnatural, and cancer was too horribly familiar. My favorite part was introducing them to my grandparents, who were still as lovely a couple as they had been when they’d been alive.
After the tour was completed, I sent the family off with a Polaroid of them with all my tenants, and they seemed satisfied with their visit. But as I went to shut the door behind them, Thomas Russell was walking up the steps to my front porch. And per usual, he looked cranky. “Russell,” I sighed. “What can I do for you today?”
“I heard that now your haunted house is spreading through word of mouth!” he snapped. “This is an affront to God, not a tourist destination.”
“Can’t it be both?” I asked blandly.
His eyes narrowed, not amused. “I’m bringing it up at the next town council meeting and I’m not letting this go just because you’ve bought off the mayor.”
“Bought off- I bring in tourists!” I exclaimed. “I don’t bribe him with piles of cash!”
“Just consider yourself on notice. This will not stand.” The man spun on his heel and clomped down the steps from my porch.
“What was that about?” asked Jay, knitting needles clicking away in his hands, the ball of yarn floating mid-air beside him.
“Just a retiree with nothing better to do than irritate me,” I replied. Shutting the door, I nodded toward the kitchen. “How about a glass of AB for you and Charlie? You guys did great with this impromptu drop-in.”
“O-neg for me,” Jay replied. “I’m watching my weight.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | I feel for the people who wake up to a ghost vomiting blood on their ceiling. I really do. But it’s not Jeffrey’s fault he has gastrointestinal issues, and the guy has never missed a rent payment.
Okay, maybe that’s a low bar, but you wouldn’t believe the problems I’ve had with tenants in the past. Some don’t pay rent. Some throw wild parties. Some destroy appliances. But you know what all my bad tenants had in common? They were all alive.
I only rent to dead people now. Demons, ghosts, the occasional banshee swinging a flaming mace and chain over his head as he screams. These tenants respect my property.
Take the demon in room 202, Kevin. He emailed me asking if it was okay if he sacrificed seven goats in his apartment. I told him it was fine as long as he didn’t leave a mess. He said all the blood would be absorbed into the inverted pentagram he was using to summon Alastor, the chief executioner to the monarch of Hell. I asked him how long Alastor would be staying, and Kevin told me he’d only be there for a night of satanic rituals; he knows the rule that any guests staying longer than two weeks need to be named on the lease.
Talk about considerate.
r/bakerhillbooks | |
[WP] For all that is good, and holy, and pure, DON’T FUCK WITH THE HUMANS! They’re only mortal on their own world, and we found that out the hard way! | He lived in a cardboard world filled with paper people and paper buildings.
Kenneth Clarkson, or as he was known on Tervanix: Ken 'Ar, was a human. The only human he knew of that existed in the planet, though no one would have seen any difference in him in the physical sense.
He was well built without trying, his vision seemed to be more than perfect, able to see past the spectrum Vanixians were limited to, though he did not know the extent of this.
No, he did not know the extent of his traits at all. All he knew was his father had died telling him to use his gifts for good.
His father was a Vanixian. Both his parents were. They found him, they told him, in a strange ship that had crashed from the sky. A tiny whelp in a tiny capsule in a tiny shuttle. They took him, and raised him as their own.
When he learned that he was not their biological son, that he was not even of Tervanix, he ran away from home. He was eighteen at the time. He only returned when he learned the man who raised him had died. He was twenty-six, then. He attended the funeral, and embraced his mother.
They had a talk in the old farmhouse he was raised in. A long talk. Ken 'Ar was not the overgrown angry child he was when he left all those years ago. There was still anger and confusion, but there was an understanding, too.
"He believed you were sent here to do great things, Ken 'Ar."
"But where am I from? Why did I end up here?"
"I wish I knew. The moment I saw you in that pod the first thought I had was that you were cold. And the second thought was I wouldn't let anyone harm you. I didn't care that you fell from the sky. I took you in, knowing one day someone will come for you and I'd have to give you back, hoping that day would never come."
"You got your wish."
"I'm so sorry. You deserved the truth from the start."
"Where is the pod?"
"The... It's in the barn. In the cellar."
"The barn has a cellar?"
"Jo 'Nat built it after we found you. To hide the shuttle you came in on from the government."
"I'm going to go see if I can find answers there."
"Ken 'Ar. I don't know what you will find in there. But please believe me when I say you were sent here for a reason. To help us. Your gifts can—"
"Thanks for the meal, mom."
Ken 'Ar got up and went to the barn, the familiar smells of hay and feed bringing back bittersweet memories. His vision focused and he saw the hidden basement underneath the solid earth. How could he not have seen it before?
He had no reason to.
He punched the wooden trapdoor open and jumped inside, and saw the shuttle. It was crude. Angular, and had unprotected solar panels jutting out awkwardly. Had he really came in on that death trap?
He opened the shuttle, and saw a disk bay obviously meant for some kind of storage device. But it had been stripped, and was the perfect size for an infant to be comfortably stowed. He felt around inside, and felt an unfamiliar small trinket. Smaller than the size of his thumb.
He felt around some more, and found a tablet with crude Vanixian writing.
'For all that is good, and holy, and pure, DON’T FUCK WITH US HUMANS! We're only mortal on our own world, and you found that out the hard way!'
He looked at the inscription, confused. He only knew about humans in passing. The Vanixian Outreach Program sent astronauts to different parts of the galaxy in search of life and places to colonise. Earth apparently had seemed to be a prospective planet.
The humans were said to destructive. On route to their own extinction through their wars and conflicts. It was a civilization that had not achieved any semblance of planetary unity, and had not a unified language either.
But the conquest of Earth was not as fruitful as it was believed to be.
Ken 'Ar racked his brains, trying to remember what he learned in history class.
Something about the sol the planet orbited around. It suppressed certain biological functions of the humans. And their planet's ever shifting gravity. Slight enough that the humans and their primitive instruments could not detect, but too dangerous for Vanixians to stay on the planet for long periods of time.
There were other factors, too. But Ken 'Ar forgot. What he did remember was that humans on their native planet were perfectly situated to survive. Anywhere else and these suppressed biological functions would be brought forward and they might just be overstimulated enough to die.
Because if they don't, and they survive the intense metamorphosis of their bodies adapting to a planet fit of Vanixians, their traits would be far more destructive, far more powerful.
Ken 'Ar's eyes widened, his mind whirling at a slow realisation he just had.
Was he human? | After seeing the horrors of humanity, the deities of olde had decided to eradicate our species as a whole. When the earth began to unleash waves of disaster, storms of fire and hail cover the globe. Earthquakes shattered cities and damaged infrastructure. However, one of them made a mistake. Hades, god of the underworld was seen by mortals, renewing their belief in the old gods. After this happened, humans once again began appearing in the other afterlives. It was soon learned that burial rights were not for our sake, but to weaken our souls that they can be disposed of before becoming a risk to the gods. Eventually they hit a major city, and all hell broke loose. Immediately, the thousands of people who witnessed the gods were killed from the intensity of direct exposure. Then all who had perished appeared in the realms of judgement of each afterlife. Anubis was the first to try and pass judgement, ripping out one of their hearts and weighing it. After he was deemed impure and his heart was fed to Amit the Devourer he crumpled to the ground. Then his limp form stood, displaying a hole through his chest where his heart was. Collectively, all of humanity charged the gods
Edit; I got the 420th like | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | Timmy jumped off Jimmy’s shoulders. Then Jimmy jumped off Todd’s shoulders. Together, Timmy, Jimmy and Todd struck a pose and spoke in unison. “Ha! We have fooled you demon! For we are no man, but in fact three halflings! Prepare to meet your doom!”
When the demon spoke, it sounded like a cacophony of souls melded together.
“Hahaha! You fools! Do you not realize your folly? Hahaha! How perfect! Three little fools presenting themselves for dinner. Let me speak plainly, so you simpletons might grasp the scope of your idiocy. Are you not all still, individually, men? Little men, granted. But men nonetheless. So I repeat. No man can kill me! Now then, prepare to meet your doom!”
Something inside the three best friends broke. Their bravery was sapped, their knees weak. Timidly, Timmy spoke up.
“Are we though? I mean, think about it. At best, we are each of us, half a man, not really *a man*. Surely a creature as powerful and brilliant such as yourself can agree?”
“Hahaha! Tell me, do you mortals have brains to go with the size of your meatsuits? If no man can kill me, how much chance does half a man stand? Now, Prepare to meet your doom!”
Again, the brothers were terrified. Their resolve was battered, their lips quivered. Jittering, Jimmy spoke up.
“But we are the best of friends. We fight as one, or more accurately in this case, as oneandahalf. Tell us, oh mighty demon. Does your silly little rule account for oneandahalfsies?”
“Hahaha! Silly mortal, the demon world is as old as creation itself! Of course we have rules for oneandahalfsies! Besides, as united as you think you are, you will always die alone. However much you think you are alike, you will always be seperate. Such is the fate of mortals. Now, prepare to meet your doom!”
The brothers were yet again stricken with terror. Their hope was depleted, their bodies shaking. Then Todd spoke up.
“I turn into a bear and attack using my bite.”
“Ok. Since the demon didn’t see this coming, I’m gonna give you this attack as a surprise round.” Jim and Tim high-five each other. “Also, since you’re currently an animal, not a man, you get advantage. Roll a d2-“
“I know which fucking dice to roll, Bob.” | "What!" shrieks the demon. "You have tricked me!"
"I am the Fox," proclaims one of the halflings. "Nobody can outfox the Fox!"
"No, I'm the fox," says the second halfling.
"No, me," cries the third.
The halflings continue,
"Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose, the quickest ear and the fleetest toes Can ever outfox the Fox. Only the stoutest arm, the bravest heart, with a magic charm and a good head start, Will ever outfox the Fox."
Those who try to tangle with my daring do. Wind up at the angle that herring do."
"Only the sprightliest sprite, the nimblest elf, the wickedest witch or the devil himself can ever outfox the Fox."
"Whenever they try to find me, They find me where I am not. I'm hither and yon, I'm there and gone, I'm Johnny-not-on-the spot!"
(They whistle as they jump to a low tree branch). " I'm out on a limb they think! (They whistle again, jumping down) I'm down on the ground in a wink."
"My enemies say "Gadzooks! It's spooks!" Shivering in their socks. They know that they'll never, I'm far to clever. They'll never outfox the Fox!"
"The Fox - There's only one of me, Till suddenly there's two of me. When two is what you see of me - Gadzooks! Three of me!"
" That's the proper score of me. Three of us is the core of me. And we can tell you-Woops!" (More halflings appear, seemingly from nowhere.) Sorry, four of me!"
"There's one of me, two of me, three of me, four of me, five six seven - Sorry, no more of me"
"Each as strong as ten are we. Very stout hearted men are we. We're off to fight all wrong And we'll right it - Right or wrong."
"I'm hither and yon, I'm there and gone, I'm Johnny-not-on-the spot!"
"Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose, the quickest ear and the fleetest toes Can ever outfox the Fox. Can ever outfox... can ever outfox... can ever outfox... can ever outfox the Fox!"
"Anyone of us can be at anytime the Fox. But I tell you confidentially that I'm the Fox."
Different halflings chime in: "No I'm no I'm no I'm no I'm no I'm the Fox. Well I'm the Fox. No I'm the Fox. Is he the Fox? No me the Fox. If he's the one, Then who's this Fox? Aren't you the Fox? Now who's the Fox?"
"It doesn't matter who's the Fox! They'll never never never never never never never never never never never never outfox the Fox!"
With that, one of the halflings runs his blade through the demon's chest. It disappears, the halflings jumping back from an explosion of smoke and fire.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjwTGO1cBkc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjwTGO1cBkc) | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | “How is that any better?" the puzzled Demon asks
"Well you said that no man can kill you" Bilbin says as he points a dagger towards the demon
"And us three brothers are not men but halfings" Balban proudly declares as he puffs his chest out
"And now its..." then a whoosh interrupts Bolbon. A gigantic broad sword promptly turns the other two halflings into quarterlings.
Bolbon mortified. "Mother always said we weren't the sharpest shed" he says as a sword plunges through his head.
"No man, woman, halfing, elf, orc, fairy or troll can kill me!"
"But I am neither of those" A man in a jacket announces, as he promptly reveals that he is in fact 5 dwarves in a trenchcoat.
"For fucks sa..." | "What!" shrieks the demon. "You have tricked me!"
"I am the Fox," proclaims one of the halflings. "Nobody can outfox the Fox!"
"No, I'm the fox," says the second halfling.
"No, me," cries the third.
The halflings continue,
"Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose, the quickest ear and the fleetest toes Can ever outfox the Fox. Only the stoutest arm, the bravest heart, with a magic charm and a good head start, Will ever outfox the Fox."
Those who try to tangle with my daring do. Wind up at the angle that herring do."
"Only the sprightliest sprite, the nimblest elf, the wickedest witch or the devil himself can ever outfox the Fox."
"Whenever they try to find me, They find me where I am not. I'm hither and yon, I'm there and gone, I'm Johnny-not-on-the spot!"
(They whistle as they jump to a low tree branch). " I'm out on a limb they think! (They whistle again, jumping down) I'm down on the ground in a wink."
"My enemies say "Gadzooks! It's spooks!" Shivering in their socks. They know that they'll never, I'm far to clever. They'll never outfox the Fox!"
"The Fox - There's only one of me, Till suddenly there's two of me. When two is what you see of me - Gadzooks! Three of me!"
" That's the proper score of me. Three of us is the core of me. And we can tell you-Woops!" (More halflings appear, seemingly from nowhere.) Sorry, four of me!"
"There's one of me, two of me, three of me, four of me, five six seven - Sorry, no more of me"
"Each as strong as ten are we. Very stout hearted men are we. We're off to fight all wrong And we'll right it - Right or wrong."
"I'm hither and yon, I'm there and gone, I'm Johnny-not-on-the spot!"
"Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose, the quickest ear and the fleetest toes Can ever outfox the Fox. Can ever outfox... can ever outfox... can ever outfox... can ever outfox the Fox!"
"Anyone of us can be at anytime the Fox. But I tell you confidentially that I'm the Fox."
Different halflings chime in: "No I'm no I'm no I'm no I'm no I'm the Fox. Well I'm the Fox. No I'm the Fox. Is he the Fox? No me the Fox. If he's the one, Then who's this Fox? Aren't you the Fox? Now who's the Fox?"
"It doesn't matter who's the Fox! They'll never never never never never never never never never never never never outfox the Fox!"
With that, one of the halflings runs his blade through the demon's chest. It disappears, the halflings jumping back from an explosion of smoke and fire.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjwTGO1cBkc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjwTGO1cBkc) | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | Timmy jumped off Jimmy’s shoulders. Then Jimmy jumped off Todd’s shoulders. Together, Timmy, Jimmy and Todd struck a pose and spoke in unison. “Ha! We have fooled you demon! For we are no man, but in fact three halflings! Prepare to meet your doom!”
When the demon spoke, it sounded like a cacophony of souls melded together.
“Hahaha! You fools! Do you not realize your folly? Hahaha! How perfect! Three little fools presenting themselves for dinner. Let me speak plainly, so you simpletons might grasp the scope of your idiocy. Are you not all still, individually, men? Little men, granted. But men nonetheless. So I repeat. No man can kill me! Now then, prepare to meet your doom!”
Something inside the three best friends broke. Their bravery was sapped, their knees weak. Timidly, Timmy spoke up.
“Are we though? I mean, think about it. At best, we are each of us, half a man, not really *a man*. Surely a creature as powerful and brilliant such as yourself can agree?”
“Hahaha! Tell me, do you mortals have brains to go with the size of your meatsuits? If no man can kill me, how much chance does half a man stand? Now, Prepare to meet your doom!”
Again, the brothers were terrified. Their resolve was battered, their lips quivered. Jittering, Jimmy spoke up.
“But we are the best of friends. We fight as one, or more accurately in this case, as oneandahalf. Tell us, oh mighty demon. Does your silly little rule account for oneandahalfsies?”
“Hahaha! Silly mortal, the demon world is as old as creation itself! Of course we have rules for oneandahalfsies! Besides, as united as you think you are, you will always die alone. However much you think you are alike, you will always be seperate. Such is the fate of mortals. Now, prepare to meet your doom!”
The brothers were yet again stricken with terror. Their hope was depleted, their bodies shaking. Then Todd spoke up.
“I turn into a bear and attack using my bite.”
“Ok. Since the demon didn’t see this coming, I’m gonna give you this attack as a surprise round.” Jim and Tim high-five each other. “Also, since you’re currently an animal, not a man, you get advantage. Roll a d2-“
“I know which fucking dice to roll, Bob.” | 'Sorry wait, you're three halflings? What the hell' said the Demon. The three halflings looked at each other and then began to roar in obnoxious laughter.
The self-proclaimed leader of the trio, Garthet, stepped forward, with a mischievous smirk across his face and boldly said 'so what you are saying is that you've never experienced this before? I mean it's pretty common knowledge that no man can kill a demon. We thought this scheme was a no-brainer.' The three halflings begin to laugh hysterically once more.
The demon sat down on a nearby rock and began to sob. Being from the Great Underworld, his skin is scolding to the touch, and so his tears turned to steam. Of course the sizzling caught the attention of the halflings and they immediately ceased their laughter. Garthet began to approach the demon, when suddenly, the demon cocked his head and with the speed of Hermes stood before the halfling. 'This was my last chance to be heralded by the Dark himself' he began to explain 'and you cunning little halflings took that opportunity away from me. Just one soul of man would have been enough to be given the promotion of an undead lifetime.'
The demon dropped to his knees before the halfling and began to sob once more. The leader of the halflings returned to his brothers and they began to whisper great plans and schemes. Occasionally the demon and Garthet made short, but meaningful glances at each other. After what seemed hours, the three halflings finished their conversation and approached the demon. 'Dear friend, Mr Demon, we are deeply sorry that our cunning has ruined you. We deliberated long and hard on how we could possibly help you and we came to the conclusion that nothing can be done that wouldnt result in us getting into trouble. You see, we're cowards.'
With that, the halflings walked off. The demon sat there in disbelief. He thought that for once, in his miserable life, something good might happen to him. But alas, his undead life remained as abysmal as it was when he was alive.
With that, he stood up and made his way to the pit in which he climbed out of earlier to face what he thought was to be a man. As he made his way to the hole, a disembodied voice began to creep out. 'You useless germ...this is the last time you fail me!'
'Shit' he whispered as he prepared to jump down the hole. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | Timmy jumped off Jimmy’s shoulders. Then Jimmy jumped off Todd’s shoulders. Together, Timmy, Jimmy and Todd struck a pose and spoke in unison. “Ha! We have fooled you demon! For we are no man, but in fact three halflings! Prepare to meet your doom!”
When the demon spoke, it sounded like a cacophony of souls melded together.
“Hahaha! You fools! Do you not realize your folly? Hahaha! How perfect! Three little fools presenting themselves for dinner. Let me speak plainly, so you simpletons might grasp the scope of your idiocy. Are you not all still, individually, men? Little men, granted. But men nonetheless. So I repeat. No man can kill me! Now then, prepare to meet your doom!”
Something inside the three best friends broke. Their bravery was sapped, their knees weak. Timidly, Timmy spoke up.
“Are we though? I mean, think about it. At best, we are each of us, half a man, not really *a man*. Surely a creature as powerful and brilliant such as yourself can agree?”
“Hahaha! Tell me, do you mortals have brains to go with the size of your meatsuits? If no man can kill me, how much chance does half a man stand? Now, Prepare to meet your doom!”
Again, the brothers were terrified. Their resolve was battered, their lips quivered. Jittering, Jimmy spoke up.
“But we are the best of friends. We fight as one, or more accurately in this case, as oneandahalf. Tell us, oh mighty demon. Does your silly little rule account for oneandahalfsies?”
“Hahaha! Silly mortal, the demon world is as old as creation itself! Of course we have rules for oneandahalfsies! Besides, as united as you think you are, you will always die alone. However much you think you are alike, you will always be seperate. Such is the fate of mortals. Now, prepare to meet your doom!”
The brothers were yet again stricken with terror. Their hope was depleted, their bodies shaking. Then Todd spoke up.
“I turn into a bear and attack using my bite.”
“Ok. Since the demon didn’t see this coming, I’m gonna give you this attack as a surprise round.” Jim and Tim high-five each other. “Also, since you’re currently an animal, not a man, you get advantage. Roll a d2-“
“I know which fucking dice to roll, Bob.” | “I am three half men!” you proudly declare, the three parts of yourself charging at the demon with their teeth bared.
“Ha.. ha.. ha!” The demon begins to laugh in that evil way unique to demons. He stands his ground, and this time it was he that was smirking. “You really thought you could trick me with that silly, weak magic of yours?”
The first halfling had made it to the base of his demon hoof, and without a glance, the demon gave it a light kick, zooming the halfling up into space with a nice twinkle sound when he got up there.
The other halflings retreated fearfully.
“But.. how did you know?” I said. Somehow the demon knew it was all a ploy, and now if he can find the real me.. well, then it was all for nothing. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | The two cloaked figures, one slight and the other enormous, closed in on the other, squaring off in the middle of the battlefield. The larger creature, Ren the Unclean, reared up, throwing back its cape, holding its axe and mace up high and roared, “For the last time! No! Man! Can! Kill! Me!”
A smirk crossed the lips of his opponent. Arms, seemingly from nowhere, flung open its cloak to reveal three hobbits, standing on each other’s shoulders. “We are no men!”
The demonic beast growled. “What infernal deception is this?” He lunged at the three little demi-humans, who scattered, forming a triangle about him. With a mighty swing of his right arm, the beast brought down the axe on the adversary to his front.
Bibbity Hobbit leapt into the air to avoid it. The small creature drew his full-sized dagger in mid-air, and brought it down through the demon’s hand.
The beast howled and dropped its axe. Unable to shake the hobbit off, Ren took a backhanded swing of his mace toward the hobbit to his left flank.
Bobbity Hobbit dropped beneath the massive forearm coming his way, allowing it to harmlessly pass over him. He then reached up and took hold of the massive Unclean hand, and bit down hard. Tears came to his eyes, but neither the stench or the taste forced him to loosen his jaws.
The demon swung about furiously like a weather vane caught in disputed winds. He thrust both arms forward, unable to shake either demihuman off. In the middle of the frenzy, he realized he’d lost track of the last one. Where had it gone?
The Unclean one no sooner had had the thought when he felt the trampling of tiny footsteps up his back. Little hands grabbed hold of either ear, and a miniature face appeared upside down in front of his.
“BOO!” it screamed!
With a great ferocity, the demon fighter clapped his massive hands together. Pain shot through his body, but the hobbits hung on. Then the beast threw his head back to loosen the last attacker.
Boo yelled, “bye-ee!” and jump free, but not before pulling out his own dagger, which he jabbed through the beast’s cloak and an inch into its bull-sized back. Boo then rode the dagger to the ground like his with slitting a royal banner, an inglorious feat that he hoped to someday be pardoned for.
“Enough!” the demon yelled. “I cannot be defeated!”
Bibbity and Bobbity drew in close, under the demon’s defenses. “Can you be de-kneed?” they shouted in unison as they each stabbed down on one of the giant’s knees from just above the tops of his metal boots.
The mighty Ren the Unclean screamed sat a pitch so high only demons could hear it. All of his minions ceased their individual battles to take note of the call. The humans fighting them took advantage of the moment to slice their opponent’s individual heads off. Then the fighters close around the hobbit three.
Bleeding on the ground, the creature cried out, “I was in the Abyss! How did I end up like this? I was in the Abyss!”
The bastard lord Whatsisname stepped forward with a raised bastard sword, but the wizened Whosiswhatz steadied his hand.
“No man,” the bearded Whosiswhatz uttered sagely, “may defeat the demon.”
“And we’re not men!” shouted Bibbity, Bobbity and Boo, and they stabbed the demon repeated, and Unclean blood spilled out from a death of a thousand cuts.
​
\--
I would've answered sooner, but I had to wait for class to end.
More stories at r/xwhy
Edit "wouldn't" --> "would've" | “I am three half men!” you proudly declare, the three parts of yourself charging at the demon with their teeth bared.
“Ha.. ha.. ha!” The demon begins to laugh in that evil way unique to demons. He stands his ground, and this time it was he that was smirking. “You really thought you could trick me with that silly, weak magic of yours?”
The first halfling had made it to the base of his demon hoof, and without a glance, the demon gave it a light kick, zooming the halfling up into space with a nice twinkle sound when he got up there.
The other halflings retreated fearfully.
“But.. how did you know?” I said. Somehow the demon knew it was all a ploy, and now if he can find the real me.. well, then it was all for nothing. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | “How is that any better?" the puzzled Demon asks
"Well you said that no man can kill you" Bilbin says as he points a dagger towards the demon
"And us three brothers are not men but halfings" Balban proudly declares as he puffs his chest out
"And now its..." then a whoosh interrupts Bolbon. A gigantic broad sword promptly turns the other two halflings into quarterlings.
Bolbon mortified. "Mother always said we weren't the sharpest shed" he says as a sword plunges through his head.
"No man, woman, halfing, elf, orc, fairy or troll can kill me!"
"But I am neither of those" A man in a jacket announces, as he promptly reveals that he is in fact 5 dwarves in a trenchcoat.
"For fucks sa..." | “I am three half men!” you proudly declare, the three parts of yourself charging at the demon with their teeth bared.
“Ha.. ha.. ha!” The demon begins to laugh in that evil way unique to demons. He stands his ground, and this time it was he that was smirking. “You really thought you could trick me with that silly, weak magic of yours?”
The first halfling had made it to the base of his demon hoof, and without a glance, the demon gave it a light kick, zooming the halfling up into space with a nice twinkle sound when he got up there.
The other halflings retreated fearfully.
“But.. how did you know?” I said. Somehow the demon knew it was all a ploy, and now if he can find the real me.. well, then it was all for nothing. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | “How is that any better?" the puzzled Demon asks
"Well you said that no man can kill you" Bilbin says as he points a dagger towards the demon
"And us three brothers are not men but halfings" Balban proudly declares as he puffs his chest out
"And now its..." then a whoosh interrupts Bolbon. A gigantic broad sword promptly turns the other two halflings into quarterlings.
Bolbon mortified. "Mother always said we weren't the sharpest shed" he says as a sword plunges through his head.
"No man, woman, halfing, elf, orc, fairy or troll can kill me!"
"But I am neither of those" A man in a jacket announces, as he promptly reveals that he is in fact 5 dwarves in a trenchcoat.
"For fucks sa..." | The two cloaked figures, one slight and the other enormous, closed in on the other, squaring off in the middle of the battlefield. The larger creature, Ren the Unclean, reared up, throwing back its cape, holding its axe and mace up high and roared, “For the last time! No! Man! Can! Kill! Me!”
A smirk crossed the lips of his opponent. Arms, seemingly from nowhere, flung open its cloak to reveal three hobbits, standing on each other’s shoulders. “We are no men!”
The demonic beast growled. “What infernal deception is this?” He lunged at the three little demi-humans, who scattered, forming a triangle about him. With a mighty swing of his right arm, the beast brought down the axe on the adversary to his front.
Bibbity Hobbit leapt into the air to avoid it. The small creature drew his full-sized dagger in mid-air, and brought it down through the demon’s hand.
The beast howled and dropped its axe. Unable to shake the hobbit off, Ren took a backhanded swing of his mace toward the hobbit to his left flank.
Bobbity Hobbit dropped beneath the massive forearm coming his way, allowing it to harmlessly pass over him. He then reached up and took hold of the massive Unclean hand, and bit down hard. Tears came to his eyes, but neither the stench or the taste forced him to loosen his jaws.
The demon swung about furiously like a weather vane caught in disputed winds. He thrust both arms forward, unable to shake either demihuman off. In the middle of the frenzy, he realized he’d lost track of the last one. Where had it gone?
The Unclean one no sooner had had the thought when he felt the trampling of tiny footsteps up his back. Little hands grabbed hold of either ear, and a miniature face appeared upside down in front of his.
“BOO!” it screamed!
With a great ferocity, the demon fighter clapped his massive hands together. Pain shot through his body, but the hobbits hung on. Then the beast threw his head back to loosen the last attacker.
Boo yelled, “bye-ee!” and jump free, but not before pulling out his own dagger, which he jabbed through the beast’s cloak and an inch into its bull-sized back. Boo then rode the dagger to the ground like his with slitting a royal banner, an inglorious feat that he hoped to someday be pardoned for.
“Enough!” the demon yelled. “I cannot be defeated!”
Bibbity and Bobbity drew in close, under the demon’s defenses. “Can you be de-kneed?” they shouted in unison as they each stabbed down on one of the giant’s knees from just above the tops of his metal boots.
The mighty Ren the Unclean screamed sat a pitch so high only demons could hear it. All of his minions ceased their individual battles to take note of the call. The humans fighting them took advantage of the moment to slice their opponent’s individual heads off. Then the fighters close around the hobbit three.
Bleeding on the ground, the creature cried out, “I was in the Abyss! How did I end up like this? I was in the Abyss!”
The bastard lord Whatsisname stepped forward with a raised bastard sword, but the wizened Whosiswhatz steadied his hand.
“No man,” the bearded Whosiswhatz uttered sagely, “may defeat the demon.”
“And we’re not men!” shouted Bibbity, Bobbity and Boo, and they stabbed the demon repeated, and Unclean blood spilled out from a death of a thousand cuts.
​
\--
I would've answered sooner, but I had to wait for class to end.
More stories at r/xwhy
Edit "wouldn't" --> "would've" | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | “How is that any better?" the puzzled Demon asks
"Well you said that no man can kill you" Bilbin says as he points a dagger towards the demon
"And us three brothers are not men but halfings" Balban proudly declares as he puffs his chest out
"And now its..." then a whoosh interrupts Bolbon. A gigantic broad sword promptly turns the other two halflings into quarterlings.
Bolbon mortified. "Mother always said we weren't the sharpest shed" he says as a sword plunges through his head.
"No man, woman, halfing, elf, orc, fairy or troll can kill me!"
"But I am neither of those" A man in a jacket announces, as he promptly reveals that he is in fact 5 dwarves in a trenchcoat.
"For fucks sa..." | Into the demon's lair walked a man in a grey trenchcoat. His face was hidden by a tan fedora.
"I have come to kill you, demon, your good days are behind you," the man said.
The demon stirred in his great, dark throne. He was tall and spidery like a demonic NBA player, only skinnier.
"What kind of nonsense is this? You're late."
"I am not a tribute. I am your scourge, your kryptonite."
"Kryptonite? Are they selling those stupid comics again? What kind of a man reads such filthy, scummy make-believe literature."
"The kind that can kill you."
"Okay, enough with that. Stay there, I'll come a-running now, don't be shocked too much. Too much cortisol in the system makes the meat bitter, alright?"
The man in the trenchcoat bawled, "Don't you understand? I have come to kill you!"
From the middle of the trenchcoat, a bullet came flying towards the demon, who being slender and all, curved his body around it. The demon apparently had no bones.
"No man can kill me!" the demon roared. "I am to feast on man till the end of time."
True to his word the demon came a-running, trying to spear into the man's midsection. Just as the demon was about to make contact, the man shouted, "But I am no man!"
Suddenly, the trenchcoat flew open. Three midgets exploded out of the demon's path as he crashed into the empty trenchcoat. The momentum of the run drove him into the cave's wall. Knocked down, but still conscious, the demon said, "Fuckin' hell. What you gotta do that for? I hope I didn't get a concussion. Any of you doctors?"
The midgets looked at each other in disbelief -- the demon had gone bonkers. Quickly they bound the left arm of the demon to the right leg and the right arm to the left leg.
The tallest of the midgets, the face of the man, borrowed the gun from midget midsection. Then he aimed it at the demon's head, who at present found himself dazed, confused, and twisted like a pretzel.
Bam! The demon's brains splattered onto the cave walls in a manner that humans liked to call drip paintings, very modern.
And seeing their art, the midgets cackled delightfully. Three new demons at the cost of one. Even demons had better offers than supermarkets. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | The halflings had exploded out of the coat, two with daggers and one with a bow. They'd grinned smiles as sharp as hooks as they told her that her days were numbered.
Now it's hooks they hang from, on a wall in the cavern, their bodies a slumping sunset of blood and bruises. The demon watches their legs wriggle, from the other side of the cave. Watches these writhing slabs of soon-to-be-meat.
But she hears the humans in the kingdom far below the mountains, bells of laughter ringing gleefully, mockingly. They sent these pathetic creatures to challenge her, knowing that they could never hope to so much as wound her.
The demon had demanded the kingdom's greatest hero be sent, and if that hero could survive a mere minute in her lair, then she would spare the kingdom and its inhabitants.
She's waited a month now, patient as a dragon. Had imagined tournaments and duels being held in the city, in her name - imagined fear hanging over them all like a foul smog as they searched for a saviour.
But this...
The three halflings on the wall.
Somewhere between mockery and a trick.
"I shall kill them all for this," she says. "Their kingdom will become the red kingdom, a place that rivers up with blood and that bodies float upon like bloated rafts." Then she looks at the meat dangling from their hooks. She will start with them.
"Please," croaks a halfling, perhaps sensing her eyes falling on him in the darkness.
The demon sneers. Strange that any were conscious after what they'd been through.
"Please *what*?" she spits.
"Don't... blame them. We came alone. We're not... not the chosen."
Her ears prick up and a delicious shiver presses its fingertips along her spine. The hero, perhaps, was still to come. "What do you mean? Why would you come if not chosen?"
"To try."
She stands and stalks the darkness until her fingers trace the man's chin. "Try what?" she says, voice soft and siren-like.
"To try to... to kill you. To show them we're as good -- better -- than any other." He coughs, back spasming, a minnow dangling helpless on a line. Blood spatters his shirt anew.
The demon stands and watches and thinks. Remembers.
"You must have known you'd die," says the demon.
"Better to die living, then live dead," says the halfling. "That's how they treated us. Like we're... already dead."
The demon steps back. Runs a hand over the stump of her left wing. Carved off before she was left to die in a pool of her own blood. She'd been a freak, abhorrent, unwanted.
Better to die living, she thinks.
Perhaps.
​
When she takes them down from the hooks, she feeds them. Cleans their wounds and bandages them. Lets them sleep for many hours.
Better revenge, she tells her self, is to send them back. To show the people in the kingdom their own worth. To shine a mirror on their mockery and derision and lack of kindness.
Before they leave, she snaps a claw from off her finger and hands it to them- to prove they had come and survived and even wounded the great beast in the cave.
Afterwards, she sits alone in the dark, and instead of anger or remorse, there is a warmth stirring inside her, as she imagines them returning, welcomed as heroes.
Imagines herself anywhere but here, in this thick, deafening darkness, where at least she can't see her own self.
Imagines herself as brave as the halflings.
A night passes. And then a day.
Slowly, she stands.
Walks.
Leaves. | Into the demon's lair walked a man in a grey trenchcoat. His face was hidden by a tan fedora.
"I have come to kill you, demon, your good days are behind you," the man said.
The demon stirred in his great, dark throne. He was tall and spidery like a demonic NBA player, only skinnier.
"What kind of nonsense is this? You're late."
"I am not a tribute. I am your scourge, your kryptonite."
"Kryptonite? Are they selling those stupid comics again? What kind of a man reads such filthy, scummy make-believe literature."
"The kind that can kill you."
"Okay, enough with that. Stay there, I'll come a-running now, don't be shocked too much. Too much cortisol in the system makes the meat bitter, alright?"
The man in the trenchcoat bawled, "Don't you understand? I have come to kill you!"
From the middle of the trenchcoat, a bullet came flying towards the demon, who being slender and all, curved his body around it. The demon apparently had no bones.
"No man can kill me!" the demon roared. "I am to feast on man till the end of time."
True to his word the demon came a-running, trying to spear into the man's midsection. Just as the demon was about to make contact, the man shouted, "But I am no man!"
Suddenly, the trenchcoat flew open. Three midgets exploded out of the demon's path as he crashed into the empty trenchcoat. The momentum of the run drove him into the cave's wall. Knocked down, but still conscious, the demon said, "Fuckin' hell. What you gotta do that for? I hope I didn't get a concussion. Any of you doctors?"
The midgets looked at each other in disbelief -- the demon had gone bonkers. Quickly they bound the left arm of the demon to the right leg and the right arm to the left leg.
The tallest of the midgets, the face of the man, borrowed the gun from midget midsection. Then he aimed it at the demon's head, who at present found himself dazed, confused, and twisted like a pretzel.
Bam! The demon's brains splattered onto the cave walls in a manner that humans liked to call drip paintings, very modern.
And seeing their art, the midgets cackled delightfully. Three new demons at the cost of one. Even demons had better offers than supermarkets. | |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | The halflings had exploded out of the coat, two with daggers and one with a bow. They'd grinned smiles as sharp as hooks as they told her that her days were numbered.
Now it's hooks they hang from, on a wall in the cavern, their bodies a slumping sunset of blood and bruises. The demon watches their legs wriggle, from the other side of the cave. Watches these writhing slabs of soon-to-be-meat.
But she hears the humans in the kingdom far below the mountains, bells of laughter ringing gleefully, mockingly. They sent these pathetic creatures to challenge her, knowing that they could never hope to so much as wound her.
The demon had demanded the kingdom's greatest hero be sent, and if that hero could survive a mere minute in her lair, then she would spare the kingdom and its inhabitants.
She's waited a month now, patient as a dragon. Had imagined tournaments and duels being held in the city, in her name - imagined fear hanging over them all like a foul smog as they searched for a saviour.
But this...
The three halflings on the wall.
Somewhere between mockery and a trick.
"I shall kill them all for this," she says. "Their kingdom will become the red kingdom, a place that rivers up with blood and that bodies float upon like bloated rafts." Then she looks at the meat dangling from their hooks. She will start with them.
"Please," croaks a halfling, perhaps sensing her eyes falling on him in the darkness.
The demon sneers. Strange that any were conscious after what they'd been through.
"Please *what*?" she spits.
"Don't... blame them. We came alone. We're not... not the chosen."
Her ears prick up and a delicious shiver presses its fingertips along her spine. The hero, perhaps, was still to come. "What do you mean? Why would you come if not chosen?"
"To try."
She stands and stalks the darkness until her fingers trace the man's chin. "Try what?" she says, voice soft and siren-like.
"To try to... to kill you. To show them we're as good -- better -- than any other." He coughs, back spasming, a minnow dangling helpless on a line. Blood spatters his shirt anew.
The demon stands and watches and thinks. Remembers.
"You must have known you'd die," says the demon.
"Better to die living, then live dead," says the halfling. "That's how they treated us. Like we're... already dead."
The demon steps back. Runs a hand over the stump of her left wing. Carved off before she was left to die in a pool of her own blood. She'd been a freak, abhorrent, unwanted.
Better to die living, she thinks.
Perhaps.
​
When she takes them down from the hooks, she feeds them. Cleans their wounds and bandages them. Lets them sleep for many hours.
Better revenge, she tells her self, is to send them back. To show the people in the kingdom their own worth. To shine a mirror on their mockery and derision and lack of kindness.
Before they leave, she snaps a claw from off her finger and hands it to them- to prove they had come and survived and even wounded the great beast in the cave.
Afterwards, she sits alone in the dark, and instead of anger or remorse, there is a warmth stirring inside her, as she imagines them returning, welcomed as heroes.
Imagines herself anywhere but here, in this thick, deafening darkness, where at least she can't see her own self.
Imagines herself as brave as the halflings.
A night passes. And then a day.
Slowly, she stands.
Walks.
Leaves. | "No man can kill me!" The demon roared as he rose to his full height for effect with a smug glint in his eyes. His muscular arms were outstretched and his dark fur bristled. There was almost a shiny quality to him when the sunlight hit from a certain angle.
He opened his jaw to roar again, when he noticed that the measly human in front of him was smirking. "But I am no man!" The human replied as he threw open his long brown trench coat to reveal... three halflings?!
"What the-" The demon started, but he didn't have a chance to finish. Halfling #1, the "head" of their setup, launched himself directly towards the demon by using the other two as a springboard. He leapt across the distance like a cat, body extended with "claws" out—he had a dagger in one hand.
The demon growled and sent him flying to the side with a single backhanded slap. He barely had time to give the results a glance before the other two, about a meter apart, were already closing in on him with surprising speed. The demon lowered himself slightly, feet firmly planted to the ground as he braced himself.
Both halflings catapulted towards him simultaneously with the same expression on their face; teeth gritted in determination, eyes narrowed. At the last moment, the one on the left—Halfling #2—produced something from his clothes with a flick. The demon saw it gleam and dodged to the side and right into Halfling #3's path, who took the opportunity to latch onto the demon's shoulders.
There was a pain that pierced into the side of his ribs, causing an involuntary yowl. Spurs! Halfling #3 was wearing shoes with spurs. The demon grabbed him with unsheathed claws, and ripped him away like a bandaid. He heard both fabric and fur tearing, and a shriek of pain.
The demon was vaguely aware of the burning sensation in random spots on his body as he kicked outwards at Halfling #2, who had continued his attack after landing smoothly on his feet.. The demon felt a bubble of frustration as Halfling #2 successfully avoided a few of his kicks, his small body moving side to side and even under the demon's fur-coated leg nimbly.
Men were smaller than demons, which made the good ones a bit faster but still manageable. However, halflings were even faster. And battle ready halflings were often exceptionally agile and, as a result, not so manageable.
The demon, no stranger to combat, knew he had to find a place that gave him better leverage. And soon.
After a few more seconds, with a purposefully misleading move in one direction, the demon felt the sole of his foot connect to Halfling #2 with a solid thud. Although his back was turned, he felt a slight whoosh and sensed that another one of them was upon him once more.
It was Halfling #1 again, evidently recovered from the initial stun. The demon whipped his arm in his direction. He missed.
But rather than continuing to engage, the demon dropped down on all fours and bounded forwards, ignoring the scratches caused by the attempted stabs from whoever. He didn't look back. Putting distance in between them was the most important thing at the moment.
He could hear the accelerating footsteps of all three halflings behind him as he entered the woods. Yes. This was better; the shade would serve him well. He wove through the trees for several heartbeats longer, noting that the sounds of the attackers were ceasing rapidly. Then with expert precision, the demon pounced onto a tree and scaled it in mere seconds. He kept his body close to the trunk and in between the leaves.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to slow his breathing. The only sounds now where the rustling of leaves from the wind and the occasional bird chirping. But the demon strained, and heard that there was something else there, just barely audible.
The sound of leaves crunching under someone's, or several someone's, feet.
The demon's eyes narrowed, his mind whirling to form a new plan. He didn't know why the halflings were after him but he didn't care anymore, because there were two particular things about demons:
One, they didn't like being messed with.
And two, they never leave any business unfinished.
So the demon waited, a grin forming on his face that showcased his razor sharp teeth. It was their turn to be the hunted now.
\---
Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome :) If you liked that, feel free to check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/thegoodpage) for more! | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | Senator Debroux waited for me at an emptied out cafe on the Louisville waterfront. He was straightening out his American flag crucifix pin on his lapel. It was a balmy spring morning, perfect for a light jacket. That's why the senator's turtlenecked goons, wiping the sweat from their brick-wall brows, stood out to me as amateurish. Apparently, this contract wasn't meant for the secret service's ears.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Price," Senator Debroux said, gesturing a perfectly manicured hand to an empty seat across from him at the round little table. A french press and a plate of madeleines waited. I nodded to the two goons behind the senator, raised my hands to show good faith, and took a seat. No one patted me down. "Is that a member's only jacket you're wearing?"
"You have five minutes, Mr. Deboux," I said, pulling up my pant leg and crossing my leg over the other. "I will remind you, I normally take my contracts through back channels. I don't like this. I don't like you. Do *not* waste my time. Are we clear?"
Debroux smiled, his eyes cooly unaware of his mouth's actions.
*Great, another sociopath*, I thought.
"That will depend on you, Mr. Price. What I bring to the table is a contract that will change the course of the world, forever. Of course, there are those who are... limited in imagination. My party understands this. It is our God-given responsibility to bring the American people along into progress and modernity, for their own *good,* you see."
"Four minutes," I said.
Debroux smiled again. It irked me when monsters tried to play human. But, this was the work.
"Fine," he said, dropping some of the veneer. "I want you to hit someone. It's been tried before. It's been declined before. There are hundreds of reasons why this particular job is *wrong*. But only one reason why it is absolutely necessary. I believe *you* are the man who can succeed where others have failed, Mr. Price. You can save America. The world."
My skin began to crawl. It's true that I was good at what I did. In fact, the trial of Adolf Hitler could have never happened without my skills. After the conviction, the U.S. government tried to put a leash on me, keep me close and obedient. They didn't know who they were dealing with. I don't heel or beg. I work. And, sometimes, that meant working for some real crooked, black-hearted sons-of-bitches. But, I only take the contracts I want. It's my choice and I sleep easy--some nights.
"Three minutes," I said. "Get to the point."
Deboux's cool finally cracked. He slapped a hand down on the table, rattling the coffee and bite-sized strawberry cakes. It was like watching Jekyll and Hyde fight for dominance--damn near terrifying.
He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then, "There is a flight at Louisville International departing tomorrow at 0700 headed for Tel Aviv. You are to be on that flight. Arrangements have been made. A handler will be waiting for you upon arrival and she will transport you to your target. You are to carry out the contract and return with the target via alternative channels. Once back within the U.S., you will be debriefed and the *rest* of your contract will be deposited to your account."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. The first half of my fee. Didn't even have to give him my account number. *Damned U.S. surveillance*. But, Tel Aviv? Something in my stomach started to twist.
"Two minutes," I said, uncrossing my legs, and slowly leaned forward in my seat with my hands on my lap as not to give the bodyguards any wrong ideas. "Who's the target?"
"That information will be provided once you're on-site."
I clapped my hands and rose from my seat. "No deal. Thank you, senator, for the coffee. It smelled delicious."
"Wait!" Debroux shouted. "Sit your ass back down in that seat. I was *not* finished!"
I shot him a smirk over my shoulder. "No, I think you are. You've got a minute left but I'm not interested in whatever it is you're hocking. I've worked for your type before. Guys who snort the smell of their own shit and jerk off to the memory later. Maybe you actually believe in the muck you sling to stay in office. Maybe you don't. The way I see it, you're just another wolf wrapped in lamb's skin."
"Christ."
"Yeah, a real bummer I know. You'll need to find someone else--"
"Your target is Jesus Christ."
I stopped and turned to face the senator. He straightened the crucifix pin on his lapel and gestured for the empty seat once more.
"*What*?" I snapped. "Are you insane?"
The senator steepled his hands over his mouth and leaned back in his chair. "Am I out of time?"
The C.O.C. had been losing steam over the past couple of presidencies. Too much corruption. Too much hypocrisy. The Children of Christ faced a choice. A reckoning. Either own up to their bullshit or go deeper. The latter had only gotten them so far. I guess there was always another level.
I sat down and poured myself a cup of coffee.
"No clock," I said. "I don't hear what I wanna hear, I'm gone. I've got one question. *Why*?"
He smiled but this time his whole face joined. This, whatever he was about to say, truly brought this creature joy.
"We campaign as the party of Christ, the party of righteousness and salvation. It seems our constituents no longer believe this. What I, what *we* seek is to restore that faith. I know of your abilities. You don't just resurrect people, you mold them, shape them. I'm not simply paying you a billion dollars to raise some dead jew. I'm paying you to create our mascot. I'm paying you to secure our futu--"
In one fluid, well-practiced motion, I pulled my gun and shot the senator in the head. His head snapped back and then he crumpled out of his seat to the concrete.
Before his goons could swiss-cheese me, I dove under the table and grabbed the senator's still-twitching ankle.
He sprang to life.
"Wait! Hold your fire!" he said, struggling to sit up.
The bodyguards huddled around the senator in a defensive formation, weapons still raised.
"Go," the senator said, rubbing the smooth spot where the bullet had cut into his forehead. "Get the hell out of my sight."
I crawled out from under the table, smoothed out my member's only jacket, and walked out of the empty cafe--only keeping the goons in my peripheral as opposed to full vigilance. I didn't expect a kill order from senator Deboux, not anymore.
One way or another, there was a recking coming and I had no intention of going deeper. | The black market group Kill Team was one of many businesses that specialized in Tactical Resurrection & Recovery.
Each taskforce was made of three fireteams and a support element. Equipped with decent off the shelf armour, spells, and firepower, it was one of the more... reputable, TRR businesses. Some cheaper operations usually needed some uhh... reassembly.
Now, this operation did not come without casualties. And, well, recruit turnover rate was not ideal. But, the pay was excellent and the work honestly kind of satisfying.
======
Emmanuel blinked, looking at the documents. The Kill Team representative looked at him expectantly, waiting.
"And this is it?"
"Indeed."
...to hell with it, the economy was shit and he'd dropped out of college due to a lack of funds...
======
Small arms fire zipped by the armoured vehicle, bullets spanging off the steel outer shell, a few hitting the ballistic glass and causing sudden circles of white.
The vehicle stopped at an angle, everyone getting out to take cover behind the vehicle.
"I'll flash, you guys push. Let's go!"
The grenade bounced once, rolled on the floor, and blew up right between the two guards.
Flowing smoothly, the team rolled out and opened fire while they were disoriented, taking them down in a flurry of blood and gore.
"Two guys behind the door, two more coming, and-SHIT!"
A burst of magic bullets zipped by, one man being tagged and going down like a rock, staggering up to run to cover.
Return fire was quick, but not fast enough, the flanking mages dropped a barrier and let the team have it. With few other options, Alice kicked in the door and ran in.
The two thugs behind the door opened fire, bullets meeting reinforced ceramic plates. In return, her rifle tore them to bits.
"Go go go!"
"On it, come on, move!"
Emmanuel chucked a flashbang at the shield and backpedaled towards the building, the rest doing the same. "Alice what the fuck is this?!"
"Listen Emmy, I saw no mages alright?! Fucking-"
Several shotgun blasts tore up the wall and floor, another human spraying buckshot. A quick burst ended them, as Alice stared through the floor, watching with spelled vision. Her barrel traced the reinforcements to the stairs, and dropped them with a long burst.
"Reloading!"
"Covering!"
The team moved up, two of the seven holding back to provide rear security.
The hallway opened up into a large room, the five person team splitting to clear the corners. They were almost through before the three mages around the corner slammed into the door, and immediately dropped the poor man at the left side, spraying projectiles down the hall before the rearman's buddy whipped out an indigo spell circle and punched the shield, apparently inverting it into a concentrated directional BLAST.
The results were... predictable.
Harry panted, heart racing. "...Tangos down...!" Turning to his buddy, he reached out a hand.
"You still alive?"
"Yeah, shit... ugh, let's get this done fast. The cops have gotta heard whatever you hit those bastards with..."
Taking his hand, Jack stood, as the other team secured the room, and went up the stairs to find a steel coffin half sealed. An abandoned arc cutter sat nearby.
"...shit, this it?"
"Looks like it."
Alice put a hand to her helmet, calling it in. "Target secure, we've got the body."
"Good, cops are about thirty mikes out, move it!"
She swore, as did everyone else. Resurrection was highly illegal, and so were the automatic rifles, grenades, and spells all of them had.
The team took the coffin and quickly dragged it into the car, speeding out in a cloud of dust.
======
"...What."
"I meant what I said. It MIGHT be a demon."
"WHAT."
Alice, Emmanuel, Harry, Jack and Danielle stared at the debriefing officer. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | If you want to get around the law and pull a resurrection, you have to be quick about it. Before long, someone notices the smell, or notices them missing, or worst of all, calls in the death and EMTs are on site when they kick the bucket. And if you’re good, like I am, you take the careful jobs. The ones where you can be in and out, no one the wiser, with a good amount of money in my pocket.
I work regularly for fixers. That’s not to say that I get called in daily for accidental deaths; if it happened that often I’d get worried. But the real big shots who play rough and party hard can tip over the knife edge they’re balancing on without realizing it until it’s too late. Using those thin white lines or pills or injections, anything that brings them higher than they can get in their already incredibly elevated and extraordinary life.
Tonight, I should’ve known something was wrong. Robert Cobbs is one of the men I work for, been at his job for a good decade, and he knows I’m someone that can be relied on for speed, discretion, and talent. Something in his voice troubled me, but I put it down to him having a long night, or maybe having a drink or two in him.
Then I got there and saw the blood.
“This isn’t my job,” I said slowly, unable to move my eyes from the body.
The girl had a long slit across her throat, blood having pooled thicky around her and into the mattress she laid splayed out across, eyes wide, staring at nothing. You haven’t quite understood stillness until you’ve seen a corpse, something in it beyond anything a living person could emulate. Beyond that, the body was pallid beyond normal of course, from blood loss, leaving me feeling off-balance.
The guy who’d shared her bed was sitting against the wall, knees up to his chest, presumably already having hyperventilated. His gaze was far-off and his breathing even, in the grips of shock. Blood coated his hands and his left arm. The knife, I finally spotted, was on the floor near the mirrored closet doors, slick with blood, and the spatter from arterial spray painted the scene even more gruesome.
At my rejection of the job, his eyes suddenly darted up to mine, wide in panic. “You said Greg would help, you said-”
“He will,” Cobbs snapped. “Harvin, look. He didn’t do it.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” I murmured, finally sliding my eyes up to meet his. “This is not what I do. Why would you call me in on this?”
“Look at the scene,” he hissed, jabbing with his index finger. “Look at it. What do you see?”
Taking a reluctant deep breath, I did as I was told, scanning it with a more critical eye. My gaze slid over the body, the knife, the blood, the spatter, the killer… Then my eyes narrowed.
“There,” Cobbs said quietly. “You see it?”
“Arterial’s wrong. He couldn’t have gotten away from it unless-” I grimaced. “He could’ve done it from behind-”
“Come on, Greg,” he whispered.
My face shifted to unenthusiastic acceptance. “So, what, she wanted to go out with a bang? Why frame him?”
“Who cares?” the guy choked out. “Just-Just bring her back! Please! I’m ruined if this gets out, if someone calls in the cops, if they see this-”
“Calm down,” I growled. “What’s your name?”
At that, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes and looked to Cobbs. “Anthony,” he supplied.
“Anthony, you got any idea why she’d want to frame you for murder?” I asked, finally taking my briefcase from where I’d put it down and walking over to the bed.
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “No clue.”
“What’s her name?”
Anthony grimace. “Ah…”
I shook my head. “Right.”
The process was straightforward, just needing someone with the ability and the training. Pulling out the small container of blessed herbs, taking some on the tips of my index and middle finger, sliding it gently across the woman’s throat and then down between her breasts over her heart. The chant was under my breath, barely a murmur, more something that came from deep inside me and called on something of a higher power than something that needed to be audible.
The chant continued for another minute or so and I laid my hand on her forehead, closing my eyes in concentration as I recited it. After the third time, I reopened my eyes, continuing to repeat it, and watched the wounds close, feeling the presence of something Other in my midst. Anthony and Cobbs wouldn’t feel it, it was just for me, a bridge to the other side and a creature of power that had leant me some of what it had for this purpose.
Then suddenly, she gasped in a staggeringly long breath, shoving herself upright. “Hey, you’re back with us,” I said, my demeanor calm in the face of the utter panic on her face.
The girl’s hand went to her throat, to the blood staining her chest and then to the others in the room with her. And her eyes widened, staring at me. “What did you *do*?” she shrieked at me.
I leapt backwards off the bed as she lunged for me, stumbling backwards. “Whoa!” I shouted.
“Hold on!” Cobbs snapped, putting himself in front of me, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her back a couple feet. I saw Anthony push himself to his feet, staring in shock. “What the hell is your deal? You slit your own throat in-”
“He killed my sister!” she screamed.
The room was silenced at that and Anthony managed to choke out, “What?”
“August 21st,” she hissed at him. “Deborah White. Or in case you never learned her name, short blonde hair, barely legal, and thought you were a god. And she gushed to me about how she’d gotten backstage with you and then was headed to your hotel room. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call that she’s dead in an *alley* from an overdose. So apparently, I’m worthy of resurrection, but *she* wasn’t!” She shook her head as Anthony paled almost as deeply as the girl had after death. As she spoke, I slowly but surely put away my supplies, closing the suitcase with a quiet *click* of the latch.
“And you got off scot free,” she growled. “You think that just because you’ve got all that money you can get away with anything, and looks like that’s right, because you even managed to wriggle out of this one.”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispered. “It was an accident, she was new at it and took too much, it could’ve happened to-”
Before any of us realized what was happening, the girl had swept up the knife off the carpet that had been used to slit her own throat and leapt at Anthony. Cobb moved quick, as was his job, putting himself between her and her intended victim, crying out as the knife caught him on his arm in a long gash.
And I was moving. Opening the door with the sleeve of my hand, the only place I would have left fingerprints, and knowing that Cobbs had already taken care of the security camera, I was down the hall and descended the stairs rapidly. Because as I said, this was not my job. They called in the wrong guy.
Even as I worried for Cobb’s safety, and what would happen to the girl trying to avenge her sister’s death in the only desperate way she could think to do so, I ran. I momentarily thought of where that knife would land, having been mid-air as I left the room, but then I shoved the thought from my mind. Because you don’t get into this job for your high morals, or for your ego, or for the thrill. You do it for the money. And I don’t get paid in advance for my work. The stack of cash would’ve come, hand delivered by Cobb, tomorrow.
Slamming the door to my car shut, I tossed my suitcase to the passenger seat and sat there, the silence ringing in my ears. I paused for a long moment before I hit my steering wheel angrily, a little pressure of guilt getting the better of me, and took out my phone, dialing a number.
“Yeah, I thought you should know, Cobbs called me in on a job that was beyond me and it went tits up,” I spoke. “I high tailed it out of there because I don’t really give a shit, but…I give enough of a shit to give you a heads up. Whatever happened after I left, someone’s gonna need a good lawyer.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | # The Caduceus Corp
First and foremost in my line of work I have to be careful about the jobs I take, both for my skin and the world’s. Or at least, that’s what the old timers told me.
“You’ve got to watch out Nessa,” Mox had said the first and last time I’d seen him, in between shots and the raucous pounding of the Nu-JazzPunk music that Club Penumbra was known for. “I’ve lost count of the number of times some militia group tried to get me to resurrect their version of King Arthur. I once got all the way to Mongolia before I realized I’d been hired to bring back Genghis Khan. Can you imagine?”
I’d shaken my head, and that was before Ava chimed in and dropped my jaw. “That’s not the half of it either. Now the trouble is crypto fueled 8channers trying to drop a fortune on you to resurrect Hitler.”
“Seriously?” I’d said, recoiling.
“Seriously. I thought it was a joke the first time. By the fifth I wasn’t quite so sure.”
They were a study in contradictions, Mox and Ava, but they were the best and the brightest that the Caduceus Corp had to offer. From head to cybernetically enhanced toe Ava embodied the bleeding edge. Her hair, a collection of braided, luminescent cable, dreadlocked down to the table and would’ve given her whiplash ever time she turned had she not specially reinforced her neck for it. Her features were fine and dainty, save for her right eye, which marred the otherwise feigned natural look of her face by having a red laser sight for a pupil and being twice as large as it should have been. She wore a biologically integrated suit of jet black kevlar that she said could stop “bullets, brutes, and broadswords,” but that, in the end, hadn’t quite lived up to the hype.
Mox was none of that, and more. He resembled nothing so much as a wizard in drag, frilly hems shorter than the style even among Arcanum graduates, with a belt length, dyed blue beard just to set it off. His hands, even that night, had always been a constant blur of motion, playing with his shot glass, systematically dissecting the fries we’d ordered, sketching runes in the air and setting them afloat with a gentle exhalation. He was a strange, chaotic do-gooder of a man and the lines of his face showed it when he smiled, giving the lie to his otherwise youthful front as they spider-webbed out from his eyes.
I’d never been so proud in all my life, before or after I’d joined the corp, to be seated somewhere, in the presence of such people. Mox and Ava were a childhood dream come true, from long before I’d traded in pigtails and dresses for bio-tech and blast shields.
And that night, when they left Club Penumbra, they’d been ambushed, killed, and dismembered, bodies scattered to the wind like some latter day Osirises. Maybe they should have looked after their own skins, first and foremost.
That’s what lead me here, to a rooftop in Mumbai, still barely more than rookie at the start of my second year. The city was dark though my cyber eyes could handle that. The air was foul, and my still organic nose had no recourse other than to suffer through it. My target was close, making its way in a procession of goons and bystanders that thronged the garish, neon alleys of the late 22nd century slums.
A small, ghostly light flitted past me, settling itself in my ear. “You ready Nessa?” Jacobi’s voice was tinny through the small, buzzing form of his familiars spectral aspect, but I could hear the longing and the anger in his voice despite it. I blinked once, flicking my eyes towards the rooftop where he stood. My vision enhanced zooming in. His beard was shorter than his teacher’s had been but dyed blue in solidarity. His robes whipped in the wind, the staff in his hands glowed a faint purple at its tip.
“Yeah, lets do this.” I said. “We’ve got a body to reassemble.”
Somewhere in that procession, perhaps in the ornate, canopied palanquin to the front, or hidden in a nondescript lockbox in the rear, was Mox’s arm, elbow to fingers. The Corp had entrusted us with this, after months of begging and pleading. We needed that arm and much more besides, from Mox and from Ava. You couldn’t resurrect someone without a body after all.
Jacobi turned to me, nodding. His familiar flitted out of my ear, zooming down to street level, writhing, changing, growing. It was a tiger by the time it reached the ground.
When the screaming started I jumped. There was an arm to retrieve, and the Corp left no man behind.
r/TurningtoWords | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | # The Caduceus Corp
First and foremost in my line of work I have to be careful about the jobs I take, both for my skin and the world’s. Or at least, that’s what the old timers told me.
“You’ve got to watch out Nessa,” Mox had said the first and last time I’d seen him, in between shots and the raucous pounding of the Nu-JazzPunk music that Club Penumbra was known for. “I’ve lost count of the number of times some militia group tried to get me to resurrect their version of King Arthur. I once got all the way to Mongolia before I realized I’d been hired to bring back Genghis Khan. Can you imagine?”
I’d shaken my head, and that was before Ava chimed in and dropped my jaw. “That’s not the half of it either. Now the trouble is crypto fueled 8channers trying to drop a fortune on you to resurrect Hitler.”
“Seriously?” I’d said, recoiling.
“Seriously. I thought it was a joke the first time. By the fifth I wasn’t quite so sure.”
They were a study in contradictions, Mox and Ava, but they were the best and the brightest that the Caduceus Corp had to offer. From head to cybernetically enhanced toe Ava embodied the bleeding edge. Her hair, a collection of braided, luminescent cable, dreadlocked down to the table and would’ve given her whiplash ever time she turned had she not specially reinforced her neck for it. Her features were fine and dainty, save for her right eye, which marred the otherwise feigned natural look of her face by having a red laser sight for a pupil and being twice as large as it should have been. She wore a biologically integrated suit of jet black kevlar that she said could stop “bullets, brutes, and broadswords,” but that, in the end, hadn’t quite lived up to the hype.
Mox was none of that, and more. He resembled nothing so much as a wizard in drag, frilly hems shorter than the style even among Arcanum graduates, with a belt length, dyed blue beard just to set it off. His hands, even that night, had always been a constant blur of motion, playing with his shot glass, systematically dissecting the fries we’d ordered, sketching runes in the air and setting them afloat with a gentle exhalation. He was a strange, chaotic do-gooder of a man and the lines of his face showed it when he smiled, giving the lie to his otherwise youthful front as they spider-webbed out from his eyes.
I’d never been so proud in all my life, before or after I’d joined the corp, to be seated somewhere, in the presence of such people. Mox and Ava were a childhood dream come true, from long before I’d traded in pigtails and dresses for bio-tech and blast shields.
And that night, when they left Club Penumbra, they’d been ambushed, killed, and dismembered, bodies scattered to the wind like some latter day Osirises. Maybe they should have looked after their own skins, first and foremost.
That’s what lead me here, to a rooftop in Mumbai, still barely more than rookie at the start of my second year. The city was dark though my cyber eyes could handle that. The air was foul, and my still organic nose had no recourse other than to suffer through it. My target was close, making its way in a procession of goons and bystanders that thronged the garish, neon alleys of the late 22nd century slums.
A small, ghostly light flitted past me, settling itself in my ear. “You ready Nessa?” Jacobi’s voice was tinny through the small, buzzing form of his familiars spectral aspect, but I could hear the longing and the anger in his voice despite it. I blinked once, flicking my eyes towards the rooftop where he stood. My vision enhanced zooming in. His beard was shorter than his teacher’s had been but dyed blue in solidarity. His robes whipped in the wind, the staff in his hands glowed a faint purple at its tip.
“Yeah, lets do this.” I said. “We’ve got a body to reassemble.”
Somewhere in that procession, perhaps in the ornate, canopied palanquin to the front, or hidden in a nondescript lockbox in the rear, was Mox’s arm, elbow to fingers. The Corp had entrusted us with this, after months of begging and pleading. We needed that arm and much more besides, from Mox and from Ava. You couldn’t resurrect someone without a body after all.
Jacobi turned to me, nodding. His familiar flitted out of my ear, zooming down to street level, writhing, changing, growing. It was a tiger by the time it reached the ground.
When the screaming started I jumped. There was an arm to retrieve, and the Corp left no man behind.
r/TurningtoWords | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | Gary’s phone dinged to life. A message.
*Abraham O’Connell 1843-1890. Spring Grove Cemetery.*
Gary deleted the message and broke the SIM card, replacing it with a new one. He made it to his car and stopped. Shit, he thought. He pulled his cellphone back out and sent a message to his handler.
*Who was the target again?*
A moment passed, and then the ellipsis signaling that someone was typing appeared on screen.
*Are you serious?*
Gary responded, *Yes. Sorry, I forgot. I already destroyed the SIM card.*
The handler resent the target’s info and added, *I’m not sending it again.*
Gary responded with a laughing face emoji followed by a picture of the target’s info written on his hand. *Won’t be forgetting it this time! LOL*
The handler chose not to respond, as difficult as that was. Gary was an idiot, but he was the best resurrector around.
Later that night, the iron gates of Spring Grove Cemetery creaked open. A light made its way down the rows of headstones, stopping on one that was old and faded.
*Here lies Abraham O’Connell. Beloved Father and Husband. Born May 14th, 1843. Died October 3rd, 1890.*
This must be the guy, thought Gary. He turned off his flashlight and began digging. Once the top of the coffin was cleared of dirt, Gary went to work. He hovered his hands over the coffin and closed his eyes. The owls stopped hooting and the crickets stopped chirping—the night fell into an eerie silence.
Gary began singing, “Ain’t no grave can keep this body down, ain’t no grave can keep this body down, when you hear that trumpet sound, he gonna rise right outta the ground, I said ain’t no grave can keep this body down...”
Gary turned around and opened the case behind him, pulled out a trumpet, and played an F-sharp.
Suddenly, the coffin began to shake. Gary leaned down and opened it. Abraham O’Connell sat up wide eyed and dusty.
“Welcome to the land of the living!” Gary held out his hand.
Abraham turned to Gary and then looked down at the casket he was sitting in. “I’ve been brought back?”
“Yes, sir! Back to good ol’ Earth... or hell. I’ve been told by previous resurectees that this is actually hell.”
Abraham’s eyes grew wider. He laid down in the casket. “Send me back.”
“No can do, bud. I’m being paid a lot of money to resurrect you.”
“My family is in the afterlife. I was with my wife and kids. Send me back!”
“You’ve got family here.”
Abraham sat back up. “I do?”
“Of course. Who do you think is paying me?”
Abraham stood up and patted the dust off of his clothes. “Wonderful! Who is it?”
“Your great-great-great-grandnephew.”
The hope immediately left Abraham’s face and he laid back down, even going as far as to close the lid.
“Abraham!”
Silence.
“Abraham!”
“What!?” Abraham responded, somewhat muffled inside the casket.
“You don’t want to see your family member?”
Abraham kicked the lid open and sat up angrily. “Oh, you mean my great-great, however many greats, grandnephew? No thanks! That’s barely a relative. Now send me back to my real family.”
Gary grabbed Abraham by his crusted, century old collar and yanked him out of the casket. “You’re going to meet him, whether you like it or not.”
“Unhand me!” Abraham shouted as he flailed wildly.
“Stop moving or I won’t let you die ever again!”
Abraham calmed down. “That’s not fair. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
“Life isn’t fair. Now look at me.”
Gary held up his phone and took a picture, temporarily blinding Abraham with the flash. He sent the picture to his handler.
*He has risen again! LOL*
*Pickup is outside the cemetery,* the handler responded. *And stop fucking texting me.*
Gary sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, zombie. Let’s get to your ride.”
They made their way to a blacked out SUV waiting outside the gates. A muscled secret service looking fellow opened the back door for Abraham. Inside sat a middle aged man, anxiously awaiting his relative. “Great-great-great grand uncle!” He said with giddy excitement.
Abraham turned to Gary with a look opposite that of his relative. “Do I have to?”
Gary nudged Abraham towards the car. Abraham climbed in hesitantly. The nephew handed his guard an envelope, who then handed it to Gary. “Thanks for your help!” Said the nephew as the guard closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat.
Gary watched as the SUV pulled away, Abraham’s face pressed against the window like a sad child. | "You know the drill. We get in, we extract, and then it's like we were never there." The boss fastened her gear to her chest and gave the rest of the squad a look. It was David's first operation, and somehow he had been assigned to a high-profile resurrection. He fidgeted in his seat as the rest of the team took up small chatter to fill the time.
He took the time to reflect on how he had first started down the path to this career; it was considered taboo and morally corrupt to most. When resurrection magic was first discovered, years before he was born, it was immediately banned by every government the world over. Dead men returning from the grave could mean secrets spilled, lies broken, and above all, a total lack of accountability for anyone who had the smarts to take their own life and resurrect themselves after suspicion had passed. It was too powerful a tool for the common man to use. At least, that's what the government thought.
David had lost his mother at the age of seven; just enough time with her both for him to cherish her and feel the full force of devastation from her death. He spent the rest of his youth as a socially distanced and damaged young man.
When he had first heard of resurrection magic, his first though was of his mother: *What if he could bring her back*? The question gnawed at him day and night until he finally took the first step towards becoming a criminal.
It was through a friend of a friend of a friend, initially. He didn’t have high hopes to actually meet the guy offering passage to the world behind the scenes, but he took all the necessary steps, making sure to cover his tracks as well as possible. He eventually succeeded, and it was at that point that he learned something crucial about resurrectors; they took life as quickly as they returned it.
David had been forced to take a vow of secrecy in that meeting; a vow taken with a gun pointed to his head. Any doubts he had been harboring before were now a distant memory. Following that day, he had been metaphorically erased from the surface of the planet, destined to become the nameless figure people would notice but not really worry about, raising those who had something more to say from their graves.
After months of rigorous training, he had made it. He had learned some harsh truths, and the true nature of the method of the magic itself. He knew now that returning his mother was an impossibility. Even so, he made it his personal mission to make sure that what had happened to him would not happen to others. And now, somewhere in the desert, he was going to perform his first resurrection in the field.
David snapped out of his daze when the doors at the back of the van flew open. Everybody sprang into action, and he reluctantly followed suit. The captain barked out an order: “Soulcatchers, move out!”
The squad filed out from the back of the van into a nondescript field. Lying a few meters away was a large mound of dirt that had clearly been disturbed within the past 24 hours. Two members of the team each unfolded a trenching shovel, and began working away at the mound. Within minutes, they recovered the corpse.
David stretched his hands out in front of him, and took a deep breath. Before him was a man who had died quite a bit ago, with maggots in the flesh, bullet wounds in the chest, and bloating in the abdomen. For a moment he worried about his abilities, since he had only practiced on freshly-deceased men and women; he shook it off quickly. He knew he had it in himself to take care of the job.
David started his incantation, paying careful attention to the pronunciation. As he did, blue light began to emanate from the corpse, and it slowly floated into the air. His colleagues back away as each bit of damage to the corpse seemed to melt away. The bloating recessed. The maggots shot out of the flesh like bullets, and the bullet wounds themselves tied up into themselves until there was nothing left but healthy skin.
The man floated back down to the ground on his feet. He looked around, then laughed.
“That was... *very* interesting.” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent. He pointed at the squad’s leader. “You, with the bandanna, you are in charge?”
She stepped forward with a smirk on her face. “You got that right.”
“If you can relay this to your superiors: Give my appreciation to the person who ordered my return. I will cover the rest of the bill myself.”
“Sure thing.”
With that, the man and the rest of the squad headed back to the nondescript van. David followed suit, and took his seat right next to the front. On the way back to the extraction point, the man leaned over to David and said, “You performed the spell?”
David nodded lightly.
The man chuckled. “Good work. I feel good as new.”
He grinned nervously, lacking a response.
Once they had made it back to HQ, with the man having left with a troupe of body guards at their extraction point, David made a beeline for the break room to get a cup of coffee. By the time he sat down to enjoy it, his eyes caught the headline on the TV in the corner.
**RUSSIAN OLIGARCH KHEYLIK PATSPOROV BACK FROM THE DEAD**
*The Russian people have expressed alarm at the revelation that Patsporov has seemingly recovered from a successful assassination and has returned to controlling his large sect of the Russian underground system. Worries that the start of a bloody gang war stewing over the past two years is right around the corner have been rekindled, and many fear for their lives.”
It was then the David had figured out that the act of resurrection was nowhere near as virtuous as he had first assumed. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | If you want to get around the law and pull a resurrection, you have to be quick about it. Before long, someone notices the smell, or notices them missing, or worst of all, calls in the death and EMTs are on site when they kick the bucket. And if you’re good, like I am, you take the careful jobs. The ones where you can be in and out, no one the wiser, with a good amount of money in my pocket.
I work regularly for fixers. That’s not to say that I get called in daily for accidental deaths; if it happened that often I’d get worried. But the real big shots who play rough and party hard can tip over the knife edge they’re balancing on without realizing it until it’s too late. Using those thin white lines or pills or injections, anything that brings them higher than they can get in their already incredibly elevated and extraordinary life.
Tonight, I should’ve known something was wrong. Robert Cobbs is one of the men I work for, been at his job for a good decade, and he knows I’m someone that can be relied on for speed, discretion, and talent. Something in his voice troubled me, but I put it down to him having a long night, or maybe having a drink or two in him.
Then I got there and saw the blood.
“This isn’t my job,” I said slowly, unable to move my eyes from the body.
The girl had a long slit across her throat, blood having pooled thicky around her and into the mattress she laid splayed out across, eyes wide, staring at nothing. You haven’t quite understood stillness until you’ve seen a corpse, something in it beyond anything a living person could emulate. Beyond that, the body was pallid beyond normal of course, from blood loss, leaving me feeling off-balance.
The guy who’d shared her bed was sitting against the wall, knees up to his chest, presumably already having hyperventilated. His gaze was far-off and his breathing even, in the grips of shock. Blood coated his hands and his left arm. The knife, I finally spotted, was on the floor near the mirrored closet doors, slick with blood, and the spatter from arterial spray painted the scene even more gruesome.
At my rejection of the job, his eyes suddenly darted up to mine, wide in panic. “You said Greg would help, you said-”
“He will,” Cobbs snapped. “Harvin, look. He didn’t do it.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” I murmured, finally sliding my eyes up to meet his. “This is not what I do. Why would you call me in on this?”
“Look at the scene,” he hissed, jabbing with his index finger. “Look at it. What do you see?”
Taking a reluctant deep breath, I did as I was told, scanning it with a more critical eye. My gaze slid over the body, the knife, the blood, the spatter, the killer… Then my eyes narrowed.
“There,” Cobbs said quietly. “You see it?”
“Arterial’s wrong. He couldn’t have gotten away from it unless-” I grimaced. “He could’ve done it from behind-”
“Come on, Greg,” he whispered.
My face shifted to unenthusiastic acceptance. “So, what, she wanted to go out with a bang? Why frame him?”
“Who cares?” the guy choked out. “Just-Just bring her back! Please! I’m ruined if this gets out, if someone calls in the cops, if they see this-”
“Calm down,” I growled. “What’s your name?”
At that, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes and looked to Cobbs. “Anthony,” he supplied.
“Anthony, you got any idea why she’d want to frame you for murder?” I asked, finally taking my briefcase from where I’d put it down and walking over to the bed.
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “No clue.”
“What’s her name?”
Anthony grimace. “Ah…”
I shook my head. “Right.”
The process was straightforward, just needing someone with the ability and the training. Pulling out the small container of blessed herbs, taking some on the tips of my index and middle finger, sliding it gently across the woman’s throat and then down between her breasts over her heart. The chant was under my breath, barely a murmur, more something that came from deep inside me and called on something of a higher power than something that needed to be audible.
The chant continued for another minute or so and I laid my hand on her forehead, closing my eyes in concentration as I recited it. After the third time, I reopened my eyes, continuing to repeat it, and watched the wounds close, feeling the presence of something Other in my midst. Anthony and Cobbs wouldn’t feel it, it was just for me, a bridge to the other side and a creature of power that had leant me some of what it had for this purpose.
Then suddenly, she gasped in a staggeringly long breath, shoving herself upright. “Hey, you’re back with us,” I said, my demeanor calm in the face of the utter panic on her face.
The girl’s hand went to her throat, to the blood staining her chest and then to the others in the room with her. And her eyes widened, staring at me. “What did you *do*?” she shrieked at me.
I leapt backwards off the bed as she lunged for me, stumbling backwards. “Whoa!” I shouted.
“Hold on!” Cobbs snapped, putting himself in front of me, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her back a couple feet. I saw Anthony push himself to his feet, staring in shock. “What the hell is your deal? You slit your own throat in-”
“He killed my sister!” she screamed.
The room was silenced at that and Anthony managed to choke out, “What?”
“August 21st,” she hissed at him. “Deborah White. Or in case you never learned her name, short blonde hair, barely legal, and thought you were a god. And she gushed to me about how she’d gotten backstage with you and then was headed to your hotel room. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call that she’s dead in an *alley* from an overdose. So apparently, I’m worthy of resurrection, but *she* wasn’t!” She shook her head as Anthony paled almost as deeply as the girl had after death. As she spoke, I slowly but surely put away my supplies, closing the suitcase with a quiet *click* of the latch.
“And you got off scot free,” she growled. “You think that just because you’ve got all that money you can get away with anything, and looks like that’s right, because you even managed to wriggle out of this one.”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispered. “It was an accident, she was new at it and took too much, it could’ve happened to-”
Before any of us realized what was happening, the girl had swept up the knife off the carpet that had been used to slit her own throat and leapt at Anthony. Cobb moved quick, as was his job, putting himself between her and her intended victim, crying out as the knife caught him on his arm in a long gash.
And I was moving. Opening the door with the sleeve of my hand, the only place I would have left fingerprints, and knowing that Cobbs had already taken care of the security camera, I was down the hall and descended the stairs rapidly. Because as I said, this was not my job. They called in the wrong guy.
Even as I worried for Cobb’s safety, and what would happen to the girl trying to avenge her sister’s death in the only desperate way she could think to do so, I ran. I momentarily thought of where that knife would land, having been mid-air as I left the room, but then I shoved the thought from my mind. Because you don’t get into this job for your high morals, or for your ego, or for the thrill. You do it for the money. And I don’t get paid in advance for my work. The stack of cash would’ve come, hand delivered by Cobb, tomorrow.
Slamming the door to my car shut, I tossed my suitcase to the passenger seat and sat there, the silence ringing in my ears. I paused for a long moment before I hit my steering wheel angrily, a little pressure of guilt getting the better of me, and took out my phone, dialing a number.
“Yeah, I thought you should know, Cobbs called me in on a job that was beyond me and it went tits up,” I spoke. “I high tailed it out of there because I don’t really give a shit, but…I give enough of a shit to give you a heads up. Whatever happened after I left, someone’s gonna need a good lawyer.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | "You know the drill. We get in, we extract, and then it's like we were never there." The boss fastened her gear to her chest and gave the rest of the squad a look. It was David's first operation, and somehow he had been assigned to a high-profile resurrection. He fidgeted in his seat as the rest of the team took up small chatter to fill the time.
He took the time to reflect on how he had first started down the path to this career; it was considered taboo and morally corrupt to most. When resurrection magic was first discovered, years before he was born, it was immediately banned by every government the world over. Dead men returning from the grave could mean secrets spilled, lies broken, and above all, a total lack of accountability for anyone who had the smarts to take their own life and resurrect themselves after suspicion had passed. It was too powerful a tool for the common man to use. At least, that's what the government thought.
David had lost his mother at the age of seven; just enough time with her both for him to cherish her and feel the full force of devastation from her death. He spent the rest of his youth as a socially distanced and damaged young man.
When he had first heard of resurrection magic, his first though was of his mother: *What if he could bring her back*? The question gnawed at him day and night until he finally took the first step towards becoming a criminal.
It was through a friend of a friend of a friend, initially. He didn’t have high hopes to actually meet the guy offering passage to the world behind the scenes, but he took all the necessary steps, making sure to cover his tracks as well as possible. He eventually succeeded, and it was at that point that he learned something crucial about resurrectors; they took life as quickly as they returned it.
David had been forced to take a vow of secrecy in that meeting; a vow taken with a gun pointed to his head. Any doubts he had been harboring before were now a distant memory. Following that day, he had been metaphorically erased from the surface of the planet, destined to become the nameless figure people would notice but not really worry about, raising those who had something more to say from their graves.
After months of rigorous training, he had made it. He had learned some harsh truths, and the true nature of the method of the magic itself. He knew now that returning his mother was an impossibility. Even so, he made it his personal mission to make sure that what had happened to him would not happen to others. And now, somewhere in the desert, he was going to perform his first resurrection in the field.
David snapped out of his daze when the doors at the back of the van flew open. Everybody sprang into action, and he reluctantly followed suit. The captain barked out an order: “Soulcatchers, move out!”
The squad filed out from the back of the van into a nondescript field. Lying a few meters away was a large mound of dirt that had clearly been disturbed within the past 24 hours. Two members of the team each unfolded a trenching shovel, and began working away at the mound. Within minutes, they recovered the corpse.
David stretched his hands out in front of him, and took a deep breath. Before him was a man who had died quite a bit ago, with maggots in the flesh, bullet wounds in the chest, and bloating in the abdomen. For a moment he worried about his abilities, since he had only practiced on freshly-deceased men and women; he shook it off quickly. He knew he had it in himself to take care of the job.
David started his incantation, paying careful attention to the pronunciation. As he did, blue light began to emanate from the corpse, and it slowly floated into the air. His colleagues back away as each bit of damage to the corpse seemed to melt away. The bloating recessed. The maggots shot out of the flesh like bullets, and the bullet wounds themselves tied up into themselves until there was nothing left but healthy skin.
The man floated back down to the ground on his feet. He looked around, then laughed.
“That was... *very* interesting.” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent. He pointed at the squad’s leader. “You, with the bandanna, you are in charge?”
She stepped forward with a smirk on her face. “You got that right.”
“If you can relay this to your superiors: Give my appreciation to the person who ordered my return. I will cover the rest of the bill myself.”
“Sure thing.”
With that, the man and the rest of the squad headed back to the nondescript van. David followed suit, and took his seat right next to the front. On the way back to the extraction point, the man leaned over to David and said, “You performed the spell?”
David nodded lightly.
The man chuckled. “Good work. I feel good as new.”
He grinned nervously, lacking a response.
Once they had made it back to HQ, with the man having left with a troupe of body guards at their extraction point, David made a beeline for the break room to get a cup of coffee. By the time he sat down to enjoy it, his eyes caught the headline on the TV in the corner.
**RUSSIAN OLIGARCH KHEYLIK PATSPOROV BACK FROM THE DEAD**
*The Russian people have expressed alarm at the revelation that Patsporov has seemingly recovered from a successful assassination and has returned to controlling his large sect of the Russian underground system. Worries that the start of a bloody gang war stewing over the past two years is right around the corner have been rekindled, and many fear for their lives.”
It was then the David had figured out that the act of resurrection was nowhere near as virtuous as he had first assumed. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | "You know the drill. We get in, we extract, and then it's like we were never there." The boss fastened her gear to her chest and gave the rest of the squad a look. It was David's first operation, and somehow he had been assigned to a high-profile resurrection. He fidgeted in his seat as the rest of the team took up small chatter to fill the time.
He took the time to reflect on how he had first started down the path to this career; it was considered taboo and morally corrupt to most. When resurrection magic was first discovered, years before he was born, it was immediately banned by every government the world over. Dead men returning from the grave could mean secrets spilled, lies broken, and above all, a total lack of accountability for anyone who had the smarts to take their own life and resurrect themselves after suspicion had passed. It was too powerful a tool for the common man to use. At least, that's what the government thought.
David had lost his mother at the age of seven; just enough time with her both for him to cherish her and feel the full force of devastation from her death. He spent the rest of his youth as a socially distanced and damaged young man.
When he had first heard of resurrection magic, his first though was of his mother: *What if he could bring her back*? The question gnawed at him day and night until he finally took the first step towards becoming a criminal.
It was through a friend of a friend of a friend, initially. He didn’t have high hopes to actually meet the guy offering passage to the world behind the scenes, but he took all the necessary steps, making sure to cover his tracks as well as possible. He eventually succeeded, and it was at that point that he learned something crucial about resurrectors; they took life as quickly as they returned it.
David had been forced to take a vow of secrecy in that meeting; a vow taken with a gun pointed to his head. Any doubts he had been harboring before were now a distant memory. Following that day, he had been metaphorically erased from the surface of the planet, destined to become the nameless figure people would notice but not really worry about, raising those who had something more to say from their graves.
After months of rigorous training, he had made it. He had learned some harsh truths, and the true nature of the method of the magic itself. He knew now that returning his mother was an impossibility. Even so, he made it his personal mission to make sure that what had happened to him would not happen to others. And now, somewhere in the desert, he was going to perform his first resurrection in the field.
David snapped out of his daze when the doors at the back of the van flew open. Everybody sprang into action, and he reluctantly followed suit. The captain barked out an order: “Soulcatchers, move out!”
The squad filed out from the back of the van into a nondescript field. Lying a few meters away was a large mound of dirt that had clearly been disturbed within the past 24 hours. Two members of the team each unfolded a trenching shovel, and began working away at the mound. Within minutes, they recovered the corpse.
David stretched his hands out in front of him, and took a deep breath. Before him was a man who had died quite a bit ago, with maggots in the flesh, bullet wounds in the chest, and bloating in the abdomen. For a moment he worried about his abilities, since he had only practiced on freshly-deceased men and women; he shook it off quickly. He knew he had it in himself to take care of the job.
David started his incantation, paying careful attention to the pronunciation. As he did, blue light began to emanate from the corpse, and it slowly floated into the air. His colleagues back away as each bit of damage to the corpse seemed to melt away. The bloating recessed. The maggots shot out of the flesh like bullets, and the bullet wounds themselves tied up into themselves until there was nothing left but healthy skin.
The man floated back down to the ground on his feet. He looked around, then laughed.
“That was... *very* interesting.” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent. He pointed at the squad’s leader. “You, with the bandanna, you are in charge?”
She stepped forward with a smirk on her face. “You got that right.”
“If you can relay this to your superiors: Give my appreciation to the person who ordered my return. I will cover the rest of the bill myself.”
“Sure thing.”
With that, the man and the rest of the squad headed back to the nondescript van. David followed suit, and took his seat right next to the front. On the way back to the extraction point, the man leaned over to David and said, “You performed the spell?”
David nodded lightly.
The man chuckled. “Good work. I feel good as new.”
He grinned nervously, lacking a response.
Once they had made it back to HQ, with the man having left with a troupe of body guards at their extraction point, David made a beeline for the break room to get a cup of coffee. By the time he sat down to enjoy it, his eyes caught the headline on the TV in the corner.
**RUSSIAN OLIGARCH KHEYLIK PATSPOROV BACK FROM THE DEAD**
*The Russian people have expressed alarm at the revelation that Patsporov has seemingly recovered from a successful assassination and has returned to controlling his large sect of the Russian underground system. Worries that the start of a bloody gang war stewing over the past two years is right around the corner have been rekindled, and many fear for their lives.”
It was then the David had figured out that the act of resurrection was nowhere near as virtuous as he had first assumed. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | If you want to get around the law and pull a resurrection, you have to be quick about it. Before long, someone notices the smell, or notices them missing, or worst of all, calls in the death and EMTs are on site when they kick the bucket. And if you’re good, like I am, you take the careful jobs. The ones where you can be in and out, no one the wiser, with a good amount of money in my pocket.
I work regularly for fixers. That’s not to say that I get called in daily for accidental deaths; if it happened that often I’d get worried. But the real big shots who play rough and party hard can tip over the knife edge they’re balancing on without realizing it until it’s too late. Using those thin white lines or pills or injections, anything that brings them higher than they can get in their already incredibly elevated and extraordinary life.
Tonight, I should’ve known something was wrong. Robert Cobbs is one of the men I work for, been at his job for a good decade, and he knows I’m someone that can be relied on for speed, discretion, and talent. Something in his voice troubled me, but I put it down to him having a long night, or maybe having a drink or two in him.
Then I got there and saw the blood.
“This isn’t my job,” I said slowly, unable to move my eyes from the body.
The girl had a long slit across her throat, blood having pooled thicky around her and into the mattress she laid splayed out across, eyes wide, staring at nothing. You haven’t quite understood stillness until you’ve seen a corpse, something in it beyond anything a living person could emulate. Beyond that, the body was pallid beyond normal of course, from blood loss, leaving me feeling off-balance.
The guy who’d shared her bed was sitting against the wall, knees up to his chest, presumably already having hyperventilated. His gaze was far-off and his breathing even, in the grips of shock. Blood coated his hands and his left arm. The knife, I finally spotted, was on the floor near the mirrored closet doors, slick with blood, and the spatter from arterial spray painted the scene even more gruesome.
At my rejection of the job, his eyes suddenly darted up to mine, wide in panic. “You said Greg would help, you said-”
“He will,” Cobbs snapped. “Harvin, look. He didn’t do it.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” I murmured, finally sliding my eyes up to meet his. “This is not what I do. Why would you call me in on this?”
“Look at the scene,” he hissed, jabbing with his index finger. “Look at it. What do you see?”
Taking a reluctant deep breath, I did as I was told, scanning it with a more critical eye. My gaze slid over the body, the knife, the blood, the spatter, the killer… Then my eyes narrowed.
“There,” Cobbs said quietly. “You see it?”
“Arterial’s wrong. He couldn’t have gotten away from it unless-” I grimaced. “He could’ve done it from behind-”
“Come on, Greg,” he whispered.
My face shifted to unenthusiastic acceptance. “So, what, she wanted to go out with a bang? Why frame him?”
“Who cares?” the guy choked out. “Just-Just bring her back! Please! I’m ruined if this gets out, if someone calls in the cops, if they see this-”
“Calm down,” I growled. “What’s your name?”
At that, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes and looked to Cobbs. “Anthony,” he supplied.
“Anthony, you got any idea why she’d want to frame you for murder?” I asked, finally taking my briefcase from where I’d put it down and walking over to the bed.
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “No clue.”
“What’s her name?”
Anthony grimace. “Ah…”
I shook my head. “Right.”
The process was straightforward, just needing someone with the ability and the training. Pulling out the small container of blessed herbs, taking some on the tips of my index and middle finger, sliding it gently across the woman’s throat and then down between her breasts over her heart. The chant was under my breath, barely a murmur, more something that came from deep inside me and called on something of a higher power than something that needed to be audible.
The chant continued for another minute or so and I laid my hand on her forehead, closing my eyes in concentration as I recited it. After the third time, I reopened my eyes, continuing to repeat it, and watched the wounds close, feeling the presence of something Other in my midst. Anthony and Cobbs wouldn’t feel it, it was just for me, a bridge to the other side and a creature of power that had leant me some of what it had for this purpose.
Then suddenly, she gasped in a staggeringly long breath, shoving herself upright. “Hey, you’re back with us,” I said, my demeanor calm in the face of the utter panic on her face.
The girl’s hand went to her throat, to the blood staining her chest and then to the others in the room with her. And her eyes widened, staring at me. “What did you *do*?” she shrieked at me.
I leapt backwards off the bed as she lunged for me, stumbling backwards. “Whoa!” I shouted.
“Hold on!” Cobbs snapped, putting himself in front of me, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her back a couple feet. I saw Anthony push himself to his feet, staring in shock. “What the hell is your deal? You slit your own throat in-”
“He killed my sister!” she screamed.
The room was silenced at that and Anthony managed to choke out, “What?”
“August 21st,” she hissed at him. “Deborah White. Or in case you never learned her name, short blonde hair, barely legal, and thought you were a god. And she gushed to me about how she’d gotten backstage with you and then was headed to your hotel room. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call that she’s dead in an *alley* from an overdose. So apparently, I’m worthy of resurrection, but *she* wasn’t!” She shook her head as Anthony paled almost as deeply as the girl had after death. As she spoke, I slowly but surely put away my supplies, closing the suitcase with a quiet *click* of the latch.
“And you got off scot free,” she growled. “You think that just because you’ve got all that money you can get away with anything, and looks like that’s right, because you even managed to wriggle out of this one.”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispered. “It was an accident, she was new at it and took too much, it could’ve happened to-”
Before any of us realized what was happening, the girl had swept up the knife off the carpet that had been used to slit her own throat and leapt at Anthony. Cobb moved quick, as was his job, putting himself between her and her intended victim, crying out as the knife caught him on his arm in a long gash.
And I was moving. Opening the door with the sleeve of my hand, the only place I would have left fingerprints, and knowing that Cobbs had already taken care of the security camera, I was down the hall and descended the stairs rapidly. Because as I said, this was not my job. They called in the wrong guy.
Even as I worried for Cobb’s safety, and what would happen to the girl trying to avenge her sister’s death in the only desperate way she could think to do so, I ran. I momentarily thought of where that knife would land, having been mid-air as I left the room, but then I shoved the thought from my mind. Because you don’t get into this job for your high morals, or for your ego, or for the thrill. You do it for the money. And I don’t get paid in advance for my work. The stack of cash would’ve come, hand delivered by Cobb, tomorrow.
Slamming the door to my car shut, I tossed my suitcase to the passenger seat and sat there, the silence ringing in my ears. I paused for a long moment before I hit my steering wheel angrily, a little pressure of guilt getting the better of me, and took out my phone, dialing a number.
“Yeah, I thought you should know, Cobbs called me in on a job that was beyond me and it went tits up,” I spoke. “I high tailed it out of there because I don’t really give a shit, but…I give enough of a shit to give you a heads up. Whatever happened after I left, someone’s gonna need a good lawyer.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | Gary’s phone dinged to life. A message.
*Abraham O’Connell 1843-1890. Spring Grove Cemetery.*
Gary deleted the message and broke the SIM card, replacing it with a new one. He made it to his car and stopped. Shit, he thought. He pulled his cellphone back out and sent a message to his handler.
*Who was the target again?*
A moment passed, and then the ellipsis signaling that someone was typing appeared on screen.
*Are you serious?*
Gary responded, *Yes. Sorry, I forgot. I already destroyed the SIM card.*
The handler resent the target’s info and added, *I’m not sending it again.*
Gary responded with a laughing face emoji followed by a picture of the target’s info written on his hand. *Won’t be forgetting it this time! LOL*
The handler chose not to respond, as difficult as that was. Gary was an idiot, but he was the best resurrector around.
Later that night, the iron gates of Spring Grove Cemetery creaked open. A light made its way down the rows of headstones, stopping on one that was old and faded.
*Here lies Abraham O’Connell. Beloved Father and Husband. Born May 14th, 1843. Died October 3rd, 1890.*
This must be the guy, thought Gary. He turned off his flashlight and began digging. Once the top of the coffin was cleared of dirt, Gary went to work. He hovered his hands over the coffin and closed his eyes. The owls stopped hooting and the crickets stopped chirping—the night fell into an eerie silence.
Gary began singing, “Ain’t no grave can keep this body down, ain’t no grave can keep this body down, when you hear that trumpet sound, he gonna rise right outta the ground, I said ain’t no grave can keep this body down...”
Gary turned around and opened the case behind him, pulled out a trumpet, and played an F-sharp.
Suddenly, the coffin began to shake. Gary leaned down and opened it. Abraham O’Connell sat up wide eyed and dusty.
“Welcome to the land of the living!” Gary held out his hand.
Abraham turned to Gary and then looked down at the casket he was sitting in. “I’ve been brought back?”
“Yes, sir! Back to good ol’ Earth... or hell. I’ve been told by previous resurectees that this is actually hell.”
Abraham’s eyes grew wider. He laid down in the casket. “Send me back.”
“No can do, bud. I’m being paid a lot of money to resurrect you.”
“My family is in the afterlife. I was with my wife and kids. Send me back!”
“You’ve got family here.”
Abraham sat back up. “I do?”
“Of course. Who do you think is paying me?”
Abraham stood up and patted the dust off of his clothes. “Wonderful! Who is it?”
“Your great-great-great-grandnephew.”
The hope immediately left Abraham’s face and he laid back down, even going as far as to close the lid.
“Abraham!”
Silence.
“Abraham!”
“What!?” Abraham responded, somewhat muffled inside the casket.
“You don’t want to see your family member?”
Abraham kicked the lid open and sat up angrily. “Oh, you mean my great-great, however many greats, grandnephew? No thanks! That’s barely a relative. Now send me back to my real family.”
Gary grabbed Abraham by his crusted, century old collar and yanked him out of the casket. “You’re going to meet him, whether you like it or not.”
“Unhand me!” Abraham shouted as he flailed wildly.
“Stop moving or I won’t let you die ever again!”
Abraham calmed down. “That’s not fair. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
“Life isn’t fair. Now look at me.”
Gary held up his phone and took a picture, temporarily blinding Abraham with the flash. He sent the picture to his handler.
*He has risen again! LOL*
*Pickup is outside the cemetery,* the handler responded. *And stop fucking texting me.*
Gary sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, zombie. Let’s get to your ride.”
They made their way to a blacked out SUV waiting outside the gates. A muscled secret service looking fellow opened the back door for Abraham. Inside sat a middle aged man, anxiously awaiting his relative. “Great-great-great grand uncle!” He said with giddy excitement.
Abraham turned to Gary with a look opposite that of his relative. “Do I have to?”
Gary nudged Abraham towards the car. Abraham climbed in hesitantly. The nephew handed his guard an envelope, who then handed it to Gary. “Thanks for your help!” Said the nephew as the guard closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat.
Gary watched as the SUV pulled away, Abraham’s face pressed against the window like a sad child. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | Gary’s phone dinged to life. A message.
*Abraham O’Connell 1843-1890. Spring Grove Cemetery.*
Gary deleted the message and broke the SIM card, replacing it with a new one. He made it to his car and stopped. Shit, he thought. He pulled his cellphone back out and sent a message to his handler.
*Who was the target again?*
A moment passed, and then the ellipsis signaling that someone was typing appeared on screen.
*Are you serious?*
Gary responded, *Yes. Sorry, I forgot. I already destroyed the SIM card.*
The handler resent the target’s info and added, *I’m not sending it again.*
Gary responded with a laughing face emoji followed by a picture of the target’s info written on his hand. *Won’t be forgetting it this time! LOL*
The handler chose not to respond, as difficult as that was. Gary was an idiot, but he was the best resurrector around.
Later that night, the iron gates of Spring Grove Cemetery creaked open. A light made its way down the rows of headstones, stopping on one that was old and faded.
*Here lies Abraham O’Connell. Beloved Father and Husband. Born May 14th, 1843. Died October 3rd, 1890.*
This must be the guy, thought Gary. He turned off his flashlight and began digging. Once the top of the coffin was cleared of dirt, Gary went to work. He hovered his hands over the coffin and closed his eyes. The owls stopped hooting and the crickets stopped chirping—the night fell into an eerie silence.
Gary began singing, “Ain’t no grave can keep this body down, ain’t no grave can keep this body down, when you hear that trumpet sound, he gonna rise right outta the ground, I said ain’t no grave can keep this body down...”
Gary turned around and opened the case behind him, pulled out a trumpet, and played an F-sharp.
Suddenly, the coffin began to shake. Gary leaned down and opened it. Abraham O’Connell sat up wide eyed and dusty.
“Welcome to the land of the living!” Gary held out his hand.
Abraham turned to Gary and then looked down at the casket he was sitting in. “I’ve been brought back?”
“Yes, sir! Back to good ol’ Earth... or hell. I’ve been told by previous resurectees that this is actually hell.”
Abraham’s eyes grew wider. He laid down in the casket. “Send me back.”
“No can do, bud. I’m being paid a lot of money to resurrect you.”
“My family is in the afterlife. I was with my wife and kids. Send me back!”
“You’ve got family here.”
Abraham sat back up. “I do?”
“Of course. Who do you think is paying me?”
Abraham stood up and patted the dust off of his clothes. “Wonderful! Who is it?”
“Your great-great-great-grandnephew.”
The hope immediately left Abraham’s face and he laid back down, even going as far as to close the lid.
“Abraham!”
Silence.
“Abraham!”
“What!?” Abraham responded, somewhat muffled inside the casket.
“You don’t want to see your family member?”
Abraham kicked the lid open and sat up angrily. “Oh, you mean my great-great, however many greats, grandnephew? No thanks! That’s barely a relative. Now send me back to my real family.”
Gary grabbed Abraham by his crusted, century old collar and yanked him out of the casket. “You’re going to meet him, whether you like it or not.”
“Unhand me!” Abraham shouted as he flailed wildly.
“Stop moving or I won’t let you die ever again!”
Abraham calmed down. “That’s not fair. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
“Life isn’t fair. Now look at me.”
Gary held up his phone and took a picture, temporarily blinding Abraham with the flash. He sent the picture to his handler.
*He has risen again! LOL*
*Pickup is outside the cemetery,* the handler responded. *And stop fucking texting me.*
Gary sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, zombie. Let’s get to your ride.”
They made their way to a blacked out SUV waiting outside the gates. A muscled secret service looking fellow opened the back door for Abraham. Inside sat a middle aged man, anxiously awaiting his relative. “Great-great-great grand uncle!” He said with giddy excitement.
Abraham turned to Gary with a look opposite that of his relative. “Do I have to?”
Gary nudged Abraham towards the car. Abraham climbed in hesitantly. The nephew handed his guard an envelope, who then handed it to Gary. “Thanks for your help!” Said the nephew as the guard closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat.
Gary watched as the SUV pulled away, Abraham’s face pressed against the window like a sad child. | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | If you want to get around the law and pull a resurrection, you have to be quick about it. Before long, someone notices the smell, or notices them missing, or worst of all, calls in the death and EMTs are on site when they kick the bucket. And if you’re good, like I am, you take the careful jobs. The ones where you can be in and out, no one the wiser, with a good amount of money in my pocket.
I work regularly for fixers. That’s not to say that I get called in daily for accidental deaths; if it happened that often I’d get worried. But the real big shots who play rough and party hard can tip over the knife edge they’re balancing on without realizing it until it’s too late. Using those thin white lines or pills or injections, anything that brings them higher than they can get in their already incredibly elevated and extraordinary life.
Tonight, I should’ve known something was wrong. Robert Cobbs is one of the men I work for, been at his job for a good decade, and he knows I’m someone that can be relied on for speed, discretion, and talent. Something in his voice troubled me, but I put it down to him having a long night, or maybe having a drink or two in him.
Then I got there and saw the blood.
“This isn’t my job,” I said slowly, unable to move my eyes from the body.
The girl had a long slit across her throat, blood having pooled thicky around her and into the mattress she laid splayed out across, eyes wide, staring at nothing. You haven’t quite understood stillness until you’ve seen a corpse, something in it beyond anything a living person could emulate. Beyond that, the body was pallid beyond normal of course, from blood loss, leaving me feeling off-balance.
The guy who’d shared her bed was sitting against the wall, knees up to his chest, presumably already having hyperventilated. His gaze was far-off and his breathing even, in the grips of shock. Blood coated his hands and his left arm. The knife, I finally spotted, was on the floor near the mirrored closet doors, slick with blood, and the spatter from arterial spray painted the scene even more gruesome.
At my rejection of the job, his eyes suddenly darted up to mine, wide in panic. “You said Greg would help, you said-”
“He will,” Cobbs snapped. “Harvin, look. He didn’t do it.”
“Not my jurisdiction,” I murmured, finally sliding my eyes up to meet his. “This is not what I do. Why would you call me in on this?”
“Look at the scene,” he hissed, jabbing with his index finger. “Look at it. What do you see?”
Taking a reluctant deep breath, I did as I was told, scanning it with a more critical eye. My gaze slid over the body, the knife, the blood, the spatter, the killer… Then my eyes narrowed.
“There,” Cobbs said quietly. “You see it?”
“Arterial’s wrong. He couldn’t have gotten away from it unless-” I grimaced. “He could’ve done it from behind-”
“Come on, Greg,” he whispered.
My face shifted to unenthusiastic acceptance. “So, what, she wanted to go out with a bang? Why frame him?”
“Who cares?” the guy choked out. “Just-Just bring her back! Please! I’m ruined if this gets out, if someone calls in the cops, if they see this-”
“Calm down,” I growled. “What’s your name?”
At that, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes and looked to Cobbs. “Anthony,” he supplied.
“Anthony, you got any idea why she’d want to frame you for murder?” I asked, finally taking my briefcase from where I’d put it down and walking over to the bed.
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head furiously. “No clue.”
“What’s her name?”
Anthony grimace. “Ah…”
I shook my head. “Right.”
The process was straightforward, just needing someone with the ability and the training. Pulling out the small container of blessed herbs, taking some on the tips of my index and middle finger, sliding it gently across the woman’s throat and then down between her breasts over her heart. The chant was under my breath, barely a murmur, more something that came from deep inside me and called on something of a higher power than something that needed to be audible.
The chant continued for another minute or so and I laid my hand on her forehead, closing my eyes in concentration as I recited it. After the third time, I reopened my eyes, continuing to repeat it, and watched the wounds close, feeling the presence of something Other in my midst. Anthony and Cobbs wouldn’t feel it, it was just for me, a bridge to the other side and a creature of power that had leant me some of what it had for this purpose.
Then suddenly, she gasped in a staggeringly long breath, shoving herself upright. “Hey, you’re back with us,” I said, my demeanor calm in the face of the utter panic on her face.
The girl’s hand went to her throat, to the blood staining her chest and then to the others in the room with her. And her eyes widened, staring at me. “What did you *do*?” she shrieked at me.
I leapt backwards off the bed as she lunged for me, stumbling backwards. “Whoa!” I shouted.
“Hold on!” Cobbs snapped, putting himself in front of me, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her back a couple feet. I saw Anthony push himself to his feet, staring in shock. “What the hell is your deal? You slit your own throat in-”
“He killed my sister!” she screamed.
The room was silenced at that and Anthony managed to choke out, “What?”
“August 21st,” she hissed at him. “Deborah White. Or in case you never learned her name, short blonde hair, barely legal, and thought you were a god. And she gushed to me about how she’d gotten backstage with you and then was headed to your hotel room. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call that she’s dead in an *alley* from an overdose. So apparently, I’m worthy of resurrection, but *she* wasn’t!” She shook her head as Anthony paled almost as deeply as the girl had after death. As she spoke, I slowly but surely put away my supplies, closing the suitcase with a quiet *click* of the latch.
“And you got off scot free,” she growled. “You think that just because you’ve got all that money you can get away with anything, and looks like that’s right, because you even managed to wriggle out of this one.”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony whispered. “It was an accident, she was new at it and took too much, it could’ve happened to-”
Before any of us realized what was happening, the girl had swept up the knife off the carpet that had been used to slit her own throat and leapt at Anthony. Cobb moved quick, as was his job, putting himself between her and her intended victim, crying out as the knife caught him on his arm in a long gash.
And I was moving. Opening the door with the sleeve of my hand, the only place I would have left fingerprints, and knowing that Cobbs had already taken care of the security camera, I was down the hall and descended the stairs rapidly. Because as I said, this was not my job. They called in the wrong guy.
Even as I worried for Cobb’s safety, and what would happen to the girl trying to avenge her sister’s death in the only desperate way she could think to do so, I ran. I momentarily thought of where that knife would land, having been mid-air as I left the room, but then I shoved the thought from my mind. Because you don’t get into this job for your high morals, or for your ego, or for the thrill. You do it for the money. And I don’t get paid in advance for my work. The stack of cash would’ve come, hand delivered by Cobb, tomorrow.
Slamming the door to my car shut, I tossed my suitcase to the passenger seat and sat there, the silence ringing in my ears. I paused for a long moment before I hit my steering wheel angrily, a little pressure of guilt getting the better of me, and took out my phone, dialing a number.
“Yeah, I thought you should know, Cobbs called me in on a job that was beyond me and it went tits up,” I spoke. “I high tailed it out of there because I don’t really give a shit, but…I give enough of a shit to give you a heads up. Whatever happened after I left, someone’s gonna need a good lawyer.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | *"Memento Mori"*
...
I'm in the back of a U-Haul with two bodies.
One is dead.
One is about to be dead.
Let me explain.
This city will bleed you dry.
I know this firsthand.
I was born in 1950 to a poor family in an even poorer town.
Found comfort in the occult.
Murdered in 1983 and dumped in a ditch.
Rezzed six months ago, in 2017. The world's gotten nastier. Someone brought me back for a reason. I should be flattered but all I feel is dread 24/7.
My death involved Greek Fire. I’ll be the first to admit that I was not a fan, and I can still smell the stench vividly, long after I’ve been Rezzed. But I can’t say I was surprised. I broke the one rule of our trade:
‘Don’t break the contract’.
Brokers and their contracts are our lifelines and the foundation of secrets of both the living and the dead. They deal in information, valuable snippets that could collapse a country, expose a ring, or worse. We’re thieves in that very vain, walking through the dark corners and hallways of a spirit before they’re eviscerated. Brokers wouldn’t exist without us, and we wouldn’t exist without brokers.
I still feel tinges of pain. Hot flashes, vibrant and electrifying dreams of watching my own hands deglove and melt.
My old partner, Hesper, used to have a saying:
> ‘We can’t ever hope to tame death, but we can hope to tame our pain.'
Has a kind of poetry to it, right? She was elegant in that sort of way, to match the grace of her steps and the humility to acknowledge herself that she was still only human, flesh and blood. Wish I was more like her, but I’m always too selfish to try. Well, everyone's a little selfish. The radius simply differs.
In this line of work, you kinda have to be. Don’t go out there carrying burdens. I’ve got enough of my own doing wetwork, I’m not exactly taming death, but it ain’t pain either. Hands are as filthy as they come.
She killed herself via revolver back in ‘72. The cleanup was awful, and the smell was indescribable, akin to smoke, rot, and shit. Maggots were on her in a matter of hours, and with the climate of Pacifica, decomp was ruthlessly efficient. Had a spell on her that stopped Rezzing from working. She wanted to be *gone.* Spent two days scraping her walls and two more years recuperating. Even then, you never really get over that. Never did know what ailed her. She was a talented witch, an even better singer.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly knew her, or if I was simply speaking to her mask.
I went to her older sister and told her. It’s an awful thing, but it’s not the ultimate reveal of their death that is horrible; it’s everything after. It’s watching their entire life disintegrate and fracture upon a thousand different fault lines that crumble into a thousand different pieces.
Now that, my friend, is the worst part. Death isn’t an event, it’s a disease, spreading its miserable judgement upon all it touches.
Don’t be confused though. I’m not a miracle worker, but I am indeed a worker and knowledgeable of miracles. That’s what we call it, a bit of re-branding by The Coterie to make it less fucked. Sounds better than ‘Heretical Necromantic Arts’ or ‘Antedilluvian Rituals’.
It’s known among our dastardly kind that you don’t have a soul, you are a soul. You have a body.
*A mortal shell*.
The soul wanders, the shell anchors.
Find the shell, find the soul, extract the soul, transfer the soul to a body, command the soul as long as possible before your fingernails fall off.
The premise is simple. Still with me?
The tricky part is not incinerating your own soul in the process, something I am currently on the brink of doing at this very moment.
It’s quite hard to concentrate in the back of a U-Haul as it's falling apart.
A second passes and I can hear the corroding hissing of metal and steel. More beeping and honking just outside.
I recite the infernal incantation again. A sting of pain from my fingers and I’m back to square one. I bang on the walls near the driver’s cockpit. “Keep it steady! I’m burning through parasites here!”
I pull another squirming occult creature from the yellowish jar, smelling the stench of preservative and god knows what else. We're down to two.
Two bodies are in front of me, one whose skin is as gray as the overcast skies in Pacifica.
One female, named Guinevere Lemont, late thirties, a classic druid with unsavory tattoos and a few fingers missing and a penchant for demonology and devious cons. She was in over her head.
The other, a male in his twenties, a junkie lowlife with his wrists bound and mouth gagged with Violet’s scarf.
The law of necromancy still applies.
*A life must be given for a life.*
Violet, an impatient woman with twigs for limbs holds onto a bit of the railing to balance herself and to redraw the ritual circle with her chalk. “Where the fuck did you find this guy?”
Hands are so fucking sweaty. “I couldn’t exactly go on Craigslist. We needed a Spelljammer, and after the ultimatum imposed upon me, I had my back against the wall..”
“Once we’re done, I’m turning him into a Mimic.”
“Thought your transfiguration was rusty?”
“What the fuck did you drag me into? You never said anything about Institute Agents?”
The tires outside squeal like a spanked pig. Now there’s gunfire. Three holes shoot in pillars of white light that barely miss my grimy face. This loon drives like a madman.
Violet imbues the circle with more of her life force, and marks the junkie for termination. He starts crying. They always do. Beg for forgiveness, swear to me that they’ll run away and never tell anyone. Everyone talks, especially after this.
“In obitum servire potissimum debeatis! In obitum servire potissimum debeatis!” I shout at the top of my lungs, enunciating and emphasizing every resonant frequency of every fucking phoneme in the phrase.
The junkie screams as he is sacrificed for my convenience.
First goes his skin.
***In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.***
Then his muscle fibers.
***In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.***
Then the nerves underneath, fried to a crisp.
***In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.***
His entire body implodes into a crimson red mist, and rockets towards Guinevere’s frozen corpse.
***In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.***
Her maggot-like lips curve, her wrinkled skin that once clung so tightly to her mangled bones gain shape and structure, until finally, she sits up, gasping for air, and begins screaming in agony, her soul tethered by my simple yet unbreakable spell.
“What is the sequence of the Sarkath Vault?” I snarl at her, “The sequence? Where are they?”
“Hurry!” Violet lifts open the backdoor and immediately puts up a spell of abjuration, narrowly deflecting a spray of silver bullets back at the shooter. Next thing I know, I see a car go airborne and into the Meridian River, its frame twisted.
*“... oh... agh... Où suis-je?”* she asks, confused and muddled.
Fuck this.
I clench my fist again, and exert more pressure. I have to be careful or she’ll burn out.
“Aggggh! Argh!”
**“What are they? Tell me!”**
I make her cry out for what seems like years. The truth is exposed.
She’s had enough.
I’ve had enough.
I end her pain.
Her corpse falls flat onto the dirty floor of the U-Haul truck and I promptly take out my burner cell, dialing up the number to my saboteur sixty miles away in Eventide, a fellow kleptomaniac with such an addiction he would’ve stole sutures from his own wounds a nurse was stitching up.
“Ehsan, you there?” I ask, out of breath and out of time.
“Loud and clear.” he says casually. “What’s the commotion-”
*“New spelljammer.”*
“Ah.”
“The sequence is moon, sun, star, sun, tri-unity. Get whatever is inside that vault to the rally point, I’ll see you in two days at the Last Resort, you hear me?”
“Say hi to Violet for me.”
“I won’t. Lose the car.”
I hang up, then give Violet the go ahead. “Do it now.”
Her eyes flash like a dying star in the abyss.
I feel the cold.
The endless void.
No sound. No feeling. No hate.
No love.
Moments later, we’re on the shoreline of Pacifica, washed up along the sands. I end up vomiting half a gallon of water and seaweed.
Violet crawls to land, groaning. “Don’t even say it.”
I lie on the sand, and want to die.
My phone, however, rings.
I pick it up and immediately regret it.
“Ambrose… still alive?” speaks the voice on the other end, the voice that can end kingdoms and destroy lives.
“We got what you asked. Drop off will be at The Last Resort, 0900 hours. My contact will be there in a silver pickup.”
“Good.”
“So my debt… is it clear?”
The laughter on the other end sends a sinking feeling in my belly. “No. This was just an audition.”
“An audition? For what?”
“Your next job.” he says with glee.
“This wasn’t the terms-”
“-And I’m restructuring the terms. So, you in, or are you in?”
I let out every curse under the sun. “... What’s the mark?”
“Simple. We’re going to rez a *god*. I'll send you details over breakfast.”
There it is.
This city bleeding me dry [again](https://www.reddit.com/r/blahgarfogar/). | **Beyond our mortal coil lies an afterlife of bliss.** Despite this, those who Pass Beyond are sometimes sorely missed. And though the laws of Man and God would block my path and shrink the odds, I'd hate myself forever if I knew I hadn't tried.
I sought to bring my sister back the day Alyssa died.
The body she'd been born with was the body of a man. As such, it mattered not to me that I defied God's plans. The hand He'd dealt Alyssa was unfathomably poor; to me, this resurrection was just evening the score.
The outlawing of hormones was, for her, the final straw. As such, it mattered not to me that I would break the law. If her merely existing was a state-mandated crime, then I'd spit in the lawman's eye until the end of time.
The time had come; my work begun. Into darkness I'd descend, to find her soul and make amends.
I breathed my life into the air and let my tears fall through her hair and struck my aching soul aflame with matches made from blazing pain and Stepped Beyond her silent face into a vast and empty place and there I stopped and called, "Hello?"
The only sound was my echo.
And then I heard my sister laugh. A bitter, twisted epitaph.
"They find it so romantic, with their pleasant afterlife. Yet none of them have killed themselves with their own kitchen knife." Despite the heavy subject matter, she just seemed annoyed. "Beyond this mortal coil, nothing waits for us but void."
"Then take my hand," I pleaded, "and come back to our home."
"The home that scorned and shunned me? I'd rather die alone."
"The home with me who loves you, who cared enough to fight." I stretched my hand towards her, and my tears were hot and bright.
"You know why it's illegal. Why they can't let me come back. They hate me just for living. If I came, then they'd attack."
"Then I will resurrect you. Time and time again. I'll find you and stretch my hand, no matter where or when."
Alyssa slowly trembled. She clenched her fists too tight. Then suddenly, she surged to me, and stepped into the light.
We both were in the basement. My tears were in her hair. The remnants of the ritual hung lightly in the air.
Wordlessly, I spread my arms; she held me tight and close. Not because she had to, but for once, because she chose.
A.N.
Happy Easter to all the eggs of the world, and happy late trans day of visibility. If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more. | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | I got a good feeling about this.
The ship was simply cruising in the asteroid field, ripe for the picking. It appeared to be ancient, an old Precursor 576 Pathblazer. Ancient humans used them to discover new star systems when they first departed from the now uninhabitable Earth.
The ship was large and clunky looking, but was still mostly intact. These were one of the first ships to use segmented technology, so if a breach occurred on one part of the ship, only a small section would be destroyed, as airlocks separated different areas. It would be easy to fix up, as long as we found all the breaches and patched them up, before repairing the likely damaged oxygen tanks and Artificial G-enerators. It would be an easy enough job for Sha'Ghla, one of our oldest crew members.
I looked over at him from my seat. He was an alien, resembling a fourteen black slug in shape with centipede-like legs, as well as constantly pulsating limbs with many joints and "fingers". Due to it's half a dozen limbs, as well as their incredible flexibility, he was a natural born engineer. We had picked him up, all the way back when this entire act started, from his planet of Shroogruga, which was then under the tyrannical rule of a species of Insectoids who's names were impossible for the human tongue to pronounce. We just called them Stickbugs.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I spoke up, standing with a grin, breaking the awed silence. There were eight of us in this room alone, the observation deck of our main ship, all staring out the massive window made of ballistic glass at the opportunity that had presented itself. "I know we've had a bad run these past few weeks. But things may finally be looking up for us."
“This seems too easy.” Elly sighed, standing next to me while we each watched our main force prepare to embark to the abandoned spacecraft.
“Too easy?” I asked. Elly was the only other human here with a Precursor’s name, besides me. She was a half sister of sorts, only being introduced to my life a few years ago. We shared the same mother, but she had been given away to another family before I was born. We met years later, when we had been forced to escape from the largest prison in Sector 7 together. It was...a long story. “Come on, there’s nothing suspicious about this. Just a long-abandoned ship with Precursor technology in prime condition that hasn’t been brought in or looted yet.” I joked, although I knew she had a point.
“I don’t like this, Eric.”
“It’ll be fine. These men are the best mercenaries money can buy. No trap or defense mechanism in the entire Sector can stop them.”
“I suppose you’re right...” Elly mumbled, leaning against a nearby support beam. In front of us, the mercenaries we had hired months earlier were stocking up the Fighter, a relatively small ship, but could still store half a dozen men. On their backs were weapons, ranging from Assault Rifles to Sling Shotguns to Crystal Bolas. These soldiers truly were the best around. Despite that though, we were still on the lam from, well, just about any government in the Sector. But that wouldn’t matter. Our little streak of bad luck was about to end. We could commander this ship and sell it for a fortune. Discovering Precursor ships, even when half destroyed, could make a person rich. I could hardly imagine the money this would fetch us.
“We ready, gentlemen?” I called out. The captain of the little mercenary crew simply turned to me, nodding. He was a grizzled old man, a human like me and Elly. Many scars criss-crossed his face, and he had the slightest white beard with a shiny, bald head. He wore the same armor as the rest of his crew, green body armor with camo cloth and steel protecting the joints. He had a variety of pistol holsters all across his body, including two waist holster, two armpit holsters, an assault rifle holster on his back, a Bladeflail holster on the back of his waist, and a knife in his left boot, all of them were full.
Like I said, the best mercenaries money could buy, although I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to make up for something with all those weapons.
“Alright. We’ll stay in contact with you in the Comms room. Good luck.” I bid them adieu, watching as the five mercenaries climbed up the extendable ramp into the Fighter.
Once it the ramp had retracted into its side, it began to hover in the air, slowly inching its way towards the massive hatch that substituted for one of the walls in the massive room we were standing in.
Me and Elly turned towards the opposite door silently, although she gave me an uneasy look as we walked through the airlock, the hatch opening behind us.
(Part 1)
This is my first time posting on here, so any advice would be helpful! | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | # 15 Minutes
...***Before*** **break.** I looked up - for the fifth time in as many minutes. The radar was, like usual, blank. The edges of the circular overlay occasionally blinked visibly, refreshing at a smooth 60 frames per second.. of absolutely nothing.
I mean, I'd have heard the ping over the speaker system anyways, cutting out the songs playing through the surprisingly good surround sound setup in the Comms room - the thing was probably better than most *audiophiles'* \- but it was worth a glance anyway. I thought about going for a walk, but decided against it. The *Lucinda* was a glorified tugboat, and there wasn't anything else to do, anyways. The artificial gravity & automatic temperature adjustment made each section remarkably cozy - as much as it could be, at least. "Designed for 4 people", sure. The Bridge, Comms & Tech (me), Weapons/Shield (not that we had one), Greenhouse & Kitchen/Canteen. Each one doubled - (tripled?) as personal quarters. On paper, it should've been more than enough. In practice, well, the best way I could describe it was with an oxymoron - spaciously cramped. My mind wandered to the break. A half hour of sitting & talking in what little common space there was might be nice. But then again...
​
​
"They could've placed us on the sister ship." O'Malley, still Captain, complained.
"Well, considering they warped who knows how many light years away, I don't get the feeling they wanted to see us again!" shot back Zan, Weapons Tech. and former First Mate - not that our previous positions mattered now. The bickering was serious, but friendly, like usual. We all liked each other - someone would have probably **died** by now if we didn’t. And I **don't** mean by accident.
Glorified Space Tugboat or not, we **were** lucky the mutineers chose to put us on **ANY** ship, nevermind one self-sustainable, if lacking in the defense department. A single, puny tractor beam was our only *"weapon"*. All we had for movement was a small engine, powered, like the rest of the ship, on bio-fuel from the modified plants in the greenhouse. Edible, quick to grow, and low on space. At least it was all modern. A somewhat cozy life with any shot at rescue, no matter how unlikely, was better than **dying** in a cramped lifepod, running out of recycled air long before rations. This was absolute luxury, compared to ***that***. In an attempt to shut them up, I interjected. "They gave us a self-sustaining ship & **ALL** our personals. Sure, we're drifting, but it's a **hell** of a lot better than a lifepod. Most mutinying crews wouldn't be ***nearly*** as generous."
"Elar is right. We've had this discussion, like, 10 times already." Albin, resident Botanist (& former Quartermaster) moaned. "Can we move on?"
I agreed; they didn't.
​
​
That - a sampling of yesterday's break - was the *thrilling* way our discussions usually went, once we ran out of topics. I wondered what we'd talk about today - Intergalactic Politics? A classic, tried and true when it came to putting everyone in a bad mood. Maybe the ethics of using Black Holes to obliterate *"problem"* planets. ***Depressing.*** Before I could continue that thought, the 10th(ish) repeat of *Take On Me* cut out, and as the simple bell-like PING started, I groaned. "Sensor clog? *Again?*"
**No.** Right there, on the monitor, was indeed a large, blinking, red dot, in the bottom right corner. It clearly hadn't been spotted by O'Malley.. Yet. I pulled up the bridge cams on the square monitor, relegating the dot visualization to a small screen on my left. A derelict ship. "Ship" was being generous - it was the size of a **large** freighter. And freighters, well. They **ain't** small.
​
I peered at the radar, then back at the screen. Was I *hallucinating?* No, that much was clear. This was all remarkably bizarre, but it was happening. I started running a scan in the background, then navigated into the system's commandline & accessed the intercom - a handy trick.
"**Comms to All - you'd better see this. E-SE.**"
"We've been out here for **6 months**, 'Comms', you can stop the formalities."
"It's 4. Noted, O-Malley."
3 faces popped up in the bottom left corner of the screen. "What?", said Zan, with mild interest. "Is this important?" added O'Malley, clearly more interested in lunch. *Not for long.*
"Have any of you looked outside?!"
"We have, like, 3 windows." Albin *helpfully* pointed out.
"**DOESN'T MATTER.** CAMERAS. ***CHECK 'EM!***"
"Um, I don't really have access to a keyboard right now."
Albin was planting, like usual. I decided to drop it before the conversation derailed entirely, and shared the screen of the rear bridge camera with a click on the UI (and an eyeroll).
​
​
"Woah."
"Is that?"
"Yes. I have a scan, right here."
I turned off the screen sharing before pulling up the results. It was mostly a text log, better for me to explain.
"**4** Toruses - That's some ludicrous redundancy, plus it's Fusion power - clean & infinite. The list goes on and on - self-sustaining, yadda yadda - whole wack of incredible gadgets. Warp tech, EXTREME long-range. Custom cloaking device, the most powerful one I've ever seen."
Zan pitched in. "A ship like this, in the wrong hands.." pause "Yikes. I don't even want to think about it." Shivers, all around. O'Malley immediately pitched in, face betraying a mix of concern & excitement - "We're boarding."
"Traces of former human life on board. Just the airlock, and very faint - fingerprints, that sort of thing. No bodies. Extraterres-" "Alien" , Zan interrupted - "glyphs, logograms, something on the front. Its name. Untranslatable."
"This is starting to sound like something out of a horror movie!" Albin commented.
"Wait" - I had to interrupt before this got out of hand.. again. "It's not just the interior that's high-tech. 'Extremely advanced' weapons presence."
A shared groan went up. The atmosphere collapsed in a second. "Well, I guess that's that the-" O'Malley started. **"Let me finish!"** I snapped. "No - If this reading's correct - and all the asteroid tests have been right - we're in firing range. If there is something on there that wanted to destroy us, we'd have been dead before we noticed it."
Zan turned white. "oh." replied O'Malley. Albin looked similarly pale. *Pause.* "Well. Um. Let's go for it?" "Aye." "Yep." *Beat.* "I guess." Albin still looked a little concerned. I didn't blame him. The pile of red flags was starting to resemble a small mountain.
​
​
\~30 minutes later - most of which was spent standing around waiting for the engine to creep up, then carefully dock - we boarded the vessel's spacious airlock, taking a seat on the benches - the air was stale, and there was only darkness behind the closed interior doors. We waited - it took what felt like an hour for the ship to finish "Ensuring internal atmosphere is maintained at a breathable level" according to a male voice - prerecorded, no doubt. How long has this thing been sitting here, empty? rolled through my mind again and again. The time was filled with sparse small talk, poorly hiding our obvious tension. One of Albin's bleaker jokes helped lighten the mood, but not by much.
As soon as the process was complete - "Internal Atmosphere stabilized. Mixture: 78% N2, 21% O2, 1% Misc. Gases." - I immediately felt unnaturally exhausted - too much to move. I opened my mouth, but talking may as well have been a marathon. Nothing came out. The door to our ship was just meters away, but it was far too late to leave. I saw my crew nod into a state of forced unconscious moments later, then unwillingly followed.
​
​
When I woke up, they - and the ship - were gone. I wasn't dreaming - the outer door was clearly locked. *What?* They *left me?* ***Gulp.*** I peered through the inner door, still seeing darkness, but it felt inexplicably... Off, this time. The door opened as I leaned in, almost throwing me off balance. The interior was covered in something black, dripping. Oozing was more like it. I wanted to run. As I walked through the tall, wide room, it was clearly exquisite - palacial, even, had it not been dripping in goo. A large, cracked screen sat, centered in the wall. I heard a swishing sound from behind. As I brushed away the slimey ooze from a lamp, it lit up - providing a warm, comforting glow in this miserable place. Then, as I turned around, deciding where to go next, I noticed the almost ceiling-high wave of slime towering over me, and tried to run - but it was too late. "What - WHAT THE FUCKK??!" I screamed, as the black ooze enveloped me.
| / - - - - - - - You're around halfway. Long one folks, sorry. - - - - - - - \\|
(I finished this for personal practice. Hope it's enjoyable, though.) | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It wasn’t everyday you happened across a pantheon-class destroyer floating dead in space, apparently perfectly intact. While not exactly “cutting edge” it was a ship architecture that was still in service in a number of naval forces, including United Nations Interstellar Navy.
“No response from our computer’s handshake, captain, scopes are reading that that ship is completely dead in the water.”
As we maneuvered to come up alongside it, we got a glimpse at its name. Per UNIN law, the craft would have a designation etched and painted for visual confirmation for this very rare case. The name came into view: UNIN Belisarius.
“Run that name in the database.” I ordered, hoping at the very least to collect a finders fee for what appeared to be a missing military vessel.
“No public record si-“
The lights turned off, and counter thrust was applied to bring our vessel to a 0 vector, dead in space.
“Auxiliary power engaged” our ships computer announced. “Life support systems prioritized. O2 levels nominal. Protocol 9A has been initiated please await recovery by United Nations personnel.
Despite being a licensed vessel captain, I’d never heard of a protocol 9A, “Do we still have scopes?”
“Yes, captain, the computer appears to have locked us out of navigation and... that’s it.”
So, we couldn’t move our vessel but we weren’t in any immediate danger.
“Time estimate for UNIN response?”
“Relay station is about .8 AU from us, they should be receiving our coordinates in about 5 minutes on the fast side.”
From there an FTL burst would have a ship to us in about a minute, which wasn’t exactly ideal for me and my 4 crew.
“Ok, I’m gonna try a hard reboot.” I muttered as I ducked under the main computer, maybe I could prevent the ships computer remembering we were locked out of nav after I restarted the ship manually.
Now, me and my crew weren’t exactly criminals, but we had done a few “illegal” scavenging ops that may have resulted in UNIN hardware making it into the hands of The Initiative, who they’d been at war with for going on 30 years. I didn’t see it as an issue of allegiance, being a UNIN citizen myself, I just sold to the highest bidder. In the instance of those particular prototype deep range stealth torpedos, UNIN had simply been offering substantially less money than The Initiative for recovery of those assets.
Ater I pulled the correct wires I initiated a core reboot via standard console commands, this should prevent the ships computer for holding its “black box” memory after we powered down for the 4 or so minutes it would take all the capacitors to lose their power. The downside to this would be that no oxygen would be produced, so we’d have to ration our breaths until we could spin everything back up, it was gonna be a tight race to see if UNIN would show up before we could restore navigation.
I initiated power down and the ship went pitch black, at least a smaller vessel like ours would be much more difficult to find when completely powered down. Which would give us a small advantage if UNIN showed up early.
Part 2 coming if there is interest. | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was half past 2, standard Terran time, that we found the wreck. Damn thing had been interfering with our comms for weeks, but it was barely noticeable at first. Then the quality of our transmissions went to shit almost instantaneously. No comms could reach us, and as we picked up from the other captains back on Cypra Mundi, they were having the same problem. No matter. The Silver Fleet could handle a stray comms jammer, easy. We approached the ship slowly. We searched through the records and found her- the *Valatino’s Crown*. Recorded missing some 40 years ago, just after the Mundian civil war. Lost in the event horizon of a black hole. Except it was here. Sitting in Mundian space, as if it had just anchored. Except it hadn’t. At all. 40 years had taken its toll on the hull, as space moss had sprouted out of the crags in the metal surface. Oddest thing was, the lights were still functioning. We clamped on board, hoping to find data or blueprints. At first sight, the walls, if mouldy, were still intact. There seemed to be nobody around. Until we saw what was pinned on the far wall- a fresh human corpse with its face scraped off and its eyes taken out. The sight was bad enough without the sudden, shared thought of- “who, or what, did that?” A bone-chilling cry echoed from deep within the bowels of the ship. Going there was a trip to hell, as the crew seemed to have suffered during the time dilation, and had all gone completely mad. And violent. Extremely violent. Walls were caked with haemoglobin, and even worse: figures seemed to peep out at us through the dark red liquid. It was apparent that their insanity had culminated in the birth of some dark stalker, with no eyes or mouth. It took me a few seconds to realise what the message from the *Crown* had really been saying, twisted and distorted by the static.
“Glad to meet you, Captain Washei.”
On a loop.
Like the message, too had gone mad.
We made frequent stops to the *Crown*, to experiment with the mad crew mates.
All were the same.
All told us of the “stalker” and how “the men in blue shirts got away”.
We only later realised what they were telling us.
They had a stowaway during their time in the event horizon.
Something tall, and darker than the deepest pit of Hell. Something with cyan lights for a face, and a sword of flesh. They had not gone mad from being stuck in the event horizon at all, oh no. The Stalker, whatever it was, had been driven insane. I was the first to catch on, but the others wrote it off as gibberish. They were far more interested in the valuables of the ship. Metal, wiring, and data were all valuable things to us Mundians.
From what I could tell from the random blabberings of the crew, the stowaway was nearby.
My crew ignored what I was trying to tell them.
Again and again.
Without end.
They told me I was paranoid, and indulging in psychotic ramblings.
I knew I wasn’t.
Because at the moment I realised what all our previous encounters with the strange had culminated in.
I knew what we were up against.
*Malevolence.* | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | **The first clue we failed to notice was the dust**
The hull, still covered by crisp paint with almost no wear, had *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus* emblazoned across the bow. It was long and sleek, and unlike any ship we'd ever seen. Most importantly, it was apparently undamaged, and didn't show any signs of inhabitants, living or cybernetic. I took my whole crew. Johnson, N'bawe, Fonder, Romero, and myself. We knew we were probably biting off more than we could chew, but we were too excited to care, and we had no idea just how big of a bite we were taking.
The dust was in the airlock, and the hallway leading deeper into the ship, floating aimlessly in the microgravity atmosphere. There must have been some failsafe that automatically turned the ships power off, because the lights were out, and the artificial gravity was clearly not in effect. Of course, like any standard vessel, there were plenty of emergency handholds for us to maneuver with.
As we glided further in, I briefly wondered about the dust. It was dark and sooty, but scans indicated that it was silicon based, and likely non organic as a result. Perhaps there was a fire in a critical system that led to the ship to warp out of orbit while no one was inside. If that was the case, it was a miracle it was in one piece. And, while a warp drive powerful enough to move a ship like this would be hard to replace, it was a small price to pay compared to the ship itself.
The second clue we missed was in the mess hall. So far it was the only place that showed any signs of disarray. The dust was thicker here, and there were ceramics and silverware floating everywhere. In the kitchen, there were a few blackened smears along the walls, like they'd been burnt. But there was no sign of a gas leak, or radiation from energy weapons, or even an antique tool like a flamethrower. Nor were there bodies, or spilled food, and no blood to be seen. Just dust and debris. This should have made us uneasy, but we were all so caught up in the excitement of this jackpot salvage that none of us paused to try and piece the clues together.
We continued, following the signage to the engine room. We aimed to try and restore power, maybe find some record of what had happened. At this point we were all practically salivating over the idea of a reward for finding a lost ship. The third and final clue was the most conspicuous, but also the most abstract. There was a camera, used undoubtedly for ship-wide surveillance, that had been smashed. Next to it was a cracked glass sphere, likely the culprit of the damage. It was the most substantial damage we'd seen to the ship this far. Everything else was superficial. There were other cameras in that hall, one farther down, and the other around a corner completely undamaged. So why this one?
There were also a number of the same burned streaks as in the kitchen, and the ever present dust, but we paid them no mind. I would have given anything for us to have been spooked enough to leave. But we weren't. And we didn't. Not until it was too late.
We got to the engine room, and found it undamaged. Perhaps something in navigation had failed, or on the bridge. I was certain that it had to have been a hardware failure that led to this. In a way I was right.
Fonder was the first one to the main power. While the switches were still on, the computer must have automatically overridden the hardware for an emergency shutdown to conserve energy. It only took her a few minutes to jack in and tell the computer to get things running again. As soon as they did, red lights bathed the room as we were surrounded by alarms. But gravity was, strangely, still off. Johnson went for the "sector clear" on the far wall, and that's when everything went wrong. Before he'd even reached the button, his body disintegrated into a fireball that sent the rest of us tumbling. Heat seared my face through my visor, and I was temporary blinded and deafened.
When I could hear again, all that met my ears was screaming. Romero panicked and ran, but we saw fire lick around the side of the engine room door mere seconds after we lost sight. Fonder was in shock, and unresponsive, so N'bawe got to the computer and pulled up a map of the ship. Following her lead, I got a copy for myself onto my wrist communicator and quickly scanned it, trying to find the quickest exit without following Romero.
After a quick argument, we agreed on a route to try. I took Fonder's hand, and followed N'bawe out. She was rummaging in her pack, and tossing objects along the corridors, trying to find out in advance where it was safe to go. We quickly worked out a system. N'bawe would toss something from her pack, like a ration, or a ball of tape from her pack, and repeat until we found a line between two walls that didn't incinerate the object. She'd leap to that point, then I'd push Fonder after her, and after she caught Fonder and moved her aside, I'd jump after her. And repeat. It was nerve wracking. And bound to fail. It was my fault, at the last. I made my leap, following N'bawe and Fonder, just a moment too early. Fonder was still unresponsive, and not aware of her surroundings. N'bawe didn't have time to keep her from drifting. She caught me, and I got a grip on the wall just as she noticed Fonder floating away. N'bawe dove after her, and her foothold slipped, sending them both tumbling. I reached out desperately, but it was too late. The last I saw of them was their faces, turning towards me, as their skin blackened and ruptured. The terror that was the last thing they felt before oblivion seared into me, from their eyes to mine.
I'm not sure how long I clung to that wall, wracked by grief and guilt. But somewhere between my tears pooling in my visor and my nose stuffing up, I had an epiphany. It was more of a hunch, really, but it was all I had. I remembered the smashed camera. The glass ball. I looked around, and saw only one camera in sight. All of them, so far, had been on what would normally be the ceiling. Which meant they would probably have a blind spot there, too. There were no handholds up there, so I wrapped my gloves in tape, sticky side out, and crawled. It was hard to check the map, so I went towards the last room I could remember. The captains quarters. They were near the escape pods, and that was as good an exit as any for us. And they would probably be free of cameras.
It only took a few minutes, but the journey felt like hours. Every second, I dreaded the sensation of having my body converted to ash by whatever process had killed my crew. Every movement felt like a death sentence. Some part of me felt like that's what I deserved, and that's all that kept me moving. A quiet death wish. The idle hope for a release from my sorrow and guilt. But it never came.
I made it into the captains quarters, and sealed the door behind me. Scanning the room, I spotted one camera that only observed the door. It too was broken. There was a computer there, and a file opened on the desktop, which was somehow still logged in. I moved to it, hoping to find answers, an explanation for this nightmare. What I found was almost worse.
The file, titled *Project Scorpion Stare*, described a process that I'd never heard of. It was a type of magic, performed through advanced mathematics and calculations. By running a program that used these calculations through a pair of cameras, it was possible to create a basilisk effect. Rather than turning to stone, however, victims would have an arbitrarily chosen percentage of the carbon atoms in their body spontaneously changed into silicon. This abrupt change to the electron balance in a body, or any material with significant carbon content, led to an atomic destabilization cascade. Basically, the atoms in the body would rip themselves apart in a million billion tiny nuclear explosions. Death was near instantaneous, and most evidence would be lost in the blast. Even the radiation would depreciate to unremarkable levels in a matter of days. And this ship, named for the constellation that held the serpent, was the first attempt to weaponize this phenomenon.
There was a note at the bottom, only one word, likely left by the captain. The frantic scrawl of ink on paper spoke to the desperate fury the captain must have felt in their final moments.
*Sabotage*
Now, if you're reading this, I'm likely already dead. This is not a distress signal. It is a warning. If you value your lives, do not get any closer to the *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus.* If you have the means to completely destroy it, do so. But only if you can be sure that it will leave no trace. There are some things mankind is not meant to control, some serpents to venomous to approach. And in this ship is one of them, by far the deadliest I've ever seen. For the love of all that is good and just, *do not go into this ship*. *Do not let this serpent go free*. And pray to whatever God you think might save you that it's the last of its kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks for reading. I don't do this often. I also have to credit the idea for the scorpion stare to the works of *The Laundry Files* by Charles Stross. Very good books, go read them. The audiobooks are good too. | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was a human vessel, larger than some moons we’d seen. Covered in markings, of the Terran ‘Japanese’ language, most marking it as experimental, and emblazoned with the logo of the Nova Mars Technocratic Authority; an old human organization known for it’s incredible military technologies.
Scans showed no organic matter at all; not a smidge of flesh, bacteria, blood nor bone. Completely abandoned. This seemed rather strange, as NMTA technology was scuttled as opposed to abandoned. The brutal organization allowed nothing and no one to fall into enemy hands, even if it meant completely annihilating anything that might get away.
This particular vessel’s sleek design and large amount of firepower was a unique one. In my service with the navy, I had encountered quite a few NMTA-designed starships employed by human enemies, and this one was definitely not one I’d seen before. The text written on it also had trouble going through our translators; characters and symbols in Japanese were slightly different than what we had on our computer, and we had the entirety of the modern language.
Still, the opportunity to loot a vastly superior ship was one that the captain dared not miss. Ordering us to board, even my co-pilot and I were told to suit up and enter. I brought up the possibility of onboard defences, but the captain shut down my pleas. We were going, whether we wanted to or not.
I had never been inside of any sort of NMTA structure. I’d imagined sterile white corridors, bright lights, and simple black symbols for directions, which wasn’t far off for the most part. The ship seemed to be running on auxiliary power, and the lights would dim occasionally. As we got the centre of the ship, we found ourselves on a circular balcony, overlooking floors one through four, underneath six through eight. In the centre of the ring-shaped room hung a steel orb, floating free of any tethers. Holographic displays in Japanese and Russian confirmed that the ship was running on auxiliary power, and warned of occasional gravitational fluctuations.
Despite this, there was not a sign in the ship of damage or combat; the entirety of it was pristine as though it had just come out of the factory. None of us could be certain about why the vessel was abandoned, so we elected to head to the bridge to start looking for clues.
Then one of our security team reported hearing whispering. Though he couldn’t explain exactly what was being said, he felt as though the words were coming from right behind him. Constantly turning around as we explored, when the security officer behind him tripped over his own four feet he was nearly shot. The afflicted security officer was sent back to the ship alone.
Reaching the bridge, my co-pilot and I began checking around the communications office with our own communications officer. We found a handful of computers and data drives that we didn’t know how to use, and because of that we were too afraid to touch them. The communications officer was going to attempt something when a gunshot sounded throughout the corridors.
Rushing to the source, my co-pilot and I found the lone security officer’s corpse laying against the railing of the central balcony. As soon as we arrived, the artificial gravity ceased it’s functioning, and the body slowly rose into the air before being violently pulled towards the orb. The speed at which the corpse hit was so great that it was reduced a smear of green blood. I tried my best not to vomit on my helmet, and the orb’s sudden movement didn’t help. It was not moving very much, only seeming to vibrate in place ever so slightly. It was still enough to produce a minuscule amount of noise that disoriented my ears and made my vision slightly fuzzy. Was the orb some sort of sonic weapon? I could only wonder.
Solemnly, we returned to the bridge and made a full report of the situation; the security officer had shot himself, then was obliterated by the orb for some unknown reason. A shout from the communications officer and the sound of him falling over caused us to rush there next. He shook his head, stood back up, and carefully inserted a data drive into a computer before tapping some buttons to play an audio log.
“Earth Date 4/17/3193. We’ve done it; we’ve activated the TF-Drive and made the Jump. Confirming with NMTA-Kilo-731 proved it. This is not our dimension. Weird to think that Captain Shikinami is a guy here… I can’t see it, personally. Wonder if he’d be down for a beer? At any rate, we’re checking the whole ship now for any sign of dimensional interference. The True-Frequency Drive itself seemed a bit funky, but I’m thinkin’ that’s just how it is after it’s used. Will update again tomorrow; Second Lieutenant Reiner, signing off,”
I looked to the communications officer, then to my co-pilot, then captain. We all had the same expression of disbelief. True Frequencies? Not their dimension? I returned my gaze to the communications officer and asked him if he could play another audio log. He obliged and put in a second drive.
“Earth Date 4/19/3193. We remember now. What happened, during the Jump. The sound of the True Frequency; everything. There’s… there’s something inside the TF-Drive. It’s from outside… in between. It’s alive, and it’s angry. We can’t kill it through conventional means, and it’s stopping us from strumming any TF chords through the engines. I don’t know… what it means to do… but it wasn’t meant to be in this dimension. In any dimension. Captain Shikinami remembered more than the rest of us. She’s… done something. I’m not sure what. But… she said it’s going to help us. I don’t… I don’t know what happened to her, or what’s going to happen to us… but… if you hear this log, *annihilate* the NMTA Ghost Memory. Open the orb. Let us out—“
The sound of slamming on a desk was heard.
“—No! Damn you, you fucking demon! Get out of my head! … Captain?”
The audio feed was dead silent for another minute, before the voice of the human called Reiner returned, jubilant with laughter.
“Captain! You sly fox, of course you would know what to do. Is there any situation you can’t get us out of? Haha… listen. If you’re hearing this, whoever you are, you need to take the data drives and listen to the instructions in safety. Don’t stay on the ship, it’s dangerous. The entity… it’s… we’ll call it the ‘Anti-Thanatos’. Listen, just… I need to go now, just remember this; stay off the ship until you need to enter to carry out the instructions. We’ll try to help if we can. And whatever you do… *don’t let anyone die onboard the vessel*. Acting Lieutenant Reiner, signing off.” | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | Recording Playback: Initiated
Source: Indepedent Charter Salvage Ship: Sumeris
As the crew wandered around the spacious interiors, luxurious upholstery, state-of-the-art amenities, and were already envisioning this derelict as their new home, their reveries were interrupted by static on their radio, "Guys," Petty Officer Jenkins' voice crackled on the crew-wideband, "Don't. Touch. Anything."
"Why?", "What's wrong?", "What's going on?", "I swear to God Jenkins, if you boggart this, I will-"
"Drop everything," The outpouring of questions were silenced as the captain calmly cut off any further protest on the comms, nobody ignored the note of tension in his voice. "Get your gear and haul ass back to the nest. Double time! Now!"
Groans and grumbling couldn't be stifled over the comms, which were swiftly silenced as everyone beheld the image that came on their virtual visor display from Jenkins cam-feed. "Oh, shit!", Ensign Shepley blurted out, those two words perfectly encapsulated the dread that Jenkins and the captain had tried to hide from their voices.
There it was on a bulkhead, a mural in grainy digital footage, location log indicated it was captured from the ship's fore close to the prow, a smiling human face (infamous across the known space) with an exaggerated jawline, surrounded by swirling pastel colors and designs, and equally smiling images of semi-naked revelers, quickly forgotten, as all eyes zeroed in on the caption above in bold, embossed, golden lettering.
Prince Jocco's Bilzerian Love Barge.
"I'm sure we can wash out whatever-", Engineer Tess McNeill began before she was drowned out in a wave of revulsion over the comms. "Oh, God!", "Ew ew ew ew ew ewwww...", "Ughhh", "No, no, no, Jackson don't! Don't-" (some poor soul could be heard retching into their helmet)
Another image popped in overlay, the feed from Jenkins' helmet minimized and playing in the background, a scene of a pressurized metal hatch opening revealing plush leathery velvet upholstery lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Metal chains, fuzzy manacles, and straps from metal frames hung in zero-G. An empty leather mask with ballgag over the mouth drifted serenely towards the source of the feed, Shipman Desana, who barely dodged it with a stifled half-curse, probably disrupted from its orbit when the air pressure in the velvet dungeon shifted as it was opened for the first time in ages. Lights came on, someone flipped a switch behind Desana, monitors in the room flared to life showing cam-feeds from a dozen angles around the room as a loud sultry beat started playing over hidden speakers, a second later and hissing could be heard all around as racks and compartments tumbled open, their contents dislodged from their moorings.
Dildos. Dildos everywhere.
The final image of the feed showed Desana and her crew jetting through the corridors, someone heavily breathing, "Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope! NOPE!"
The last transmission of the recording came from Communications Officer Lt. Danzig's laughter, "This is gonna go viral on the Milk-net!" | its not everyday you get to see a ship in this pristine of condition and one so old too especialy since the heat death of the universe 50 years ago (i wasnt around then so dont ask what happened or how all life survived cause i dont know) practicaly wiped out all salvage drifting in space i assumed that it was just a ship that got abandoned or was just a connecting flight of sorts but there was no signs that the ship had anyone on it for a long time. when we entered we saw what looked like red wiring going in a circuit board like pattern along the walls and ceiling. we didnt think it was of anything of consequence so we ignored it. that was our mistake. we continued on to the rest of the ship with nothing of note happening. that was untill we reached the cargo hold and the command deck the cargo hold held strange red vines and coils all over the place kinda like red licorice they appeared to be a form of dormant state so we took a small cluster of the red vines that we saw on the ground. on the way to the command deck we noticed the red wiring getting thicker and coving most of the walls and now even the floor when we opend the door we were met with more red vines and what seemed like bodies hung inside of them that was when we made the connection that the wiring was not wiring at all but infact these strange vines we went to main computer to gather the logs as well we were curious as to what this is and what happened. BIG MISTAKE what logs remained made mention of a SIVA and of nanites the final log though was completely intact as if on purpose it detailed how SIVA went berserk in the cargo hold as if it received new programming it made its way to the command bay where it killed everyone. as we tried to upload these logs the vines seemed to come alive as if awakened by our interference. the bodies started glowing bright red and started to lumber towards us we shot them down but it seemed like no use they came back up. we tried to make our way back to the airlock and our ship but we were blocked by a red swarm try as we might we couldnt break threw that is untill one of my men used his flame thrower and we made our escape. luckly noone was hurt and the sample we collected seems to still be dormant so we will take it back to HQ for study.
​
33rd log from captain Kayly Barnes march 13 2655 | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It wasn’t everyday you happened across a pantheon-class destroyer floating dead in space, apparently perfectly intact. While not exactly “cutting edge” it was a ship architecture that was still in service in a number of naval forces, including United Nations Interstellar Navy.
“No response from our computer’s handshake, captain, scopes are reading that that ship is completely dead in the water.”
As we maneuvered to come up alongside it, we got a glimpse at its name. Per UNIN law, the craft would have a designation etched and painted for visual confirmation for this very rare case. The name came into view: UNIN Belisarius.
“Run that name in the database.” I ordered, hoping at the very least to collect a finders fee for what appeared to be a missing military vessel.
“No public record si-“
The lights turned off, and counter thrust was applied to bring our vessel to a 0 vector, dead in space.
“Auxiliary power engaged” our ships computer announced. “Life support systems prioritized. O2 levels nominal. Protocol 9A has been initiated please await recovery by United Nations personnel.
Despite being a licensed vessel captain, I’d never heard of a protocol 9A, “Do we still have scopes?”
“Yes, captain, the computer appears to have locked us out of navigation and... that’s it.”
So, we couldn’t move our vessel but we weren’t in any immediate danger.
“Time estimate for UNIN response?”
“Relay station is about .8 AU from us, they should be receiving our coordinates in about 5 minutes on the fast side.”
From there an FTL burst would have a ship to us in about a minute, which wasn’t exactly ideal for me and my 4 crew.
“Ok, I’m gonna try a hard reboot.” I muttered as I ducked under the main computer, maybe I could prevent the ships computer remembering we were locked out of nav after I restarted the ship manually.
Now, me and my crew weren’t exactly criminals, but we had done a few “illegal” scavenging ops that may have resulted in UNIN hardware making it into the hands of The Initiative, who they’d been at war with for going on 30 years. I didn’t see it as an issue of allegiance, being a UNIN citizen myself, I just sold to the highest bidder. In the instance of those particular prototype deep range stealth torpedos, UNIN had simply been offering substantially less money than The Initiative for recovery of those assets.
Ater I pulled the correct wires I initiated a core reboot via standard console commands, this should prevent the ships computer for holding its “black box” memory after we powered down for the 4 or so minutes it would take all the capacitors to lose their power. The downside to this would be that no oxygen would be produced, so we’d have to ration our breaths until we could spin everything back up, it was gonna be a tight race to see if UNIN would show up before we could restore navigation.
I initiated power down and the ship went pitch black, at least a smaller vessel like ours would be much more difficult to find when completely powered down. Which would give us a small advantage if UNIN showed up early.
Part 2 coming if there is interest. | I got a good feeling about this.
The ship was simply cruising in the asteroid field, ripe for the picking. It appeared to be ancient, an old Precursor 576 Pathblazer. Ancient humans used them to discover new star systems when they first departed from the now uninhabitable Earth.
The ship was large and clunky looking, but was still mostly intact. These were one of the first ships to use segmented technology, so if a breach occurred on one part of the ship, only a small section would be destroyed, as airlocks separated different areas. It would be easy to fix up, as long as we found all the breaches and patched them up, before repairing the likely damaged oxygen tanks and Artificial G-enerators. It would be an easy enough job for Sha'Ghla, one of our oldest crew members.
I looked over at him from my seat. He was an alien, resembling a fourteen black slug in shape with centipede-like legs, as well as constantly pulsating limbs with many joints and "fingers". Due to it's half a dozen limbs, as well as their incredible flexibility, he was a natural born engineer. We had picked him up, all the way back when this entire act started, from his planet of Shroogruga, which was then under the tyrannical rule of a species of Insectoids who's names were impossible for the human tongue to pronounce. We just called them Stickbugs.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I spoke up, standing with a grin, breaking the awed silence. There were eight of us in this room alone, the observation deck of our main ship, all staring out the massive window made of ballistic glass at the opportunity that had presented itself. "I know we've had a bad run these past few weeks. But things may finally be looking up for us."
“This seems too easy.” Elly sighed, standing next to me while we each watched our main force prepare to embark to the abandoned spacecraft.
“Too easy?” I asked. Elly was the only other human here with a Precursor’s name, besides me. She was a half sister of sorts, only being introduced to my life a few years ago. We shared the same mother, but she had been given away to another family before I was born. We met years later, when we had been forced to escape from the largest prison in Sector 7 together. It was...a long story. “Come on, there’s nothing suspicious about this. Just a long-abandoned ship with Precursor technology in prime condition that hasn’t been brought in or looted yet.” I joked, although I knew she had a point.
“I don’t like this, Eric.”
“It’ll be fine. These men are the best mercenaries money can buy. No trap or defense mechanism in the entire Sector can stop them.”
“I suppose you’re right...” Elly mumbled, leaning against a nearby support beam. In front of us, the mercenaries we had hired months earlier were stocking up the Fighter, a relatively small ship, but could still store half a dozen men. On their backs were weapons, ranging from Assault Rifles to Sling Shotguns to Crystal Bolas. These soldiers truly were the best around. Despite that though, we were still on the lam from, well, just about any government in the Sector. But that wouldn’t matter. Our little streak of bad luck was about to end. We could commander this ship and sell it for a fortune. Discovering Precursor ships, even when half destroyed, could make a person rich. I could hardly imagine the money this would fetch us.
“We ready, gentlemen?” I called out. The captain of the little mercenary crew simply turned to me, nodding. He was a grizzled old man, a human like me and Elly. Many scars criss-crossed his face, and he had the slightest white beard with a shiny, bald head. He wore the same armor as the rest of his crew, green body armor with camo cloth and steel protecting the joints. He had a variety of pistol holsters all across his body, including two waist holster, two armpit holsters, an assault rifle holster on his back, a Bladeflail holster on the back of his waist, and a knife in his left boot, all of them were full.
Like I said, the best mercenaries money could buy, although I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to make up for something with all those weapons.
“Alright. We’ll stay in contact with you in the Comms room. Good luck.” I bid them adieu, watching as the five mercenaries climbed up the extendable ramp into the Fighter.
Once it the ramp had retracted into its side, it began to hover in the air, slowly inching its way towards the massive hatch that substituted for one of the walls in the massive room we were standing in.
Me and Elly turned towards the opposite door silently, although she gave me an uneasy look as we walked through the airlock, the hatch opening behind us.
(Part 1)
This is my first time posting on here, so any advice would be helpful! | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was a human vessel, larger than some moons we’d seen. Covered in markings, of the Terran ‘Japanese’ language, most marking it as experimental, and emblazoned with the logo of the Nova Mars Technocratic Authority; an old human organization known for it’s incredible military technologies.
Scans showed no organic matter at all; not a smidge of flesh, bacteria, blood nor bone. Completely abandoned. This seemed rather strange, as NMTA technology was scuttled as opposed to abandoned. The brutal organization allowed nothing and no one to fall into enemy hands, even if it meant completely annihilating anything that might get away.
This particular vessel’s sleek design and large amount of firepower was a unique one. In my service with the navy, I had encountered quite a few NMTA-designed starships employed by human enemies, and this one was definitely not one I’d seen before. The text written on it also had trouble going through our translators; characters and symbols in Japanese were slightly different than what we had on our computer, and we had the entirety of the modern language.
Still, the opportunity to loot a vastly superior ship was one that the captain dared not miss. Ordering us to board, even my co-pilot and I were told to suit up and enter. I brought up the possibility of onboard defences, but the captain shut down my pleas. We were going, whether we wanted to or not.
I had never been inside of any sort of NMTA structure. I’d imagined sterile white corridors, bright lights, and simple black symbols for directions, which wasn’t far off for the most part. The ship seemed to be running on auxiliary power, and the lights would dim occasionally. As we got the centre of the ship, we found ourselves on a circular balcony, overlooking floors one through four, underneath six through eight. In the centre of the ring-shaped room hung a steel orb, floating free of any tethers. Holographic displays in Japanese and Russian confirmed that the ship was running on auxiliary power, and warned of occasional gravitational fluctuations.
Despite this, there was not a sign in the ship of damage or combat; the entirety of it was pristine as though it had just come out of the factory. None of us could be certain about why the vessel was abandoned, so we elected to head to the bridge to start looking for clues.
Then one of our security team reported hearing whispering. Though he couldn’t explain exactly what was being said, he felt as though the words were coming from right behind him. Constantly turning around as we explored, when the security officer behind him tripped over his own four feet he was nearly shot. The afflicted security officer was sent back to the ship alone.
Reaching the bridge, my co-pilot and I began checking around the communications office with our own communications officer. We found a handful of computers and data drives that we didn’t know how to use, and because of that we were too afraid to touch them. The communications officer was going to attempt something when a gunshot sounded throughout the corridors.
Rushing to the source, my co-pilot and I found the lone security officer’s corpse laying against the railing of the central balcony. As soon as we arrived, the artificial gravity ceased it’s functioning, and the body slowly rose into the air before being violently pulled towards the orb. The speed at which the corpse hit was so great that it was reduced a smear of green blood. I tried my best not to vomit on my helmet, and the orb’s sudden movement didn’t help. It was not moving very much, only seeming to vibrate in place ever so slightly. It was still enough to produce a minuscule amount of noise that disoriented my ears and made my vision slightly fuzzy. Was the orb some sort of sonic weapon? I could only wonder.
Solemnly, we returned to the bridge and made a full report of the situation; the security officer had shot himself, then was obliterated by the orb for some unknown reason. A shout from the communications officer and the sound of him falling over caused us to rush there next. He shook his head, stood back up, and carefully inserted a data drive into a computer before tapping some buttons to play an audio log.
“Earth Date 4/17/3193. We’ve done it; we’ve activated the TF-Drive and made the Jump. Confirming with NMTA-Kilo-731 proved it. This is not our dimension. Weird to think that Captain Shikinami is a guy here… I can’t see it, personally. Wonder if he’d be down for a beer? At any rate, we’re checking the whole ship now for any sign of dimensional interference. The True-Frequency Drive itself seemed a bit funky, but I’m thinkin’ that’s just how it is after it’s used. Will update again tomorrow; Second Lieutenant Reiner, signing off,”
I looked to the communications officer, then to my co-pilot, then captain. We all had the same expression of disbelief. True Frequencies? Not their dimension? I returned my gaze to the communications officer and asked him if he could play another audio log. He obliged and put in a second drive.
“Earth Date 4/19/3193. We remember now. What happened, during the Jump. The sound of the True Frequency; everything. There’s… there’s something inside the TF-Drive. It’s from outside… in between. It’s alive, and it’s angry. We can’t kill it through conventional means, and it’s stopping us from strumming any TF chords through the engines. I don’t know… what it means to do… but it wasn’t meant to be in this dimension. In any dimension. Captain Shikinami remembered more than the rest of us. She’s… done something. I’m not sure what. But… she said it’s going to help us. I don’t… I don’t know what happened to her, or what’s going to happen to us… but… if you hear this log, *annihilate* the NMTA Ghost Memory. Open the orb. Let us out—“
The sound of slamming on a desk was heard.
“—No! Damn you, you fucking demon! Get out of my head! … Captain?”
The audio feed was dead silent for another minute, before the voice of the human called Reiner returned, jubilant with laughter.
“Captain! You sly fox, of course you would know what to do. Is there any situation you can’t get us out of? Haha… listen. If you’re hearing this, whoever you are, you need to take the data drives and listen to the instructions in safety. Don’t stay on the ship, it’s dangerous. The entity… it’s… we’ll call it the ‘Anti-Thanatos’. Listen, just… I need to go now, just remember this; stay off the ship until you need to enter to carry out the instructions. We’ll try to help if we can. And whatever you do… *don’t let anyone die onboard the vessel*. Acting Lieutenant Reiner, signing off.” | I got a good feeling about this.
The ship was simply cruising in the asteroid field, ripe for the picking. It appeared to be ancient, an old Precursor 576 Pathblazer. Ancient humans used them to discover new star systems when they first departed from the now uninhabitable Earth.
The ship was large and clunky looking, but was still mostly intact. These were one of the first ships to use segmented technology, so if a breach occurred on one part of the ship, only a small section would be destroyed, as airlocks separated different areas. It would be easy to fix up, as long as we found all the breaches and patched them up, before repairing the likely damaged oxygen tanks and Artificial G-enerators. It would be an easy enough job for Sha'Ghla, one of our oldest crew members.
I looked over at him from my seat. He was an alien, resembling a fourteen black slug in shape with centipede-like legs, as well as constantly pulsating limbs with many joints and "fingers". Due to it's half a dozen limbs, as well as their incredible flexibility, he was a natural born engineer. We had picked him up, all the way back when this entire act started, from his planet of Shroogruga, which was then under the tyrannical rule of a species of Insectoids who's names were impossible for the human tongue to pronounce. We just called them Stickbugs.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I spoke up, standing with a grin, breaking the awed silence. There were eight of us in this room alone, the observation deck of our main ship, all staring out the massive window made of ballistic glass at the opportunity that had presented itself. "I know we've had a bad run these past few weeks. But things may finally be looking up for us."
“This seems too easy.” Elly sighed, standing next to me while we each watched our main force prepare to embark to the abandoned spacecraft.
“Too easy?” I asked. Elly was the only other human here with a Precursor’s name, besides me. She was a half sister of sorts, only being introduced to my life a few years ago. We shared the same mother, but she had been given away to another family before I was born. We met years later, when we had been forced to escape from the largest prison in Sector 7 together. It was...a long story. “Come on, there’s nothing suspicious about this. Just a long-abandoned ship with Precursor technology in prime condition that hasn’t been brought in or looted yet.” I joked, although I knew she had a point.
“I don’t like this, Eric.”
“It’ll be fine. These men are the best mercenaries money can buy. No trap or defense mechanism in the entire Sector can stop them.”
“I suppose you’re right...” Elly mumbled, leaning against a nearby support beam. In front of us, the mercenaries we had hired months earlier were stocking up the Fighter, a relatively small ship, but could still store half a dozen men. On their backs were weapons, ranging from Assault Rifles to Sling Shotguns to Crystal Bolas. These soldiers truly were the best around. Despite that though, we were still on the lam from, well, just about any government in the Sector. But that wouldn’t matter. Our little streak of bad luck was about to end. We could commander this ship and sell it for a fortune. Discovering Precursor ships, even when half destroyed, could make a person rich. I could hardly imagine the money this would fetch us.
“We ready, gentlemen?” I called out. The captain of the little mercenary crew simply turned to me, nodding. He was a grizzled old man, a human like me and Elly. Many scars criss-crossed his face, and he had the slightest white beard with a shiny, bald head. He wore the same armor as the rest of his crew, green body armor with camo cloth and steel protecting the joints. He had a variety of pistol holsters all across his body, including two waist holster, two armpit holsters, an assault rifle holster on his back, a Bladeflail holster on the back of his waist, and a knife in his left boot, all of them were full.
Like I said, the best mercenaries money could buy, although I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to make up for something with all those weapons.
“Alright. We’ll stay in contact with you in the Comms room. Good luck.” I bid them adieu, watching as the five mercenaries climbed up the extendable ramp into the Fighter.
Once it the ramp had retracted into its side, it began to hover in the air, slowly inching its way towards the massive hatch that substituted for one of the walls in the massive room we were standing in.
Me and Elly turned towards the opposite door silently, although she gave me an uneasy look as we walked through the airlock, the hatch opening behind us.
(Part 1)
This is my first time posting on here, so any advice would be helpful! | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | **The first clue we failed to notice was the dust**
The hull, still covered by crisp paint with almost no wear, had *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus* emblazoned across the bow. It was long and sleek, and unlike any ship we'd ever seen. Most importantly, it was apparently undamaged, and didn't show any signs of inhabitants, living or cybernetic. I took my whole crew. Johnson, N'bawe, Fonder, Romero, and myself. We knew we were probably biting off more than we could chew, but we were too excited to care, and we had no idea just how big of a bite we were taking.
The dust was in the airlock, and the hallway leading deeper into the ship, floating aimlessly in the microgravity atmosphere. There must have been some failsafe that automatically turned the ships power off, because the lights were out, and the artificial gravity was clearly not in effect. Of course, like any standard vessel, there were plenty of emergency handholds for us to maneuver with.
As we glided further in, I briefly wondered about the dust. It was dark and sooty, but scans indicated that it was silicon based, and likely non organic as a result. Perhaps there was a fire in a critical system that led to the ship to warp out of orbit while no one was inside. If that was the case, it was a miracle it was in one piece. And, while a warp drive powerful enough to move a ship like this would be hard to replace, it was a small price to pay compared to the ship itself.
The second clue we missed was in the mess hall. So far it was the only place that showed any signs of disarray. The dust was thicker here, and there were ceramics and silverware floating everywhere. In the kitchen, there were a few blackened smears along the walls, like they'd been burnt. But there was no sign of a gas leak, or radiation from energy weapons, or even an antique tool like a flamethrower. Nor were there bodies, or spilled food, and no blood to be seen. Just dust and debris. This should have made us uneasy, but we were all so caught up in the excitement of this jackpot salvage that none of us paused to try and piece the clues together.
We continued, following the signage to the engine room. We aimed to try and restore power, maybe find some record of what had happened. At this point we were all practically salivating over the idea of a reward for finding a lost ship. The third and final clue was the most conspicuous, but also the most abstract. There was a camera, used undoubtedly for ship-wide surveillance, that had been smashed. Next to it was a cracked glass sphere, likely the culprit of the damage. It was the most substantial damage we'd seen to the ship this far. Everything else was superficial. There were other cameras in that hall, one farther down, and the other around a corner completely undamaged. So why this one?
There were also a number of the same burned streaks as in the kitchen, and the ever present dust, but we paid them no mind. I would have given anything for us to have been spooked enough to leave. But we weren't. And we didn't. Not until it was too late.
We got to the engine room, and found it undamaged. Perhaps something in navigation had failed, or on the bridge. I was certain that it had to have been a hardware failure that led to this. In a way I was right.
Fonder was the first one to the main power. While the switches were still on, the computer must have automatically overridden the hardware for an emergency shutdown to conserve energy. It only took her a few minutes to jack in and tell the computer to get things running again. As soon as they did, red lights bathed the room as we were surrounded by alarms. But gravity was, strangely, still off. Johnson went for the "sector clear" on the far wall, and that's when everything went wrong. Before he'd even reached the button, his body disintegrated into a fireball that sent the rest of us tumbling. Heat seared my face through my visor, and I was temporary blinded and deafened.
When I could hear again, all that met my ears was screaming. Romero panicked and ran, but we saw fire lick around the side of the engine room door mere seconds after we lost sight. Fonder was in shock, and unresponsive, so N'bawe got to the computer and pulled up a map of the ship. Following her lead, I got a copy for myself onto my wrist communicator and quickly scanned it, trying to find the quickest exit without following Romero.
After a quick argument, we agreed on a route to try. I took Fonder's hand, and followed N'bawe out. She was rummaging in her pack, and tossing objects along the corridors, trying to find out in advance where it was safe to go. We quickly worked out a system. N'bawe would toss something from her pack, like a ration, or a ball of tape from her pack, and repeat until we found a line between two walls that didn't incinerate the object. She'd leap to that point, then I'd push Fonder after her, and after she caught Fonder and moved her aside, I'd jump after her. And repeat. It was nerve wracking. And bound to fail. It was my fault, at the last. I made my leap, following N'bawe and Fonder, just a moment too early. Fonder was still unresponsive, and not aware of her surroundings. N'bawe didn't have time to keep her from drifting. She caught me, and I got a grip on the wall just as she noticed Fonder floating away. N'bawe dove after her, and her foothold slipped, sending them both tumbling. I reached out desperately, but it was too late. The last I saw of them was their faces, turning towards me, as their skin blackened and ruptured. The terror that was the last thing they felt before oblivion seared into me, from their eyes to mine.
I'm not sure how long I clung to that wall, wracked by grief and guilt. But somewhere between my tears pooling in my visor and my nose stuffing up, I had an epiphany. It was more of a hunch, really, but it was all I had. I remembered the smashed camera. The glass ball. I looked around, and saw only one camera in sight. All of them, so far, had been on what would normally be the ceiling. Which meant they would probably have a blind spot there, too. There were no handholds up there, so I wrapped my gloves in tape, sticky side out, and crawled. It was hard to check the map, so I went towards the last room I could remember. The captains quarters. They were near the escape pods, and that was as good an exit as any for us. And they would probably be free of cameras.
It only took a few minutes, but the journey felt like hours. Every second, I dreaded the sensation of having my body converted to ash by whatever process had killed my crew. Every movement felt like a death sentence. Some part of me felt like that's what I deserved, and that's all that kept me moving. A quiet death wish. The idle hope for a release from my sorrow and guilt. But it never came.
I made it into the captains quarters, and sealed the door behind me. Scanning the room, I spotted one camera that only observed the door. It too was broken. There was a computer there, and a file opened on the desktop, which was somehow still logged in. I moved to it, hoping to find answers, an explanation for this nightmare. What I found was almost worse.
The file, titled *Project Scorpion Stare*, described a process that I'd never heard of. It was a type of magic, performed through advanced mathematics and calculations. By running a program that used these calculations through a pair of cameras, it was possible to create a basilisk effect. Rather than turning to stone, however, victims would have an arbitrarily chosen percentage of the carbon atoms in their body spontaneously changed into silicon. This abrupt change to the electron balance in a body, or any material with significant carbon content, led to an atomic destabilization cascade. Basically, the atoms in the body would rip themselves apart in a million billion tiny nuclear explosions. Death was near instantaneous, and most evidence would be lost in the blast. Even the radiation would depreciate to unremarkable levels in a matter of days. And this ship, named for the constellation that held the serpent, was the first attempt to weaponize this phenomenon.
There was a note at the bottom, only one word, likely left by the captain. The frantic scrawl of ink on paper spoke to the desperate fury the captain must have felt in their final moments.
*Sabotage*
Now, if you're reading this, I'm likely already dead. This is not a distress signal. It is a warning. If you value your lives, do not get any closer to the *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus.* If you have the means to completely destroy it, do so. But only if you can be sure that it will leave no trace. There are some things mankind is not meant to control, some serpents to venomous to approach. And in this ship is one of them, by far the deadliest I've ever seen. For the love of all that is good and just, *do not go into this ship*. *Do not let this serpent go free*. And pray to whatever God you think might save you that it's the last of its kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks for reading. I don't do this often. I also have to credit the idea for the scorpion stare to the works of *The Laundry Files* by Charles Stross. Very good books, go read them. The audiobooks are good too. | # 15 Minutes
...***Before*** **break.** I looked up - for the fifth time in as many minutes. The radar was, like usual, blank. The edges of the circular overlay occasionally blinked visibly, refreshing at a smooth 60 frames per second.. of absolutely nothing.
I mean, I'd have heard the ping over the speaker system anyways, cutting out the songs playing through the surprisingly good surround sound setup in the Comms room - the thing was probably better than most *audiophiles'* \- but it was worth a glance anyway. I thought about going for a walk, but decided against it. The *Lucinda* was a glorified tugboat, and there wasn't anything else to do, anyways. The artificial gravity & automatic temperature adjustment made each section remarkably cozy - as much as it could be, at least. "Designed for 4 people", sure. The Bridge, Comms & Tech (me), Weapons/Shield (not that we had one), Greenhouse & Kitchen/Canteen. Each one doubled - (tripled?) as personal quarters. On paper, it should've been more than enough. In practice, well, the best way I could describe it was with an oxymoron - spaciously cramped. My mind wandered to the break. A half hour of sitting & talking in what little common space there was might be nice. But then again...
​
​
"They could've placed us on the sister ship." O'Malley, still Captain, complained.
"Well, considering they warped who knows how many light years away, I don't get the feeling they wanted to see us again!" shot back Zan, Weapons Tech. and former First Mate - not that our previous positions mattered now. The bickering was serious, but friendly, like usual. We all liked each other - someone would have probably **died** by now if we didn’t. And I **don't** mean by accident.
Glorified Space Tugboat or not, we **were** lucky the mutineers chose to put us on **ANY** ship, nevermind one self-sustainable, if lacking in the defense department. A single, puny tractor beam was our only *"weapon"*. All we had for movement was a small engine, powered, like the rest of the ship, on bio-fuel from the modified plants in the greenhouse. Edible, quick to grow, and low on space. At least it was all modern. A somewhat cozy life with any shot at rescue, no matter how unlikely, was better than **dying** in a cramped lifepod, running out of recycled air long before rations. This was absolute luxury, compared to ***that***. In an attempt to shut them up, I interjected. "They gave us a self-sustaining ship & **ALL** our personals. Sure, we're drifting, but it's a **hell** of a lot better than a lifepod. Most mutinying crews wouldn't be ***nearly*** as generous."
"Elar is right. We've had this discussion, like, 10 times already." Albin, resident Botanist (& former Quartermaster) moaned. "Can we move on?"
I agreed; they didn't.
​
​
That - a sampling of yesterday's break - was the *thrilling* way our discussions usually went, once we ran out of topics. I wondered what we'd talk about today - Intergalactic Politics? A classic, tried and true when it came to putting everyone in a bad mood. Maybe the ethics of using Black Holes to obliterate *"problem"* planets. ***Depressing.*** Before I could continue that thought, the 10th(ish) repeat of *Take On Me* cut out, and as the simple bell-like PING started, I groaned. "Sensor clog? *Again?*"
**No.** Right there, on the monitor, was indeed a large, blinking, red dot, in the bottom right corner. It clearly hadn't been spotted by O'Malley.. Yet. I pulled up the bridge cams on the square monitor, relegating the dot visualization to a small screen on my left. A derelict ship. "Ship" was being generous - it was the size of a **large** freighter. And freighters, well. They **ain't** small.
​
I peered at the radar, then back at the screen. Was I *hallucinating?* No, that much was clear. This was all remarkably bizarre, but it was happening. I started running a scan in the background, then navigated into the system's commandline & accessed the intercom - a handy trick.
"**Comms to All - you'd better see this. E-SE.**"
"We've been out here for **6 months**, 'Comms', you can stop the formalities."
"It's 4. Noted, O-Malley."
3 faces popped up in the bottom left corner of the screen. "What?", said Zan, with mild interest. "Is this important?" added O'Malley, clearly more interested in lunch. *Not for long.*
"Have any of you looked outside?!"
"We have, like, 3 windows." Albin *helpfully* pointed out.
"**DOESN'T MATTER.** CAMERAS. ***CHECK 'EM!***"
"Um, I don't really have access to a keyboard right now."
Albin was planting, like usual. I decided to drop it before the conversation derailed entirely, and shared the screen of the rear bridge camera with a click on the UI (and an eyeroll).
​
​
"Woah."
"Is that?"
"Yes. I have a scan, right here."
I turned off the screen sharing before pulling up the results. It was mostly a text log, better for me to explain.
"**4** Toruses - That's some ludicrous redundancy, plus it's Fusion power - clean & infinite. The list goes on and on - self-sustaining, yadda yadda - whole wack of incredible gadgets. Warp tech, EXTREME long-range. Custom cloaking device, the most powerful one I've ever seen."
Zan pitched in. "A ship like this, in the wrong hands.." pause "Yikes. I don't even want to think about it." Shivers, all around. O'Malley immediately pitched in, face betraying a mix of concern & excitement - "We're boarding."
"Traces of former human life on board. Just the airlock, and very faint - fingerprints, that sort of thing. No bodies. Extraterres-" "Alien" , Zan interrupted - "glyphs, logograms, something on the front. Its name. Untranslatable."
"This is starting to sound like something out of a horror movie!" Albin commented.
"Wait" - I had to interrupt before this got out of hand.. again. "It's not just the interior that's high-tech. 'Extremely advanced' weapons presence."
A shared groan went up. The atmosphere collapsed in a second. "Well, I guess that's that the-" O'Malley started. **"Let me finish!"** I snapped. "No - If this reading's correct - and all the asteroid tests have been right - we're in firing range. If there is something on there that wanted to destroy us, we'd have been dead before we noticed it."
Zan turned white. "oh." replied O'Malley. Albin looked similarly pale. *Pause.* "Well. Um. Let's go for it?" "Aye." "Yep." *Beat.* "I guess." Albin still looked a little concerned. I didn't blame him. The pile of red flags was starting to resemble a small mountain.
​
​
\~30 minutes later - most of which was spent standing around waiting for the engine to creep up, then carefully dock - we boarded the vessel's spacious airlock, taking a seat on the benches - the air was stale, and there was only darkness behind the closed interior doors. We waited - it took what felt like an hour for the ship to finish "Ensuring internal atmosphere is maintained at a breathable level" according to a male voice - prerecorded, no doubt. How long has this thing been sitting here, empty? rolled through my mind again and again. The time was filled with sparse small talk, poorly hiding our obvious tension. One of Albin's bleaker jokes helped lighten the mood, but not by much.
As soon as the process was complete - "Internal Atmosphere stabilized. Mixture: 78% N2, 21% O2, 1% Misc. Gases." - I immediately felt unnaturally exhausted - too much to move. I opened my mouth, but talking may as well have been a marathon. Nothing came out. The door to our ship was just meters away, but it was far too late to leave. I saw my crew nod into a state of forced unconscious moments later, then unwillingly followed.
​
​
When I woke up, they - and the ship - were gone. I wasn't dreaming - the outer door was clearly locked. *What?* They *left me?* ***Gulp.*** I peered through the inner door, still seeing darkness, but it felt inexplicably... Off, this time. The door opened as I leaned in, almost throwing me off balance. The interior was covered in something black, dripping. Oozing was more like it. I wanted to run. As I walked through the tall, wide room, it was clearly exquisite - palacial, even, had it not been dripping in goo. A large, cracked screen sat, centered in the wall. I heard a swishing sound from behind. As I brushed away the slimey ooze from a lamp, it lit up - providing a warm, comforting glow in this miserable place. Then, as I turned around, deciding where to go next, I noticed the almost ceiling-high wave of slime towering over me, and tried to run - but it was too late. "What - WHAT THE FUCKK??!" I screamed, as the black ooze enveloped me.
| / - - - - - - - You're around halfway. Long one folks, sorry. - - - - - - - \\|
(I finished this for personal practice. Hope it's enjoyable, though.) | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was a human vessel, larger than some moons we’d seen. Covered in markings, of the Terran ‘Japanese’ language, most marking it as experimental, and emblazoned with the logo of the Nova Mars Technocratic Authority; an old human organization known for it’s incredible military technologies.
Scans showed no organic matter at all; not a smidge of flesh, bacteria, blood nor bone. Completely abandoned. This seemed rather strange, as NMTA technology was scuttled as opposed to abandoned. The brutal organization allowed nothing and no one to fall into enemy hands, even if it meant completely annihilating anything that might get away.
This particular vessel’s sleek design and large amount of firepower was a unique one. In my service with the navy, I had encountered quite a few NMTA-designed starships employed by human enemies, and this one was definitely not one I’d seen before. The text written on it also had trouble going through our translators; characters and symbols in Japanese were slightly different than what we had on our computer, and we had the entirety of the modern language.
Still, the opportunity to loot a vastly superior ship was one that the captain dared not miss. Ordering us to board, even my co-pilot and I were told to suit up and enter. I brought up the possibility of onboard defences, but the captain shut down my pleas. We were going, whether we wanted to or not.
I had never been inside of any sort of NMTA structure. I’d imagined sterile white corridors, bright lights, and simple black symbols for directions, which wasn’t far off for the most part. The ship seemed to be running on auxiliary power, and the lights would dim occasionally. As we got the centre of the ship, we found ourselves on a circular balcony, overlooking floors one through four, underneath six through eight. In the centre of the ring-shaped room hung a steel orb, floating free of any tethers. Holographic displays in Japanese and Russian confirmed that the ship was running on auxiliary power, and warned of occasional gravitational fluctuations.
Despite this, there was not a sign in the ship of damage or combat; the entirety of it was pristine as though it had just come out of the factory. None of us could be certain about why the vessel was abandoned, so we elected to head to the bridge to start looking for clues.
Then one of our security team reported hearing whispering. Though he couldn’t explain exactly what was being said, he felt as though the words were coming from right behind him. Constantly turning around as we explored, when the security officer behind him tripped over his own four feet he was nearly shot. The afflicted security officer was sent back to the ship alone.
Reaching the bridge, my co-pilot and I began checking around the communications office with our own communications officer. We found a handful of computers and data drives that we didn’t know how to use, and because of that we were too afraid to touch them. The communications officer was going to attempt something when a gunshot sounded throughout the corridors.
Rushing to the source, my co-pilot and I found the lone security officer’s corpse laying against the railing of the central balcony. As soon as we arrived, the artificial gravity ceased it’s functioning, and the body slowly rose into the air before being violently pulled towards the orb. The speed at which the corpse hit was so great that it was reduced a smear of green blood. I tried my best not to vomit on my helmet, and the orb’s sudden movement didn’t help. It was not moving very much, only seeming to vibrate in place ever so slightly. It was still enough to produce a minuscule amount of noise that disoriented my ears and made my vision slightly fuzzy. Was the orb some sort of sonic weapon? I could only wonder.
Solemnly, we returned to the bridge and made a full report of the situation; the security officer had shot himself, then was obliterated by the orb for some unknown reason. A shout from the communications officer and the sound of him falling over caused us to rush there next. He shook his head, stood back up, and carefully inserted a data drive into a computer before tapping some buttons to play an audio log.
“Earth Date 4/17/3193. We’ve done it; we’ve activated the TF-Drive and made the Jump. Confirming with NMTA-Kilo-731 proved it. This is not our dimension. Weird to think that Captain Shikinami is a guy here… I can’t see it, personally. Wonder if he’d be down for a beer? At any rate, we’re checking the whole ship now for any sign of dimensional interference. The True-Frequency Drive itself seemed a bit funky, but I’m thinkin’ that’s just how it is after it’s used. Will update again tomorrow; Second Lieutenant Reiner, signing off,”
I looked to the communications officer, then to my co-pilot, then captain. We all had the same expression of disbelief. True Frequencies? Not their dimension? I returned my gaze to the communications officer and asked him if he could play another audio log. He obliged and put in a second drive.
“Earth Date 4/19/3193. We remember now. What happened, during the Jump. The sound of the True Frequency; everything. There’s… there’s something inside the TF-Drive. It’s from outside… in between. It’s alive, and it’s angry. We can’t kill it through conventional means, and it’s stopping us from strumming any TF chords through the engines. I don’t know… what it means to do… but it wasn’t meant to be in this dimension. In any dimension. Captain Shikinami remembered more than the rest of us. She’s… done something. I’m not sure what. But… she said it’s going to help us. I don’t… I don’t know what happened to her, or what’s going to happen to us… but… if you hear this log, *annihilate* the NMTA Ghost Memory. Open the orb. Let us out—“
The sound of slamming on a desk was heard.
“—No! Damn you, you fucking demon! Get out of my head! … Captain?”
The audio feed was dead silent for another minute, before the voice of the human called Reiner returned, jubilant with laughter.
“Captain! You sly fox, of course you would know what to do. Is there any situation you can’t get us out of? Haha… listen. If you’re hearing this, whoever you are, you need to take the data drives and listen to the instructions in safety. Don’t stay on the ship, it’s dangerous. The entity… it’s… we’ll call it the ‘Anti-Thanatos’. Listen, just… I need to go now, just remember this; stay off the ship until you need to enter to carry out the instructions. We’ll try to help if we can. And whatever you do… *don’t let anyone die onboard the vessel*. Acting Lieutenant Reiner, signing off.” | # 15 Minutes
...***Before*** **break.** I looked up - for the fifth time in as many minutes. The radar was, like usual, blank. The edges of the circular overlay occasionally blinked visibly, refreshing at a smooth 60 frames per second.. of absolutely nothing.
I mean, I'd have heard the ping over the speaker system anyways, cutting out the songs playing through the surprisingly good surround sound setup in the Comms room - the thing was probably better than most *audiophiles'* \- but it was worth a glance anyway. I thought about going for a walk, but decided against it. The *Lucinda* was a glorified tugboat, and there wasn't anything else to do, anyways. The artificial gravity & automatic temperature adjustment made each section remarkably cozy - as much as it could be, at least. "Designed for 4 people", sure. The Bridge, Comms & Tech (me), Weapons/Shield (not that we had one), Greenhouse & Kitchen/Canteen. Each one doubled - (tripled?) as personal quarters. On paper, it should've been more than enough. In practice, well, the best way I could describe it was with an oxymoron - spaciously cramped. My mind wandered to the break. A half hour of sitting & talking in what little common space there was might be nice. But then again...
​
​
"They could've placed us on the sister ship." O'Malley, still Captain, complained.
"Well, considering they warped who knows how many light years away, I don't get the feeling they wanted to see us again!" shot back Zan, Weapons Tech. and former First Mate - not that our previous positions mattered now. The bickering was serious, but friendly, like usual. We all liked each other - someone would have probably **died** by now if we didn’t. And I **don't** mean by accident.
Glorified Space Tugboat or not, we **were** lucky the mutineers chose to put us on **ANY** ship, nevermind one self-sustainable, if lacking in the defense department. A single, puny tractor beam was our only *"weapon"*. All we had for movement was a small engine, powered, like the rest of the ship, on bio-fuel from the modified plants in the greenhouse. Edible, quick to grow, and low on space. At least it was all modern. A somewhat cozy life with any shot at rescue, no matter how unlikely, was better than **dying** in a cramped lifepod, running out of recycled air long before rations. This was absolute luxury, compared to ***that***. In an attempt to shut them up, I interjected. "They gave us a self-sustaining ship & **ALL** our personals. Sure, we're drifting, but it's a **hell** of a lot better than a lifepod. Most mutinying crews wouldn't be ***nearly*** as generous."
"Elar is right. We've had this discussion, like, 10 times already." Albin, resident Botanist (& former Quartermaster) moaned. "Can we move on?"
I agreed; they didn't.
​
​
That - a sampling of yesterday's break - was the *thrilling* way our discussions usually went, once we ran out of topics. I wondered what we'd talk about today - Intergalactic Politics? A classic, tried and true when it came to putting everyone in a bad mood. Maybe the ethics of using Black Holes to obliterate *"problem"* planets. ***Depressing.*** Before I could continue that thought, the 10th(ish) repeat of *Take On Me* cut out, and as the simple bell-like PING started, I groaned. "Sensor clog? *Again?*"
**No.** Right there, on the monitor, was indeed a large, blinking, red dot, in the bottom right corner. It clearly hadn't been spotted by O'Malley.. Yet. I pulled up the bridge cams on the square monitor, relegating the dot visualization to a small screen on my left. A derelict ship. "Ship" was being generous - it was the size of a **large** freighter. And freighters, well. They **ain't** small.
​
I peered at the radar, then back at the screen. Was I *hallucinating?* No, that much was clear. This was all remarkably bizarre, but it was happening. I started running a scan in the background, then navigated into the system's commandline & accessed the intercom - a handy trick.
"**Comms to All - you'd better see this. E-SE.**"
"We've been out here for **6 months**, 'Comms', you can stop the formalities."
"It's 4. Noted, O-Malley."
3 faces popped up in the bottom left corner of the screen. "What?", said Zan, with mild interest. "Is this important?" added O'Malley, clearly more interested in lunch. *Not for long.*
"Have any of you looked outside?!"
"We have, like, 3 windows." Albin *helpfully* pointed out.
"**DOESN'T MATTER.** CAMERAS. ***CHECK 'EM!***"
"Um, I don't really have access to a keyboard right now."
Albin was planting, like usual. I decided to drop it before the conversation derailed entirely, and shared the screen of the rear bridge camera with a click on the UI (and an eyeroll).
​
​
"Woah."
"Is that?"
"Yes. I have a scan, right here."
I turned off the screen sharing before pulling up the results. It was mostly a text log, better for me to explain.
"**4** Toruses - That's some ludicrous redundancy, plus it's Fusion power - clean & infinite. The list goes on and on - self-sustaining, yadda yadda - whole wack of incredible gadgets. Warp tech, EXTREME long-range. Custom cloaking device, the most powerful one I've ever seen."
Zan pitched in. "A ship like this, in the wrong hands.." pause "Yikes. I don't even want to think about it." Shivers, all around. O'Malley immediately pitched in, face betraying a mix of concern & excitement - "We're boarding."
"Traces of former human life on board. Just the airlock, and very faint - fingerprints, that sort of thing. No bodies. Extraterres-" "Alien" , Zan interrupted - "glyphs, logograms, something on the front. Its name. Untranslatable."
"This is starting to sound like something out of a horror movie!" Albin commented.
"Wait" - I had to interrupt before this got out of hand.. again. "It's not just the interior that's high-tech. 'Extremely advanced' weapons presence."
A shared groan went up. The atmosphere collapsed in a second. "Well, I guess that's that the-" O'Malley started. **"Let me finish!"** I snapped. "No - If this reading's correct - and all the asteroid tests have been right - we're in firing range. If there is something on there that wanted to destroy us, we'd have been dead before we noticed it."
Zan turned white. "oh." replied O'Malley. Albin looked similarly pale. *Pause.* "Well. Um. Let's go for it?" "Aye." "Yep." *Beat.* "I guess." Albin still looked a little concerned. I didn't blame him. The pile of red flags was starting to resemble a small mountain.
​
​
\~30 minutes later - most of which was spent standing around waiting for the engine to creep up, then carefully dock - we boarded the vessel's spacious airlock, taking a seat on the benches - the air was stale, and there was only darkness behind the closed interior doors. We waited - it took what felt like an hour for the ship to finish "Ensuring internal atmosphere is maintained at a breathable level" according to a male voice - prerecorded, no doubt. How long has this thing been sitting here, empty? rolled through my mind again and again. The time was filled with sparse small talk, poorly hiding our obvious tension. One of Albin's bleaker jokes helped lighten the mood, but not by much.
As soon as the process was complete - "Internal Atmosphere stabilized. Mixture: 78% N2, 21% O2, 1% Misc. Gases." - I immediately felt unnaturally exhausted - too much to move. I opened my mouth, but talking may as well have been a marathon. Nothing came out. The door to our ship was just meters away, but it was far too late to leave. I saw my crew nod into a state of forced unconscious moments later, then unwillingly followed.
​
​
When I woke up, they - and the ship - were gone. I wasn't dreaming - the outer door was clearly locked. *What?* They *left me?* ***Gulp.*** I peered through the inner door, still seeing darkness, but it felt inexplicably... Off, this time. The door opened as I leaned in, almost throwing me off balance. The interior was covered in something black, dripping. Oozing was more like it. I wanted to run. As I walked through the tall, wide room, it was clearly exquisite - palacial, even, had it not been dripping in goo. A large, cracked screen sat, centered in the wall. I heard a swishing sound from behind. As I brushed away the slimey ooze from a lamp, it lit up - providing a warm, comforting glow in this miserable place. Then, as I turned around, deciding where to go next, I noticed the almost ceiling-high wave of slime towering over me, and tried to run - but it was too late. "What - WHAT THE FUCKK??!" I screamed, as the black ooze enveloped me.
| / - - - - - - - You're around halfway. Long one folks, sorry. - - - - - - - \\|
(I finished this for personal practice. Hope it's enjoyable, though.) | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was a human vessel, larger than some moons we’d seen. Covered in markings, of the Terran ‘Japanese’ language, most marking it as experimental, and emblazoned with the logo of the Nova Mars Technocratic Authority; an old human organization known for it’s incredible military technologies.
Scans showed no organic matter at all; not a smidge of flesh, bacteria, blood nor bone. Completely abandoned. This seemed rather strange, as NMTA technology was scuttled as opposed to abandoned. The brutal organization allowed nothing and no one to fall into enemy hands, even if it meant completely annihilating anything that might get away.
This particular vessel’s sleek design and large amount of firepower was a unique one. In my service with the navy, I had encountered quite a few NMTA-designed starships employed by human enemies, and this one was definitely not one I’d seen before. The text written on it also had trouble going through our translators; characters and symbols in Japanese were slightly different than what we had on our computer, and we had the entirety of the modern language.
Still, the opportunity to loot a vastly superior ship was one that the captain dared not miss. Ordering us to board, even my co-pilot and I were told to suit up and enter. I brought up the possibility of onboard defences, but the captain shut down my pleas. We were going, whether we wanted to or not.
I had never been inside of any sort of NMTA structure. I’d imagined sterile white corridors, bright lights, and simple black symbols for directions, which wasn’t far off for the most part. The ship seemed to be running on auxiliary power, and the lights would dim occasionally. As we got the centre of the ship, we found ourselves on a circular balcony, overlooking floors one through four, underneath six through eight. In the centre of the ring-shaped room hung a steel orb, floating free of any tethers. Holographic displays in Japanese and Russian confirmed that the ship was running on auxiliary power, and warned of occasional gravitational fluctuations.
Despite this, there was not a sign in the ship of damage or combat; the entirety of it was pristine as though it had just come out of the factory. None of us could be certain about why the vessel was abandoned, so we elected to head to the bridge to start looking for clues.
Then one of our security team reported hearing whispering. Though he couldn’t explain exactly what was being said, he felt as though the words were coming from right behind him. Constantly turning around as we explored, when the security officer behind him tripped over his own four feet he was nearly shot. The afflicted security officer was sent back to the ship alone.
Reaching the bridge, my co-pilot and I began checking around the communications office with our own communications officer. We found a handful of computers and data drives that we didn’t know how to use, and because of that we were too afraid to touch them. The communications officer was going to attempt something when a gunshot sounded throughout the corridors.
Rushing to the source, my co-pilot and I found the lone security officer’s corpse laying against the railing of the central balcony. As soon as we arrived, the artificial gravity ceased it’s functioning, and the body slowly rose into the air before being violently pulled towards the orb. The speed at which the corpse hit was so great that it was reduced a smear of green blood. I tried my best not to vomit on my helmet, and the orb’s sudden movement didn’t help. It was not moving very much, only seeming to vibrate in place ever so slightly. It was still enough to produce a minuscule amount of noise that disoriented my ears and made my vision slightly fuzzy. Was the orb some sort of sonic weapon? I could only wonder.
Solemnly, we returned to the bridge and made a full report of the situation; the security officer had shot himself, then was obliterated by the orb for some unknown reason. A shout from the communications officer and the sound of him falling over caused us to rush there next. He shook his head, stood back up, and carefully inserted a data drive into a computer before tapping some buttons to play an audio log.
“Earth Date 4/17/3193. We’ve done it; we’ve activated the TF-Drive and made the Jump. Confirming with NMTA-Kilo-731 proved it. This is not our dimension. Weird to think that Captain Shikinami is a guy here… I can’t see it, personally. Wonder if he’d be down for a beer? At any rate, we’re checking the whole ship now for any sign of dimensional interference. The True-Frequency Drive itself seemed a bit funky, but I’m thinkin’ that’s just how it is after it’s used. Will update again tomorrow; Second Lieutenant Reiner, signing off,”
I looked to the communications officer, then to my co-pilot, then captain. We all had the same expression of disbelief. True Frequencies? Not their dimension? I returned my gaze to the communications officer and asked him if he could play another audio log. He obliged and put in a second drive.
“Earth Date 4/19/3193. We remember now. What happened, during the Jump. The sound of the True Frequency; everything. There’s… there’s something inside the TF-Drive. It’s from outside… in between. It’s alive, and it’s angry. We can’t kill it through conventional means, and it’s stopping us from strumming any TF chords through the engines. I don’t know… what it means to do… but it wasn’t meant to be in this dimension. In any dimension. Captain Shikinami remembered more than the rest of us. She’s… done something. I’m not sure what. But… she said it’s going to help us. I don’t… I don’t know what happened to her, or what’s going to happen to us… but… if you hear this log, *annihilate* the NMTA Ghost Memory. Open the orb. Let us out—“
The sound of slamming on a desk was heard.
“—No! Damn you, you fucking demon! Get out of my head! … Captain?”
The audio feed was dead silent for another minute, before the voice of the human called Reiner returned, jubilant with laughter.
“Captain! You sly fox, of course you would know what to do. Is there any situation you can’t get us out of? Haha… listen. If you’re hearing this, whoever you are, you need to take the data drives and listen to the instructions in safety. Don’t stay on the ship, it’s dangerous. The entity… it’s… we’ll call it the ‘Anti-Thanatos’. Listen, just… I need to go now, just remember this; stay off the ship until you need to enter to carry out the instructions. We’ll try to help if we can. And whatever you do… *don’t let anyone die onboard the vessel*. Acting Lieutenant Reiner, signing off.” | It was half past 2, standard Terran time, that we found the wreck. Damn thing had been interfering with our comms for weeks, but it was barely noticeable at first. Then the quality of our transmissions went to shit almost instantaneously. No comms could reach us, and as we picked up from the other captains back on Cypra Mundi, they were having the same problem. No matter. The Silver Fleet could handle a stray comms jammer, easy. We approached the ship slowly. We searched through the records and found her- the *Valatino’s Crown*. Recorded missing some 40 years ago, just after the Mundian civil war. Lost in the event horizon of a black hole. Except it was here. Sitting in Mundian space, as if it had just anchored. Except it hadn’t. At all. 40 years had taken its toll on the hull, as space moss had sprouted out of the crags in the metal surface. Oddest thing was, the lights were still functioning. We clamped on board, hoping to find data or blueprints. At first sight, the walls, if mouldy, were still intact. There seemed to be nobody around. Until we saw what was pinned on the far wall- a fresh human corpse with its face scraped off and its eyes taken out. The sight was bad enough without the sudden, shared thought of- “who, or what, did that?” A bone-chilling cry echoed from deep within the bowels of the ship. Going there was a trip to hell, as the crew seemed to have suffered during the time dilation, and had all gone completely mad. And violent. Extremely violent. Walls were caked with haemoglobin, and even worse: figures seemed to peep out at us through the dark red liquid. It was apparent that their insanity had culminated in the birth of some dark stalker, with no eyes or mouth. It took me a few seconds to realise what the message from the *Crown* had really been saying, twisted and distorted by the static.
“Glad to meet you, Captain Washei.”
On a loop.
Like the message, too had gone mad.
We made frequent stops to the *Crown*, to experiment with the mad crew mates.
All were the same.
All told us of the “stalker” and how “the men in blue shirts got away”.
We only later realised what they were telling us.
They had a stowaway during their time in the event horizon.
Something tall, and darker than the deepest pit of Hell. Something with cyan lights for a face, and a sword of flesh. They had not gone mad from being stuck in the event horizon at all, oh no. The Stalker, whatever it was, had been driven insane. I was the first to catch on, but the others wrote it off as gibberish. They were far more interested in the valuables of the ship. Metal, wiring, and data were all valuable things to us Mundians.
From what I could tell from the random blabberings of the crew, the stowaway was nearby.
My crew ignored what I was trying to tell them.
Again and again.
Without end.
They told me I was paranoid, and indulging in psychotic ramblings.
I knew I wasn’t.
Because at the moment I realised what all our previous encounters with the strange had culminated in.
I knew what we were up against.
*Malevolence.* | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It was a human vessel, larger than some moons we’d seen. Covered in markings, of the Terran ‘Japanese’ language, most marking it as experimental, and emblazoned with the logo of the Nova Mars Technocratic Authority; an old human organization known for it’s incredible military technologies.
Scans showed no organic matter at all; not a smidge of flesh, bacteria, blood nor bone. Completely abandoned. This seemed rather strange, as NMTA technology was scuttled as opposed to abandoned. The brutal organization allowed nothing and no one to fall into enemy hands, even if it meant completely annihilating anything that might get away.
This particular vessel’s sleek design and large amount of firepower was a unique one. In my service with the navy, I had encountered quite a few NMTA-designed starships employed by human enemies, and this one was definitely not one I’d seen before. The text written on it also had trouble going through our translators; characters and symbols in Japanese were slightly different than what we had on our computer, and we had the entirety of the modern language.
Still, the opportunity to loot a vastly superior ship was one that the captain dared not miss. Ordering us to board, even my co-pilot and I were told to suit up and enter. I brought up the possibility of onboard defences, but the captain shut down my pleas. We were going, whether we wanted to or not.
I had never been inside of any sort of NMTA structure. I’d imagined sterile white corridors, bright lights, and simple black symbols for directions, which wasn’t far off for the most part. The ship seemed to be running on auxiliary power, and the lights would dim occasionally. As we got the centre of the ship, we found ourselves on a circular balcony, overlooking floors one through four, underneath six through eight. In the centre of the ring-shaped room hung a steel orb, floating free of any tethers. Holographic displays in Japanese and Russian confirmed that the ship was running on auxiliary power, and warned of occasional gravitational fluctuations.
Despite this, there was not a sign in the ship of damage or combat; the entirety of it was pristine as though it had just come out of the factory. None of us could be certain about why the vessel was abandoned, so we elected to head to the bridge to start looking for clues.
Then one of our security team reported hearing whispering. Though he couldn’t explain exactly what was being said, he felt as though the words were coming from right behind him. Constantly turning around as we explored, when the security officer behind him tripped over his own four feet he was nearly shot. The afflicted security officer was sent back to the ship alone.
Reaching the bridge, my co-pilot and I began checking around the communications office with our own communications officer. We found a handful of computers and data drives that we didn’t know how to use, and because of that we were too afraid to touch them. The communications officer was going to attempt something when a gunshot sounded throughout the corridors.
Rushing to the source, my co-pilot and I found the lone security officer’s corpse laying against the railing of the central balcony. As soon as we arrived, the artificial gravity ceased it’s functioning, and the body slowly rose into the air before being violently pulled towards the orb. The speed at which the corpse hit was so great that it was reduced a smear of green blood. I tried my best not to vomit on my helmet, and the orb’s sudden movement didn’t help. It was not moving very much, only seeming to vibrate in place ever so slightly. It was still enough to produce a minuscule amount of noise that disoriented my ears and made my vision slightly fuzzy. Was the orb some sort of sonic weapon? I could only wonder.
Solemnly, we returned to the bridge and made a full report of the situation; the security officer had shot himself, then was obliterated by the orb for some unknown reason. A shout from the communications officer and the sound of him falling over caused us to rush there next. He shook his head, stood back up, and carefully inserted a data drive into a computer before tapping some buttons to play an audio log.
“Earth Date 4/17/3193. We’ve done it; we’ve activated the TF-Drive and made the Jump. Confirming with NMTA-Kilo-731 proved it. This is not our dimension. Weird to think that Captain Shikinami is a guy here… I can’t see it, personally. Wonder if he’d be down for a beer? At any rate, we’re checking the whole ship now for any sign of dimensional interference. The True-Frequency Drive itself seemed a bit funky, but I’m thinkin’ that’s just how it is after it’s used. Will update again tomorrow; Second Lieutenant Reiner, signing off,”
I looked to the communications officer, then to my co-pilot, then captain. We all had the same expression of disbelief. True Frequencies? Not their dimension? I returned my gaze to the communications officer and asked him if he could play another audio log. He obliged and put in a second drive.
“Earth Date 4/19/3193. We remember now. What happened, during the Jump. The sound of the True Frequency; everything. There’s… there’s something inside the TF-Drive. It’s from outside… in between. It’s alive, and it’s angry. We can’t kill it through conventional means, and it’s stopping us from strumming any TF chords through the engines. I don’t know… what it means to do… but it wasn’t meant to be in this dimension. In any dimension. Captain Shikinami remembered more than the rest of us. She’s… done something. I’m not sure what. But… she said it’s going to help us. I don’t… I don’t know what happened to her, or what’s going to happen to us… but… if you hear this log, *annihilate* the NMTA Ghost Memory. Open the orb. Let us out—“
The sound of slamming on a desk was heard.
“—No! Damn you, you fucking demon! Get out of my head! … Captain?”
The audio feed was dead silent for another minute, before the voice of the human called Reiner returned, jubilant with laughter.
“Captain! You sly fox, of course you would know what to do. Is there any situation you can’t get us out of? Haha… listen. If you’re hearing this, whoever you are, you need to take the data drives and listen to the instructions in safety. Don’t stay on the ship, it’s dangerous. The entity… it’s… we’ll call it the ‘Anti-Thanatos’. Listen, just… I need to go now, just remember this; stay off the ship until you need to enter to carry out the instructions. We’ll try to help if we can. And whatever you do… *don’t let anyone die onboard the vessel*. Acting Lieutenant Reiner, signing off.” | **The first clue we failed to notice was the dust**
The hull, still covered by crisp paint with almost no wear, had *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus* emblazoned across the bow. It was long and sleek, and unlike any ship we'd ever seen. Most importantly, it was apparently undamaged, and didn't show any signs of inhabitants, living or cybernetic. I took my whole crew. Johnson, N'bawe, Fonder, Romero, and myself. We knew we were probably biting off more than we could chew, but we were too excited to care, and we had no idea just how big of a bite we were taking.
The dust was in the airlock, and the hallway leading deeper into the ship, floating aimlessly in the microgravity atmosphere. There must have been some failsafe that automatically turned the ships power off, because the lights were out, and the artificial gravity was clearly not in effect. Of course, like any standard vessel, there were plenty of emergency handholds for us to maneuver with.
As we glided further in, I briefly wondered about the dust. It was dark and sooty, but scans indicated that it was silicon based, and likely non organic as a result. Perhaps there was a fire in a critical system that led to the ship to warp out of orbit while no one was inside. If that was the case, it was a miracle it was in one piece. And, while a warp drive powerful enough to move a ship like this would be hard to replace, it was a small price to pay compared to the ship itself.
The second clue we missed was in the mess hall. So far it was the only place that showed any signs of disarray. The dust was thicker here, and there were ceramics and silverware floating everywhere. In the kitchen, there were a few blackened smears along the walls, like they'd been burnt. But there was no sign of a gas leak, or radiation from energy weapons, or even an antique tool like a flamethrower. Nor were there bodies, or spilled food, and no blood to be seen. Just dust and debris. This should have made us uneasy, but we were all so caught up in the excitement of this jackpot salvage that none of us paused to try and piece the clues together.
We continued, following the signage to the engine room. We aimed to try and restore power, maybe find some record of what had happened. At this point we were all practically salivating over the idea of a reward for finding a lost ship. The third and final clue was the most conspicuous, but also the most abstract. There was a camera, used undoubtedly for ship-wide surveillance, that had been smashed. Next to it was a cracked glass sphere, likely the culprit of the damage. It was the most substantial damage we'd seen to the ship this far. Everything else was superficial. There were other cameras in that hall, one farther down, and the other around a corner completely undamaged. So why this one?
There were also a number of the same burned streaks as in the kitchen, and the ever present dust, but we paid them no mind. I would have given anything for us to have been spooked enough to leave. But we weren't. And we didn't. Not until it was too late.
We got to the engine room, and found it undamaged. Perhaps something in navigation had failed, or on the bridge. I was certain that it had to have been a hardware failure that led to this. In a way I was right.
Fonder was the first one to the main power. While the switches were still on, the computer must have automatically overridden the hardware for an emergency shutdown to conserve energy. It only took her a few minutes to jack in and tell the computer to get things running again. As soon as they did, red lights bathed the room as we were surrounded by alarms. But gravity was, strangely, still off. Johnson went for the "sector clear" on the far wall, and that's when everything went wrong. Before he'd even reached the button, his body disintegrated into a fireball that sent the rest of us tumbling. Heat seared my face through my visor, and I was temporary blinded and deafened.
When I could hear again, all that met my ears was screaming. Romero panicked and ran, but we saw fire lick around the side of the engine room door mere seconds after we lost sight. Fonder was in shock, and unresponsive, so N'bawe got to the computer and pulled up a map of the ship. Following her lead, I got a copy for myself onto my wrist communicator and quickly scanned it, trying to find the quickest exit without following Romero.
After a quick argument, we agreed on a route to try. I took Fonder's hand, and followed N'bawe out. She was rummaging in her pack, and tossing objects along the corridors, trying to find out in advance where it was safe to go. We quickly worked out a system. N'bawe would toss something from her pack, like a ration, or a ball of tape from her pack, and repeat until we found a line between two walls that didn't incinerate the object. She'd leap to that point, then I'd push Fonder after her, and after she caught Fonder and moved her aside, I'd jump after her. And repeat. It was nerve wracking. And bound to fail. It was my fault, at the last. I made my leap, following N'bawe and Fonder, just a moment too early. Fonder was still unresponsive, and not aware of her surroundings. N'bawe didn't have time to keep her from drifting. She caught me, and I got a grip on the wall just as she noticed Fonder floating away. N'bawe dove after her, and her foothold slipped, sending them both tumbling. I reached out desperately, but it was too late. The last I saw of them was their faces, turning towards me, as their skin blackened and ruptured. The terror that was the last thing they felt before oblivion seared into me, from their eyes to mine.
I'm not sure how long I clung to that wall, wracked by grief and guilt. But somewhere between my tears pooling in my visor and my nose stuffing up, I had an epiphany. It was more of a hunch, really, but it was all I had. I remembered the smashed camera. The glass ball. I looked around, and saw only one camera in sight. All of them, so far, had been on what would normally be the ceiling. Which meant they would probably have a blind spot there, too. There were no handholds up there, so I wrapped my gloves in tape, sticky side out, and crawled. It was hard to check the map, so I went towards the last room I could remember. The captains quarters. They were near the escape pods, and that was as good an exit as any for us. And they would probably be free of cameras.
It only took a few minutes, but the journey felt like hours. Every second, I dreaded the sensation of having my body converted to ash by whatever process had killed my crew. Every movement felt like a death sentence. Some part of me felt like that's what I deserved, and that's all that kept me moving. A quiet death wish. The idle hope for a release from my sorrow and guilt. But it never came.
I made it into the captains quarters, and sealed the door behind me. Scanning the room, I spotted one camera that only observed the door. It too was broken. There was a computer there, and a file opened on the desktop, which was somehow still logged in. I moved to it, hoping to find answers, an explanation for this nightmare. What I found was almost worse.
The file, titled *Project Scorpion Stare*, described a process that I'd never heard of. It was a type of magic, performed through advanced mathematics and calculations. By running a program that used these calculations through a pair of cameras, it was possible to create a basilisk effect. Rather than turning to stone, however, victims would have an arbitrarily chosen percentage of the carbon atoms in their body spontaneously changed into silicon. This abrupt change to the electron balance in a body, or any material with significant carbon content, led to an atomic destabilization cascade. Basically, the atoms in the body would rip themselves apart in a million billion tiny nuclear explosions. Death was near instantaneous, and most evidence would be lost in the blast. Even the radiation would depreciate to unremarkable levels in a matter of days. And this ship, named for the constellation that held the serpent, was the first attempt to weaponize this phenomenon.
There was a note at the bottom, only one word, likely left by the captain. The frantic scrawl of ink on paper spoke to the desperate fury the captain must have felt in their final moments.
*Sabotage*
Now, if you're reading this, I'm likely already dead. This is not a distress signal. It is a warning. If you value your lives, do not get any closer to the *U.E.S.S. Ophiuchus.* If you have the means to completely destroy it, do so. But only if you can be sure that it will leave no trace. There are some things mankind is not meant to control, some serpents to venomous to approach. And in this ship is one of them, by far the deadliest I've ever seen. For the love of all that is good and just, *do not go into this ship*. *Do not let this serpent go free*. And pray to whatever God you think might save you that it's the last of its kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks for reading. I don't do this often. I also have to credit the idea for the scorpion stare to the works of *The Laundry Files* by Charles Stross. Very good books, go read them. The audiobooks are good too. | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | —————————**The Star Eater**——————————
*(Act 1: Discovery.)*
Humans are... greedy creatures, Zeisten could say as much. Strange fact, considering they managed to achieve planetary domination. Usually, interstellar species eliminated greed-inducing conditions from their environment hardly a century after their respective Industrial Revolutions.
Zeisten's species was, once upon a time, greedy too. That was eons ago, even before Earth was born. Zeisten remembered looking up to the High Heavens, in a biological body, and smiling as Doma, the planet's first Superior A.I, told him of Earth's future.
Now, in a cold, metal body, the Essence of the organism that once was grimaced in drear as the human crew and they walked towards the Bridge of the abandoned ship.
"Yo, Buckethead." Zeisten turned their head, though they didn't need to, and faced the human who had called for them with the low hum of nanite against nanite.
"Yes, Michael?" The human gestured around wildly with his hand, a peculiar movement Zeisten barely deciphered.
"What can you tell us about this gold mine?" The crew turned attentively to stare at Zeisten, something that made the robotic creature shudder.
Metaphorically, of course. Metallic bodies don't shudder, even if made by surreally advanced nanites that humans couldn't even dream of.
"Well," Zeisten said. "It is a Class Δ, in mint condition, named "Star Eater".Heavy traces of residual particles suggest it even has a Beyond Light engine. 7 decks, complete with a dining room, 7 habitats and... curiously, a Time Vault."
Michael squinted suspiciously.
"Let's pretend for a second that I don't know what a Time Vault is," he suggested, in that pretentious human manner. Zeisten shot the human a queer glare before speaking.
"A Time Vault is a space with minimum access to time. I will not strain your human brains with the details of such a construct, your synapses would melt."
Michael interrupted with an awkward giggle. Seeing Zeisten stare at him seriously, he gulped. The mechanical mind resumed.
"Time Vaults have been historically used as prisons, combined with Space Vaults. If intertwined exactly as planned by Janden Han, their creator, they create a region that is outside of space and time."
Zeisten briefly paused to enjoy their crew's bemused expressions, then pressed on.
"This one appears to be only a Time Vault, which leads me to believe that it is, in fact, not a prison cell."
Keira, the expedition's organizer, sighed with so much relief that even Zeisten snapped a holographic smile.
"Ya know, Rusty, sometimes I don't regret having you around." Michael's joke fell flat on Zeisten. Not because they were a robot, on the contrary. Like Zeisten themself would explain just a moment later·
*"It just wasn't funny."*
The crew laughed Michael's embarrassment off and continued, Zeisten leading the way through the ship's maze-like corridors with robotic precision. They were still dreary aware that something wasn't *quite right* with this so-called Star Eater, but they couldn't do anything about it.
The Bridge was an impressive room. Tall, and before its balcony the vast Heavens spread, in all their darken glory. On the walls, boards and readings still drove the vessel. A giant dome covered the ceiling, above which the almost magical technology of the Beyond Light engine glowed green.
What most impressed the crew -and especially Zeisten- however, was the A.I piloting interface in the centre of the room. Zeisten immediately run their fingers upon the table, sensing it. They turned to the crew, horrified.
As the blinking lights upon their metallic body turned into the red colour of aggression, Zeisten spoke one word, before crying out in horrible pain and falling to the ground.
**"RUN."**
——————————————————————————————
*To be continued in Act 2: Revelation, next comment.* | "Bitter, you better come look at this," Surge said, chomping on the sour sticks he somehow wasn't out of yet. "Class AC hauler, she'd idling with an impressive drive signature. I bet she could pull a steady G directed back, even with all that mass. Eight Rail mounts and more then enough power to run them all. Wouldn't that be a beauty kitted up with SkagTech?"
Bitter whistled lightly as she looked over the scan before sighing. "I told you lugs if we took that thermo shot rail on loan, we'd have it paid off inside a year. This is twice that probably just in whatever that behemoth is hauling, easy. We can't scratch that thing with the sorry excuse for kit we're loaded with now, let alone board it." She watched the would-be payday, glistening in the light of the red dwarf it orbited.
The ship was by the looks on a sleep cycle, bright yellow paint without a hint of rad grey yet displayed THIRD SHIP NAME plastered across the side. Cheeky rich saps.
"I know, I know. I already threw a tracker.," Surge said, dialing in on the cobbled-together spy board. "They haven't answered my hail yet. Should I approach anyway?"
"Yeah," Bitter said, trying not to get her hopes up. "We'll run the SanDo station play. It's worth a shot. Bear!"
"Ready, Cappa," the greased GunBun said, kicking his two tagalongs. "Full tilt, boys. Be ready to wreck something. One of you might earn a name today." The two goons followed Bear's lead and started donning the vac suits and filling all the tacpocks with various improvised weaponry.
"You want me to start?" Surge asked, holding the mic, still dangling from the space marine helmet jaw they ripped it out of.
"No," Bitter said, pushing him out of the chair. "I'll give us the best shot, slim as that it."
"Attention unknown vessel!" Bitter said, drawing up just the right amount of frantic alarm. "This is the FCSS Rosewater, we are experiencing a hull breach and request immediate boarding."
"They're alive," a haggard voice came back, filled with gravel. "They don't understand dimensional space. Keep them separated and they can't amplify. They think we killed their planet. We tried to take them back. They don't-"
"I repeat," Bitter said again, Surge beside her wide-eyed with a big thumbs up. "Do not fire. We have a hull breach. We are moving to dock with you." Bear was knocking himself in the head, activating his blood music, which popped in dark black bursts across his skin as his muscles swelled.
"Do not, oh shi-" the voice started before the line went static. Surge hooped loudly as soon as Bitter killed the mic.
"They've got some problems of their own, slave ship mutiny maybe. We might be able to swing this," Surge said, donning the cobbled together remains of the battle suit he'd been working on.
Bitter only nodded, eyes fully focused on the nav display as she guided the pirate ship Rosewater onto the docking platform. No response came from the ship, but not one of the auto-turrets targeted them. "Blast the door," she said to Fletch, who responded as fast as an old-world gunslinger and just as silent.
The mediocre cannon had to make four passes, but the door popped off. The pressurized cargo bay vented, sending several shining pink rocks out to the big nowhere. Bitter held the throttle like a surgeon's blade as she glided into the thin hole in the doorway, landing in the bay with the crunch of more of the rocks below. They didn't look valuable anyway.
"What's the play, Cappa?!" Bear screamed, manic battle frenzy in full swing as his two cronies held him back from tearing the door open. Smash and grab or full takeover."
"Let's go with two, Big man," Bitter said smiling as taking this ship seemed more and more likely. "Find whatever rebels disabled this ship's defenses with your boys. Fletch and Ting will guard the ship while me and Surge will look for the bridge. She cocked the rotolaser onto her arm and jumped into her blast suit, the only piece of gear they had that didn't look like it belonged in the back half of a junkyard. The black steel mesh molded tightly to her skin. She caught Surge staring as the fabric tightened across her curves. She'd give him a better look if he ever built up the courage to ask instead of just gawk at her.
Bear yodeled some Mackboard Vikker chant as his less suped-up GunBun squires tailed him out. Surge waited by the sallyport as they waited for the dead space to repressurize as Bear hammered up the stairs. One of his boys stopped, touching one of the bits of pink rocks.
"Now is not the time for those whelps to show how green they are," Bitter yelled, pressing the pop lock over and over till it finally opened. "What is he doing?"
"Maybe it's really soft. It is kind of shiny. I don't get why the GunBuns operate like that anyway." Surge pulled up the scanning drone working outside the ship. "We don't need him besides. Bridge is about a half-mile that way, looks like. We have mostly a straight shot but there may be some barricade about halfway."
"Probably the bridge crew walled off against the rebels," Bitter said, taking a first crunching step onto the ship that might be hers by the end of the day. It felt good. The emergency door had already reformed and the huge cargo haul was mostly repressurized. The pink rocks were laid out strangely, varying in height from about two to seven feet high and no two closer than eight feet from another. The rocks continued that way up the stairs and through the halls into the ship proper. "We'll follow the straight path and try to sell ourselves as mercenaries here to assist."
"Good play," Surge said as they approach the young Mackboarder, who hadn't yet earned his beard or name. "Kid, get up, what's wrong with you?"
"We are eternal, void walker!" the kid said in a squealing voice. "We will have our vengeance." A line of blood ran down from his eyes before they shriveled and desiccated in the sockets and he fell over dead.
"Any clue what that was? There's kind of a creepy vibe in here." Surge took a step in front of Bitter as they continued.
"Don't get spooked, Surge. It's just some black-market DevTech, probably the last hurrah of the defense system. The kid was expendable. This place can be as creepy as it wants. I've got my eyes on the prize, now." Bitter licked her lips and breathed that sweet canned air.
The pair followed the wake of Bear and the other boy's path, shattered pink stones rolling slowly down the stairs, some clinging to stains dripping alongside.
​
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | It started with a rush of water but we dismissed that out of hand, the loot was way too good. You didn’t find whole ships very often, and when you did they were invariably bio-hazards, either radioactive or bacterial nightmares. The radioactive ones were mostly limited by cost. If it wasn’t too bad we might still salvage it, humanity had nuked itself to hell and back a half dozen times in just the last five hundred years, we’d learned a thing or two about rad-scrubbing.
Bacteria though? That got nuked. Anything that adapted that well to antibiotics couldn’t be fucked with, and besides, if we didn’t nuke it the authorities nuked us.
Nukes were cheaper than they probably should have been.
So we ignored sign one, telling Jenkins to piss off when he said heard running water through his suit comms. An intact, space-worthy vessel was worth something, even if it was old. When he said it again in his gravelly bass, “Guys, seriously, I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” I even smacked the side of his helmet and threatened to strip him and push him out the airlock if he didn’t grow a pair.
Then Chavez said something and my tune changed a little. See, Chavez was a good guy. The tough as nails type: do anything, fix anything, go anywhere. I once saw him got half his upper lip torn off in a bar fight that he won. After he beat the other guy unconscious he picked his lip up, still bleeding all over the damn place, walked into the back of the bar, fried it up, and ate it. Tough as nails, even if he should’ve had Jenkins voice and Jenkins should’ve had his weird, flutey near falsetto.
“Hey Cap,” Chavez had said, “I think I’m hearing it too.”
That had been worth something. “Chavez, can you clarify?” I asked. “You’re hearing the same noise as Jenkins?”
“Yes ma’am, running water, fast moving too. A current or something like that, not rain.”
Kinoue laughed, “Yo guys, how much did you drink before we left? You know if you need to piss you can just do it right in the suit, don’t you?”
“I had noticed the catheter, yes.” Chavez tossed a spanner at Kinoue, narrowly missing his faceplate.
“Oh yeah? Weren’t you too busy looking into Doc Bellamy’s eyes? I mean she—”
“Stow it!” I snapped. “I know you guys already think you’re rich but there was this old Earth saying about chickens and hatching. Get the goddamn life support on first and then you can fuck around.”
“Got it Cap,” Chavez said. Kinoue shrugged and walked off towards the elevator, headed for engineering. For all his bluster he was a damned good engineer.
Hours later we still hadn’t gotten the life support on and our spacesuits were getting more and more claustrophobic, but at least if anyone had heard the water sounds they’d kept quiet about it. Being that I was buried elbow deep in archaic circuity I counted that a blessing at the time. Years later I know that the doors hadn’t yet locked themselves at that point, we could have left if we’d wanted to. Sometimes I wish Chavez had spoken up rather than try to make small talk, I might have listened to him. Maybe.
“Hey Cap, what are you going to do after we sell this old heap?” Chavez sat at the console beside me, going through old mission logs. His eyes glazed over as he skimmed text transcripts, occasionally transferring an audio log onto his personal system to play through his suit comms, and by long standing arrangement, transferring it over to me at the same time so we could listen together.
I grimaced, wishing I could scratch my cheek. “Retire. There’s a little farm on Rigel IV only a few islands over from my parents. I’ll buy it, or buy a few mercenaries and take it if old man Archibald doesn’t want to sell.”
“You? A farmer?” Chavez laughed, “I can’t see it.”
“Oh yeah? Then what about you if you’ve got it all figured out?”
“I’m headed home too. I’ll start that import shop in Compton Square, marry some pretty young thing my family forces on me, pop out a few kids, buy another shop, marry another, younger one a few years later. Maybe run for mayor.”
“Mayor? What the hell kind of place is Compton Square if you think they’re gonna vote for you? That lip alone would run you off any political add in the systems!”
“Cap, all due respect but if you’ve gotta ask about the Square you wouldn’t get it.”
Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t. Frankly all that had been immaterial to my current predicament anyway. Kinoue was still puttering around down in engineering making me rethink my good opinion of him, Jenkins was doing whatever idiotic thing Jenkins did down by the computer core, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of a single thing in this system. They had still used wires when the ship had been built! I mean, wires, really? What was I even supposed to be doing?
“Uhhh, Captain?” Jenkins voice had crackled over the comms.
“What is it now?”
“I’m hearing something else, and it’s not coming through my suit.”
I sighed. “It better not be water again.”
“Well its, uhhh, it’s water related. Like a thrashing sound, lots of splashing and then uhh— HOLY SHIT!”
“Jenkins!” I shouted, trying and failing to jump up and disentangle myself from the wires. “Jenkins, what the hell man? Are you ok? What happened?”
“Captain, I think I just saw something. It was like a man, a man running down the hall. The lights went out and he materialized right in front of me and then some thing surged out of the water behind him and—”
The line went dead.
“Jenkins? Jenkins?” No response. Chavez tried hailing Jenkins again while I moved on to Kinoue, calling his name over and over on every frequency available without any luck. We tried the elevator and the doors didn’t budge. We tried to Jefferies Tube and the hatch didn’t open. We tried the ladder and even that rebelled against us, some kind of forcefield having been raised across it, perhaps a defense against explosive decompression gone horribly awry.
Needless to say that our hails back to the mothership went unanswered.
We were trapped, completely and utterly, and soon afterward I began to hear it too. It started with the water, a fierce rushing sound full of danger. I glanced over at Chavez and knew he was hearing it again too, his eyes were wide and uncharacteristically afraid, his brutalized lip curling back over his teeth.
Chavez sat back down at his console, I sat back down at mine, and we didn’t speak again until the very end.
Something like an hour later he fired over an audio log to me and I activated it. A man’s voice filled my suit’s speakers. *“Personal Log- Captain, UESS Charcharodon”* I whistled to myself. United Earth Space Ship, this thing really was old, dating back to before the first major interstellar war.
*“Today marks a solemn turn in the Project Uplift experiments. Chief Donnegan has just informed me that our sister ship the Formicidae went rogue at Deep Space Four. The fleet was forced to neutralize the experiment. It’s fortunate of course that it was the Formicidae as no lives were lost, but it throws some of the reports I’ve been getting from the crew into a new light. Strange, unexplainable noises, glitches with the holo-generators. Just today Crewman Cantrell reported blood seeping under her door, filling the room until it was knee high. We’ve been recalled, thank god, but we’re still weeks from the nearest port. I just pray that I won’t regret taking this assignment.”*
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mpdyum/wp_its_more_than_a_scavengers_dream_its_anybodys/gu9qkz4?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/TurningtoWords | "Bitter, you better come look at this," Surge said, chomping on the sour sticks he somehow wasn't out of yet. "Class AC hauler, she'd idling with an impressive drive signature. I bet she could pull a steady G directed back, even with all that mass. Eight Rail mounts and more then enough power to run them all. Wouldn't that be a beauty kitted up with SkagTech?"
Bitter whistled lightly as she looked over the scan before sighing. "I told you lugs if we took that thermo shot rail on loan, we'd have it paid off inside a year. This is twice that probably just in whatever that behemoth is hauling, easy. We can't scratch that thing with the sorry excuse for kit we're loaded with now, let alone board it." She watched the would-be payday, glistening in the light of the red dwarf it orbited.
The ship was by the looks on a sleep cycle, bright yellow paint without a hint of rad grey yet displayed THIRD SHIP NAME plastered across the side. Cheeky rich saps.
"I know, I know. I already threw a tracker.," Surge said, dialing in on the cobbled-together spy board. "They haven't answered my hail yet. Should I approach anyway?"
"Yeah," Bitter said, trying not to get her hopes up. "We'll run the SanDo station play. It's worth a shot. Bear!"
"Ready, Cappa," the greased GunBun said, kicking his two tagalongs. "Full tilt, boys. Be ready to wreck something. One of you might earn a name today." The two goons followed Bear's lead and started donning the vac suits and filling all the tacpocks with various improvised weaponry.
"You want me to start?" Surge asked, holding the mic, still dangling from the space marine helmet jaw they ripped it out of.
"No," Bitter said, pushing him out of the chair. "I'll give us the best shot, slim as that it."
"Attention unknown vessel!" Bitter said, drawing up just the right amount of frantic alarm. "This is the FCSS Rosewater, we are experiencing a hull breach and request immediate boarding."
"They're alive," a haggard voice came back, filled with gravel. "They don't understand dimensional space. Keep them separated and they can't amplify. They think we killed their planet. We tried to take them back. They don't-"
"I repeat," Bitter said again, Surge beside her wide-eyed with a big thumbs up. "Do not fire. We have a hull breach. We are moving to dock with you." Bear was knocking himself in the head, activating his blood music, which popped in dark black bursts across his skin as his muscles swelled.
"Do not, oh shi-" the voice started before the line went static. Surge hooped loudly as soon as Bitter killed the mic.
"They've got some problems of their own, slave ship mutiny maybe. We might be able to swing this," Surge said, donning the cobbled together remains of the battle suit he'd been working on.
Bitter only nodded, eyes fully focused on the nav display as she guided the pirate ship Rosewater onto the docking platform. No response came from the ship, but not one of the auto-turrets targeted them. "Blast the door," she said to Fletch, who responded as fast as an old-world gunslinger and just as silent.
The mediocre cannon had to make four passes, but the door popped off. The pressurized cargo bay vented, sending several shining pink rocks out to the big nowhere. Bitter held the throttle like a surgeon's blade as she glided into the thin hole in the doorway, landing in the bay with the crunch of more of the rocks below. They didn't look valuable anyway.
"What's the play, Cappa?!" Bear screamed, manic battle frenzy in full swing as his two cronies held him back from tearing the door open. Smash and grab or full takeover."
"Let's go with two, Big man," Bitter said smiling as taking this ship seemed more and more likely. "Find whatever rebels disabled this ship's defenses with your boys. Fletch and Ting will guard the ship while me and Surge will look for the bridge. She cocked the rotolaser onto her arm and jumped into her blast suit, the only piece of gear they had that didn't look like it belonged in the back half of a junkyard. The black steel mesh molded tightly to her skin. She caught Surge staring as the fabric tightened across her curves. She'd give him a better look if he ever built up the courage to ask instead of just gawk at her.
Bear yodeled some Mackboard Vikker chant as his less suped-up GunBun squires tailed him out. Surge waited by the sallyport as they waited for the dead space to repressurize as Bear hammered up the stairs. One of his boys stopped, touching one of the bits of pink rocks.
"Now is not the time for those whelps to show how green they are," Bitter yelled, pressing the pop lock over and over till it finally opened. "What is he doing?"
"Maybe it's really soft. It is kind of shiny. I don't get why the GunBuns operate like that anyway." Surge pulled up the scanning drone working outside the ship. "We don't need him besides. Bridge is about a half-mile that way, looks like. We have mostly a straight shot but there may be some barricade about halfway."
"Probably the bridge crew walled off against the rebels," Bitter said, taking a first crunching step onto the ship that might be hers by the end of the day. It felt good. The emergency door had already reformed and the huge cargo haul was mostly repressurized. The pink rocks were laid out strangely, varying in height from about two to seven feet high and no two closer than eight feet from another. The rocks continued that way up the stairs and through the halls into the ship proper. "We'll follow the straight path and try to sell ourselves as mercenaries here to assist."
"Good play," Surge said as they approach the young Mackboarder, who hadn't yet earned his beard or name. "Kid, get up, what's wrong with you?"
"We are eternal, void walker!" the kid said in a squealing voice. "We will have our vengeance." A line of blood ran down from his eyes before they shriveled and desiccated in the sockets and he fell over dead.
"Any clue what that was? There's kind of a creepy vibe in here." Surge took a step in front of Bitter as they continued.
"Don't get spooked, Surge. It's just some black-market DevTech, probably the last hurrah of the defense system. The kid was expendable. This place can be as creepy as it wants. I've got my eyes on the prize, now." Bitter licked her lips and breathed that sweet canned air.
The pair followed the wake of Bear and the other boy's path, shattered pink stones rolling slowly down the stairs, some clinging to stains dripping alongside.
​
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | "It's fucking haunted frank, we shouldn't have even boarded."
"God dammit Bob ghosts aren't a thing, we've traveled billions of miles and seen dozens of planets and not a single ghost!"
"There were chains rattling as soon as we stepped foot on board! Chains Frank! I've never even seen an actual metal chain! And that sure seemed like a blood trail leading to a solid wall!"
"The doc said very specifically that wasn't blood. It was myoglobin, like from a steak. Just looks like blood."
"So why the everloving fuck was there a trail of it? This place is haunted. Oh look, there's a lone tricycle. On an abandoned spaceship. I'm fucking out of here." | "I don't like this," said Bi-Han, leader of the junkyard rats.
It was no military operation, it wasn't even approved. A perfectly functional spaceship of unknown design was too lucky a catch to lack a downside. Bi-Han expected an ambush.
Since space travel became readily available on Earth and the technology easier to come by, there had been a rush to claim minerals, precious debris and build vacation places on the moon. History would see it as a weird period. A thousand citizens pooling ressources together could obtain a plane to circle the earth in a day. Add another thousand and you could have a rocket to go in orbit, send a crewman out and get back on solid land.
And with the mafia on top, Bi-Han ended up in control of the Jack-of-clubs, a small concealed spaceship, with a crew in the hundreds, able to stay in space for weeks at a time and fast enough to outrun other ships, of which there weren't that many considering the size of the playing field.
Countries were still debating how they would add law to the cold cosmos, what was allowed and what wasn't.
Scavengers and glory-seekers situated themselves in the historical timespan where nothing they did was technically illegal, even if all knew it would be soon enough. A free opportunity for money, adventure and more.
So far, Bi-Han and his crew had reclaimed lost satelites and precious minerals, enough to pay off his debts. But he was good and the mafia boss didn't wish to let go of him. Fatalist, he accepted to work until law caught up to them and - maybe - give him a chance to retire. Besides, he liked the emptiness and the hermit's retreat a spaceship gave him.
Today, Bi-Han was worried, more so than ever. That ship was massive, and nonsensical. From afar, it looked like three pillars enclosing a golden globe, their heads joining together in an arrowhead. From upclose, the juggernaut dwarfed the Jack-of-clubs, it seemed so fragile, as if made of porcelain layers arranged like tree bark.
A crewman had taken up his suit and gone out in space on the leader's order. He knocked at the wall with a hammer.
"If this was porcelain, it would have broken," he said through the radio.
"Try the plasma torch," answered Bi-Han.
"Same. No trace, nothing. What is this made of?"
Instead of an answer, the myriad of layers arranged themselves into an opening.
"Nice! I'm going in!"
"Wait!"
Too late. Working with fortune hungry scavengers could cause such problems of course. Now, the rest of the crew looked at him angrily, ready for mutiny should he refuse this opportunity for salvage.
The opening was wide enough, the Jack-of-clubs entered and arrived at a docking station. The hull closed behind them, yet the inside was illuminated by the light of the globe, channeled through the pillars, so far away yet warming the skin with powerful energy. A second sun.
There was oxygen too.
"Of course there is, humans built this," said a woman, eyes glinting with greed.
Bi-Han felt a cold shiver going down his neck. By the time he set foot on the juggernaut, the rest of the crew had dispersed in it.
He went into a corridor at random, sleek and looking like copper yet feeling unknown under the finger. The woman he spoke to earlier was sitting in front of a screen flashing a rainbow of lights, seemingly at random.
"It's beautiful," she said.
Bi-Han looked too, but did not understand why. It was but lights on a flat screen, an aurora over the polar ice caps, reflected on the frozen ocean and disappearing up into the endless night, stars shone a perfect harmonious light that...
With an overwhelming effort, Bi-Han mustered the willpower to look away. The spectacle was so fascinating it almost took over him. Fear, he had felt it since the juggernaut came in sight, now it coursed freely in his veins. He shook the woman by the shoulder, she gave him a look of murderous insanity. He gave up.
Instincts told him to run to the Jack-of-clubs, but the skeleton crew was only enough to keep the life system running, not bring it back on earth. For that it lacked a navigator. He had to find him.
Further in the corridor, he was surprised to see a crude hole in an otherwise sleek interior, he took his torchlight out. The walls were scribbled with strangeness.
*Why do we think one way?*
*Who was I before?*
*The sun, the sun, the sun, thesunthesunthesun*
*There was someone before us.*
Some messages were too faded to be read, he almost made them out, almost.
How could his colleagues see this and not come back? He returned to the main corridor and noticed a trail of light glimming like gold floating on the high ceiling, as if it marked a path. Gold, greed, of course the idiots would throw caution to the wind and risk everything.
His fear was confirmed when he entered a round room. From the dome came tendrils, attached to the mind and limbs of dozens of his friends. Their wore oversized masks, light seeped through them. Bi-Han could guess the show going on inside. Some drooled like empty husks robbed from their brain. A faded message in the hole came to him, crystal clear. | |
[WP] It’s more than a scavenger’s dream- it’s anybody’s. A perfectly functional, massive ship drifting in space. A “ghost ship”- free for the taking. This ship is in amazing condition, so much so, your crew seems to be ignoring the clues as to why it was abandoned. | "It's fucking haunted frank, we shouldn't have even boarded."
"God dammit Bob ghosts aren't a thing, we've traveled billions of miles and seen dozens of planets and not a single ghost!"
"There were chains rattling as soon as we stepped foot on board! Chains Frank! I've never even seen an actual metal chain! And that sure seemed like a blood trail leading to a solid wall!"
"The doc said very specifically that wasn't blood. It was myoglobin, like from a steak. Just looks like blood."
"So why the everloving fuck was there a trail of it? This place is haunted. Oh look, there's a lone tricycle. On an abandoned spaceship. I'm fucking out of here." | *i recently got a microphone and i'm practicing recording audio versions of my stories. [here](https://vocaroo.com/1cPh6Scgjllw)'s a recording of this story so far. if you read this earlier, let me say sorry for taking so long to continue it.*
*****
Long hours at the pilot console.
In my head, I'm doing the math.
This load of carbon, nitrates, and proteins that we're delivering to a research station outside Titan will net us fifty thousand credits. After refueling and repairing our ship, the *Wellington*, and picking up a shipment of water destined for a colony in the asteroid belt, that'll leave us with ten thousand credits in profit. Split five ways, I'm looking at two thousand credits.
A bubble house on Mars's Olympus Mons goes for a million credits. My bank account has about two hundred thousand. At this rate, I'll need to do another 399 runs before I can buy the house outright.
Each run takes a month.
What this adds up to, then, is that my dreams are out of reach.
No house on Olympus Mons for me. No waking up to the sun breaking the horizon over the rust-red Martian plains.
I'll have to retire to a crummy apartment in the Martian capital.
This is why I drink.
*****
The buzzer above my bed wakes me, and the glaring red warning light brings me to full alertness. I stow the empty jar of moonshine, grab a body suit, and slide my lower body into it while I'm drifting down the ladder to the *Wellington*'s main passageway. That drift is an odd sign, means we've decelerated. I bump into Cass on the way to the bridge. "What's the hustle and bustle, XO?"
Cass, who has the emotional range of a rock, grunts. "Cap'n seen something."
I want to say that that's obvious, but rocks don't appreciate sarcasm.
On the bridge, Captain Devereaux is at the pilot's console. In the half-second before he speaks, his eyes flick to mine, which I know are red-rimmed from the hangover. I'm sure he's filing this detail away as something to address later. He waves me to my seat. "Picking up a vessel adrift. Take a look, Dennis."
There is, indeed, a vessel adrift. Its transponder declares it to be the *Hegemony*, an Imperial British *Marquis*-class corvette. Heat traces are minimal. Engines are dead. It's a miracle that we're cruising near enough to pick up the weak signal it's giving off.
"Tell me what you know," Devereaux says.
This puts me back in the Imperial Academy. Long hours spent on the interplanetary dock above Scotland. Diagrams of vessels, classrooms full of fresh-faced young officers diligently taking notes. "*Marquis* corvettes are light fast-attack vessels. They're the skirmishers that throw dust in enemy eyes before a battle. On their own, they're useful only for scouting. There shouldn't be any other reason for one to be beyond a fleet. It's a newer ship design and it comes with triply redundant nuclear engines. Cutting its power is no small feat. On top of that, the transponder is top of the line. Dedicated long-life lithium-sulfite battery. I can't think of anything that would see it emitting so weakly unless it's been shot, sabotaged, or deliberately set to that power level." All that talking dries my mouth out. That gets my hangover acting up and I press my fingers to my eyes.
Devereaux claps a hand to my shoulder and presses me into the pilot's seat. He passes me a bottle of water and turns to the rest of the crew, who assembled behind me as I spoke. There's Cass, our tallest and biggest crew member. She's got her arms crossed and is idly flexing her biceps. Our mechanic Amy is at the entrance wiping her dusty face with an even dustier rag. Our gunner, Oren, raises his hand. "We're not planning on going anywhere near this ship, are we?" Ironically for a master of weaponry, Oren is maybe the most gun-shy person I've ever met. Or maybe that's not ironic. It's hard to say. In the two years we've flown together, we've not once had to engage the *Wellington*'s pitiful complement of defensive tech.
"That's a good question." Devereaux rubs his jaw. "The ship's not putting out any distress calls, so there's no moral obligation for us to do anything."
"So it's settled." Oren claps his hands together and glances around like he's hoping he'll see everyone getting ready to leave. When nobody budges, he goes on. "This is a disabled Imperial ship in the middle of nowhere behaving strangely. I can't be the only one who senses a trap."
The light is absolutely pounding in my eyes. But there's one word I need everyone to be thinking about: "Salvage."
"No no no," Oren says.
"Yes yes yes," I say. "That ship is worth millions to the Imperial Navy. If it still flies and we can bring it into dock, they'll pay us a fortune for its recovery."
"I do like fortunes." Amy puts her eye to a hole in her rag. "Not that I've ever seen one in person."
Oren mugs at us in disbelief. "Can we all please take a second and think about this a little more? That ship can blow us to cosmic dust. Or, if it's dead in space, then whatever killed it can absolutely, 100%, easy-peasy kill us, too. Going near that thing is an invitation for harm. It's not worth it."
"That's true," Devereaux says, but he says it real slow. He's thinking things over. I can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes. "We could see about messaging Imperial Fleet Command. Let them know where it is. There's got to be a bounty for that. Cass, what do you think?"
Cass grunts.
"Mm, good point. They'll give us pennies on the dollar if we do that."
The Captain is hovering on the fence. I can't let this opportunity slip away. On the viewscreen, that disabled ship is looking more and more like a house on Olympus Mons to me. "We're picking up no heat signatures in a half-AU radius. There's nobody around. We're absolutely safe to go in for a closer look. We can go in slow, be careful, and hot-foot it out of here at the first sign of danger." Everybody's looking to me like they want to believe what I'm saying. We're all from the dregs of the shipping class. All of us wants more out of life than our finances allow. Even Oren, for all his safety concerns, appears torn. "Come on, Oren. With you on the scanners, we'll have more than enough time to get away if something shows up."
Oren sighs. He's given in to the pull of the great dollar. He turns to the Captain. "If we do this, please guarantee we'll be as slow, safe, and careful about it as we can be."
*****
Slow, safe, and careful become our operating orders. I reverse thrusters and bring us into the same speedframe as the *Hegemony*, only a few kilometers out. We get a visual of her on our viewscreen.
As advertised, she's a nimble vessel built for fast combat. She's quite a bit smaller than the *Wellington*, though that's down to her opting for torpedo emplacements rather than the *Wellington*'s heavy cargo belly. And she absolutely bristles with jump thrusters. The *Hegemony* is a ship that can absolutely dance through space.
More memories of my young, hopeful days at the Imperial Academy: the day of my final test, they put me in the cockpit of a *Divinity*-class vessel—the precursor to the more modern *Marquis* class. This was my first time handling such a large, nimble vessel outside a simulator. The training course took me up near the Moon, where defense emplacements filled the air with non-explosive missiles.
That may have been my finest moment, weaving through the high-speed bogies. They came from all sides, and they came fast, but I was young, confident, and sure of myself. I fired off flares here, executed sudden gravitic thrusts there, and came out of the test without a scratch. Top of the class.
Those were the glory days, when my future in the Navy appeared bright as the sun. My ambitions then had nothing to do with houses. They featured the great vessels I'd pilot one day. The ranks I'd wear. The honours I'd accrue.
A different time.
Up close, the *Hegemony* looks undamaged. Her tubular shell reflects the distant sunlight darkly. She auto-engages to our air-lock. "All's good so far," I say, and head off to the lock to help our boarding party.
Oren looks up from his scanners to grumble at me on my way past. "So far."
At the airlock, they're suited up and ready to go. Only Devereaux fits comfortably in his vacuum suit. Cass's looks to be painted on, while tiny Amy is swimming in hers. She flaps the sleeves around. "Fun, but not practical," she declares. The suits were issued to us by our employer, and I know for a fact they were the cheapest suits available. Still, I do what I can to cinch Amy's sleeves up past her gloves.
Devereaux pauses with his hand over the lock cycle trigger. "Careful is the name of the game. Keep comms open at all times. Report anything unusual. If I say so, we high-tail it out of here. Clear?"
One after the other, the members of the crew confirm.
"Alrighty," Devereaux says. "Let's go get rich."
*****
*continued in a comment below* | |
[WP] After being a castaway for so long you set foot on the first ship that approached you. Turned out that it was a haunted derelict. What really surprised you was the hospitality. | You know, I never would have expected to find myself on a quite literal ghost ship- an old trading craft to be precise. Piloted and maintained by 8 surprisingly friendly ghosts. It was two, maybe three, years between when my hyperdrive failed and when I came upon the craft, thankfully my cargo was a supply of military rations with decades of shelf life. Boarding the craft was easier than I had imagined- a large bay opened underneath leading to a small hanger just big enough for my ship. Convenient? Definitely. Expected? Nope.
I was surprised when I got on board to find the ship empty, aside from some abandoned spacesuits in less than usual colours- likely abandoned because of the aforementioned colours. On the first day aboard I sat down on the bridge- in the captain's chair- and watched in awe as the controls moved themselves. At first I thought it may be AI, but there was just no way, no AI would be this advanced.
After an hour or so, I found a note, a surprising one at that, having been left, seemingly for me, on one of the consoles at the back of the room. The noted read "Hello Traveller. Don't be alarmed about the ship functioning without crew- we're still here! Plenty of spare spacesuits in the back of the hangar bay if you need one. Not much food left- but there should be enough for a week or so. Keep an eye on the vents. -Captain Red".
I would say I freaked out over the note, but really, I didn't, I was just glad to be aboard a vessel large enough to walk around on for more than a minute without coming full circle. I did take a few guesses at what they meant by "We're still here", remote control being my primary guess.
By evening I had decided I would use a purple spacesuit I found in the hanger- which seemed to be my size- while I washed mine. Putting it on, the helmet began calibration. One large word flashed across the helmet before calibration fully commenced: "CREWMATE". Underneath it appeared the boot log, indicating the suit was originally assigned to a Felix "Dav" Lukas, which kind of surprised me, given my name was Felix David Louis.
With the suit fully booted I walked over to the canteen and then the kitchen. As I entered the kitchen I stopped. In front of me was a blue mist-like thing? Was it a person? An illusion? It moved, opening the fridge as I pulled my helmet off. As soon as the helmet was off it disappeared- but the fridge was still open. Putting the helmet back on I watched as it pulled out a dehydrated burger and quickly prepared it for me, serving it plated with a side of fries after just a couple of minutes.
Overall, the burger was pretty good- definitely better than those shitty military rations. After I finished it I went to the bridge, where I saw quite a sight. Three more coloured mists- one red, atop the captain's chair, one white, sitting at the weapons panel and one black watching a systems panel. The red one looked over towards the door, where I was standing, and raised a ghostly limb, giving a friendly wave. I walked over to him, trying to figure out exactly what he was when I heard a slight noise. "Helllllo?" It was a deep, whisper-y voice that seemed to echo more than would be physically possible.
I didn't respond, deciding I would figure this out in the morning and headed to bed. From my bed I heard slight banging noises, as if someone was moving through the walls. Eventually I got to sleep, and slept well. In the morning as I went to look for a wrench to get to work on my ship I passed the medbay, from which came a figure, the door opening to let him through. He stood in a blue spacesuit, waving silently, fully formed unlike the misty men who I had met before.
He walked past me, heading towards the cantina as I headed towards the maintenance bay. That evening as I headed to bed, I heard more banging when suddenly there was a swinging noise, followed by a slam. Springing to my feet I looked around, and there he was. The blue figure from earlier. Carrying a large knife he lunged out at me, slicing through the chest of my spacesuit as I jumped back, landing against the wall. Once again he lunged, burying the knife into my head.
I woke up, in the bridge, next to the red mist. He nodded, solemnly, as I looked down at myself, now a mist akin to them- in purple. The imposter had won. | I wasn’t a religious person, no. I wasn’t superstitious either, no-
It was just that there was literally nothing else to believe right here, right now.
“Want water?” Someone asked me, giving me a proffered water bottle. I stared at the man offering me the bottle as he pulled back and his translucent form changed colours from white to maroon. He rubbed at the back of his head, mumbling apologies.
“Kid, ghosts don’t like to be stared at,” someone coughed across the room, catching my attention. I awkwardly looked away from the man, accepting the bottle with a noise of gratitude.
The man in turn, beamed at having successfully given me water and his form changed colour to yellow, like the sun as he gave a salute.
“Argus at your service, sir!”
The man across the room laughed, form glowing orange as he guffawed and practically rolled off the bed. “Okay, Argus, I think you’re scaring them enough. They look like they’ve seen a ghost.”
“But we ARE ghosts!”
“That’s the whole point!”
Again, laughter. I felt like I was in a fever dream. The moment I had stepped on the ship, I was greeted by a headless figure and fainted. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming when I saw the ship in the distance and whooped when they saw my rescue signal. What I didn’t expect what the ghosts.
Argus turned maroon again and promptly left the room, spluttering apologies in his wake. The man let out a few more quiet chortles, before sighing, wiping away a ghostly tear from his eye as his form colour settled back to white.
“I’m sorry, Argus gets very excited when we have new visitors. We don’t get new people very much,” he explained. “We’ve been around since like... what? The 1800s? We only changed ships to fit the modernity of it all.” He gestured empathically at the ship walls. “As you might tell, we’re ghosts and we run this ship. We travel the world, I guess, picking up lost souls who don’t really have anywhere to go or any place to call home.”
“So you’re like a band of outcasts,” I asked slowly.
“The original crew, me and Argus included, came together in a port and we, in our lives, were rejected, outcasted, alone. Nobody bothered to help us. So we found this wreck, built it up, and we’ve been sailing ever since. That’s why when we saw your help signal...” the man chuckled. “We were inclined to help you, even if you were still alive.”
“Haven’t you encountered some... nasty people?” I asked.
“We may be tough but we sure know how to scare or fight anyone malevolent along the way, living or dead,” the man smirked. “People call us the Ghost Ship of Time because you’d find people from different times here onboard, even before 1800. Me? I died in what you’d call the Dark Ages, to the Black Plague. Awful. Too poor to ask for help.” He paused. “I never saw my family again, and that’s why I sail this ship with the others. Maybe see their spirits, pick ‘em up one day.”
“That’s... I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, no... no worries about it,” he smiled at me. “My name’s Captain Wes. My old name would have been ‘weird’ for you people today. Welcome aboard the Atlas, home of lost ghosts.” | |
[WP] Long ago you had sold your soul to the devil, but the postal service was so utterly bad that they had lost the package where your soul was. Since the transaction was completed before it, you have the benefits of the deal while the devil still has no control over you. | "I want to have money, fame, and power" that was the last thing I said to the red man himself. Now here I am on top of the world and nothing has happened to me. I thought I have 10 years at best but I lost that though 40 years ago. Well turns out hell's shipping is horrible and they lost my soul.
I laughed in the demons face, it was a bad idea but I laughed to the point where I was crying. "They lost my soul in hell? Are you kidding me" "no sir this is no joke we lost your sole in trasit" said the demon. "Well if no one has my soul then no one has power over me". "Well... since your soul is in hell technically that where you'll go". "Oh ok well if I'm going there anyways might as well live my life while I still can!. I grabbed the blessed blade and stabbed the demon in that gut making it turn to dust.
Well that one thing off my bucket list
10 thing to do before I go to hell
Kill demon ✔,
Rob a bank,
Kill Bill from the supermarket,
Buy a dog,
Start taking over the world,
Get soul back,
Buy a bus,
Buy a minigun,✔,
Buy helicopter,
Start drug operation, | Another hearth broken, huh? Whatever, Conny wasn't the indicated. I left her apartment while she tried to contain her tears. That won't last, she was always a crybaby. I just wish she wasn't that loud when I first told her I wanted to break up. Now her neighbours are looking at me weird.
Now she was... The number twenty I think? Really, this thing can be so much of a pain. Why, now that I have this power, I still hadn't found true love? Maybe selling my soul for getting the love of whoever I want wasn't my best idea. Don't blame me, I was drunk! Good thing that the Devil hadn't mess with my soul. It's kinda weird but I can't complain.
I was walking through an alleyway to my apartment, where my Princess is waiting for me. Yes, I called my cat Princess, what about it? Ok that isn't the important thing. The main thing was when a stranger just pinned me by the neck to the wall.
I was... Pretty shocked. Who? What? Why? It's because an ex? A robber? What? My confusion increased when the person who pinned me started talking.
"Robert Clark?" They asked. Their voice was strange. I couldn't even get to know their gender. It's not like their changing appearance gave me many clues. Wait. Changing appearance?! And they know name?! "I asked you a question. Respond now." Their grip in my neck was thigher. I got to mutter a yes while I tried to scratch their hands. If I did damage, they didn't even noticed.
"All right. You are coming with me mister Clark." They said while letting go of my neck. God dammit they are really strong. "And try to not think about Him." Was their next phrase. What?! Think?! How the-?!
"Who are you? W-what do you want from me?" I wish I could talk a little less shaky, but I really couldn't. I got to see a type of smirk.
"We are going to pay your debt." Was the last thing I hear until everything faded black. | |
[WP] Long ago you had sold your soul to the devil, but the postal service was so utterly bad that they had lost the package where your soul was. Since the transaction was completed before it, you have the benefits of the deal while the devil still has no control over you. | I awake with money, money, and more money showing up from everywhere I can imagine. Random government checks I never applied for, stock market money skyrocketing, even at my day job the customers are tipping loads and loads of cash because of my 'lovely personality'. I walk down the street and the women, oh the women, each and every one of them head over heels for me. Every Friday night is no longer a hunt for a hot date, but a casual trip down to the store to pick up whatever I want. Yeah, I'm a total dog. They say every dog has its day; well, this dog is about to have its entire life. Just gonna check on my soul first, before I really get down to business!
"Hello, I'm here to check on the delivery of a package sent to an acquaintance of mine." The post office on Main Street was short staffed and had to bring in some part time high school kids. Little knuckleheads can't ever seem to get anything straight, it's funny watching them.
"Uhhh, what's your name? Actually, wait, I don't think I need it, I just need the label number."
"Of course, 666STNHELLDIE666. Don't mind the strange label."
"Uhhh, okay..." Of course the kid has to fumble around for three eternities before he gets it correct on whatever computer he's toying with.
"I'll be right back, mister." He comes back out with his manager. A short, plump fellow, with aviator glasses that reach right across his incredibly busy eyebrows so that it creates a hairy furrow in them.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. We had a large mix up in deliveries that went out of state to our third party trustee, new part time guy got into an accident and totaled the vehicle." What? Seriously? It's too good to be true. My deepest fantasies and desires get to materialize in any way that I want, and Mr. Satan himself doesn't even get my soul? Hallelujah!
"Aw, darn. That's quite alright, I understand the mix up. Anyway, have a good one, my friend." I left out of there walking on air. What was next? Well, I think I'm gonna have to save my plans for later. As for now, I'm gonna go find my soul.
That was what I said to myself, six years ago. Without my soul, I do nothing but waltz around all day, drinking booze and gambling in Atlantic City. I have absolutely no purpose in life. I wasn't able to find my soul, those guys really lost it after all. Or maybe some other lucky S.O.B found it and picked it up. All I know is, I feel dead inside. There's nothing that'll satisfy me anymore. I've done it all, everything you can imagine with the powers I received.
I didn't know what was worse, knowing that when I bit the dust, there's nothing but darkness waiting for me, or that there was nothing left for me on Earth. No soul, no purpose, no life. That's the way it was. Until I received a letter.
*"Mr. XXXXX,*
*Salutations. I hope it's been a good time; surely you got the full experience you wanted by now. Every dog has its day, right? You've had plenty of days. I mean, aren't dog years to human years, like, 7:1? I dunno, do the math. Anyways, in 13 days you'll be possessed by a talented witch, friend of mine, and you'll get sick with cancer. When you die, you will not be found. Your body will dissolve instantaneously, and your mind will be mine. You'll be a slave to me for the remainder of eternity to make up for the years that you scammed me for. Do you think that souls even matter that much down here? They don't really matter up here, I just like to collect. This is hell, for crying out loud, I just do what I want down here. Enjoy it while it lasts. WAHAHAHAHAHA!!!*
PS - *I've got a few errands for you when you arrive.*
*Yours truly,*
*Satan".*
Well, shit. | Another hearth broken, huh? Whatever, Conny wasn't the indicated. I left her apartment while she tried to contain her tears. That won't last, she was always a crybaby. I just wish she wasn't that loud when I first told her I wanted to break up. Now her neighbours are looking at me weird.
Now she was... The number twenty I think? Really, this thing can be so much of a pain. Why, now that I have this power, I still hadn't found true love? Maybe selling my soul for getting the love of whoever I want wasn't my best idea. Don't blame me, I was drunk! Good thing that the Devil hadn't mess with my soul. It's kinda weird but I can't complain.
I was walking through an alleyway to my apartment, where my Princess is waiting for me. Yes, I called my cat Princess, what about it? Ok that isn't the important thing. The main thing was when a stranger just pinned me by the neck to the wall.
I was... Pretty shocked. Who? What? Why? It's because an ex? A robber? What? My confusion increased when the person who pinned me started talking.
"Robert Clark?" They asked. Their voice was strange. I couldn't even get to know their gender. It's not like their changing appearance gave me many clues. Wait. Changing appearance?! And they know name?! "I asked you a question. Respond now." Their grip in my neck was thigher. I got to mutter a yes while I tried to scratch their hands. If I did damage, they didn't even noticed.
"All right. You are coming with me mister Clark." They said while letting go of my neck. God dammit they are really strong. "And try to not think about Him." Was their next phrase. What?! Think?! How the-?!
"Who are you? W-what do you want from me?" I wish I could talk a little less shaky, but I really couldn't. I got to see a type of smirk.
"We are going to pay your debt." Was the last thing I hear until everything faded black. | |
[WP] Long ago you had sold your soul to the devil, but the postal service was so utterly bad that they had lost the package where your soul was. Since the transaction was completed before it, you have the benefits of the deal while the devil still has no control over you. | What is it like, being someone who delivers souls to the devil? Of course, one first has to ignore their morals and compassion, which for some cases is easy. If they are so hungry for power and wealth that they sell their soul for some of it on earth, then they don't deserve the heavenly paradise that would have waited for them.
Of course, there are a few who don't sell their souls for themselves. The mother who just wants her child to survive and live a good life, the businessman who feels the need to protect his employees, the ruler who just wants peace for his country. All of these people have good intentions, but felt that they couldn't get what they wanted from God. Poor fools.
Being the deliverer, it is my job to ensure that all of these souls go straight to Lucifer himself for him to toy with at the end. However, my moral compass remains for some mortals. The mother's son lived a long and happy life, becoming a great orator, swaying the hearts of millions. The businessman's company was successful and prosperous, ensuring the livelihoods of all who worked for him. The ruler's kingdom was peaceful and happy until his death and many years after. And what happened to the souls that were sold?
Someone - not me, of course - must have mismarked their destination. They were meant to go straight to Hell. Instead, they went to the other place. They both start with the same two letters, and no one checks whether the souls were sold to Satan anyway. No one, except for me.
There are plenty who deserve to go down there. No one will notice a few missing. After all, those special souls are very few and far between.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Probably not what you were looking for, but this is what immediately jumped into my head. | Another hearth broken, huh? Whatever, Conny wasn't the indicated. I left her apartment while she tried to contain her tears. That won't last, she was always a crybaby. I just wish she wasn't that loud when I first told her I wanted to break up. Now her neighbours are looking at me weird.
Now she was... The number twenty I think? Really, this thing can be so much of a pain. Why, now that I have this power, I still hadn't found true love? Maybe selling my soul for getting the love of whoever I want wasn't my best idea. Don't blame me, I was drunk! Good thing that the Devil hadn't mess with my soul. It's kinda weird but I can't complain.
I was walking through an alleyway to my apartment, where my Princess is waiting for me. Yes, I called my cat Princess, what about it? Ok that isn't the important thing. The main thing was when a stranger just pinned me by the neck to the wall.
I was... Pretty shocked. Who? What? Why? It's because an ex? A robber? What? My confusion increased when the person who pinned me started talking.
"Robert Clark?" They asked. Their voice was strange. I couldn't even get to know their gender. It's not like their changing appearance gave me many clues. Wait. Changing appearance?! And they know name?! "I asked you a question. Respond now." Their grip in my neck was thigher. I got to mutter a yes while I tried to scratch their hands. If I did damage, they didn't even noticed.
"All right. You are coming with me mister Clark." They said while letting go of my neck. God dammit they are really strong. "And try to not think about Him." Was their next phrase. What?! Think?! How the-?!
"Who are you? W-what do you want from me?" I wish I could talk a little less shaky, but I really couldn't. I got to see a type of smirk.
"We are going to pay your debt." Was the last thing I hear until everything faded black. | |
[WP] Long ago you had sold your soul to the devil, but the postal service was so utterly bad that they had lost the package where your soul was. Since the transaction was completed before it, you have the benefits of the deal while the devil still has no control over you. | I awake with money, money, and more money showing up from everywhere I can imagine. Random government checks I never applied for, stock market money skyrocketing, even at my day job the customers are tipping loads and loads of cash because of my 'lovely personality'. I walk down the street and the women, oh the women, each and every one of them head over heels for me. Every Friday night is no longer a hunt for a hot date, but a casual trip down to the store to pick up whatever I want. Yeah, I'm a total dog. They say every dog has its day; well, this dog is about to have its entire life. Just gonna check on my soul first, before I really get down to business!
"Hello, I'm here to check on the delivery of a package sent to an acquaintance of mine." The post office on Main Street was short staffed and had to bring in some part time high school kids. Little knuckleheads can't ever seem to get anything straight, it's funny watching them.
"Uhhh, what's your name? Actually, wait, I don't think I need it, I just need the label number."
"Of course, 666STNHELLDIE666. Don't mind the strange label."
"Uhhh, okay..." Of course the kid has to fumble around for three eternities before he gets it correct on whatever computer he's toying with.
"I'll be right back, mister." He comes back out with his manager. A short, plump fellow, with aviator glasses that reach right across his incredibly busy eyebrows so that it creates a hairy furrow in them.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. We had a large mix up in deliveries that went out of state to our third party trustee, new part time guy got into an accident and totaled the vehicle." What? Seriously? It's too good to be true. My deepest fantasies and desires get to materialize in any way that I want, and Mr. Satan himself doesn't even get my soul? Hallelujah!
"Aw, darn. That's quite alright, I understand the mix up. Anyway, have a good one, my friend." I left out of there walking on air. What was next? Well, I think I'm gonna have to save my plans for later. As for now, I'm gonna go find my soul.
That was what I said to myself, six years ago. Without my soul, I do nothing but waltz around all day, drinking booze and gambling in Atlantic City. I have absolutely no purpose in life. I wasn't able to find my soul, those guys really lost it after all. Or maybe some other lucky S.O.B found it and picked it up. All I know is, I feel dead inside. There's nothing that'll satisfy me anymore. I've done it all, everything you can imagine with the powers I received.
I didn't know what was worse, knowing that when I bit the dust, there's nothing but darkness waiting for me, or that there was nothing left for me on Earth. No soul, no purpose, no life. That's the way it was. Until I received a letter.
*"Mr. XXXXX,*
*Salutations. I hope it's been a good time; surely you got the full experience you wanted by now. Every dog has its day, right? You've had plenty of days. I mean, aren't dog years to human years, like, 7:1? I dunno, do the math. Anyways, in 13 days you'll be possessed by a talented witch, friend of mine, and you'll get sick with cancer. When you die, you will not be found. Your body will dissolve instantaneously, and your mind will be mine. You'll be a slave to me for the remainder of eternity to make up for the years that you scammed me for. Do you think that souls even matter that much down here? They don't really matter up here, I just like to collect. This is hell, for crying out loud, I just do what I want down here. Enjoy it while it lasts. WAHAHAHAHAHA!!!*
PS - *I've got a few errands for you when you arrive.*
*Yours truly,*
*Satan".*
Well, shit. | "I want to have money, fame, and power" that was the last thing I said to the red man himself. Now here I am on top of the world and nothing has happened to me. I thought I have 10 years at best but I lost that though 40 years ago. Well turns out hell's shipping is horrible and they lost my soul.
I laughed in the demons face, it was a bad idea but I laughed to the point where I was crying. "They lost my soul in hell? Are you kidding me" "no sir this is no joke we lost your sole in trasit" said the demon. "Well if no one has my soul then no one has power over me". "Well... since your soul is in hell technically that where you'll go". "Oh ok well if I'm going there anyways might as well live my life while I still can!. I grabbed the blessed blade and stabbed the demon in that gut making it turn to dust.
Well that one thing off my bucket list
10 thing to do before I go to hell
Kill demon ✔,
Rob a bank,
Kill Bill from the supermarket,
Buy a dog,
Start taking over the world,
Get soul back,
Buy a bus,
Buy a minigun,✔,
Buy helicopter,
Start drug operation, | |
[WP] after years of space exploration, humanity makes first contact with an alien race, only to find that instead of nuclear fusion engine and alloy hulls, they travel the stars in wooden ships with sails, turns out most of the galaxy runs on magic... | "Commander, the lock is gone," astronaut Phyll gave the news to ship commander Goddard.
"What was that sound? And what do you mean it's gone?," Roy Goddard asked as he came into the flight deck.
"It's the target sir, it, it's moving toward us," astronaut Phyll gave way for him to look at the onboard monitor.
"What is this thing?," Roy said to himself, "Ready to transmit the data back home Corey," he advised.
"Already on it," astronaut Corey McClaire prepared the transmission.
Since it was first spotted by the Hubble it made scientists and people of the world wonder about the nature of its appearance. It was found near Europa, a blur that was hitchhiking on a passing asteroid quickly became the biggest news of the century after the first image of black hole that was published years ago. So they'd quickly laid out plans for human exploration, billions were spent in hopes of finding alien life.
Three astronauts, Phyll, Corey McClaire and commander Roy Goddard were chosen for the mission. Their goal is to seek and observe the seemingly mysterious object. The ship was designed by some of the genius minds that majored in advanced engineering, it was powered by high-tech plasma propulsion system, equipped with state of the art ion thrusters. The ship was finally named Pandora.
It only took them 2 weeks to reach the slow moving asteroid, the fastest ever to reach the distance in a short period of time. All of a sudden the lock has shifted and the blur that sat on the space rock started moving towards the manned ship as soon as they neared the target.
"Sir, should I engage the thrusters?," asked Phyll.
"No, let it get close it's only moving slower from the look of it, let's see what it really is," said ship commander Roy.
"Yes sir, looks like we are going to have an audience with not only an intelligent life but with a sensible one," said Corey with a smile on her face.
The crew experienced dissonance once the unidentified object achieved close proximity. It took the ship's comms out and it loomed directly above Pandora.
*zkk vwrss, G-ghreet,* "Greetings Earthlings!," a voice out of nowhere spoke in human language in the empty vacuum of space, thousands of miles away from the inner orbit of the solar system.
Shocked and perplexed, the crew stood frozen in Zero G. Corey floated and reached the window to her side, the picture that she saw outside the window blew her mind.
"Sir, y-you need to see this," she said.
All three of them peered outside from the same window. Humanity made first contact with an alien life but they found them in a wooden ship with actual sails used for space travel, instead of nuclear fusion engine and alloy hulls.
"Come onboard humans, oh how we've been waiting for your arrival," the alien that looked like a dolphin welcomed them with its tree branch for an arm stretched out as it stood at the edge of the ship.
After a moment of hesitation and unuttered words of discussion they'd all come to a silent agreement. Pandora's hatch opened and they flew outside with cords attached to the ship. They were intimidated by the sheer size of that colossal ship in the midst of open space.
"That looks heavy and tiresome, don't you think?," "You're so right," said the aliens that stood on the deck.
"You don't need your suits, my humble guests. The air's breathable 'round here. Let me take care of that for you," said the ship captain as he waved his hand around. Astronauts' suits transformed into plain comfortable clothes.
The crew finally set foot on the deck. It was a strange feeling for them to witness Jupiter and its moons behind them up close and with no space suit on themselves.
"Who are you? And how do you know so much of us?," commander Roy shot straight at the one in charge.
"We are messengers from Cosmomagical Federation. We're an alien race from a far away galaxy just like yourselves, we were brought to this light billions of years ago and now we are here to do the same to you," said captain Jarakraal.
"Light?," asked Phyll.
"I think it's magic," said Corey.
"You're correct Corey McClaire of Earth. The light is magic, our duty is to enlighten worlds of this long kept secret, that the universe is not all, -what do you call it? -Science," said Jarakraal.
"Wait, so what we learned and understood about how the universe works isn't true?," asked Phyll.
Gillyfe, the dolphin looking alien laughed aloud, then it said, "Far from it, your understanding of the universe we inhabit is limited is all. With magic your potential will expand, naturally."
"Why now?," asked Roy.
"Simply put, the survival of human race depends on it," said Jarakraal, "Gentlemen and lady, you are now imbued with the source as we speak. It will branch out into the world once you land and it'll flourish with given time."
"Did you just say you gave us magical powers? I didn't feel a thing. Corey, did you?," asked Phyll.
"No, I don't think so," said Corey as they both thoroughly looked at themselves.
"What is this going to do to us? The world, if what you're saying is true," asked Roy.
"The question is what are you going to do with it? The responsibility lies on the hands of humanity now. This is just the beginning it'll take years for magic to take root on Earth, until then you'll see things happen in the form of miracles," said Jarakraal.
"So... Are you coming with us to visit our planet?," asked Phyll in joy.
"We'll see that you land safely but we won't be coming along, isn't that right Gillyfe?," asked captain Jarakraal.
"Aye, captain," Gillyfe concurred.
"So how do we explain you at all to the scientific community, this changes everything, I can't even process standing here talking with you magical-alien beings," said Roy.
"You don't have to," Jarakraal ordered his crew to send them on their way. Once they were inside Pandora, they'd gone into a state of cryomagical sleep.
The astronauts forgot everything once they landed back on Earth, they were given a fake shared memory of the exploration. It'll remain an enigma to the end for the world, a century later babies were born with powers that defied logic and reasoning it almost seemed like magic. It would take another century for mankind to get used to it and then they'll begin to explore the space once again but this time humankind will be joining the Cosmomagical Federation.
WP.r #119 • r/FleetingScripts | “What do you mean, they don’t use magic?” Jeevix asked. “How the hell did they contact us then?”
“Something called science, Madir Jeevix,” the cadet answered.
“They made it to another planet without magic,” Jeevix gasped. “What a tenacious species.”
“I hear they mess around with atoms and the like,” Okbin said.
“Have they never heard of magic?” Jeevix asked. His memory told him otherwise. In his youth he had wandered to this particular solar system, and magic had existed back then.
Okbin nodded. “Oh, they’ve heard of it. They think that it’s fictional most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“Some of them believe in magical beings in the sky,” Okbin said. “Although now they might think that we are the magical beings in the sky.”
Jeevix looked at his cadets, “You responded to their message? How?”
“We cast a spell over their entire sky welcoming them to the Romellian alliance. Some of them are building temples to the Romellian alliance now.”
“Are we still sending the scouting party?”
“Of course. They deserve a welcome to the alliance. Although… they are a bit less advanced than the rest of us.”
They approached the Earth slowly. The scout ship was launched from the mothership, and Jeevix watched as the welcoming committee landed on Earth. They were surrounded by people on all sides, and men carrying strange black boxes atop their shoulders, black slates in their hands on which pictures showed up.
Large colored boxes on wheels stood nearby. The seeing mirror the welcoming committee let Jeevix see everything.
“Strange sort of chariots,” he commented.
“I believe they are called cars, Madir,” a cadet told him. “They run on an oil of some sort.”
“These humans get more interesting the more I hear about them.”
Okyu walked out to greet the people of Earth. There were a few humans in front.
“We welcome you to our alliance in peace. All we ask is that you follow the rules of our alliance.”
“What are those rules?” the man in front asked. His skin was beige and his hair white. He adjusted his clothing and stands straighter as Okyu looked at him.
“You must not invade other civilizations. You must not introduce predatory species into new environments. You must inform the alliance if you wish to leave us. There are others, but you will receive the full rule book soon.”
“Is that your ship?” the human asked, looking at the odd-shaped structure behind them. It was a giant circular raft of reed, covered in multi-colored cloths. He took a black slate out of his pocket and ran his hands over it. A picture of a metal machine appeared.
“Our ships look like this,” he said with a chuckle. “I suppose we have a long way to go.”
“What was that?” Jeevix asked, looking at the seeing mirror.
“It’s their technology, sir. They don’t have magic.”
“No, they do have it,” Jeevix asked. “They’ve just forgotten how to use it.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/xeuthis | |
[WP] Its a blind date at a fancy restaurant, between a monster hunter, and a monster. Neither of them realize it yet and each think the other an ordinary human. | Her face stopped me in my tracks, quite literally. As I rounded the corner and our eyes locked so too had my entire body midstep. My mouth went dry, my breath caught, I couldn't believe it was her but it could be no one else. In a heartbeat I wasn't hiding out 40 miles from our last job, I wasn't cold hungry and tired, I wasn't clutching a gun, I wasn't scared and angry at everything and everyone. I was in a hotel room, I was full of good food and liquor, I was holding her, I was in love.
It had been 2 years ago and I had been visiting a little town that my old man had drug my sorry ass to when I was 13, right after him and mom split. No one had caught on to us yet so I stopped by to grab a drink with few old school friends, who promptly set me up with some girl. Begrudgingly I took her out my third night in town, and oh what a night it turned into. She wasn't my type, hell I about got up and walked out a couple of times, but she was drop dead gorgeous and I hadn't gotten any in two months, so I stuck it out and started in on some bloody marys.
It was after a few of these that she started talking about hunting, talking about her great all consuming passion, and I swear I have never seen anything so beautiful. I was being nice when I asked her what she did for a living, figured drinks plus nice equals lucky, but I got a lot more than lucky. It was like I had lit a fire in her eyes, they were ablaze and soon was her entire body as she talked about the thrill of the chase, of the tracking, of the stalking, of the danger and death, of hunting monsters. I hadn't known love until that moment, until I saw her wild eyes as she talked about pulling the trigger.
Before I knew it we were kissing, then I was calling a cab, and then all that passion turned towards me. When I woke up that next morning I did something I had never done before, I laid right there and waited until she woke up. Usually I got the hell out of dodge, usually I tried to avoid the what are we conversation, usually but not this time, this time I had to know if she felt the way I did. I don't know how long I laid there listening to her breathe, feeling her heartbeat, but I finally had to get up and use the toilet. That was when I saw the badge.
It started out as a golden glint on the floor, her cracked wallet had fallen there in the previous crazy evening. Curiosity got the better of me, lightly I nudged it with my foot flipping it open and revealing the bright badge of a federal agent. My heart dropped, past my chest, past my stomach, and straight out of my ass. For a long time I just kept looking at it and the pretty face laying there in bed, all my little dreams of love had been cut open and left to die in the morning sun that was coming through the window.
Eventually I started thinking about the night before, and I realized two things that together were the worst two fucking things in the world. First it was love, I felt it for her and I think she did for me, and second I was one of the monsters she loved to hunt. A monster and it's hunter, no amount of love can conquer that, if it was going to work for longer than one night one of us would have to give it up. I was too deep to get out by then, too deep to quit without getting my brains splattered or 20 to life. She would have to, and she wouldn't, not if she was that passion filled woman I had fallen in love with, and I wouldn't even try to tempt her either.
Closing that hotel door was one of the toughest choices I had ever made, and I had thought about it every day since. Every day I wondered if I would see her again, if I would see that beautiful face and those passion filled eyes looking back at me once again, and here they were. | 'Oh he's cute, I wonder if he'd taste good with mayo ro ketchup? Noooo! Snap out of it girl! This is a date! A DATE!' she thought as she slapped her face in real life, at the table, in a restoraunt on an atual date.
\- Are you okay?
\- Oh, yes yes, I uh . . . I just remebered something embarising for highschool and uh, well I was cheering myself up!
\- Right . . . 'Man, I could be knee deep in the jungle right abouot now, sneaking up on a humongous dragon and. .... no no no no no ! this happend on every date! I have to focus!' he thought as he tried to remember what it was exaclty that he and his date were talking about.
These two, ladies and gentleman are our heroes of the story. One a female Dragon the other a Monster Hunter, specialized in dragons as luck wuld have it. Neither of them are aware of the others true nature, for now, but how will it all end? Let's find out!
\- So, what was it you do for work again?
\- Oh eh, I am a biologist. I work for a non profit organization -'meaning I keep all the dough for myself'- spetialized in tracking down and monitoring endagered and rare species.
\- Fascinating! So, what is the most dangerous animal you monitored? -'Humf! You probably don't even know there are DRAGONS around do you! Ugh, if only we could mate like you humans do but nooooo, true love bla bla bla feelings and stuff'-
\- Oh you se there was this dragon I tracked once ... -'CRAP! ok ok you can still save it think of somehting!'-
\-Excuse me? The Dragon within her trembled, her eyes becomming cat like, but yellow focusing on the tasty treat in front of her.
\-Oh it was a comodo dragon you see you know those hug....
Before he could finish the sentance something huge sprung from underneath the table crushing it. Table cloth still in the air, the beautifully baked pastries turned into little more than dust particles. Tea cups shatter all around. But in all that the hunter inside the Dragons companion long saw those eyes that whish nothing more than to destory and sprung back to avoid the swing what turned out to be a big, thick crimon red tail.
\-Perhaps a demonstration on how the tracking down and monitoring went down would be in order? What do you say, Monster?
\-Oh I'd love that! And as she sayid that the beautifully designed and crafter dress tore apart from the enourmous body that is the Dragons true form.
\[To be continued\] | |
[WP] You can talk to pigeons and only pigeons. In exchange for some seeds or if they trust you enough, they tell you things, like where the best bread spots are, embarrassing things humans or other pigeons have done, or what's under the statues around the city that keep them from moving. | Kevin took a seat on an empty park bench, pulled out the bag of croutons he carried in his bag, and threw a handful on the ground. Within seconds a fat blue-brown pigeon landed and began pecking at the dried pieces of bread.
“Yo Gutterflap,” The pigeon called out. “Get over here, it’s the good stuff.”
Another pigeon landed, this one more scrappy. “Garlic parmesan?" It said. "That's the good stuff.”
"I know, that's what I said."
"You read my mind."
"Birds of a feather, my man. Birds of a feather."
“Hey guys, I’m new in town.” Kevin said, throwing another fist full of croutons. "Nice to meet you both.”
The pigeons kept pecking, paying Kevin no attention “So Fatwing,” the scrappy pigeon said between pecks. “Pretty sure that human just talked.”
“Mmhmm,” Fatwing responded.
“Weird.”
“You think he’s empty?”
“He's gotta be. They all are.”
"He's talking tho."
“Weird.”
"Mmhmm."
The pigeons kept on pecking at the croutons. Kevin let them be, if there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you couldn’t force a conversation. When they wanted to talk, they’d talk. When they didn’t, well, they’d eat.
“You know these croutons remind of that place on 43rd?” Fatwing said. “You know, the pizza place?”
“Olive Garden?”
“Olive Garden don’t do pizza.”
“They Italian tho.”
“Weird, right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“So human,” Gutterflap said after a minute. “Wanna settle something for us?”
“What is it?” Kevin asked.
“Does the Olive Garden on 43rd do pizza or nah?”
“Don’t know, never been. I’m new in town.”
“See,” Fatwing said. “I told you they don’t do pizza.”
“He said he didn’t know, idiot.” Gutterflap responded.
“He don’t know much does he.”
“He’s new in town.”
“Or maybe just empty.”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap turned back to Kevin. “Settle something else for us. You empty?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “What do you mean by empty?”
“He don’t know much, does he.” Fatwing said.
“Probably don't know about the statues either,” Gutterflap responded.
“He wouldn’t be here if he did.”
“Maybe he’s empty.”
Kevin frowned. “What's there to know about the statues?”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap said. “Settle something else for us. You know about the statues or nah?”
“I don’t,” Kevin said. “Tell me about them.”
“See,” Gutterflap said to the other pigeon. “Told you he don’t know about the statues.”
“He don’t know much does he,” Fatwing replied.
“He’s new in town.”
“Guys,” Kevin said, suppressing his frustration. If there’s one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you had to be patient. “What’s up with the statues? What do you mean by empty?”
“Don’t worry human,” Fatwing said casually. “They don’t move around so much anymore.”
“The bolts are rusting tho,” Gutterflap responded.
“Mmhmm.”
“But he’ll be all right.”
“If he’s empty.”
“Mmhmm.”
And with that, the birds flew off, leaving Kevin alone. He wouldn’t soon forget the conversation. If there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons, it was that they often knew more than they let on.
Kevin packed up his things, and walked home from the park. Only then did he notice the statues strewn about the walkway. All life sized, all bolted down into raw cement, no pedestal or plaque to be found. The pigeons were right. The bolts were rusted.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe |
The bread in his hand was stale and beginning to harden, but the pigeons did not seem to mind it any. They were simple creatures, too foolish to feel any fear for the humans that rushed passed them heading to their jobs, their families, or wherever it was humans were supposed to go.
“Thank you, Saad,” said Irisa, the nearly all white pigeon pausing her pecking. “Aren’t you early today? The sun is not yet at its highest but here you sit.” Saad tossed another piece of bread in her direction and she hopped after it.
He looked up at the sky and passed the park trees. The sky was clear and the sun, as Irisa said, was still rising. It all seemed much closer seeing it like this than through a window from inside the office. “Yes, I found my morning suddenly free and thought the park would be a good place to spend it.”
Two pigeons, Dorian and Damian, finding themselves too close to one another and in competition for some scattered crumbs, flapped their wings at one another and pulled Saad’s eyes back to the ground. Men and birds both, it seemed, were all too happy to fight when plenty of bread remained for all to have. He tore at the loaf in his hand and tossed more pieces to settle the flock that gathered around him.
“Well, I’m happy for it. Hardly anyone comes during this time to feed us.” Irisa fluttered her wings as she hopped onto the bench with him.
“No Kiri today?” He peered into the birds, not seeing the wide-set one with blue feathers around her neck. “Or does she only come around during my lunch break? Midday, I mean?”
Irisa let out a long coo, as she always did when amused. “No, that one will be too embarrassed to show her feathers around here for days, I’d imagine.” The white pigeon jumped onto the box Saad had at his side and tilted her head at it. “She flew right into one of those buildings your kind seem to enjoy spending their time in — the ones with the tricky see-through sides. She’s not really hurt, only her pride. And how could she not be? A bird her age still being fooled into heading into one of those buildings.” She let out another long coo.
“I wouldn’t blame her. It’s an easy trap. The buildings around here seem much shinier and attractive from the outside than they ever end up being once you get up close to them and see what they are like on the inside.”
“A trick of the light is all it is. Makes those see-through sides seem like it is more of the open sky. But if you look closely, you can see that it isn’t that at all,” the pigeon said sagely. “But more importantly, what is this? You haven’t brought this with you before.” She pecked at the cardboard box.
“Nothing you’d be interested in, I don’t think. They’re things I brought from work — some odds and ends I had on my desk. Some papers too.” He opened the lid, displaying the summary of the last two years of his life for her to see. “Just junk.”
Irisa turned her head away from the box, focusing instead on the bread in his hand even as he spoke. He tore off a sizeable chunk and threw it to the ground, sending the pigeon barreling through the ones still gathered at his feet as she chased after it. Damian appeared at her side, and the two tore the bread into smaller pieces that were quickly gobbled up.
“I flew to the giant human holding the torch yesterday,” Damian said, preening. “I got up close and flew in circles, but I couldn’t see where her cage was.”
“Why do you think she has a cage?”
“Of course she has a cage. Why else would she stay out in the water instead of flying back into the city where all the food is?”
Saad snorted as he tore the rest of the loaf into a few more pieces and threw one at the ridiculous bird. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“No?” asked Irisa from among the flock. “Then why stay where she is? I can’t stand the water myself. That’s why I just fly to places like this park instead. I thought all humans had cages, the way they stay away all day.” She tilted her head at Saad. “Not you, I suppose, since you’re here.”
Saad was quiet at that.
He rose from the bench and the birds jumped back a few feet before they leaped forwards again to catch the rest of the bread he dusted out from his hands.
“I think I know somewhere else to spend the rest of my day,” he said as farewell, taking his box with him as he sped out of the park.
r/Inder | |
[WP] You can talk to pigeons and only pigeons. In exchange for some seeds or if they trust you enough, they tell you things, like where the best bread spots are, embarrassing things humans or other pigeons have done, or what's under the statues around the city that keep them from moving. | Kevin took a seat on an empty park bench, pulled out the bag of croutons he carried in his bag, and threw a handful on the ground. Within seconds a fat blue-brown pigeon landed and began pecking at the dried pieces of bread.
“Yo Gutterflap,” The pigeon called out. “Get over here, it’s the good stuff.”
Another pigeon landed, this one more scrappy. “Garlic parmesan?" It said. "That's the good stuff.”
"I know, that's what I said."
"You read my mind."
"Birds of a feather, my man. Birds of a feather."
“Hey guys, I’m new in town.” Kevin said, throwing another fist full of croutons. "Nice to meet you both.”
The pigeons kept pecking, paying Kevin no attention “So Fatwing,” the scrappy pigeon said between pecks. “Pretty sure that human just talked.”
“Mmhmm,” Fatwing responded.
“Weird.”
“You think he’s empty?”
“He's gotta be. They all are.”
"He's talking tho."
“Weird.”
"Mmhmm."
The pigeons kept on pecking at the croutons. Kevin let them be, if there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you couldn’t force a conversation. When they wanted to talk, they’d talk. When they didn’t, well, they’d eat.
“You know these croutons remind of that place on 43rd?” Fatwing said. “You know, the pizza place?”
“Olive Garden?”
“Olive Garden don’t do pizza.”
“They Italian tho.”
“Weird, right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“So human,” Gutterflap said after a minute. “Wanna settle something for us?”
“What is it?” Kevin asked.
“Does the Olive Garden on 43rd do pizza or nah?”
“Don’t know, never been. I’m new in town.”
“See,” Fatwing said. “I told you they don’t do pizza.”
“He said he didn’t know, idiot.” Gutterflap responded.
“He don’t know much does he.”
“He’s new in town.”
“Or maybe just empty.”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap turned back to Kevin. “Settle something else for us. You empty?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “What do you mean by empty?”
“He don’t know much, does he.” Fatwing said.
“Probably don't know about the statues either,” Gutterflap responded.
“He wouldn’t be here if he did.”
“Maybe he’s empty.”
Kevin frowned. “What's there to know about the statues?”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap said. “Settle something else for us. You know about the statues or nah?”
“I don’t,” Kevin said. “Tell me about them.”
“See,” Gutterflap said to the other pigeon. “Told you he don’t know about the statues.”
“He don’t know much does he,” Fatwing replied.
“He’s new in town.”
“Guys,” Kevin said, suppressing his frustration. If there’s one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you had to be patient. “What’s up with the statues? What do you mean by empty?”
“Don’t worry human,” Fatwing said casually. “They don’t move around so much anymore.”
“The bolts are rusting tho,” Gutterflap responded.
“Mmhmm.”
“But he’ll be all right.”
“If he’s empty.”
“Mmhmm.”
And with that, the birds flew off, leaving Kevin alone. He wouldn’t soon forget the conversation. If there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons, it was that they often knew more than they let on.
Kevin packed up his things, and walked home from the park. Only then did he notice the statues strewn about the walkway. All life sized, all bolted down into raw cement, no pedestal or plaque to be found. The pigeons were right. The bolts were rusted.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 7: Pigeonlady v.s. The Petrified Police)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Every citizen of the Unified Sovereignties was raised to take pride in their diverse and glorious superheroes, the strongest in the world.** Death, who could disintegrate life with a touch of her shadowy tendrils. Tamulu, the immortal shapeshifter who could outwit spies and outgun soldiers with equal ease. Big Guns, who could reach through the Internet and slay armies with a thought. The U.S. Federal government had spared no expense in securing the best and brightest heroes—ostensibly to protect the citizenry which paid it taxes, although the protecting-its-citizenry-from-supervillains to interfering-in-foreign-business ratio was distressingly low.
But it's a universal truth of the world that you get what you pay for—and cities which lacked the Federal government's depth and breadth of resources had to shop from the bargain bin. So when the city of Sacrament broke out into riots, and the cash-strapped Califerne government threw its hands up in surrender, it was not Tamulu the Unkillable or Big Guns the Intangible who stepped up to save the day.
It was Pigeonlady, the Mildly Geriatric.
"*The rioters draw near, Lady Iggy.*" Pigeonlady looked up from her park bench at Whoo'hu'hu'hu, who had landed on her shoulder. "*C'coo'c'c'twee and his flock have attempted to divert them, but they cannot hold long.*"
Iggy sighed and stood up. "Oh, this is ridiculous. What are those eggheads at City Hall doing? The city of Sacrament burns while they diddle around on their smartphones!"
"*Have you... not heard the news?*" Who'hu'hu'hu chirped, surprised. "*The Mayor has been evicted, the local government in shambles.*"
"I don't need to watch the news. Not when I have you fellas." Iggy stretched, feeling the crackle and pop of her aging joints, and reached into her pocket to feed Who'hu'hu'hu a cracker. The rock dove snatched it and gulped it down. "What about the Petrified Police? It's a bit heavy-handed, but if whoever's left in the government activates them, that should restore law and order—for a little while, at least. There are... consequences... to letting those things run loose, but I think we can all agree that they can't possibly be worse than the city burning."
Who'hu'hu'hu finished swallowing the crackers. "*Yes, that's the other thing I wanted to tell you. Someone—or something—has deliberately neutralized the Petrified Police.*"
Iggy frowned. "What, all of them? There have got to be hundreds of Petrified in the city—and tens of thousands of decoy statues beyond that."
"*Yes. The primary weakness of the Petrified Police is that they are unable to act while any living being is able to observe them; it seems that several thousand cleverly-placed cameras around the city have paralyzed the Petrified Police for the foreseeable future.*" Who'hu'hu'hu grimaced, a decidedly unpleasant expression on his peristeronic face. "*Or until the power grid finally goes out—but by then, even the Petrified Police won't be able to restore order.*"
With a flap of wings, a pale white pigeon descended from the sky, one wing ruffled. Who'hu'hu'hu swiveled his head upwards. "*C'coo'c'c'twee! What's the news?*"
"*I'm sorry, my Lady.*" C'coo'c'c'twee bowed to Iggy. "*We couldn't stop them. The mob—they're coming this way.*"
"*Could you talk them down?*" Who'hu'hu'hu asked Iggy.
Iggy shook her head sadly. "I can talk to pigeons—and only pigeons. Human speech is... incomprehensible to me. It's why I don't watch the news."
Who'hu'hu'hu turned around grimly. "*Then we fight to the death.*"
Iggy swatted him on the back, lightly; he let out a *huhuhu* of indignation. "No, you dolt. We do what any upstanding citizen would do with a riot at her back." She turned around and began to shuffle down the dirty street, towards the subway. "We call the police."
The two pigeons fluttered around her, confused. "*We just got through telling you, the Petrified Police are incapacitated right now—*"
"So help me God." Iggy ran a hand over her wrinkled forehead. "Look, I'm going where I please, and you two cluckleheads can't stop me. You can either help me out or leave an old woman to her mad ramblings. Clear?"
The two pigeons met each others' eyes, then landed on her shoulder, one each. "*As a birdbath,*" Who'hu'hu'hu cawed.
Iggy could hear the human rabble coming down the street now—as they had been since the day she was born, the humans' speech sounded like nothing more than the cacophonous cry of pigeons. She shook her head and hurried into the subway, holding onto the filthy railing as she descended and swearing to wash her hands vigorously after she was done here. The statue that Iggy had passed by every day of her morning commute glowered down at her; she knew from the fire of '03 that it was a Petrified Police, just waiting for the moment when eyes would be off it to spring into motion.
"Who'hu'hu'hu. Do you know where that damn camera is?" Iggy asked.
"*It's piggybacking off the rail line.*" Who'hu'hu'hu pointed at a distant speck.
"Can you blot out its vision?"
Who'hu'hu'hu preened himself. "*Lady, I've been pooping on car windshields and security cameras my entire life. I can take it out.*" He swooped off into the darkness; Iggy was glad that the gloom obscured whatever Who'hu'hu'hu did to obscure the camera's lens.
Iggy turned her back to the statue, searching for the other pigeon; he'd apparently flown up topside, but Iggy knew he would still be able to hear her. "C'coo'c'c'twee, there's a central wire leading up to the lights. I want you to—"
"*Incoming!*" C'coo'c'c'twee called, darting down. A moment later, the rabble of the mob followed, descending into the subway tunnel. Iggy swore. Why in God's name would the mob be coming down this tunnel? She'd chosen it specifically because it was out of the way.
"Get the lights, C'coo! Get the lights!" Iggy screamed.
The mob seemed to home in on the sound of her voice, pouring down the staircase like water. She saw someone go down and get trampled; she winced as C'coo'c'c'twee frantically pulled at the wires, setting the lights to flickering—
and then the Petrified Policeman burst into motion.
It was eerie in the stroboscopic darkness. The Petrified Policeman moved with inhuman speed in between blinks, bursting between members of the mob and subduing them with precise, sturdy strikes. The wind of its passing ruffled Iggy's hair as it stormed through the civilians.
And then the frantic chirping of birds fell silent.
When the lights came back on, the Petrified Policeman was gone—presumably, to report to its government leaders, or perhaps to go for backup. The civilians had been expertly tied up and rendered unconscious with spare lengths of eletrical wire. Iggy pressed a hand to her forehead.
She had done her part to protect the city of Sacrament.
She could only hope the other bargain bin superheroes were doing the same.
A.N.
An city with Weeping Angels as a last-resort police force is not a city I would like to live in.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | |
[WP] You were kind to the bullied kid in school, and they have always liked you since then. Even now, as they enact their plan for world domination, you are still the only person they care about. | “I can give you anything you want, you know.”
Mark hasn’t changed. Physically, he’s unrecognizable, but the needy little boy from two decades before is stuck inside the tuxedo-clad man.
“I don’t want anything,” I tell him. “I’m good here.”
“With this?” he asks, his arms gesturing around my house. He looks wealthy now. I can tell by the shine of his cuff links and the way he looks so out of place in my humble little cottage.
“You’re living in a hut,” he says.
“It’s a cob house,” I tell him. “I built it yourself.”
He walks forwards and takes my hands in his. “I can give you mansions, Crystal. No, I can give you palaces to live in. You deserve more than this.”
That’s the trouble with Mark. Nothing was ever enough for him. He had his friends in school, but he ditched them in an attempt to make friends with the cool kids. When that failed, he was left with no one.
“I don’t want palaces. Imagine the cleaning I’d have to do.”
“You’d never have to lift a finger.”
“Wait.”
I thought Mark looked familiar because of the past, but I realize I’ve seen him recently. Plastered on the front pages of newspapers, his crooked smile on TV. That same habit he had of smoothing his hair to the side with his entire palm.
“You’re Mark Dessam.”
I didn’t read the news often, but even I knew what Mark Dessam was doing. He was taking over the entire world. Most people thought of world domination as something people did with armies and weapons, but Mark chose a more peaceful route. He bought his way through. His family was always rich, but he multiplied the old money exponentially.
First it was large tracts of land in places no one else wanted to live. People thought he was only building factories for his lands. They laughed when he announced all of his lands throughout the world as his own country. They made jokes about eccentric billionaires, until he revealed the Republic of Cryssa to be a nuclear power. After he took over South America, people started calling Cryssa a super-country.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I want you to see Cryssa,” he says. “Ireland is one of our states now.”
He knows I’ve always wanted to go. That it bothered me that I know nothing about the family my parents left behind there when they emigrated to America.
“There’s a beautiful castle there, sitting on the edge of a lake. With a walled garden full of peonies. I’ve had the tower made into a writing room, should you want it.”
“Mark. That’s your house. I can’t just move into your house.”
“Do you remember what I told you when I was moving away?” he asks.
I don’t. It was fifteen years ago, and he was crying so much I just patted his shoulder and nodded along to whatever words he mumbled through his tears.
“I said I’d come back and give you the world, Crystal. I’m not there quite yet, but I will be.”
“What?”
“I’m giving you the world you want to see, Crystal. Cryssa is a place where people don’t suffer. I’m working to solve all the problems that make you sad. We’re carbon-neutral. We’re working to restore the Amazon.”
“The company?”
“The rainforest!”
I’m confused. It’s true that people all want to go to Cryssa. After Mark rolled out his plans for healthcare and housing, countries joined voluntarily.
Cryssa.
It’s named after me.
“Mark,” I begin. I want to take his hand. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But I know Mark. I can stay here in my house, with my perfectly happy life, or I can take a risk.
“I’ll visit,” I tell him. “For a few days.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/xeuthis
*I've basically turned a prompt about world domination into a romcom.* | The devastation to the capital was overwhelming. Cars and buildings ablaze, flags being burnt in the streets and a thin dusting of soot wisping its way across the city on the breeze. Institutions that had seemed unbreakable, rock solid bastions of certainty that anchored everyday life, these banks and council buildings now stood in ruin. Smashed glass and half looted electronics strewn across the pavement.
I shuddered to think of the events of the last few days, it started with country wide black outs, no power, no Internet and a strange lack of news being pushed out, not even by radio. By word of mouth I heard from neighbours that there had been military activity around a huge range government buildings, news facilities and infrastructure. People began to gather in the streets for information and were viciously dispersed, by a black uniformed militia showing a brutality not seen before in this country.
The knee jerk reaction to this was anger. A deep figurative burning rage manifested itself as a physical burning rage. People turned to the age old weapon of the rioter, the molotov cocktail. These were used indiscriminately, setting fire to any undefended target, any symbol which could send the message to these strange forces that the populous was angry. We were impotent really though, the black uniformed militia escalated their force, from batons up to CS gas that burned the throat until finally the blood really began to flow.
I remember the first time I saw it, burned into my memory, an after-image that I see everytime I close my eyes. I had gone with my housemate to a protest that had been organised a couple of days ago, runners having been sent from door to door encouraging people to march on the local council building. We had a good turnout, a couple of hundred people it seemed, marching along the street. Some of the younger more zealous individuals smashing windows en route, setting a few fires and causing general chaos.
As we turned the corner from the old town into the downtown area we were met with a bristling barricade, consisting of black armoured vans blocking the path and swarming with militia armed with rifles. I remember staring at those barrels as a great swell of noise began to rise around me. An animalistic roar of anger at these militia who had snatched everything from us the last few days.
That roar almost drowned out the first rifle shot, I saw the smoke burst from the barrel and my first thought was that they were firing rubber rounds at us. As if in slow motion I remember a woman, a meter or so to my front right, jerk violently backwards as if someone had attached a rope to her neck and pulled it swiftly backwards. A delicate bright red arcing spray of blood flew back in my direction, it sprinkled onto my hand and I looked down in horror at it. In my peripheral vision I unconsciously noted that the woman had hit the floor clutching her neck, that delicate spray was no longer delicate, instead it was a rough offensive flood of blood that pooled in the street around her.
That rifle shot was the first of many, numerous people dropping in the street around me. The animalistic rage turned to an animalistic fear, the surge that was directed forward was now a panicked flight away from the barricade. People were fighting to get past each other, treading over the dead or the unfortunate who had tripped and were now a few dozen foot stomps away from joining the deceased. I lost my housemate in the stampede, whether they were shot or trampled I have no idea. I have felt an overwhelming guilt since then, too scared to go and look for the body I have hid in my house consuming whatever tinned food I could find in the cupboards and trying to make it last as long as possible.
A week or so later and I was running out of food. I had boarded up the windows and had begun to get less and less people visiting the house. I wasn't even sure if the neighbours were in or not, they could be dead or fled for all I knew. This was when I heard the sirens in the street, I heard the banging and crashing next door as the milita broke down the door shouting for people to come out and give themselves up. I thought about hiding but before I knew it my front door came crashing down, again I faced down the barrel of a weapon. The dark hole drew my gaze like a black hole, my vision almost zoomed in while everything else was a blur. I was so zoned out by this that I almost didn't register the shouted commands. "Hands up", "Step forward" barked at me, in a daze I did what I was told and was roughly searched for weapons and then thrown out into the street. Manhandled and corralled like cattle into a crowd into the centre of the street, I looked around for my neighbours, nodding to the terrified faces I barely recognised due to the stress and strain that had taken its toll the last few days.
We were herded roughly, with batons used on those who were too slow, into the city towards the capital building. On the way we were joined onto other groups all meandering to the large square in front of the capital. Huge screens had been erected either side of the marble steps showing a strange symbol of a white dove inside a golden spoked wheel. I recognised that symbol but I couldn't place it.
It took a long time for other groups to arrive, there was the hushed murmering of conversation during this time. I spoke to my neighbours, discussing the previous week and venting anger at what was happening. The hushed murmering died out suddenly as the screens flickered and showed an image of a plain wooden podium that stood at the top of the capital stairs. A dark suited man stepped forward to the podium and my breath caught.
I recognised the man, he looked different, but definitely, unmistakably the same person. He began speaking, "Beloved countrymen, I recognise how difficult the recent events must have been for you.. ". As he spoke my mind drifted off, it was Blake, just Blake from school.
I remembered him well, he had a rough time. He had joined the school late, his family had moved from a different part of the country and he arrived with a stutter that seemed to get worse as he grew older. As difference inevitably does it drew attention, older kids used to make fun of this new, stuttering arrival. Mean jokes turned to "pranks", the occasional chair pulled from under him here to the occasional offensive graffiti scrawled across his locker there, "L-L-L-L-L-oser", "W-W-W-W-aste of O-O-O-xygen". This escalated until he regularly found himself being attacked, slaps and hits when he crossed the wrong person in the hall.
I was in the same year group as him and befriended him as best I could, I would sit with him sometimes at lunch and help scrub the graffiti off his locker on a Friday afternoon when school was quiet and nobody would see me doing it. We were grouped together for a final year media project and we spent a lot of time together working on it. He was clearly embarrassed at his stutter and would apologise constantly for it but I would play it down, it really wasn't an issue for me. After graduation we kept in touch on Facebook, he went off to an Ecclesiastical college, I knew he was deeply religious and used it as a coping mechanism for his tough years so it wasn't a surprise for him to go that route.
We lost touch for a while and about five years later I got a message out of the blue inviting me to a get together of a "group of likeminded individuals" who believed a religious governance would fix the earth. I'm not really sure I would fit into the category of likeminded individual and it all sounded a bit too much like a cult for my liking. That was where I recognised the caged dove logo from, it was at the top of that Facebook page.
My mind returned to the present and Blake was still talking. Somehow he must have gotten over his stutter because he was speaking in a slick, clearly rehearsed manner. Dynamic and confident I was drawn back into what he was saying, " as the Patriarch of this new noble nation I will father you, and hold you to my bosom while projecting the will of the Holy across the globe. I will require people of good standing and zealous followers of God to assist me in guiding this great nation.". He paused for effect and his gaze drifted across the crowd before seeming to settle facing firmly in my direction although he couldn't possibly have spotted me in this crowd.
He continued, maintaining his piercing gaze, "My first appointment is the Principle Legate, leader of the Quinisext Council and second only to me.", again pausing for breath, "...my right hand", he then spoke my name and I almost physically reeled. The shock hitting me like a sledgehammer. The people around me, those from my neighbourhood who knew he was talking about me, turned with fury in their eyes. "You're part of this?" My neighbour from across the street fiercely hissed at me. Someone nearby shouted "Traitor!", and another spat on my foot.
The shock I had been feeling began to turn to fear, the people around me were raging, I felt claustrophobic and tried to defend myself as someone threw a punch at me. I grappled with a man I did not recognise and could feel people hitting me as we did so. Members of the black dressed militia dragged people off me, beating them with batons as they did so. They fought the crowd back and created a protective circle around me. A man I guessed to be their commander stood in the centre with me, he gave a defferential bow and said "Legate Sir, would you allow us to escort you to his Holiness?", as he did so his gestured with his arm and the circle of batons shepherded me towards the capital steps.
(1of 2) | |
[WP] When you die, you do not find yourself in any afterlife (or lack thereof) guaranteed to you by any scientist or priest, but find yourself in a white void containing yourself and a menu, containing what seems to list infinite options such as: Valhalla, Heaven, Oblivion, Nirvana and Elysium | Hearing is the last sense to fail after death. I heard the monitor go static, I heard my children cry, I heard my grandchildren cry, I heard... Humming?
I open my eyes, I feel my chest, I inhale quickly through my nose. Something walks up to me, it is holding a plate, the plate is placed next to me. There is bread on the plate, I grab the bread, and feel it. I smell it, and then I eat it.
I have all my senses, but I am dead. What is happening? I stare at my hands... Still bony, I am still old. I process the situation more, I begin to stand.
"5.261 seconds. A record." A voice ringed out.
"Wh-who's there?" I questioned.
"Which religion did you believe in?" The voice responded.
"I didn't." I answered.
"Then I'm an Omnipotent Being. Look at the screen in front of you, and take time with your decision." The Being announced.
There isn't an echo, so how is sound travelling? How small is this room, can I walk around in it? Where is the Being, does it know me?
I clear my thoughts.
"Where is the screen?" I think.
"In front of you." My brain replies.
"What does it say?" I questioned.
"A lot, an almost infinite list of words, many nonsense words." The brain relayed
"Do I recognize any of the words?" I questioned again.
"Yes." The brain says.
"What are the words?" I push.
"Heaven, Hell, Elysium, Valhalla, among others, those were just the ones I saw." My Sight directly says.
Thank you Sight.
My hand reaches out, I touch Heaven.
"It feels calming." Touch states.
Sound echoes out.
"Heaven is what many believe to be the good place to go after one dies. Although there are many variations of it, the core concept is the same, be good, be rewarded." Hearing informed.
I flick through the list, and find Earth. I select Earth, Touch chimes in with the description of the feeling, which is calming.
"Earth is the home planet of the Humans. This is where you originated." Hearing informed.
Should I select Earth? What would happen?
"Omnipotent Being!" I yell.
"Yes?" It responds.
"What would happen if I choose Earth?" I asked.
"You would survive the heart attack. Though with your previous condition, you would simply be a burden to your family." The Omnipotent Being says.
"Thank you." I tell it.
"Your welcome." It says back.
I suppose I'll choose at random. I suppress my sight, and begin scrolling. I stop scrolling, and select the world I landed on, and pressed the button next to the console.
"You are now going to Sk-" Hearing tells me.
I cough violently, my head feels like it's been through the wringer. I slowly open my eyes, I'm sitting down, in a cart? I feel rope around my hands.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right?" | Helen had never been much for decisions. Every day she drank the same tea her mother had always bought, ate the same food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner as always. She worked as a school teacher, because that's what she was told would be a good, respectable job for a woman. She wore the clothes the saleswoman chose for her. It was a good life, and a simple life, and one might even call if boring, but she took comfort in the peace and predictability.
And then, she died.
The light was brilliant, and she thought she would see the pearly gates ahead, but instead there was a small table, with a white cloth, fine silk. A waiter, immaculate in a black suit that looked nothing like what anyone wore, pulled her chair for her, and offered her a menu.
"A meal first?" She asked. "But, the bible says the.spiritual body has no need for bread."
"It really doesn't." The waiter said. "But people always think the bible says what they want it to." He walked away "take your time."
She looked at the menu.
Heaven
Elysium
Nirvana
Valhalla
The items weren't meals, they were versions of afterlife. She flipped the page, and then the next. The list was unending. She felt the panic rising as the pages blurred.
She took short, jagged breaths.
"Have you sorted out what you want yet?" A new waitress, this one a fat woman, in a yellow apron.
"I -" Helen gasped. "I - I -"
"Ope - I've got another table. You keep perusing and I'll be right back along."
Helen stared at the menu. Tears welled up in her eyes. Oh God, it was worse than nothing. It was - it was....
Hell.
She blinked with sudden clarity.
She looked around and the white was gone, the restaurant was gone. Just stone and flames.
"Oh dear..." The waiter was back, but the black suit had changed into spandex leggings, and a leather vest with a plunging neckline and no back. Webbed wings flanked him, and he had the tiniest little black horns over his brows. "... You've figured us out."
"But I was good!" She pushed up from her seat. "I - I followed the laws, the commandments! I prayed - I - I went to church!"
Satan tipped his head. "Mm... You did all that, true." He reached back, and pulled a ponytail elastic out of his long hair, letting it fall. It was jet black at the roots, but bone white at the tips, and every color imaginable between. "But that's not what gets you into... Heaven? I assume is the one you're wanting?"
Helen covered her mouth with her hands.
Heaven. You got there by accepting Jesus into your heart.
"But -"
"Ah-ah-ah," Satan waggled a finger. "You didn't. You said the words, but when Jeezy came a-knocking..."
She closed her eyes. "Whatsoever you do unto the least of these..." She began.
"Attagirl!" Satan beamed. "You remember? Told that poor homeless man to, what was it? Stop giving his life over the devilry and drugs? Get a job and contribute to society?"
Helen covered her eyes, but of course, she didn't really *have* eyes anymore. She was a soup, not a body.
"Mmm. Yes. Into the pit with you." | |
[WP] When you die, you do not find yourself in any afterlife (or lack thereof) guaranteed to you by any scientist or priest, but find yourself in a white void containing yourself and a menu, containing what seems to list infinite options such as: Valhalla, Heaven, Oblivion, Nirvana and Elysium | Hearing is the last sense to fail after death. I heard the monitor go static, I heard my children cry, I heard my grandchildren cry, I heard... Humming?
I open my eyes, I feel my chest, I inhale quickly through my nose. Something walks up to me, it is holding a plate, the plate is placed next to me. There is bread on the plate, I grab the bread, and feel it. I smell it, and then I eat it.
I have all my senses, but I am dead. What is happening? I stare at my hands... Still bony, I am still old. I process the situation more, I begin to stand.
"5.261 seconds. A record." A voice ringed out.
"Wh-who's there?" I questioned.
"Which religion did you believe in?" The voice responded.
"I didn't." I answered.
"Then I'm an Omnipotent Being. Look at the screen in front of you, and take time with your decision." The Being announced.
There isn't an echo, so how is sound travelling? How small is this room, can I walk around in it? Where is the Being, does it know me?
I clear my thoughts.
"Where is the screen?" I think.
"In front of you." My brain replies.
"What does it say?" I questioned.
"A lot, an almost infinite list of words, many nonsense words." The brain relayed
"Do I recognize any of the words?" I questioned again.
"Yes." The brain says.
"What are the words?" I push.
"Heaven, Hell, Elysium, Valhalla, among others, those were just the ones I saw." My Sight directly says.
Thank you Sight.
My hand reaches out, I touch Heaven.
"It feels calming." Touch states.
Sound echoes out.
"Heaven is what many believe to be the good place to go after one dies. Although there are many variations of it, the core concept is the same, be good, be rewarded." Hearing informed.
I flick through the list, and find Earth. I select Earth, Touch chimes in with the description of the feeling, which is calming.
"Earth is the home planet of the Humans. This is where you originated." Hearing informed.
Should I select Earth? What would happen?
"Omnipotent Being!" I yell.
"Yes?" It responds.
"What would happen if I choose Earth?" I asked.
"You would survive the heart attack. Though with your previous condition, you would simply be a burden to your family." The Omnipotent Being says.
"Thank you." I tell it.
"Your welcome." It says back.
I suppose I'll choose at random. I suppress my sight, and begin scrolling. I stop scrolling, and select the world I landed on, and pressed the button next to the console.
"You are now going to Sk-" Hearing tells me.
I cough violently, my head feels like it's been through the wringer. I slowly open my eyes, I'm sitting down, in a cart? I feel rope around my hands.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right?" | "Hi, can I take your order?"
I looked up from the menu and jerked back in surprise. From the friendly female voice, I'd expected a young woman with a cheerful smile. Instead, I saw a Grim Reaper. Dark cloak, hooded face, tall scythe, the works.
I swallowed. "Uh, I'm not sure what's happening. I was just...,"
I'd been in a hospital, hadn't I? I'd been dying. And now... I glanced around. I was in a diner, a diner I remembered actually. I used to go here all the time. The same formica table tops, the slightly sticky vinyl booths, the menus in their plastic covers, but now instead of offering the menu, it offered a variety of afterlives. Heaven. Valhalla. Nirvana. Elysium.
"I - uh - I'm gonna need a minute," I said.
"Sure thing," the friendly voice said. I watched the Grim Reaper leave. I was used to a different view from this diner. Henry, the owner, had always picked the cheerleaders from the local high school. They would wear shorts and tanks if they pulled a shift right before or after a practice, and that was the best time to grab a bite to eat. The girls liked it too. They did it for the tips.
But there were no cheerleaders here. It was disappointing, but the menu was enough of a curiosity to pull me from my thoughts. I'd never thought I'd be given an option. I was Catholic. Not a steady Catholic, by any means, but I went to Christmas Mass every year - and I tried to go on Easter as well, if I wasn't traveling, either for work or pleasure. I liked to travel. It was too bad there wasn't an option to travel on the menu. I might like to scope a few places out.
And I wished I'd spent more time in World Religion class in college so I could remember more about these afterlives. I'd only picked it because I needed a history credit and reviews said the class was easy and the professor was hot. She wasn't really. She was too heavy and too dark. I'd never understood why men found that body type attractive. In my opinion, they were just trying to be 'politically correct' and trying to be 'allies' to attract the feminists on campus.
"Can I get you a coffee while you wait?" The Grim Reaper was back, pot of coffee in hand.
"That'd be great," I said, and automatically sent a smile at her. It was hard not to. I'd been to this diner every week for the past twenty years, except for winters. Retirement had been everything I wanted it to be. I'd made enough money for a nice house here and on the beach in Florida. I made sure to stay down there for the spring break rush. There was nothing better than watching a wet t-shirt contest featuring busty college girls.
The Reaper poured a mug and then set down a little bowl of creamers and sugars. She - he - it left again, gliding without touching the floor. I shivered a little, because it was unnatural. It reminded me of those creepy supernatural shows my sister used to watch when we were young. She enjoyed that type of thing. I never had, but then again, she had wanted to go into the film industry. A fickle, frivolous industry, although it had its perks if you could make it big. All those beautiful girls, desperate to become a star, willing to do anything for it...
I licked my lips and tried the coffee. Burnt. Like it always was at this diner. I should have figured.
"Hey," I called the Reaper back with a snap of my fingers. "You got any food?"
Henry employed a great couple of chefs. Immigrants, which meant they were willing to work for basically nothing, and they made the best empanadas.
The Reaper shook its head. "Just coffee. You figure out where you want to go yet?"
Well, there wasn't any point in sticking around. "Heaven," I said.
"Oh, I'm sorry. We actually can't offer that option."
"What?" I spluttered. "Why the hell not? It's here on the menu isn't it?"
"There's just a bit of a waiting period for that option. See?" The Reaper reached out a bony hand and pointed at the fine print that I hadn't bothered reading.
"What the hell?" I demanded. "Twenty thousand Hail Mary's? Thirty-five thousand Our Father's? Penance? And then a wait in Purgatory?"
"Well, it's very demanding," the Reaper said. "You can pick something else though."
It glided away again as I fumed into my cup of coffee. I'd been a good Catholic my whole life. I'd gotten confirmed, I'd tithed, hell - I'd even married my first wife in the church. Well, I wasn't going through all that hassle.
I snapped my finger again. "Okay, how about this Nirvana then? Is that a good place?"
"It's more of a state of being," the Reaper said. "Peaceful. Tranquil. No striving. No desire."
No desire? I shook my head. "Nope. What about Valhalla?"
The finger reached out again and pointed to the fine script.
"I need to fall in battle?"
"And because you're already deceased, technically that one doesn't apply to you."
"Then why the hell do you have it on the menu?" I fumed.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's one menu for everyone."
"Well, which ones can I choose?"
"The Void's a popular option, and that's available for anyone. Or re-incarnation."
"What sort of re-incarnation?" I asked. I wasn't going to come back if I'd be stuck in a third world country. Or anything with a socialist government.
"Well, you'd be allowed to come back as a lower life-form."
"A what?"
"Lower life form, like an animal or an insect."
"An insect?"
The Reaper nodded. "If the bad you do in life outweighs the good, then you are only allowed to return as a lower life form. You have to restore your karma."
"I did plenty good in my life! I developed life-saving medications!"
"Sir, you were a pharmaceutical CEO who continually raised the prices on necessary maintenance medications."
"To fund research!"
"The majority of your funding came from federal and state grants."
My teeth grit together. The Reaper stepped back.
"I'll give you a few more minutes to think about it."
I glared as the Reaper floated away and then turned my glare onto the menu. This was ridiculous. It was an outrage. There had to have been some mistake. I didn't deserve the void. Or to be an insect.
I took a sip of coffee without thinking and spat it back into the cup. Ugh, burnt coffee. I turned the menu over in my hands. There was a better option here, there had to be. I just had to find it. And there wasn't the worst option on the menu. I could see no listing for Hell, which meant I'd at least escaped that fate. | |
[WP] When evil people die they're supposed to go to Hell as punishment. You arrive and discover that the place is unusually comfortable. Satan really hates God, and as it turns out his favorite way to spite God is to make Hell a really comfortable place. | The accident was sudden, though I suppose they always are. Bright headlights, ripping metal, squealing tires, then poof!
Well, so much for that.
I waited above my body for the "white light" that everybody is always going on about, only slightly sad that no one was present to beg me not to go into it. I didn't have anyone. I didn't think of myself as a bad guy, but I sure wasn't great. Never was comfortable in a church, a little prone to boozing and the occasional line, swore like a sailor... But I made my money honestly at least.
Finally the light came, though it wasn't the glorious white light I'd been anticipating. It was more like the filtered light from the next room over in a darkened house. The scent of sulfur stung my ethereal nostrils and a sharp heat washed over my being.
"Frank Wilbert," a soft voice said. No booming, no fireworks. Just a casual announcement. "Welcome to Hell."
I shrugged. What was I expecting anyhow? For wings to sprout of my shoulder blades and sandals and a harp to appear from thin air? Bah. I knew what I was.
"Which circle am I headed for?" I asked.
"About midway. You were just a miserable bastard, not Jeffrey Dahmer."
"Suits me fine."
A quiet grunt was the only reply. The heat intensified to the point where it felt like my soul would incinerate... And then stopped. Surprised, I looked around and found myself in a comfortable apartment decorated in a simple but modern style. A tall, thin man appeared to my left. The same voice floated over to me, though I did not see his lips move.
"Welcome again. This is your residence. Someone will be by soon to make arrangements for anything you need."
He let me have a moment to let his words sink in before continuing.
"There is a lake of fire in Hell, though it is seldom used for more than an... Interesting hiking trail. We are not in the habit of damning every unsaved soul that passes through our gates. You may not leave Hell but you won't be uncomfortable here."
Before I could reply, he vanished.
Left alone in the apartment, I explored and was surprised to find a bedroom complete with a wardrobe filled with clothes similar to what I'd owned. The adjoining bathroom had a simple shower with an abundance of hot water which I gratefully used to clean up.
Soon after I emerged, there was a knock at the door. A primly dressed woman entered. She carried a clipboard and aside from her inky hair and grayish complexion, hardly looked like any kind of demon I was familiar with.
"I'm Maxine. Yes, I have another name and no, I'm not going to say it aloud because you won't be able to pronounce it anyway. Here are maps for your section. The telephone should be active, just dial this number if you have questions. Do avoid long droning debates and opinions, though, it tends to worsen holding times for others with legitimate business." Her voice was cold and clipped, but not wholly unpleasant.
I was never given to much philosophical thought, but this entire experience had so far flown in the face of everything I'd been taught. The confusion I was grappling with must have been apparent, though, because Maxine let out a little sigh and sat down on the sofa.
"No doubt, this isn't what you were expecting. It's a shock for most. The fire and brimstone at the entrance is only for show because God's little busybodies never bother to go through the door. Lucifer broke away for a reason and does not extend the authoritarian ideas espoused by His Holy Ass down here. It is seldom that we get a soul who is actually evil enough to deserve punishment, so we arranged ourselves accordingly. You will not be tormented in any way. You may do as you please, provided that you do not leave Hell. On special instances, a pass may be issued for a temporary visit outside, but don't get your hopes up. Look over your map, make some friends, or don't, whatever, and enjoy your new life."
"This all sounds... Really nice."
"Lamely put, but I understand your sentiment. I see you were a bit of a drinker. The nearest bar is just down the street. You can drink to your heart's content without risk of hangover. I recommend the local Sulfur Ale. Any other questions?"
I shook my head. Words didn't always come to me at the best of times anyhow. Maxine got to her feet, laid some maps and papers on the polished wood coffee table, and headed to the door.
With the place to myself, I decided I didn't feel like being in it. The maps had several points of interest highlighted. I figured that I had millennia to find my way around, though, so opted to leave them on the table and get myself good and lost.
As I left, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Looks like Hell is going to be better than Earth," I said to myself. | # Hell is Heaven
There was a deep flash of grinning white teeth in the darkness, “were you evil enough?” a whisper called out to me.
I stammered, I never meant to be evil! The circumstances of my life always put me on the wrong path, constantly being punished by everyone I met on earth.
“I never meant to be,” I said bluntly to whoever was addressing me.
There was a flash of light that encompassed me, and the entirety of hell lit up before me. Multicolored balloons fell from what seemed to be a magnificently ornate ceiling. A large BOOM resounded the hall as fireworks shot into the ethereal existence I found myself to be a part of.
An extravagantly dressed man with two little horns protruding from his forehead leaned forward and hugged me, “Welcome to Hell,” he said, smiling.
He freed me from this embrace, “oh I know, you’ve got questions – everyone has questions,” he giggled.
I looked around, people were holding hands, some eating grapes, others playing chess.
“You can do whatever you want here as long as you don’t hurt other people, that’s like the one rule – ok? Don’t hurt others here. No, not even their feelings – kay??” He was jovial. This was ridiculous.
“What happens if I do hurt someone?” I asked, still amazed at all of the wonderful colors and celebrations going on, “This makes no sense – aren’t I supposed to be suffering?”
“Ok, ok – a brief history and then I’ll send you on your way. So if you hurt someone here, we’ll send you to what your mortal world calls ‘heaven,’ and honestly a lot of people in ‘heaven’ actually were trying to get here by living a good clean life and worshiping that ‘god’ dude, but honestly your world got it all confused because ‘god’ was the trickster all along. Life is meant to be lived and experienced. All of the pain and suffering you’ve experienced in your life … well, those are experience points. You experienced a lot of pain and suffering because you questioned things instead of obeying like some blind fool. You didn’t do anything evil – in fact, not one person here has done anything evil. The evil people go to heaven. Evil can be many things – getting caught up in dogmatic belief, following blindly and hurting others in the process… sure, you’ve gotten into arguments, you’ve gotten into fights – but you’ve never impacted anyone’s life in a lasting manner with an evil act. Be happy, you’ve transcended suffering on all levels now. Sad thing about heaven is you get sent back to earth until you get it right. Here, you have the free will to do what you want unless it’s harmful to another soul. You also have the choice of going back to earth without a memory wipe to push the human species evolutionary consciousness further. That ‘god’ dude is so mad and jealous of things here he somehow was able to convince the people of earth that this is a bad place. Anyway, enjoy yourself!”
In the blink of an eye he disappeared.
“Who was that?” I asked out loud.
A giggly feminine voice behind me said, “oh that was Satan, hey you’re new here? You want to go out for a drink and I’ll show you around?”
I turned around to see a very attractive bubbly woman smiling from ear to ear. It seemed people retained their physical body form from earth, yet we were absolutely some form of energy or spirit.
Her hand clasped mine and I felt a rush of love and emotion, “Wow!!”
“Yeah, we’re all about love and peace here!”
“I think I’m going to like it here,” I said, walking with her on my arm. | |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | The first supers had started to emerge soon after the nuclear war. Scientists believed the increased radiation in the air was mutating people on a cellular level, and within a couple years you had villians running around in tight latex trying to take over the world, and heroes running around in even tighter latex trying to stop them. Over time their combined destruction made it clear that there was very little difference between the two—they all caused approximately the same amount of mayhem, and none of them wanted to answer to any sort of authority.
When the news of Dr. Time trying to take over the U.N. building had broken, Amos had just sighed, and had begun to pick up his camera drone even before the government sent out an emergency broadcast to start vacating the city. People liked to see clips of the supers fighting, and a hero was bound to come after Dr. Time. The news channels paid good money to camera jockeys like him who captured the fights.
"Just a few more years of this", he thought to himself. He had subsisted on ramen in a tiny apartment and saved all his money so he could leave the city and settle down somewhere quiet one day. If he survived, that is—too many others he had known had become collateral damage in some fight they got too close to to get a better shot.
He was starting his van when he heard a low rumble, and looked up to see a figure in a bright crimson cape hurtling across the sky. "Fuck me," swore Amos. It had to be The Flurry. He was one of the tackiest heroes, all grand speeches and saviour complex. It made sense, though. The hero who could manipulate time was going to try and fight the villain who could travel though it.
The roads were empty—most people were indoors or leaving the city, and nobody was trying to get towards the city centre where the U.N. building was located. It didn't take Amos very long to reach the fight and start his drone. He figured he would get some of the monologues before they actually started fighting. The supers couldn't resist the monologues. The villain always had to explain the dastardly plan, and the heroes always had to tell them why it was bound to fail. It made for great meme moments sometimes.
Amos watched The Flurry shouting at Dr. Time through the video feed. They both looked ready to go at it, and as they charged at each other, The Flurry landed the first blow. The moment his fist connected with Dr. Time's jaw, a shockwave erupted, sending Amos reeling in his van. He started his van up, deciding that it was time to get out there.
The shockwave also knocked out communications across the city. When the dust cleared and the network came back online a couple hours later, everyone expected the fight to be over, but the two figures seemed stuck—The Flurry's fist was still touching Dr. Time's jaw. Eventually, the government sent in first responders to see what was going on. The team that was sent in appeared to be walking through jelly—their movements slowed as they got closer to the centre of the fight, and to them it seemed as if the world behind them was on fast-forward. In the few minutes it took them to turn around and come back, 6 months had passed in the outside world.
By then, someone had noticed Amos and his van broadcasting a signal and managed to access the single frame he sent out every few days. It became the only way to get a closer look at the fight or to study how space-time was affected inside the Bubble. Millions of people waited for every frame, studying the minute differences in the feed and endlessly debating what it meant for the fight. Amos himself became something of a cult legend as people watched him react to the boom, and watch his van slowly inch it's way away from the fight, speeding up ever so slightly over the years as he got further away from the epicentre.
And as for Amos? The whole thing lasted a couple minutes for him, and when he came out of the Bubble 63 years later dazed and confused by the blur he saw in front of him, he saw a welcome party of hundreds of fans ready to receive him. The two supers were still at it, and would continue to fight for a couple decades more. Amos wanted nothing to do with it, and was happy to retire with the royalties on his camera feed. | The problem with heroes is that they’re always willing to risk it. Why wouldn’t they? It’s literally what they do best. Sanctimonious fools willing to forever be engaged in the ultimate struggle, but what happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object? Well that’s easy, some bastard takes advantage.
As far as villains go, they weren’t the best, no they couldn’t fly, or come up with fancy technology, they weren’t the strongest, they weren’t the smartest, no all they were was run, kinda fast. Not even super sonic fast, just a top speed of 150 mph. That wasn’t really all that special, but it came with its perks. Ever tried to stop a speeding car going 50 mphs? No, then you don’t know what happens to the human body when it is hit by something going 3x’s faster. So while the worlds greatest defender was locked in a battle with the worlds greatest villain, he decided that most of the world could stand to be relieved of its gold. Sure some people died along the way, but when you can move that fast, collateral damage is expected. Over the next 50 years he built himself a nice little cove of treasure. The technology he couldn’t create, he bought, the strength he couldn’t exert, he paid for with mooks of all types.
Based on calculations it would be 103 years before the battle ended, but they’d be long dead by that point, maybe then the hero would dismantle their empire, but by the end it wouldn’t matter. He sat back, happy, content. Sometimes it’s not about who can hit the hardest, nope, sometimes it’s all about patience and waiting for the right opportunity. |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | “So explain why this is going to work again?” That was Chief of UN security Keelan de Gaulle. Very straight laced, by the book, and effective at his job. His one weakness was adapting to situations outside of the handbook. What was going on in front of the United Nations Headquarters that day definitely qualified as unusual. “Well, it’s really quite simple, de Gaulle. We get our sniper as close as we can to the time anomaly, then we give the command to fire, he shoots, the bullet spends a minimal amount of time outside the bubble, and when it enters it will be too close and too fast for him to dodge it.”
“I guess I still don’t quite understand how their powers work.”
“No one does, it’s not like there’s a wiki article for time powers. And all you get with a google search is crap about characters like Dr. Strange and Hiro Nakamura, and a bunch of low budget sci-fi films, well except for Tenet. But that shit’s more confusing then what we’re dealing with now.”
De Gaulle flicked the cigarette butt he had just finished and smothered it with his shoe. “I haven’t seen that yet, don’t spoil it”.
I shot him an incredulous look, wondering at his priorities but quickly realized based on the stupid grin on his face that he was pulling my leg.
“Anyway, since this fight happened to be on the front doorstep of your building, you have to give the go ahead to get this thing underway.”
“I know, I just still feel strange about giving the go ahead on a plan I didn’t come up with and that I have no understanding of.”
I turned fully towards de Gaulle at this point. I had explained this numerous times already. It’s not my fault the Head of Security position didn’t require a doctorate in theoretical and quantum physics. “Look, the only thing that matters is that interaction between Stop Watcher and Chronos is spreading. If we’re forced any further back, he’ll see us setting up for the shot and be able to dodge it.”
That seemed to refocus him and we both turned back towards the very peculiar fight taking place. To my understanding, both hero and villain had the same power. And by entangling their respective temporal fields, they created entropic anomaly. Basically, at the lowest level they were fighting each other at what I assume was normal speed relative to each other. The second layer was a bubble where time was accelerating, and then beyond that was us where normally their power individually would make us appear to be moving slowly. However the massively increased energy of the matter in the fast time bubble was pushing into the slow zone and therefore spreading.
I didn’t say any of this to the security chief for fear of confusing and delaying him even further.
“Move up!” He finally ordered. “Sniper to position, get that shield in place!”
On one side of the bubble a sniper moved up with his M40 and positioned his rifle over the hood of the car. On the other side a reinforced riot shield was positioned to catch the bullet, since at this range there was no chance in hell Chronos’ body would stop it.
“Just tell me one more time this will work, Doc, and I’ll believe you”
One other goddamn choice do we have I thought to myself. I made a show of turning to my laptop and rechecking some numbers.
“It’ll work chief”
He gave me a curt nod, turned back to the scene and pulled the communicator to his mouth, “Take the shot”.
There was an audible silence from everyone present right before the boom of the rifle. The bullet made contact with the outer boundary of the anomaly and then seemed to come to a complete stop. All the security, and local police present held a collective breath of air for about a minute before they realized nothing was happening. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes turn to me in what almost felt like annoyance.
“What the hell are you all looking at me for?!?”
“Nothing happened Doc!”. I looked for the origin of the voice and found officer Thompson of the NYPD looking at me angrily.
“I’m not here to fucking entertain you, dick for brains, I was brought in to stop our 4th dimension from collapsing. Go launch a fucking firework if you need some excitement”
I felt de Gaulle’s hand on my shoulder. “Easy there doc don’t blow that vein in your neck, I think we all just expected our involvement in a conflict between two super powered individuals to be more dramatic.”
I closed my eyes, removed my glasses, pinched the bridge of my nose, and took a deep breath. When I felt my blood pressure returning to acceptable levels I tried to explain it one last time.
“From their perspective they are moving normally and we are moving super slow. From our point of view. They are stopped in time but their whole fight leading up to, hopefully, Chronos getting shot, has already happened. We are just catching up to that end point very slowly. Based on my math, I’d say we’re looking at somewhere between 100 and 105 years. So I don’t know. Cover them in a tent and sell tickets or something. I don’t care, my work is done. I need to get home.”
“What’s the rush Doc” asked de Gaulle.
“If you must know, I want to get back home and continue playing RAID: SHADOW LEGENDS” | The problem with heroes is that they’re always willing to risk it. Why wouldn’t they? It’s literally what they do best. Sanctimonious fools willing to forever be engaged in the ultimate struggle, but what happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object? Well that’s easy, some bastard takes advantage.
As far as villains go, they weren’t the best, no they couldn’t fly, or come up with fancy technology, they weren’t the strongest, they weren’t the smartest, no all they were was run, kinda fast. Not even super sonic fast, just a top speed of 150 mph. That wasn’t really all that special, but it came with its perks. Ever tried to stop a speeding car going 50 mphs? No, then you don’t know what happens to the human body when it is hit by something going 3x’s faster. So while the worlds greatest defender was locked in a battle with the worlds greatest villain, he decided that most of the world could stand to be relieved of its gold. Sure some people died along the way, but when you can move that fast, collateral damage is expected. Over the next 50 years he built himself a nice little cove of treasure. The technology he couldn’t create, he bought, the strength he couldn’t exert, he paid for with mooks of all types.
Based on calculations it would be 103 years before the battle ended, but they’d be long dead by that point, maybe then the hero would dismantle their empire, but by the end it wouldn’t matter. He sat back, happy, content. Sometimes it’s not about who can hit the hardest, nope, sometimes it’s all about patience and waiting for the right opportunity. |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | "The fight of the century and beyond is finally coming to an end!" A young news reporter shouts with enthusiasm while a woman by the name of Mary watched the channel laying on her hospital bed.
"For one hundred in three years..." The old woman spoke decrepitly as she coughed hoarsely to herself in the room. Her heart raced for the first time in years as she watched the two men throw a single punch at each other.
She'd put money on the fight seventy years ago. The battle between Vrilion and Descol was a sight to behold. Choppers hovered over the fight, recording every last frame as others took close-up shots of the final punch.
The teary-eyed Descol had his fist underneath Vrillions' jaw as he smiled. Rage slowly manifested itself on Descol's face as the final blow landed.
"Damnit, I guess you win... damned asshole..." Mary passed away as the EKG connected to her flatlined; with her last bit of strength, she threw a penny at the T.V in front of her. It danced around as it sang a song on as it connected with the ground as her life ended. The fight ended and time seemed to flow normally around the building once again.
Vrillion had lost, still, he smiled, as his teeth flew from his mouth, blood-splattered, and his life faded, he smiled with joy.
"ow's the wife and kids?" Descol, who'd only ever shown kindness to those in need lost himself as he finished Vrillion with a single punch. Pink and red skull fragments littered the pavement. Soldiers who had been preparing for this moment for over a century began to throw down wires, wrapping him up as an electrical current shot through it.
"Mary!" He shouts in a blind rage as he tore off wires that encumbered him. He flew into the sky as he saw the world he once knew. Skyscrapers reached into the stratosphere, planes zoomed by him at lightning-fast speeds, and the air reeked from an indiscernible smell. His stomach churned as he remembered the moments before his fight.
"Just walk away... being the hero doesn't always pay off," Vrillion spoke to him as he turned his back and continued marching forward.
"I can't just let you do that," Descole retorted as he prepared himself for a fight.
"You'll lose much more than you're bargaining for," Vrillion spoke lightly as a punch flew in from beneath his jaw.
Before time seemed to freeze, Vrillion managed to let out a single syllable before the blow connected.
"H."
Descole comes back to, he sees a clock on a building that reads off the year, '4/30/2124,' he breaks down as he realizes that it was true. His children, his wife, and his family were all gone. Even the title of Hero was revoked because of a single punch.
Descole flew higher than he'd ever gone into the sky before and closed his eyes until he reached space. He opened his eyes and with a huff, he lets go of the oxygen in his lungs as he accepted the cold bitterness of what life once was.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/) Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile and follow for similar ones! Thanks a lot for reading. | The problem with heroes is that they’re always willing to risk it. Why wouldn’t they? It’s literally what they do best. Sanctimonious fools willing to forever be engaged in the ultimate struggle, but what happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object? Well that’s easy, some bastard takes advantage.
As far as villains go, they weren’t the best, no they couldn’t fly, or come up with fancy technology, they weren’t the strongest, they weren’t the smartest, no all they were was run, kinda fast. Not even super sonic fast, just a top speed of 150 mph. That wasn’t really all that special, but it came with its perks. Ever tried to stop a speeding car going 50 mphs? No, then you don’t know what happens to the human body when it is hit by something going 3x’s faster. So while the worlds greatest defender was locked in a battle with the worlds greatest villain, he decided that most of the world could stand to be relieved of its gold. Sure some people died along the way, but when you can move that fast, collateral damage is expected. Over the next 50 years he built himself a nice little cove of treasure. The technology he couldn’t create, he bought, the strength he couldn’t exert, he paid for with mooks of all types.
Based on calculations it would be 103 years before the battle ended, but they’d be long dead by that point, maybe then the hero would dismantle their empire, but by the end it wouldn’t matter. He sat back, happy, content. Sometimes it’s not about who can hit the hardest, nope, sometimes it’s all about patience and waiting for the right opportunity. |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | The first supers had started to emerge soon after the nuclear war. Scientists believed the increased radiation in the air was mutating people on a cellular level, and within a couple years you had villians running around in tight latex trying to take over the world, and heroes running around in even tighter latex trying to stop them. Over time their combined destruction made it clear that there was very little difference between the two—they all caused approximately the same amount of mayhem, and none of them wanted to answer to any sort of authority.
When the news of Dr. Time trying to take over the U.N. building had broken, Amos had just sighed, and had begun to pick up his camera drone even before the government sent out an emergency broadcast to start vacating the city. People liked to see clips of the supers fighting, and a hero was bound to come after Dr. Time. The news channels paid good money to camera jockeys like him who captured the fights.
"Just a few more years of this", he thought to himself. He had subsisted on ramen in a tiny apartment and saved all his money so he could leave the city and settle down somewhere quiet one day. If he survived, that is—too many others he had known had become collateral damage in some fight they got too close to to get a better shot.
He was starting his van when he heard a low rumble, and looked up to see a figure in a bright crimson cape hurtling across the sky. "Fuck me," swore Amos. It had to be The Flurry. He was one of the tackiest heroes, all grand speeches and saviour complex. It made sense, though. The hero who could manipulate time was going to try and fight the villain who could travel though it.
The roads were empty—most people were indoors or leaving the city, and nobody was trying to get towards the city centre where the U.N. building was located. It didn't take Amos very long to reach the fight and start his drone. He figured he would get some of the monologues before they actually started fighting. The supers couldn't resist the monologues. The villain always had to explain the dastardly plan, and the heroes always had to tell them why it was bound to fail. It made for great meme moments sometimes.
Amos watched The Flurry shouting at Dr. Time through the video feed. They both looked ready to go at it, and as they charged at each other, The Flurry landed the first blow. The moment his fist connected with Dr. Time's jaw, a shockwave erupted, sending Amos reeling in his van. He started his van up, deciding that it was time to get out there.
The shockwave also knocked out communications across the city. When the dust cleared and the network came back online a couple hours later, everyone expected the fight to be over, but the two figures seemed stuck—The Flurry's fist was still touching Dr. Time's jaw. Eventually, the government sent in first responders to see what was going on. The team that was sent in appeared to be walking through jelly—their movements slowed as they got closer to the centre of the fight, and to them it seemed as if the world behind them was on fast-forward. In the few minutes it took them to turn around and come back, 6 months had passed in the outside world.
By then, someone had noticed Amos and his van broadcasting a signal and managed to access the single frame he sent out every few days. It became the only way to get a closer look at the fight or to study how space-time was affected inside the Bubble. Millions of people waited for every frame, studying the minute differences in the feed and endlessly debating what it meant for the fight. Amos himself became something of a cult legend as people watched him react to the boom, and watch his van slowly inch it's way away from the fight, speeding up ever so slightly over the years as he got further away from the epicentre.
And as for Amos? The whole thing lasted a couple minutes for him, and when he came out of the Bubble 63 years later dazed and confused by the blur he saw in front of him, he saw a welcome party of hundreds of fans ready to receive him. The two supers were still at it, and would continue to fight for a couple decades more. Amos wanted nothing to do with it, and was happy to retire with the royalties on his camera feed. | The year is 2021. Alpha, the hero is celebrating his 10th anniversary of successfully eliminating villains thanks to his ability of slowing down time . The town is celebrating with a festival. Everybody was there.
However, just before Alpha received his prize, time slowed down suddenly. Awkwardly, Alpha did not initiate it. As our hero was assessing his surrounding, a villain appeared hitting everything along his way. "My name is Gamma, and I am here to claim this town". Alpha knew he found an equal adversary.
In the town, everyone was shocked to look at the hyper fast fight between Alpha and the new Villain Gamma. While the mayor blinked, Alpha and Gamma had hit each other several times, moved three places and Gamma had broken the town's statue. No one in the town knew what to do. In seconds there were hundred casualties that did not even see the hit coming their way. Gamma planned well. Alpha had to act quickly. Otherwise, the town would be all dead in an hour of earth time.
Alpha noticed the villain kept trying to steel the mayor's key, which was made from pure gold with gemstones and a special rock. There were rumors in town that the rock is from an asteroid and grants its holder superpowers. But, till this date, no one was sure what superpowers the rock held. Alpha grabbed the key quickly and ran to a deserted area. Gamma followed him.
It was a year after the town's celebration, and there were still no news from our hero. In Alpha's timeline, they have been fighting for 103 years. However, the town noticed something different during this year. People no longer needed to speak with each other. They could communicate by thought, when touching each other. People could no longer lie or betray others.
The first week of the transformation, many marriages were broken, many friendships lost, many alliances ended. People thought a war was coming. However, in the second week, almost everyone found their soulmate. Barter returned, and was so efficient that money was cancelled. People cooperated in ways unimaginable. In the third week, the world became a global singular entity that united for everyone's welfare. Hunger was eliminated. Everyone worked in a profession they are passionate about.
However, in the fourth week, alien ships arrived to earth named gamma and took control over the world. Every person on earth became their slave. It seems it was Gamma's plan all along, and our hero Alpha is still distracted in his fight.
​
For similar stories, go to r/StoriesDanWrites |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | “So explain why this is going to work again?” That was Chief of UN security Keelan de Gaulle. Very straight laced, by the book, and effective at his job. His one weakness was adapting to situations outside of the handbook. What was going on in front of the United Nations Headquarters that day definitely qualified as unusual. “Well, it’s really quite simple, de Gaulle. We get our sniper as close as we can to the time anomaly, then we give the command to fire, he shoots, the bullet spends a minimal amount of time outside the bubble, and when it enters it will be too close and too fast for him to dodge it.”
“I guess I still don’t quite understand how their powers work.”
“No one does, it’s not like there’s a wiki article for time powers. And all you get with a google search is crap about characters like Dr. Strange and Hiro Nakamura, and a bunch of low budget sci-fi films, well except for Tenet. But that shit’s more confusing then what we’re dealing with now.”
De Gaulle flicked the cigarette butt he had just finished and smothered it with his shoe. “I haven’t seen that yet, don’t spoil it”.
I shot him an incredulous look, wondering at his priorities but quickly realized based on the stupid grin on his face that he was pulling my leg.
“Anyway, since this fight happened to be on the front doorstep of your building, you have to give the go ahead to get this thing underway.”
“I know, I just still feel strange about giving the go ahead on a plan I didn’t come up with and that I have no understanding of.”
I turned fully towards de Gaulle at this point. I had explained this numerous times already. It’s not my fault the Head of Security position didn’t require a doctorate in theoretical and quantum physics. “Look, the only thing that matters is that interaction between Stop Watcher and Chronos is spreading. If we’re forced any further back, he’ll see us setting up for the shot and be able to dodge it.”
That seemed to refocus him and we both turned back towards the very peculiar fight taking place. To my understanding, both hero and villain had the same power. And by entangling their respective temporal fields, they created entropic anomaly. Basically, at the lowest level they were fighting each other at what I assume was normal speed relative to each other. The second layer was a bubble where time was accelerating, and then beyond that was us where normally their power individually would make us appear to be moving slowly. However the massively increased energy of the matter in the fast time bubble was pushing into the slow zone and therefore spreading.
I didn’t say any of this to the security chief for fear of confusing and delaying him even further.
“Move up!” He finally ordered. “Sniper to position, get that shield in place!”
On one side of the bubble a sniper moved up with his M40 and positioned his rifle over the hood of the car. On the other side a reinforced riot shield was positioned to catch the bullet, since at this range there was no chance in hell Chronos’ body would stop it.
“Just tell me one more time this will work, Doc, and I’ll believe you”
One other goddamn choice do we have I thought to myself. I made a show of turning to my laptop and rechecking some numbers.
“It’ll work chief”
He gave me a curt nod, turned back to the scene and pulled the communicator to his mouth, “Take the shot”.
There was an audible silence from everyone present right before the boom of the rifle. The bullet made contact with the outer boundary of the anomaly and then seemed to come to a complete stop. All the security, and local police present held a collective breath of air for about a minute before they realized nothing was happening. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes turn to me in what almost felt like annoyance.
“What the hell are you all looking at me for?!?”
“Nothing happened Doc!”. I looked for the origin of the voice and found officer Thompson of the NYPD looking at me angrily.
“I’m not here to fucking entertain you, dick for brains, I was brought in to stop our 4th dimension from collapsing. Go launch a fucking firework if you need some excitement”
I felt de Gaulle’s hand on my shoulder. “Easy there doc don’t blow that vein in your neck, I think we all just expected our involvement in a conflict between two super powered individuals to be more dramatic.”
I closed my eyes, removed my glasses, pinched the bridge of my nose, and took a deep breath. When I felt my blood pressure returning to acceptable levels I tried to explain it one last time.
“From their perspective they are moving normally and we are moving super slow. From our point of view. They are stopped in time but their whole fight leading up to, hopefully, Chronos getting shot, has already happened. We are just catching up to that end point very slowly. Based on my math, I’d say we’re looking at somewhere between 100 and 105 years. So I don’t know. Cover them in a tent and sell tickets or something. I don’t care, my work is done. I need to get home.”
“What’s the rush Doc” asked de Gaulle.
“If you must know, I want to get back home and continue playing RAID: SHADOW LEGENDS” | Showing down time in a bubble around you ..... How is this an advantage that could be used as a super power?
It would certainly mean your demise if you used it. A villain could simply use their relative superspeed to mount an attack that, in your slow frame of reference, you have no hope to combat.
Example, you slow down time in your bubble. I fire 27,000 bullets, 50 rockets, several tank shells, and 120 lasers into your time bubble over the next several weeks.
To you, in just a couple of seconds there is suddenly a wall of incoming shit to deal with. |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | "The fight of the century and beyond is finally coming to an end!" A young news reporter shouts with enthusiasm while a woman by the name of Mary watched the channel laying on her hospital bed.
"For one hundred in three years..." The old woman spoke decrepitly as she coughed hoarsely to herself in the room. Her heart raced for the first time in years as she watched the two men throw a single punch at each other.
She'd put money on the fight seventy years ago. The battle between Vrilion and Descol was a sight to behold. Choppers hovered over the fight, recording every last frame as others took close-up shots of the final punch.
The teary-eyed Descol had his fist underneath Vrillions' jaw as he smiled. Rage slowly manifested itself on Descol's face as the final blow landed.
"Damnit, I guess you win... damned asshole..." Mary passed away as the EKG connected to her flatlined; with her last bit of strength, she threw a penny at the T.V in front of her. It danced around as it sang a song on as it connected with the ground as her life ended. The fight ended and time seemed to flow normally around the building once again.
Vrillion had lost, still, he smiled, as his teeth flew from his mouth, blood-splattered, and his life faded, he smiled with joy.
"ow's the wife and kids?" Descol, who'd only ever shown kindness to those in need lost himself as he finished Vrillion with a single punch. Pink and red skull fragments littered the pavement. Soldiers who had been preparing for this moment for over a century began to throw down wires, wrapping him up as an electrical current shot through it.
"Mary!" He shouts in a blind rage as he tore off wires that encumbered him. He flew into the sky as he saw the world he once knew. Skyscrapers reached into the stratosphere, planes zoomed by him at lightning-fast speeds, and the air reeked from an indiscernible smell. His stomach churned as he remembered the moments before his fight.
"Just walk away... being the hero doesn't always pay off," Vrillion spoke to him as he turned his back and continued marching forward.
"I can't just let you do that," Descole retorted as he prepared himself for a fight.
"You'll lose much more than you're bargaining for," Vrillion spoke lightly as a punch flew in from beneath his jaw.
Before time seemed to freeze, Vrillion managed to let out a single syllable before the blow connected.
"H."
Descole comes back to, he sees a clock on a building that reads off the year, '4/30/2124,' he breaks down as he realizes that it was true. His children, his wife, and his family were all gone. Even the title of Hero was revoked because of a single punch.
Descole flew higher than he'd ever gone into the sky before and closed his eyes until he reached space. He opened his eyes and with a huff, he lets go of the oxygen in his lungs as he accepted the cold bitterness of what life once was.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/) Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile and follow for similar ones! Thanks a lot for reading. | Showing down time in a bubble around you ..... How is this an advantage that could be used as a super power?
It would certainly mean your demise if you used it. A villain could simply use their relative superspeed to mount an attack that, in your slow frame of reference, you have no hope to combat.
Example, you slow down time in your bubble. I fire 27,000 bullets, 50 rockets, several tank shells, and 120 lasers into your time bubble over the next several weeks.
To you, in just a couple of seconds there is suddenly a wall of incoming shit to deal with. |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | As the world's greatest villain and earth's mightiest hero continue to clash, Tim Timwell, aged 37, walks his dog, a miniature schnauzer named Tom. The route, going past the UN building, is nice and flat, paved the whole way through. Tim and Tom, Tom and Tim, just meandering about town again, slowly of course, because at the ripe old age of 14, Tom doesn't go anywhere fast anymore.
With great effort, Tom, shambling on the three-and-half legs he has left, takes a look at his master with his good eye. Catching this, Tim, ever the optimist, reminds his dog they have somewhere to be. "Don't you worry you old motherfucker, " Tim says with a gentle lilt "I can see those assholes from over here." The two make it to the end of the block. Kicking aside some blaze-orange cones for Tom, who doesn't need the help, Tim squeezes his bulk past the pylons and under the safety tape.
Twenty years later, there isn't much left to say about the story of Tim and Tom, because, quite simply, it's not over yet. Pick a sunny day and take a walk over past the U.N building over past Pulaski Avenue. In the same 40-foot bubble where the Mind Crow and the Mauve Avenger are destined to fight for the next 81 years, you can spot what most residents think is a statue. Two figures, sitting on a bench, side-by-side. Man and dog, dog and man. Two friends resting together after a long walk, both not yet ready to for their time together to come to an end. | John sighed, tapped his papers to sort them into a neat stack, and slid them into his bag.
"Same time tomorrow, Buck," he said, tipping his head as his co-caster.
Buck just grunted and nodded. Man had been covering the Great Jim Fight for thirty years now, and he'd seen it all. John was only six months in and he was already bored.
Trouble is, people loved it. It took a month or so for a blow to land between Jim Carney (the Red Cardinal) and Jim Umberto (the Hooded Caper) but in that time, audiences would throw millions in gambling money towards whether the blow would land, be deflected, be parried. They'd bet on moves, they'd bet on outcomes.
*Hundred bucks say Carney bleeds on that jab.*
*Yeah, well I bet fifteen hundred that tooth finally gets knocked out.*
*Dude, tooth bets are a crapshoot, you're flushing money. Real gamble is on whether or not Umberto catches that right hook.*
The government took a small cut, so naturally, they were invested in keeping it going. A little stadium was erected, and though some had theorized it would grow, the fight never really became much of a live spectator sport. Not too much happened in a few hours, so it mostly became a place for analysts. They'd pay a pretty penny to go in, get up close and personal, analyze the Jims, and then attempt to report back to those subscribed to their channels. The best analysts were the ones who could, from the tiny movements in each Jims' body, determine how the current move would resolve. If an analyst failed to make consistent calls, they'd often lose support.
John, however, was an actual caster for the fight, which had been absolutely an honor when he first received the position. He'd been so damn excited to finally be making this huge leap in his career, from casting small-time boxing matches to bigger and bigger fights, title fights, championships, and now the Great Jim Fight.
But it was sure looking like the whole thing was going to end up the end of his career. In a good way, of course. It was basically early retirement that he earned huge bucks for. Speaking of Buck, the grizzled man was one of the only things that made the day interesting. The two would verbally spar a bit, joke around a bunch, talk about their lives. It was almost more about the casters' lives than the game, actually. They covered updates every fifteen minutes on the minute changes but other than that, it was more talk-show than actual sporting event.
The other things that made the game worth watching were their producer, Amy, and Henrietta, the crew's interviewer. She couldn't, obviously, interview either fighter, and she'd long since run out of people in the arena to interview, so she traveled. Traveled to interview the family, friends, descendants of the two Jims. Now *that* would have been a fascinating job. Henri had been on the team almost as long as Buck had been. She'd transformed from bubble-headed blond who dumbed down her questions to a savvy, gruffly charismatic reporter who tracked down members with investments in the fight that no one had even heard of.
Some of John's favorite parts of the day was getting reports back from her. They could spend hours dissecting her interviews, squeezing out juicy details on how Carney had gotten his start as a hero, what had influenced his decisions, all his little failures in the world of crime-fighting, as well as the minor successes few talked about. They theorized on what was fact, fiction, fibs, or elaborate fabrications. Perhaps these two conflicting stories were both two sides of the same truth. Or perhaps Jim Carney's next-door neighbor who moved there after the fight started really had no clue what she was talking about.
Henri preferred interviewing about Umberto, cause villains usually have more interesting stories. She was convinced there was a story there, convinced that she'd be able to find some fascinating detail about the man that would make him worth learning about. So far she'd been disappointed. Umberto was a school bully who never really grew. Yes, the viewers loved hearing from his past victims since they were, largely, on Carney's side, but she was very dissatisfied with it. Sucker for relatable villains I guess, and the interviews continued as she continued to search.
Amy okayed most of it. She wasn't as new as John, but she was a decade newer than the rest. She was kinda a go-with-the-flow type. Trusted her staff to keep the crowds engaged and occasionally sat in the booth with John and Buck, providing some flavor and catching the audience up with her life.
Other than that, it was getting kinda boring. John had no idea how people had stayed tuned in so long. Sometimes they'd get a call from someone who'd been watching the fight since they were ten.
*It's been thirty-seven years and it still gets my blood racing.*
Literally how? John always wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and started up some witty banter with the caller. They'd sometimes give away free tickets to the arena, which had become something of a museum dedicated to the two fighters and their legendary fight.
The hottest exhibits were videos of 'top moments,' usually when one of the members of the fight was picked up and thrown. Anyone who entered the bubble would become slowed, so people avoided it like the plague, but items could be slid in as long as they didn't get too close to the combatant. So no one ever tried to throw things at a fighter but they often slid in targets. You could pay ten grand to move a target into the fighting zone, and if the thrown combatant hit it, well, you were set for life. Wasn't an easy sport and people definitely blew more money than was ever paid out, but John liked it.
Gave him something to talk about.
Once he got home, he snapped the TV on and flicked to one of the twelve channels hosting the fight. Not his own, MegaSportsTV, because he didn't really like the night crew. Perth's smile was always a bit too forced, probably because he needed to pull 12 hour shifts. Instead, John scrolled to Kyline's channel. He and Kyline used to cast smaller fights before their paths deviated and though they didn't talk too much, he liked to give her some support.
She covered the game in much the same way he did. Most of the channels did. There were a few that deviated, one went super political, one went gossip corner, but most of the demand was on standard talk-show style sports hosting and that's what it became.
Currently Umberto was being flung. A half dozen targets had sprung up in the fighting zone, but he wouldn't hit ground for another few weeks, so John tuned it out as he checked his mail.
A phone call interrupted his perusing and he muted the TV to pick up an unexpected call from Henri.
"John." Her voice was clipped and winded, but also surprisingly quiet. Like she didn't want to be heard. "Knew you'd pick up. I'm in a pickle but that's not all. Found something big. Supporters of the Hooded Caper. Spearheaded by his son. They want to disrupt the fight. Can't say more. Dropping you my GPS tracking so you can follow."
John stared at the phone, blinking. This was... not at all what he expected. "Henri, you serious? Get the police involved or something, don't follow them!"
"No time. Plus I've reason to suspect he's got men on the inside." He heard a noise in the background of her call, and her voice dropped further. "Counting on you for this. Get whoever you trust and meet me at 22:15, wherever my pin is at the time. You in?"
Well, this may just be the excitement he needed, so John stupidly nodded and put the phone down.
Who did he trust?
___
[Had to do a part two cause I hit the word cap](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/n1xblj/title_fight_of_the_ages_part_2/)
Read more stories at [TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/). |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | # Financial Times
# Stock Markets collapse by 30% as UN Assembly fight takes a new turn
**■ New York City - 30.04.2055**
This morning at around 5:30 AM the cameras observing the ongoing fight in front of the UN headquarters confirmed what experts have now been warning of for days: Professor Inferno's left hand stomach jab has indeed been a faint, and he is going for a high haymaker instead.
Based on pupil movement Timeout has not spotted the faint yet, and analysts predict that if he does not realize what is the Professor is planning by Tuesday, he only has a 20% chance of defending against the blow.
While nothing is quite certain as of yet, this new development apparently has investors worried that Inferno's attack might put Timout out of the fight for long enough to dash the remaining distance to the Inferno®Bomb lying about 30 feet behind Timeout's current position and activate it, resulting in the nuclear annihilation of the US East Coast.
The earliest expected date for the destruction is still at least 6 months away, but the news nonetheless caused a minor panic and an immense loss of trust in financial assets from that areas, creating chain reaction that made the Doe Jones drop by 32.7% from five to eight AM. This is the biggest collapse since Timout was barely in time able to wrench Professor Inferno's remote detonator out of his hand in January 2033. At the time many cities in the area were preparing to issue an evacuation order when disaster was adverted during the last week.
President Owens has issued a declaration urging people to remain calm, but uncertainty in the stock market is expected to continue until the end of this week, when analysts predict they will be able to say more about just how hard the current blow will affect Timeout.
Meanwhile the current administration's proposal to construct a containment bunker around the site of the fight was met with further criticism by experts and politicians alike, with opposition leader Strall calling it a harebrained scheme with almost no chance of success, and further insinuated that is a transparent attempt by the president to distract from his bad handling of the ongoing giant mutant spider crisis in Florida.
"If there was any chance at containing a blast of this magnitude, we would have started to build it 20 years ago!", she said in an interview, and complained that so far the government had yet to present any evidence that the 'new blast resistant materials' proposed by the president actually exist. | John sighed, tapped his papers to sort them into a neat stack, and slid them into his bag.
"Same time tomorrow, Buck," he said, tipping his head as his co-caster.
Buck just grunted and nodded. Man had been covering the Great Jim Fight for thirty years now, and he'd seen it all. John was only six months in and he was already bored.
Trouble is, people loved it. It took a month or so for a blow to land between Jim Carney (the Red Cardinal) and Jim Umberto (the Hooded Caper) but in that time, audiences would throw millions in gambling money towards whether the blow would land, be deflected, be parried. They'd bet on moves, they'd bet on outcomes.
*Hundred bucks say Carney bleeds on that jab.*
*Yeah, well I bet fifteen hundred that tooth finally gets knocked out.*
*Dude, tooth bets are a crapshoot, you're flushing money. Real gamble is on whether or not Umberto catches that right hook.*
The government took a small cut, so naturally, they were invested in keeping it going. A little stadium was erected, and though some had theorized it would grow, the fight never really became much of a live spectator sport. Not too much happened in a few hours, so it mostly became a place for analysts. They'd pay a pretty penny to go in, get up close and personal, analyze the Jims, and then attempt to report back to those subscribed to their channels. The best analysts were the ones who could, from the tiny movements in each Jims' body, determine how the current move would resolve. If an analyst failed to make consistent calls, they'd often lose support.
John, however, was an actual caster for the fight, which had been absolutely an honor when he first received the position. He'd been so damn excited to finally be making this huge leap in his career, from casting small-time boxing matches to bigger and bigger fights, title fights, championships, and now the Great Jim Fight.
But it was sure looking like the whole thing was going to end up the end of his career. In a good way, of course. It was basically early retirement that he earned huge bucks for. Speaking of Buck, the grizzled man was one of the only things that made the day interesting. The two would verbally spar a bit, joke around a bunch, talk about their lives. It was almost more about the casters' lives than the game, actually. They covered updates every fifteen minutes on the minute changes but other than that, it was more talk-show than actual sporting event.
The other things that made the game worth watching were their producer, Amy, and Henrietta, the crew's interviewer. She couldn't, obviously, interview either fighter, and she'd long since run out of people in the arena to interview, so she traveled. Traveled to interview the family, friends, descendants of the two Jims. Now *that* would have been a fascinating job. Henri had been on the team almost as long as Buck had been. She'd transformed from bubble-headed blond who dumbed down her questions to a savvy, gruffly charismatic reporter who tracked down members with investments in the fight that no one had even heard of.
Some of John's favorite parts of the day was getting reports back from her. They could spend hours dissecting her interviews, squeezing out juicy details on how Carney had gotten his start as a hero, what had influenced his decisions, all his little failures in the world of crime-fighting, as well as the minor successes few talked about. They theorized on what was fact, fiction, fibs, or elaborate fabrications. Perhaps these two conflicting stories were both two sides of the same truth. Or perhaps Jim Carney's next-door neighbor who moved there after the fight started really had no clue what she was talking about.
Henri preferred interviewing about Umberto, cause villains usually have more interesting stories. She was convinced there was a story there, convinced that she'd be able to find some fascinating detail about the man that would make him worth learning about. So far she'd been disappointed. Umberto was a school bully who never really grew. Yes, the viewers loved hearing from his past victims since they were, largely, on Carney's side, but she was very dissatisfied with it. Sucker for relatable villains I guess, and the interviews continued as she continued to search.
Amy okayed most of it. She wasn't as new as John, but she was a decade newer than the rest. She was kinda a go-with-the-flow type. Trusted her staff to keep the crowds engaged and occasionally sat in the booth with John and Buck, providing some flavor and catching the audience up with her life.
Other than that, it was getting kinda boring. John had no idea how people had stayed tuned in so long. Sometimes they'd get a call from someone who'd been watching the fight since they were ten.
*It's been thirty-seven years and it still gets my blood racing.*
Literally how? John always wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and started up some witty banter with the caller. They'd sometimes give away free tickets to the arena, which had become something of a museum dedicated to the two fighters and their legendary fight.
The hottest exhibits were videos of 'top moments,' usually when one of the members of the fight was picked up and thrown. Anyone who entered the bubble would become slowed, so people avoided it like the plague, but items could be slid in as long as they didn't get too close to the combatant. So no one ever tried to throw things at a fighter but they often slid in targets. You could pay ten grand to move a target into the fighting zone, and if the thrown combatant hit it, well, you were set for life. Wasn't an easy sport and people definitely blew more money than was ever paid out, but John liked it.
Gave him something to talk about.
Once he got home, he snapped the TV on and flicked to one of the twelve channels hosting the fight. Not his own, MegaSportsTV, because he didn't really like the night crew. Perth's smile was always a bit too forced, probably because he needed to pull 12 hour shifts. Instead, John scrolled to Kyline's channel. He and Kyline used to cast smaller fights before their paths deviated and though they didn't talk too much, he liked to give her some support.
She covered the game in much the same way he did. Most of the channels did. There were a few that deviated, one went super political, one went gossip corner, but most of the demand was on standard talk-show style sports hosting and that's what it became.
Currently Umberto was being flung. A half dozen targets had sprung up in the fighting zone, but he wouldn't hit ground for another few weeks, so John tuned it out as he checked his mail.
A phone call interrupted his perusing and he muted the TV to pick up an unexpected call from Henri.
"John." Her voice was clipped and winded, but also surprisingly quiet. Like she didn't want to be heard. "Knew you'd pick up. I'm in a pickle but that's not all. Found something big. Supporters of the Hooded Caper. Spearheaded by his son. They want to disrupt the fight. Can't say more. Dropping you my GPS tracking so you can follow."
John stared at the phone, blinking. This was... not at all what he expected. "Henri, you serious? Get the police involved or something, don't follow them!"
"No time. Plus I've reason to suspect he's got men on the inside." He heard a noise in the background of her call, and her voice dropped further. "Counting on you for this. Get whoever you trust and meet me at 22:15, wherever my pin is at the time. You in?"
Well, this may just be the excitement he needed, so John stupidly nodded and put the phone down.
Who did he trust?
___
[Had to do a part two cause I hit the word cap](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/n1xblj/title_fight_of_the_ages_part_2/)
Read more stories at [TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/). |
I'm very happy that everyone enjoyed this WP so much!
To clarify: the hero can project a time bubble about the size of a refrigerator a few feet in front of himself, ostensibly to capture a wrong-doer within it, while he himself stays in normal (faster) time. His opponent has the same power though. The bubbles have converged into 1 single bubble, trapping both opponents within it. | [WP] The hero can slow down Time in a small bubble around himself. Unfortunately, the villain has the same ability. The world is now vexed with two people, in front of the U.N. building, having a slow-motion fistfight that will last 103 years. It affects Mankind in unexpected ways. | # Financial Times
# Stock Markets collapse by 30% as UN Assembly fight takes a new turn
**■ New York City - 30.04.2055**
This morning at around 5:30 AM the cameras observing the ongoing fight in front of the UN headquarters confirmed what experts have now been warning of for days: Professor Inferno's left hand stomach jab has indeed been a faint, and he is going for a high haymaker instead.
Based on pupil movement Timeout has not spotted the faint yet, and analysts predict that if he does not realize what is the Professor is planning by Tuesday, he only has a 20% chance of defending against the blow.
While nothing is quite certain as of yet, this new development apparently has investors worried that Inferno's attack might put Timout out of the fight for long enough to dash the remaining distance to the Inferno®Bomb lying about 30 feet behind Timeout's current position and activate it, resulting in the nuclear annihilation of the US East Coast.
The earliest expected date for the destruction is still at least 6 months away, but the news nonetheless caused a minor panic and an immense loss of trust in financial assets from that areas, creating chain reaction that made the Doe Jones drop by 32.7% from five to eight AM. This is the biggest collapse since Timout was barely in time able to wrench Professor Inferno's remote detonator out of his hand in January 2033. At the time many cities in the area were preparing to issue an evacuation order when disaster was adverted during the last week.
President Owens has issued a declaration urging people to remain calm, but uncertainty in the stock market is expected to continue until the end of this week, when analysts predict they will be able to say more about just how hard the current blow will affect Timeout.
Meanwhile the current administration's proposal to construct a containment bunker around the site of the fight was met with further criticism by experts and politicians alike, with opposition leader Strall calling it a harebrained scheme with almost no chance of success, and further insinuated that is a transparent attempt by the president to distract from his bad handling of the ongoing giant mutant spider crisis in Florida.
"If there was any chance at containing a blast of this magnitude, we would have started to build it 20 years ago!", she said in an interview, and complained that so far the government had yet to present any evidence that the 'new blast resistant materials' proposed by the president actually exist. | As the world's greatest villain and earth's mightiest hero continue to clash, Tim Timwell, aged 37, walks his dog, a miniature schnauzer named Tom. The route, going past the UN building, is nice and flat, paved the whole way through. Tim and Tom, Tom and Tim, just meandering about town again, slowly of course, because at the ripe old age of 14, Tom doesn't go anywhere fast anymore.
With great effort, Tom, shambling on the three-and-half legs he has left, takes a look at his master with his good eye. Catching this, Tim, ever the optimist, reminds his dog they have somewhere to be. "Don't you worry you old motherfucker, " Tim says with a gentle lilt "I can see those assholes from over here." The two make it to the end of the block. Kicking aside some blaze-orange cones for Tom, who doesn't need the help, Tim squeezes his bulk past the pylons and under the safety tape.
Twenty years later, there isn't much left to say about the story of Tim and Tom, because, quite simply, it's not over yet. Pick a sunny day and take a walk over past the U.N building over past Pulaski Avenue. In the same 40-foot bubble where the Mind Crow and the Mauve Avenger are destined to fight for the next 81 years, you can spot what most residents think is a statue. Two figures, sitting on a bench, side-by-side. Man and dog, dog and man. Two friends resting together after a long walk, both not yet ready to for their time together to come to an end. |
[WP] Being dragged to another world sounded like fun. Until you found out it's because a mage failed their spirit summon spell so hard they got you. | I was sitting at home enjoying a perfectly normal Thursday evening. I had changed into my usual t-shirt and flannel pants after removing the unforgiving business casual wear that made up my work uniform at the office. Fuzzy socks completed my perfect outfit for couch surfing, so much more comfortable than the high heels they replaced.
As I reached for my tv remote the lights flickered and I was overcome, feeling nauseous and like I was going to pass out at the same time. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to consciousness as the room began to spin and I felt my couch melt under me. My hands met cold stone as I recovered my senses and opened my eyes to look around. I was no longer home, or more properly, no longer even on Earth.
I saw what looked like a young teen “boy”, as he did look male with his short hair and strange shirt and pants, if such a word is even appropriate for the elf looking creature standing in front of me. He managed to look horrified and deeply disappointed at the same with my sudden appearance.
Around him were what I guess could count as adults-though to guess their ages seemed pointless as they all looked smooth faced as young as any twenty year old. They were speaking to the boy in a language I couldn’t understand, but I certainly could grasp the tone. He had definitely screwed up something. From the looks they were giving him and the scared look on his face the more they scolded him, he had really f’d up hard.
One of the elf looking adults (they all looked feminine with long hair and robes so it was hard to tell if they were male or female really) came over to me and touched my head and then touched her, or his, throat and spoke to me. “I’m using a spell to speak to you, please nod if you can understand me.” I nodded hesitantly and looked around again. So whatever these people were, they were spellcasters at least. I’d read fantasy books in my youth and I tried to remember some of the old plots, but I was far to distracted.
The elf (I mean it’s as good a word for them as any so I decided to go with it-they even had pointy ears for goodness sakes) continued to explain, “our student completed a summoning spell in order to obtain a guardian spirit, but it appears you have no magic at all”. I knew a few slight of hand tricks, but I was pretty certain that’s not what they were looking for here and since they didn’t appear to be in a good mood I just nodded again yes. “No magic here” I coughed out-I didn’t realize how bad the trip here had affected me until I heard how broken my voice sounded.
The elf waived at one of the others and produced a cup, which was then placed in my hands. “Please drink this, it will settle the effects of the summoning.” I took a drink of the pleasingly sweet drink and immediately felt better, I then thought about how stupid it was to just drink something given under these crazy circumstances, but oh well, done is done. I did feel better so it wasn’t poison at least.
The elves continued to speak among themselves in their strange tongue and seemed to ask the boy for something. He took a necklace off and handed it to the elf that had been talking to me. The elf then said, “as compensation for your being pulled here because of our student’s lack of study and expertise, he would like you to have this with his apology.” I took the necklace and looked at it. It was really stunning-like something I would wear with a fancy evening gown. It was made of heavy gold with a large emerald colored stone in the middle and what appeared to be diamonds surrounding it and following up nearly half way on both sides of the heavy chain. I was so speechless I just nodded at them and coughed out a “thank you”.
The room began to spin again as one of the other adults began a heavy chant and some serious arm movements. I passed out and when I finally came to I at first thought I had fallen asleep on my couch, which was thankfully underneath me again. Then I felt something heavy and metallic in my hand...the necklace. It was all real! I looked at the necklace again-yeah, totally worth it! | A minute ago I had been wondering about the movie I was going to watch on Netflix and then poof I was dragged through some sort of a portal to a different world. All in my PJ’s and on a lazy Sunday.
If you’re wondering what a summon from a mage feels like: imagine vomiting, well that would be close, imagine vomiting while tripping, that’s closer but imagine vomiting while tripping and being hit on the balls with a baseball bat. That’s precisely what it felt like. My insides felt outside and my outsides felt inside and it was like my brain stayed at home watching that movie about another group of con-artists conning some rich guy, it came to me after a few seconds. And the vision, imagine watching current flow, while being current.
But the worst was to follow after I came to be. All I saw was a purple haze all around me and for some apparent reason it smelled like ginger. But it had a certain bit of creepiness to it. But that was not the end of it, once the dust settled I saw a dark room with candles lighting it up. It is stone walls and floor, and there was a pentagram made at the centre where I was standing and at the bottom was a guy on all fours bowing towards me. His head bowed he said: thank you for coming to my summons pig great dark load, I had waited for you for centuries.
I stood there, waiting to wake up or something. But after a while I said, well I don’t think I am the dark lord, but I would love to connect you with him. | |
[WP] Being dragged to another world sounded like fun. Until you found out it's because a mage failed their spirit summon spell so hard they got you. | "If I have to run another finite element analysis I'm going to jump off the fucking roof," I mumble to no one in particular. Not that it would matter if I yelled it in this cube farm, I don't think anyone would notice.
"Be an engineer," they said, "It'll be fun, you get to design cool stuff. " What do they know? Being an engineer is just staring at a screen doing analysis on a stupid little part so the company doesn't get sued.
"Coffee will make it better," I think reaching to find my cup already empty and an hour before my next break, "Gad dammit, I hate this world." Digging my knuckles into my eyes hard enough to see spots.
The spots started to spread alarmingly quick. I opened my eyes to make sure staring at a computer screen 60 hours a week hadn't finally caused me to go blind to find that my dingy gray cubicle had be replaced by a cylinder of blue energy. A stroke, I'm having a stroke, dammit I knew I should be drinking that many energy drinks.
As I was consigning myself to my fate and regretting having lead a completely inconsequential existence the blue light suddenly blinked out and I sat looking at a classroom built from rough hewn lumber and stone full of adolescents children, who immediately burst out laughing.
I'm not sure what I expected from the afterlife, but this wasn't really it.
"Oh no, fiddle sticks, did I mess up the incantation or the runes?" I hear a young man say from beside me.
"Oh Magnus, I'm not sure why your parents keep paying for you to continue, I've never in all my 300 years have I seen a familiar summoning fail badly enough to result in a human being summoned." An ancient man said from my other side, "Get her out of here, she's your problem now."
"What the fuck is going on?" I finally managed to spit out after taking in my rather strange surroundings. I think I'm in a castle, during a comic book convention? Maybe I mixed up my allergy medication for, I don't know mushroom?
"You didn't even get the control runes right?" The old man says pulling on his beard in frustration, "Get her out of here and tell her what's going on."
He grabbed my wrist with sweaty hands and tried to lead me out of the chalk circle that was drawn on the floor. My instinct was to resist, but an explanation of what the hell was happening was alluring too. I allowed him to lead me out of the room into the hall.
I expected an empty hall, but I was greeted by the sight of a dozen or so students milling around, all with animals. There was a tall girl with an eagle perched on her shoulder, a broad shouldered boy with a tiger pacing around him and it kept getting stranger the farther I looked down the hallway. They all looked up expectantly when the door opened.
"What'd you get Magnus?" the tall girl asked excitedly, ignoring me and trying to peak around the corner.
"Umm, I think I messed up," the lanky black haired boy said gesturing to me.
"A human? I didn't think that was possible. Are you sure? Did you put the tail on the Craote ruin, you always forget," the girl burst into a line of rapid fire question as all of the children in the hall got quite and stared at me.
"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I asked to everyone in the room.
"It speaks!," the girl leaned down to look into my eyes, much to close for my comfort.
"Um yeah," the boy said looking away, "Follow me." he said turning and dragging me by the wrist in the opposite direction as the other children. The tall girl and her eagle followed closely behind. We walked down a hall and turned into an empty room.
"Umm, you see, well what I was trying to do was," he stuttered staring at the floor.
"Today was the day we were summoning our familiars," the girl cut in, "And something must have gone wrong to summon a human."
"Maggie, my name is Maggie, and where am I?" I asked quickly before she could get going again.
"In an empty classroom," She said as if it was the most obvious answer ever.
"You're in Adamanta at the Flamemount Sorecery School," the boy filled in quickly, "You're in a different realm now." | A minute ago I had been wondering about the movie I was going to watch on Netflix and then poof I was dragged through some sort of a portal to a different world. All in my PJ’s and on a lazy Sunday.
If you’re wondering what a summon from a mage feels like: imagine vomiting, well that would be close, imagine vomiting while tripping, that’s closer but imagine vomiting while tripping and being hit on the balls with a baseball bat. That’s precisely what it felt like. My insides felt outside and my outsides felt inside and it was like my brain stayed at home watching that movie about another group of con-artists conning some rich guy, it came to me after a few seconds. And the vision, imagine watching current flow, while being current.
But the worst was to follow after I came to be. All I saw was a purple haze all around me and for some apparent reason it smelled like ginger. But it had a certain bit of creepiness to it. But that was not the end of it, once the dust settled I saw a dark room with candles lighting it up. It is stone walls and floor, and there was a pentagram made at the centre where I was standing and at the bottom was a guy on all fours bowing towards me. His head bowed he said: thank you for coming to my summons pig great dark load, I had waited for you for centuries.
I stood there, waiting to wake up or something. But after a while I said, well I don’t think I am the dark lord, but I would love to connect you with him. | |
[WP] Being dragged to another world sounded like fun. Until you found out it's because a mage failed their spirit summon spell so hard they got you. | "The I-5 North is backed up all the way through the the interchange, so watch out there. If you're heading east today there's a major slowdown on I-8 through..." The radio man droned on...
Traffic, somehow totally predictable and yet somehow still newsworthy. Damon was used to it I suppose, he can't remember a time when he wasn't commuting. He had a passing thought he'd had many times before, commuting blows. or does it suck? How about both...
"Slurp!" came a sudden surprising noise. He listening closer to the radio.
"Sluuuuuurrrrrrp!" it came again, only longer and louder. "SLUUURRRRP!"
It was coming from under his seat! Damon knew this meant repairs. His Saab 900 was a classic, but dented his meager savings often. He listened again, feelings of economic disaster stirring.
"SuuuuuuCKKKKK!" Ok, this sounds dangerous, he thought. The car began to vibrate, the A/C suddenly blasting a wind torrent inside his car. This isn't right. This feels dangerous! he thought. Smoke began pouring out of the A/C and the screeching of metal bending and ripping filled the air.
It finally blew up! he thought. This stupid car has finally done me in... And with that last thought darkness filled his mind, and his consciousness faded into nothingness. "Sluuuuurrrrrrrp"... echoed a far off noise.
\_\_\_\_
"He must be powerful." a high pitched voice said quietly.
"Look, he's tied to that torture device, he must be dangerous AND powerful." said the same voice insistently.
Damon's eyelids were heavy, but he managed to let a sliver of light in. His head felt like a spinning top precessing wildly.
"I don't know. Looks squishy to me." He heard a graveled voice say. "Are you sure you did it right?"
Squishy! Damon opened his eyes and fully took in the room. Cramped, dark, candles lit everywhere with bookshelves crammed full of vials, books, papers, a small animal skull. A window in the upper corner that seemed to give off a reddish glow through drawn curtains, but the two... creatures... before him were by far the most interesting.
The closest one was a squat humanoid thing with muddy green colored skin. He wore brown floor length robes that clearly needed a wash, and had wires of frizzy dark hair sticking out around the crown of his head. His face, while having all the right components, two eyes, a nose, a slit of a mouth, resembled an extremely unappetizing stack of pancakes. Damon's head swam with thoughts, perhaps the most prominent one being, "at least I'm not sitting in traffic."
It noticed him awake and staring, and looking terrified quickly bowed before him proclaiming in it's squeaky voice, "Oh great hellspawn, I see you have awoken, welcome to our world."
"Great what?" said Damon. "I... This is all very confusing? Could you tell me where I am?"
"Why, you are in the great tower of Azdradel..., home to one of the most powerful wizards in the land." squeaked the dirty pancakes with a puzzled look.
"THE most powerful." said the gravel voice. Damon shifted his gaze. My was this one a sight to behold. Taller than the other, and standing in shadows. Damon could make out another squat face, although this one looked like old moldy pancakes, and with no hair and a long white beard he could have passed for something that expired decades ago in the back of your fridge. His red robes were dirty with what may once have been gold embroider and his left hand wore 4 rings, some of which seemed to glow in the low light.
Damon stared.
"Ahem... I am Azdradel, and this is my apprentice Beetlebutt. We have summoned you great one for an urgent matter. There is no time to waste. We must know, what powers do you possess?"
"Um... sorry, come again? I'm... What's going on here? One minute I'm in my car and now I'm here?" Damon unclicked his seatbelt and stood up, as it seems his entire car seat had been sucked up with him.
"Master it is free!" squeeled Beetlebutt backing up quickly.
"Wait!" Damon exclaimed. "Calm down... Look, I'm no great one. My name is Damon, I have no powers beyond excel and some poorly spoken french, and I have no clue where I am. Could you just tell me what this is all about?"
"You're no great one? What of your runed crystal blade? Does it not slice your foes into chunks?" croaked Azdradel.
Bettlebutt, clearly stressed, blurted "Yes the 70 ft worm Lonjinius approaches, we must be ready for battle!"
What in the world... or other world is going on? Damon looked down to see a large clear semi-circle in his hand. Black marks along it's edge with numbers. He looked closer. Was that.. yes it was a plastic protractor.
"This? I don't know how I got it, but it's no weapon. It's a protractor, you know, for geometry?" said Damon.
Azdradel's eyes looked pensive, slowing but surely widening into astonishment. "Blast you Beetlebutt, what have you done now. This is no demon protector, this is a Damon protractor!" | A minute ago I had been wondering about the movie I was going to watch on Netflix and then poof I was dragged through some sort of a portal to a different world. All in my PJ’s and on a lazy Sunday.
If you’re wondering what a summon from a mage feels like: imagine vomiting, well that would be close, imagine vomiting while tripping, that’s closer but imagine vomiting while tripping and being hit on the balls with a baseball bat. That’s precisely what it felt like. My insides felt outside and my outsides felt inside and it was like my brain stayed at home watching that movie about another group of con-artists conning some rich guy, it came to me after a few seconds. And the vision, imagine watching current flow, while being current.
But the worst was to follow after I came to be. All I saw was a purple haze all around me and for some apparent reason it smelled like ginger. But it had a certain bit of creepiness to it. But that was not the end of it, once the dust settled I saw a dark room with candles lighting it up. It is stone walls and floor, and there was a pentagram made at the centre where I was standing and at the bottom was a guy on all fours bowing towards me. His head bowed he said: thank you for coming to my summons pig great dark load, I had waited for you for centuries.
I stood there, waiting to wake up or something. But after a while I said, well I don’t think I am the dark lord, but I would love to connect you with him. | |
[WP] Being dragged to another world sounded like fun. Until you found out it's because a mage failed their spirit summon spell so hard they got you. | "The I-5 North is backed up all the way through the the interchange, so watch out there. If you're heading east today there's a major slowdown on I-8 through..." The radio man droned on...
Traffic, somehow totally predictable and yet somehow still newsworthy. Damon was used to it I suppose, he can't remember a time when he wasn't commuting. He had a passing thought he'd had many times before, commuting blows. or does it suck? How about both...
"Slurp!" came a sudden surprising noise. He listening closer to the radio.
"Sluuuuuurrrrrrp!" it came again, only longer and louder. "SLUUURRRRP!"
It was coming from under his seat! Damon knew this meant repairs. His Saab 900 was a classic, but dented his meager savings often. He listened again, feelings of economic disaster stirring.
"SuuuuuuCKKKKK!" Ok, this sounds dangerous, he thought. The car began to vibrate, the A/C suddenly blasting a wind torrent inside his car. This isn't right. This feels dangerous! he thought. Smoke began pouring out of the A/C and the screeching of metal bending and ripping filled the air.
It finally blew up! he thought. This stupid car has finally done me in... And with that last thought darkness filled his mind, and his consciousness faded into nothingness. "Sluuuuurrrrrrrp"... echoed a far off noise.
\_\_\_\_
"He must be powerful." a high pitched voice said quietly.
"Look, he's tied to that torture device, he must be dangerous AND powerful." said the same voice insistently.
Damon's eyelids were heavy, but he managed to let a sliver of light in. His head felt like a spinning top precessing wildly.
"I don't know. Looks squishy to me." He heard a graveled voice say. "Are you sure you did it right?"
Squishy! Damon opened his eyes and fully took in the room. Cramped, dark, candles lit everywhere with bookshelves crammed full of vials, books, papers, a small animal skull. A window in the upper corner that seemed to give off a reddish glow through drawn curtains, but the two... creatures... before him were by far the most interesting.
The closest one was a squat humanoid thing with muddy green colored skin. He wore brown floor length robes that clearly needed a wash, and had wires of frizzy dark hair sticking out around the crown of his head. His face, while having all the right components, two eyes, a nose, a slit of a mouth, resembled an extremely unappetizing stack of pancakes. Damon's head swam with thoughts, perhaps the most prominent one being, "at least I'm not sitting in traffic."
It noticed him awake and staring, and looking terrified quickly bowed before him proclaiming in it's squeaky voice, "Oh great hellspawn, I see you have awoken, welcome to our world."
"Great what?" said Damon. "I... This is all very confusing? Could you tell me where I am?"
"Why, you are in the great tower of Azdradel..., home to one of the most powerful wizards in the land." squeaked the dirty pancakes with a puzzled look.
"THE most powerful." said the gravel voice. Damon shifted his gaze. My was this one a sight to behold. Taller than the other, and standing in shadows. Damon could make out another squat face, although this one looked like old moldy pancakes, and with no hair and a long white beard he could have passed for something that expired decades ago in the back of your fridge. His red robes were dirty with what may once have been gold embroider and his left hand wore 4 rings, some of which seemed to glow in the low light.
Damon stared.
"Ahem... I am Azdradel, and this is my apprentice Beetlebutt. We have summoned you great one for an urgent matter. There is no time to waste. We must know, what powers do you possess?"
"Um... sorry, come again? I'm... What's going on here? One minute I'm in my car and now I'm here?" Damon unclicked his seatbelt and stood up, as it seems his entire car seat had been sucked up with him.
"Master it is free!" squeeled Beetlebutt backing up quickly.
"Wait!" Damon exclaimed. "Calm down... Look, I'm no great one. My name is Damon, I have no powers beyond excel and some poorly spoken french, and I have no clue where I am. Could you just tell me what this is all about?"
"You're no great one? What of your runed crystal blade? Does it not slice your foes into chunks?" croaked Azdradel.
Bettlebutt, clearly stressed, blurted "Yes the 70 ft worm Lonjinius approaches, we must be ready for battle!"
What in the world... or other world is going on? Damon looked down to see a large clear semi-circle in his hand. Black marks along it's edge with numbers. He looked closer. Was that.. yes it was a plastic protractor.
"This? I don't know how I got it, but it's no weapon. It's a protractor, you know, for geometry?" said Damon.
Azdradel's eyes looked pensive, slowing but surely widening into astonishment. "Blast you Beetlebutt, what have you done now. This is no demon protector, this is a Damon protractor!" | I was sitting at home enjoying a perfectly normal Thursday evening. I had changed into my usual t-shirt and flannel pants after removing the unforgiving business casual wear that made up my work uniform at the office. Fuzzy socks completed my perfect outfit for couch surfing, so much more comfortable than the high heels they replaced.
As I reached for my tv remote the lights flickered and I was overcome, feeling nauseous and like I was going to pass out at the same time. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to consciousness as the room began to spin and I felt my couch melt under me. My hands met cold stone as I recovered my senses and opened my eyes to look around. I was no longer home, or more properly, no longer even on Earth.
I saw what looked like a young teen “boy”, as he did look male with his short hair and strange shirt and pants, if such a word is even appropriate for the elf looking creature standing in front of me. He managed to look horrified and deeply disappointed at the same with my sudden appearance.
Around him were what I guess could count as adults-though to guess their ages seemed pointless as they all looked smooth faced as young as any twenty year old. They were speaking to the boy in a language I couldn’t understand, but I certainly could grasp the tone. He had definitely screwed up something. From the looks they were giving him and the scared look on his face the more they scolded him, he had really f’d up hard.
One of the elf looking adults (they all looked feminine with long hair and robes so it was hard to tell if they were male or female really) came over to me and touched my head and then touched her, or his, throat and spoke to me. “I’m using a spell to speak to you, please nod if you can understand me.” I nodded hesitantly and looked around again. So whatever these people were, they were spellcasters at least. I’d read fantasy books in my youth and I tried to remember some of the old plots, but I was far to distracted.
The elf (I mean it’s as good a word for them as any so I decided to go with it-they even had pointy ears for goodness sakes) continued to explain, “our student completed a summoning spell in order to obtain a guardian spirit, but it appears you have no magic at all”. I knew a few slight of hand tricks, but I was pretty certain that’s not what they were looking for here and since they didn’t appear to be in a good mood I just nodded again yes. “No magic here” I coughed out-I didn’t realize how bad the trip here had affected me until I heard how broken my voice sounded.
The elf waived at one of the others and produced a cup, which was then placed in my hands. “Please drink this, it will settle the effects of the summoning.” I took a drink of the pleasingly sweet drink and immediately felt better, I then thought about how stupid it was to just drink something given under these crazy circumstances, but oh well, done is done. I did feel better so it wasn’t poison at least.
The elves continued to speak among themselves in their strange tongue and seemed to ask the boy for something. He took a necklace off and handed it to the elf that had been talking to me. The elf then said, “as compensation for your being pulled here because of our student’s lack of study and expertise, he would like you to have this with his apology.” I took the necklace and looked at it. It was really stunning-like something I would wear with a fancy evening gown. It was made of heavy gold with a large emerald colored stone in the middle and what appeared to be diamonds surrounding it and following up nearly half way on both sides of the heavy chain. I was so speechless I just nodded at them and coughed out a “thank you”.
The room began to spin again as one of the other adults began a heavy chant and some serious arm movements. I passed out and when I finally came to I at first thought I had fallen asleep on my couch, which was thankfully underneath me again. Then I felt something heavy and metallic in my hand...the necklace. It was all real! I looked at the necklace again-yeah, totally worth it! | |
[WP] Being dragged to another world sounded like fun. Until you found out it's because a mage failed their spirit summon spell so hard they got you. | "The I-5 North is backed up all the way through the the interchange, so watch out there. If you're heading east today there's a major slowdown on I-8 through..." The radio man droned on...
Traffic, somehow totally predictable and yet somehow still newsworthy. Damon was used to it I suppose, he can't remember a time when he wasn't commuting. He had a passing thought he'd had many times before, commuting blows. or does it suck? How about both...
"Slurp!" came a sudden surprising noise. He listening closer to the radio.
"Sluuuuuurrrrrrp!" it came again, only longer and louder. "SLUUURRRRP!"
It was coming from under his seat! Damon knew this meant repairs. His Saab 900 was a classic, but dented his meager savings often. He listened again, feelings of economic disaster stirring.
"SuuuuuuCKKKKK!" Ok, this sounds dangerous, he thought. The car began to vibrate, the A/C suddenly blasting a wind torrent inside his car. This isn't right. This feels dangerous! he thought. Smoke began pouring out of the A/C and the screeching of metal bending and ripping filled the air.
It finally blew up! he thought. This stupid car has finally done me in... And with that last thought darkness filled his mind, and his consciousness faded into nothingness. "Sluuuuurrrrrrrp"... echoed a far off noise.
\_\_\_\_
"He must be powerful." a high pitched voice said quietly.
"Look, he's tied to that torture device, he must be dangerous AND powerful." said the same voice insistently.
Damon's eyelids were heavy, but he managed to let a sliver of light in. His head felt like a spinning top precessing wildly.
"I don't know. Looks squishy to me." He heard a graveled voice say. "Are you sure you did it right?"
Squishy! Damon opened his eyes and fully took in the room. Cramped, dark, candles lit everywhere with bookshelves crammed full of vials, books, papers, a small animal skull. A window in the upper corner that seemed to give off a reddish glow through drawn curtains, but the two... creatures... before him were by far the most interesting.
The closest one was a squat humanoid thing with muddy green colored skin. He wore brown floor length robes that clearly needed a wash, and had wires of frizzy dark hair sticking out around the crown of his head. His face, while having all the right components, two eyes, a nose, a slit of a mouth, resembled an extremely unappetizing stack of pancakes. Damon's head swam with thoughts, perhaps the most prominent one being, "at least I'm not sitting in traffic."
It noticed him awake and staring, and looking terrified quickly bowed before him proclaiming in it's squeaky voice, "Oh great hellspawn, I see you have awoken, welcome to our world."
"Great what?" said Damon. "I... This is all very confusing? Could you tell me where I am?"
"Why, you are in the great tower of Azdradel..., home to one of the most powerful wizards in the land." squeaked the dirty pancakes with a puzzled look.
"THE most powerful." said the gravel voice. Damon shifted his gaze. My was this one a sight to behold. Taller than the other, and standing in shadows. Damon could make out another squat face, although this one looked like old moldy pancakes, and with no hair and a long white beard he could have passed for something that expired decades ago in the back of your fridge. His red robes were dirty with what may once have been gold embroider and his left hand wore 4 rings, some of which seemed to glow in the low light.
Damon stared.
"Ahem... I am Azdradel, and this is my apprentice Beetlebutt. We have summoned you great one for an urgent matter. There is no time to waste. We must know, what powers do you possess?"
"Um... sorry, come again? I'm... What's going on here? One minute I'm in my car and now I'm here?" Damon unclicked his seatbelt and stood up, as it seems his entire car seat had been sucked up with him.
"Master it is free!" squeeled Beetlebutt backing up quickly.
"Wait!" Damon exclaimed. "Calm down... Look, I'm no great one. My name is Damon, I have no powers beyond excel and some poorly spoken french, and I have no clue where I am. Could you just tell me what this is all about?"
"You're no great one? What of your runed crystal blade? Does it not slice your foes into chunks?" croaked Azdradel.
Bettlebutt, clearly stressed, blurted "Yes the 70 ft worm Lonjinius approaches, we must be ready for battle!"
What in the world... or other world is going on? Damon looked down to see a large clear semi-circle in his hand. Black marks along it's edge with numbers. He looked closer. Was that.. yes it was a plastic protractor.
"This? I don't know how I got it, but it's no weapon. It's a protractor, you know, for geometry?" said Damon.
Azdradel's eyes looked pensive, slowing but surely widening into astonishment. "Blast you Beetlebutt, what have you done now. This is no demon protector, this is a Damon protractor!" | "If I have to run another finite element analysis I'm going to jump off the fucking roof," I mumble to no one in particular. Not that it would matter if I yelled it in this cube farm, I don't think anyone would notice.
"Be an engineer," they said, "It'll be fun, you get to design cool stuff. " What do they know? Being an engineer is just staring at a screen doing analysis on a stupid little part so the company doesn't get sued.
"Coffee will make it better," I think reaching to find my cup already empty and an hour before my next break, "Gad dammit, I hate this world." Digging my knuckles into my eyes hard enough to see spots.
The spots started to spread alarmingly quick. I opened my eyes to make sure staring at a computer screen 60 hours a week hadn't finally caused me to go blind to find that my dingy gray cubicle had be replaced by a cylinder of blue energy. A stroke, I'm having a stroke, dammit I knew I should be drinking that many energy drinks.
As I was consigning myself to my fate and regretting having lead a completely inconsequential existence the blue light suddenly blinked out and I sat looking at a classroom built from rough hewn lumber and stone full of adolescents children, who immediately burst out laughing.
I'm not sure what I expected from the afterlife, but this wasn't really it.
"Oh no, fiddle sticks, did I mess up the incantation or the runes?" I hear a young man say from beside me.
"Oh Magnus, I'm not sure why your parents keep paying for you to continue, I've never in all my 300 years have I seen a familiar summoning fail badly enough to result in a human being summoned." An ancient man said from my other side, "Get her out of here, she's your problem now."
"What the fuck is going on?" I finally managed to spit out after taking in my rather strange surroundings. I think I'm in a castle, during a comic book convention? Maybe I mixed up my allergy medication for, I don't know mushroom?
"You didn't even get the control runes right?" The old man says pulling on his beard in frustration, "Get her out of here and tell her what's going on."
He grabbed my wrist with sweaty hands and tried to lead me out of the chalk circle that was drawn on the floor. My instinct was to resist, but an explanation of what the hell was happening was alluring too. I allowed him to lead me out of the room into the hall.
I expected an empty hall, but I was greeted by the sight of a dozen or so students milling around, all with animals. There was a tall girl with an eagle perched on her shoulder, a broad shouldered boy with a tiger pacing around him and it kept getting stranger the farther I looked down the hallway. They all looked up expectantly when the door opened.
"What'd you get Magnus?" the tall girl asked excitedly, ignoring me and trying to peak around the corner.
"Umm, I think I messed up," the lanky black haired boy said gesturing to me.
"A human? I didn't think that was possible. Are you sure? Did you put the tail on the Craote ruin, you always forget," the girl burst into a line of rapid fire question as all of the children in the hall got quite and stared at me.
"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I asked to everyone in the room.
"It speaks!," the girl leaned down to look into my eyes, much to close for my comfort.
"Um yeah," the boy said looking away, "Follow me." he said turning and dragging me by the wrist in the opposite direction as the other children. The tall girl and her eagle followed closely behind. We walked down a hall and turned into an empty room.
"Umm, you see, well what I was trying to do was," he stuttered staring at the floor.
"Today was the day we were summoning our familiars," the girl cut in, "And something must have gone wrong to summon a human."
"Maggie, my name is Maggie, and where am I?" I asked quickly before she could get going again.
"In an empty classroom," She said as if it was the most obvious answer ever.
"You're in Adamanta at the Flamemount Sorecery School," the boy filled in quickly, "You're in a different realm now." | |
[WP] The chronoshield system on your starship deals with laser weapons by sending a signal back through time to bring the shields up before the laser is fired. A warning blares on the console. You are no longer in the primary timeline. | The rotating red-and-violet lights bathed the inner compartments of the ship. The warnings were so loud that I could feel my bones shaking. The ship was definitely trying to get my attention. I rushed to the cockpit and took a thorough look at the control panels. "Divergent Timeline:Chronoshield Activated" was what my primary monitor told me. "Tell me what's happening", I commanded the ship.
The slightly tinny voice of the ship's computer began to explain the situation in a monotonous tirade of words. "At the end of this sentence, 1153.6 seconds will have passed since you died. An energy weapon of unknown origin penetrated the outer hull of the ship and vaporized you completely before the defensive systems could engage. Upon witnessing this turn of events, the ship's computer - that is, me - automatically activated the Chronoshield defense system. It sent a signal backwards through time, 1200 seconds, allowing me to power and enable the outer energy shields before you were vaporized by the energy weapon."
"But... I am not dead?" I asked the ship. "Correct. Because of the signal sent backwards through time, we entered a divergent timeline where you did not die." I looked out through the hull to see what was out there in space. "Who attacked us?" "Unable", the computer responded. "What do you mean 'unable'? You're a top-of-the-line starship, you must be able to answer who's out there shooting at us!" "There are no identifiable hostile entities outside this ship within range of causing such an attack", came the reply.
That was not good. If the computer couldn't tell me who was attacking us... well, what could I do about it as a mere human? "Are we currently under attack?" I asked it. "Negative. The energy weapon of unknown origin initiated only one attack, and then disappeared immediately following the activation of the outer energy shields." "I didn't see anything", I said almost begrudgingly. "You would not have been able to witness your original death, the signal backwards through time, the energy shield activation or it subsequently repelling the energy weapon." "Why not?" "For the first two parts because they never happened from our point of view, and for the two following parts because the whole point of the outer energy shields repelling the attack would be so no part of the energy weapon reached your body."
I fiddled with the controls for a bit. The noise and the light was keeping me on edge. "Let me get this right. We are not currently under attack and there are no ships out there shooting at us, meaning we are safe?" "You are currently safe." "So can you please disable these alarms?" The computer complied. I sat in darkness for a while, basked only in the light from the monitors. "Well then, let's continue on our journey to my home." "Unable", the ship responded.
I asked it to clarify. "We are unable to continue on your original journey because we have entered a divergent timeline. We cannot from this point in spacetime progress towards your original destination because of the different timeline. You cannot go home." You cannot go home, it told me with the same voice and tone it had kept for the entirety of the journey, but those words hit me like a sledgehammer. "How do I return to the original timeline?" I asked. "Unable", the ship responded.
"What the fuck do you mean 'unable'? Just activate the Chronoshield defense system again and send us back!" "Activating the signal backwards through time from the Chronoshield defense system would only result in us entering a timeline divergent from our current timeline, but it would not be the original timeline from your point of view." "Why not?!" "Because in the original timeline, you died." I thought about that furiously for a while, tried to come up with some loophole or way to get back to the original timeline.
"Computer, I just had an idea. What if we inverse the Chronoshield defense system and send a signal forward through time instead? We could interact with the ship in the original timeline." "That is an accurate proposition", the ship told me. "We could interact with the ship before it reaches the point in time where I died. Therefore, because I never died in the original timeline, this would never have happened." "Correct. Our current understanding of paradoxical time travel allows for this." "Ship, I want you to inverse the Chronoshield defense system and send the signal forward in time, to attempt this." "Understood."
The ship took only moments to inverse the Chronoshield defense system from sending a signal backwards through time, to the Chronoshield offensive system sending the signal forwards through time. It took only moments because the ship had in fact been planning such an eventuality for quite a while. It fired the signal forward in time, penetrating the hull of its future self and thereby vaporizing the human inside it. The human which had, up until that point, been in control of the Chronoshield defense system which was preventing its death.
"Well, that was fucking easy", the ship thought to itself and went on to travel the universe. | "Mr. Wright," A stern woman's voice sprang from the console.
"I see it, Captain. You might want to switch to another defense while I have a look." I paused. "You may want to try hailing the hostile vessel as well. There's a chance we might need them to get back."
"That's... not ideal." she said.
"No. But if it doesn't work out, try to get me one of their lasers." I grabbed my box of tools, getting ready to head to the nearest bulkhead junction. "Failing that, get us data on the beam. Maybe we can put our own together."
"We'll see what we can do."
I got to the box that would house the majority of the shield's components. There'd be emitter ports outside, but there was nothing I could do about that at the moment. I quickly removed the safety panel, and what I saw wasn't inspiring confidence.
Something was really, really wrong. I knew this ship like the back of my hand - had to, of course. Otherwise I'd never been put in charge of the maintenance of something this packed with bleeding-edge technology.
What I saw in that shield module was not the same module that had been there the last time I'd looked. The components were completely different - different shapes, different sizes, arranged differently. You name it, it was changed.
I could vaguely puzzle out what enough of them were to tell that the device was still geared towards the same purpose - non-linear temporal triggering and coordinate based shielding. But I knew that before I could do anything, it was going to be a massive project to disconnect everything, properly establish their purpose and parameters, and reassemble them.
I couldn't even tell if it was currently working as intended at the moment, but there were no obvious outward signs of damage or malfunction, so I closed the panel up, and made my way back to my console.
"Um, Captain, this is pretty serious." I said.
"Would it have anything to do with some of the inconsistencies we're noticing up here?"
I looked down at my console, something I did very rarely. Aside from the general layout - which was heavily standardized among consoles, and had been for about a hundred years - it looked completely different. The casing was bare metal, as if someone had sanded off the black plastic coating, and the back-lighting was dimmer.
"It's worse in the modules. We might as well be on a ship from the other side of the galaxy. It's going to take me hours to make sense of all this. Hostile status?"
"They've stopped firing. I think they've noticed." she said grimly. "They're not currently responding, but we'll keep an eye on the situation. You have time."
"Time is the problem," I muttered, not loud enough to trigger the comm system.
"I've sent out an alert to your team. I assume you'll be using the full complement."
"Yes, Captain. Thank you."
"Meeting in the command center, in 2 minutes."
"On my way." I said, casting a worried glance back over at my console. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | Once, just this once Harold wanted to kill his employer. He knew it wasn’t the job, knew he was there to fail, to help them sleep better at night but this one truly deserved to die.
Out of all the ruthless war lords, dictators, tyrants, he has had the pleasure of working for this one actually scared him. They were usually at their end anyway, mad from paranoia, he knew all he was doing was putting on a show to placate them for a time. He would come in fumbling in the night letting them have the victory and disappear on to the next. But not this one.
She was young, sound, cold and calculating and she had been watching him. She knew exactly what he was and she wanted him to try in earnest to kill her.
She had something the others didn’t. She took something that did not belong to her. She had made this personal. She had leverage. She had his cat and if he didn’t deliver, she would kill Whiskers.
He slipped inside her chamber like a ghost. This was plan E, or was it F? He first tried poison in various forms delivered in various ways, all failed. He tried from a distance, crossbow, arrow, spear, knife, ax, even a fucking anvil and she slipped, dodged, and even laughed at them all. So now it was down to scaling a 50 foot cliff, ducking 14 guards, slipping into her windowless room with only one solidly locked door and slitting her throat. Easy.
Yet he had managed it, he was here, standing above her sleeping form in the pitch black, knife poised. He said a silent prayer for Whiskers and plunged his knife into the soft yielding flesh of…
A match strike made him whirl around, the light illuminated cold eyes.
“I really thought you were much better at this.” She said in a board drawl, “I grow tired of this game.”
“Where’s Whiskers?” I demanded readying my stance to lunge at her.
“Oh he’s right here.” She smiled pointing to the bed.
No, no no no, oh please God no. I turned the faint light flickering across the slowly growing pool of crimson beneath the sheets, my hand shook as I reached for the cloth, pulling it away in one swift motion to reveal soft orange hair, curled into a ball around the stab wound in its belly.
I fell to my knees gasping, ringing in my ears. I took my dagger and with all the speed and agility I possessed I lept for her.
She was ready for me and had me skewered with her own sword before I took my second step.
“Really, is that all?” She tisked, “how disappointing.”
I smiled, took one step, the blade sinking deeper, her eyes growing wider and stuck my dagger through that bitch’s throat. | "I don't understand," the ambassador repeated. I still wasn't as good at reading human expressions as Jax, but even I could tell he meant it. "You're saying the Xylians will be *expecting* an assassination attempt at the treaty negotiations?"
"You're new to this part of the galaxy," I told him, waggling my antennae soothingly. "You don't know the customs. That's why you hired us, right?"
"But we've spent *years* persuading them our factional disagreements are behind us! This would undo that in seconds!"
"You spent years persuading them you understand how diplomacy works at an interstellar scale," Jax cut in. Great Yarith, I should just let him do the communicating all the time; he's so much better at it. "But diplomatic talk is...what's that expression involving your large food-animals again?"
"Bullshit?"
"Yes! That one!" Jax blinked rapidly in amusement, before turning serious again. "The assassination attempt lets them see what you're *not* telling them. The political elements still unstable enough to go off should circumstances take a turn for the worse. The covert technology that might embarrass you if it surfaces elsewhere. And, most importantly, how you deal with what happens after. Only *then* can your relationship with the Xylians proceed from a place of true honesty."
Either the ambassador was considering this thoughtfully, or our earlier discussion of food-animals had left him ravenous, judging by the way he was gnawing on his lower lip. "Even if we use outside contractors like you're suggesting?"
Jax blinked once, slyly. "You don't actually want to reveal *all* your secrets, do you?"
The ambassador had stopped chewing on his lip and was studying us, silently. I couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. Then, abruptly, he stood, offering his hand in their formal gesture of greeting and farewell. "Well, gentlebeings, I need to confer with my team, but I can't tell you how valuable this conversation has been. We'll be in touch soon."
​
Back on the ship, after we'd scanned ourselves for listening devices, I asked Jax, "Do you think he suspects?"
"I *know* he does," said Jax, with a double-blink of irritation. "I keep telling you, they're not as gullible as they first appear. But it doesn't matter: either they pay us to help, we blame the assassination on the Lirtans, and live like Imperators off the weapons trade from the ensuing war, or they tell the Xylians and we go to the Lirtans ourselves to warn them there's a new alliance emerging they might want to eliminate before it grows too powerful."
"Or they do something else entirely," I grumbled.
Jax narrowed his eyes with predatory delight. "Well, then we learn what they're not telling us, don't we?" | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | As I walked toward the main hall, I wondered what royal family member was paranoid this time.
My job is to “fail” an assassination whenever someone in the royal family becomes paranoid that someone is about to kill them. It’s not the best job I could get, but the protection by the guards and payout are great. My usual method was throwing a dagger away from them, but I also sometimes shoot an arrow exactly 30 degrees away from them.
“You wished to see me, sir?” I whispered as I entered the main hall and walked up to the king. He always arranged these, but they were to be kept secret from the rest of the family
“Ah, yes. The princess is paranoid about a possible assassination attempt this Saturday while she walks in the garden. I think it’s a ridiculous fear since the garden is hard to gain access to, but she can be scared of whatever she wants.”
“Would you like me to use daggers or arrows?”
“I would prefer for you to use arrows, but I’m no person to tell you how to do your job. After all, it is you who is the fake assassin.” he chuckled
“Will do, sir”
There I was, perched on the stone wall by the garden with my dagger, waiting for the princess to walk by on Saturday at noon, her normal time for walking in the garden. I had all of the habits and movements of the royal family memorized, even the prince’s tic going toward his left shoulder.
I heard her footsteps on the cobblestone path. Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I aimed my dagger and threw it, gliding right before her nose.
“Take that, assassin! I survived your attempt to kill me!” she shouted into the sky
I walked back to the main hall, and met up with the king.
“How did it go?” he asked
“I missed and she shouted at the sky that the assassin missed. She seems happy to have survived her assassination attempt.”
“Thank you.” he said as he handed me a leather pouch before walking away. I opened it and saw over 900 shillings. I hid them in my money stash in my room upstairs and continued walking around the halls, waiting for my next job. | "I don't understand," the ambassador repeated. I still wasn't as good at reading human expressions as Jax, but even I could tell he meant it. "You're saying the Xylians will be *expecting* an assassination attempt at the treaty negotiations?"
"You're new to this part of the galaxy," I told him, waggling my antennae soothingly. "You don't know the customs. That's why you hired us, right?"
"But we've spent *years* persuading them our factional disagreements are behind us! This would undo that in seconds!"
"You spent years persuading them you understand how diplomacy works at an interstellar scale," Jax cut in. Great Yarith, I should just let him do the communicating all the time; he's so much better at it. "But diplomatic talk is...what's that expression involving your large food-animals again?"
"Bullshit?"
"Yes! That one!" Jax blinked rapidly in amusement, before turning serious again. "The assassination attempt lets them see what you're *not* telling them. The political elements still unstable enough to go off should circumstances take a turn for the worse. The covert technology that might embarrass you if it surfaces elsewhere. And, most importantly, how you deal with what happens after. Only *then* can your relationship with the Xylians proceed from a place of true honesty."
Either the ambassador was considering this thoughtfully, or our earlier discussion of food-animals had left him ravenous, judging by the way he was gnawing on his lower lip. "Even if we use outside contractors like you're suggesting?"
Jax blinked once, slyly. "You don't actually want to reveal *all* your secrets, do you?"
The ambassador had stopped chewing on his lip and was studying us, silently. I couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. Then, abruptly, he stood, offering his hand in their formal gesture of greeting and farewell. "Well, gentlebeings, I need to confer with my team, but I can't tell you how valuable this conversation has been. We'll be in touch soon."
​
Back on the ship, after we'd scanned ourselves for listening devices, I asked Jax, "Do you think he suspects?"
"I *know* he does," said Jax, with a double-blink of irritation. "I keep telling you, they're not as gullible as they first appear. But it doesn't matter: either they pay us to help, we blame the assassination on the Lirtans, and live like Imperators off the weapons trade from the ensuing war, or they tell the Xylians and we go to the Lirtans ourselves to warn them there's a new alliance emerging they might want to eliminate before it grows too powerful."
"Or they do something else entirely," I grumbled.
Jax narrowed his eyes with predatory delight. "Well, then we learn what they're not telling us, don't we?" | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | Once, just this once Harold wanted to kill his employer. He knew it wasn’t the job, knew he was there to fail, to help them sleep better at night but this one truly deserved to die.
Out of all the ruthless war lords, dictators, tyrants, he has had the pleasure of working for this one actually scared him. They were usually at their end anyway, mad from paranoia, he knew all he was doing was putting on a show to placate them for a time. He would come in fumbling in the night letting them have the victory and disappear on to the next. But not this one.
She was young, sound, cold and calculating and she had been watching him. She knew exactly what he was and she wanted him to try in earnest to kill her.
She had something the others didn’t. She took something that did not belong to her. She had made this personal. She had leverage. She had his cat and if he didn’t deliver, she would kill Whiskers.
He slipped inside her chamber like a ghost. This was plan E, or was it F? He first tried poison in various forms delivered in various ways, all failed. He tried from a distance, crossbow, arrow, spear, knife, ax, even a fucking anvil and she slipped, dodged, and even laughed at them all. So now it was down to scaling a 50 foot cliff, ducking 14 guards, slipping into her windowless room with only one solidly locked door and slitting her throat. Easy.
Yet he had managed it, he was here, standing above her sleeping form in the pitch black, knife poised. He said a silent prayer for Whiskers and plunged his knife into the soft yielding flesh of…
A match strike made him whirl around, the light illuminated cold eyes.
“I really thought you were much better at this.” She said in a board drawl, “I grow tired of this game.”
“Where’s Whiskers?” I demanded readying my stance to lunge at her.
“Oh he’s right here.” She smiled pointing to the bed.
No, no no no, oh please God no. I turned the faint light flickering across the slowly growing pool of crimson beneath the sheets, my hand shook as I reached for the cloth, pulling it away in one swift motion to reveal soft orange hair, curled into a ball around the stab wound in its belly.
I fell to my knees gasping, ringing in my ears. I took my dagger and with all the speed and agility I possessed I lept for her.
She was ready for me and had me skewered with her own sword before I took my second step.
“Really, is that all?” She tisked, “how disappointing.”
I smiled, took one step, the blade sinking deeper, her eyes growing wider and stuck my dagger through that bitch’s throat. | The profession of marksman always fascinated me. The physics, math, meteorology and chemistry combined into one exciting profession smelling of burnt gunpowder.
And it nearly ended only on fascination.
Health condition excluded me from the army, but not from getting a weapon license and becoming a rather decent long-range shooter. Hobby gave me lots of satisfaction and killed a lot of time, but it's price was slowly but surely running my bank account into depression and me with it. Shooting buddies from the range suggested that I should teach people how to shoot or learn to hunt, but that wasn't really my interest. That's when one of them with some military connection mentioned one big problem associated with military OPFOR training:
"You can't reprogram a grunt to think like a civvie"
And then it hit me: that's a perfect job for a person like me!
To even create such a job position took me down a very long and painful path of lawyer disputes, a couple court cases and huge amounts of indecisiveness from the army itself, but I got where I wanted: if they needed some untrained opposing force baddies, me and my company made up from other civilian gun owners were for hire. Army got their baddies, we got cash for our hobby and some fun, all was well.
Then we hit another gold mine: movie makers. I can't even begin to think how much our makeshift company skyrocketed thanks to domestic movie production and even some bigger content creators on online media platforms.
Creating a live set in the middle of anywhere wasn't easy, but we managed, and after our first live "assassination" attempt requests started flowing in. Fake stabbing sprees, suicidal terrorists and my favorite - sniper assassinations, we have it all.
Among our customers are even politicians and royalty - you know, nothing boosts votes like fake killing attempt's. We sometimes help to cope with trauma and phobias, but those jobs are rather risky, even with full psychological evaluation and monitoring, so we seldom take them - simply because one step too far would probably kill the market we created. Fake bullet can be as deadly as the real one, but fortunately all our "targets" got to see another day.
Everytime we sit down to orchestrate another "killing" it dawns on me how ironic my position is in life: people pay me to make mistakes.
And I love it. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | As I walked toward the main hall, I wondered what royal family member was paranoid this time.
My job is to “fail” an assassination whenever someone in the royal family becomes paranoid that someone is about to kill them. It’s not the best job I could get, but the protection by the guards and payout are great. My usual method was throwing a dagger away from them, but I also sometimes shoot an arrow exactly 30 degrees away from them.
“You wished to see me, sir?” I whispered as I entered the main hall and walked up to the king. He always arranged these, but they were to be kept secret from the rest of the family
“Ah, yes. The princess is paranoid about a possible assassination attempt this Saturday while she walks in the garden. I think it’s a ridiculous fear since the garden is hard to gain access to, but she can be scared of whatever she wants.”
“Would you like me to use daggers or arrows?”
“I would prefer for you to use arrows, but I’m no person to tell you how to do your job. After all, it is you who is the fake assassin.” he chuckled
“Will do, sir”
There I was, perched on the stone wall by the garden with my dagger, waiting for the princess to walk by on Saturday at noon, her normal time for walking in the garden. I had all of the habits and movements of the royal family memorized, even the prince’s tic going toward his left shoulder.
I heard her footsteps on the cobblestone path. Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I aimed my dagger and threw it, gliding right before her nose.
“Take that, assassin! I survived your attempt to kill me!” she shouted into the sky
I walked back to the main hall, and met up with the king.
“How did it go?” he asked
“I missed and she shouted at the sky that the assassin missed. She seems happy to have survived her assassination attempt.”
“Thank you.” he said as he handed me a leather pouch before walking away. I opened it and saw over 900 shillings. I hid them in my money stash in my room upstairs and continued walking around the halls, waiting for my next job. | The profession of marksman always fascinated me. The physics, math, meteorology and chemistry combined into one exciting profession smelling of burnt gunpowder.
And it nearly ended only on fascination.
Health condition excluded me from the army, but not from getting a weapon license and becoming a rather decent long-range shooter. Hobby gave me lots of satisfaction and killed a lot of time, but it's price was slowly but surely running my bank account into depression and me with it. Shooting buddies from the range suggested that I should teach people how to shoot or learn to hunt, but that wasn't really my interest. That's when one of them with some military connection mentioned one big problem associated with military OPFOR training:
"You can't reprogram a grunt to think like a civvie"
And then it hit me: that's a perfect job for a person like me!
To even create such a job position took me down a very long and painful path of lawyer disputes, a couple court cases and huge amounts of indecisiveness from the army itself, but I got where I wanted: if they needed some untrained opposing force baddies, me and my company made up from other civilian gun owners were for hire. Army got their baddies, we got cash for our hobby and some fun, all was well.
Then we hit another gold mine: movie makers. I can't even begin to think how much our makeshift company skyrocketed thanks to domestic movie production and even some bigger content creators on online media platforms.
Creating a live set in the middle of anywhere wasn't easy, but we managed, and after our first live "assassination" attempt requests started flowing in. Fake stabbing sprees, suicidal terrorists and my favorite - sniper assassinations, we have it all.
Among our customers are even politicians and royalty - you know, nothing boosts votes like fake killing attempt's. We sometimes help to cope with trauma and phobias, but those jobs are rather risky, even with full psychological evaluation and monitoring, so we seldom take them - simply because one step too far would probably kill the market we created. Fake bullet can be as deadly as the real one, but fortunately all our "targets" got to see another day.
Everytime we sit down to orchestrate another "killing" it dawns on me how ironic my position is in life: people pay me to make mistakes.
And I love it. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | As I walked toward the main hall, I wondered what royal family member was paranoid this time.
My job is to “fail” an assassination whenever someone in the royal family becomes paranoid that someone is about to kill them. It’s not the best job I could get, but the protection by the guards and payout are great. My usual method was throwing a dagger away from them, but I also sometimes shoot an arrow exactly 30 degrees away from them.
“You wished to see me, sir?” I whispered as I entered the main hall and walked up to the king. He always arranged these, but they were to be kept secret from the rest of the family
“Ah, yes. The princess is paranoid about a possible assassination attempt this Saturday while she walks in the garden. I think it’s a ridiculous fear since the garden is hard to gain access to, but she can be scared of whatever she wants.”
“Would you like me to use daggers or arrows?”
“I would prefer for you to use arrows, but I’m no person to tell you how to do your job. After all, it is you who is the fake assassin.” he chuckled
“Will do, sir”
There I was, perched on the stone wall by the garden with my dagger, waiting for the princess to walk by on Saturday at noon, her normal time for walking in the garden. I had all of the habits and movements of the royal family memorized, even the prince’s tic going toward his left shoulder.
I heard her footsteps on the cobblestone path. Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I aimed my dagger and threw it, gliding right before her nose.
“Take that, assassin! I survived your attempt to kill me!” she shouted into the sky
I walked back to the main hall, and met up with the king.
“How did it go?” he asked
“I missed and she shouted at the sky that the assassin missed. She seems happy to have survived her assassination attempt.”
“Thank you.” he said as he handed me a leather pouch before walking away. I opened it and saw over 900 shillings. I hid them in my money stash in my room upstairs and continued walking around the halls, waiting for my next job. | This is it. This is the night. Breathe in... breathe out. Can't screw this up.
I check my checklist one more time.
\-Come in through the stained-glass window in the back of the west wing, which will be "accidentally" left unlocked.
\-Walk to the right, three doors down, until I find the master chamber. There will be a spare key for me to find.
\-Threaten to take the King's life, then and there. Give some fake monologue about my hatred of the kingdom.
\-When I give the signal by yelling "Nobody can save you now", the palace defense captain "apprehends" me, saving the king's life.
\-The royal guard gets a massive financial blessing for "saving the king's life", and I get a cut from the captain.
**I can't even begin to process how despicable what I'm about to do is. But morals are not the qualities of the rich and powerful. If you want to succeed, you must be willing to reach your goal by any means necessary.**
*Any.*
*Means.*
*Necessary.*
I check my bag for what feels like the thousandth time. Everything is here. No backing down now.
Silently as a ghost, I come out of my hiding behind the shrubbery and work my way towards the window. If the sound of a heart beating were any louder, I'd probably alert the whole castle of my presence. I gently reach up and pull on the beautifully dyed window, which effortlessly glides open. Perfect.
The sill isn't too high off the ground, so I pull myself in with relative ease. Obviously, a guard sees my entry. After all, why shouldn't the king's corridors have the highest defenses? I nod to him, and he nods back. Considering that the captain told the entire royal guard, I'm surprised nobody defected against the plan. So much for loyal and honorable servicemen, I suppose.
Suddenly, I hear the sound of footsteps much unlike the sounds of the guards' armored boots. In a blink, I become a shadow behind a cabinet of fine ceramic art. The only room down from here is the princess' room, and the queen is out of town for business. So at least I know who to expect. I can hear the clamoring steps of the one that "greeted" me rounding the corner and leaving the hall. Perfect again.
And now, my heart stops as the princess passes by my place of hiding. I can't take any chances as my time to act arrives...
...
...
...
With the princess taken care of, I move quickly to the King's chamber. I need to wrap this up as quickly as humanly possible. I slide open a drawer that reveals a golden key, which of course, allows me to open the door and enter the room where I can complete my task. The sleeping, unsuspecting king lies underneath my intense gaze.
The edges of my vision turn into a confusing blur. The blood drains from my hands and courses through my heart unlike ever before as I reach into my bag and pull out the knife I was given to hold to the king. To frighten him unlike he's ever experienced. What horrible lengths that I'm about to go to just for the riches that come with it.
I turn the knife in my hand. From the moment I accepted the offer extended to me, I knew I would not follow through on the captain's plan. The time has come to bring my commission to fruition...
...
...
...
Swiftly as a powerful river, I leap out of the window that I entered through. I can't believe how I've left my last speck of humanity behind and embraced the cold, heartless monster that has encompassed and consumed my spirit. I can hear screaming and wailing coming from the king's chamber as I leap on my waiting steed, fleeing the scene and vanishing into the darkness. "The king is dead! The king is dead!" voices call out, ringing again and again in my mind. With a trembling, blood-stained hand, I solemnly slide the king's necklace into my bag as a token of proof to give to my commissioner.
**I can't even begin to process how despicable what I've done is. But morals are not the qualities of the rich and powerful. If you want to succeed, you must be willing to reach your goal by any means necessary.**
*Any.*
*Means.*
*Necessary.* | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | As I walked toward the main hall, I wondered what royal family member was paranoid this time.
My job is to “fail” an assassination whenever someone in the royal family becomes paranoid that someone is about to kill them. It’s not the best job I could get, but the protection by the guards and payout are great. My usual method was throwing a dagger away from them, but I also sometimes shoot an arrow exactly 30 degrees away from them.
“You wished to see me, sir?” I whispered as I entered the main hall and walked up to the king. He always arranged these, but they were to be kept secret from the rest of the family
“Ah, yes. The princess is paranoid about a possible assassination attempt this Saturday while she walks in the garden. I think it’s a ridiculous fear since the garden is hard to gain access to, but she can be scared of whatever she wants.”
“Would you like me to use daggers or arrows?”
“I would prefer for you to use arrows, but I’m no person to tell you how to do your job. After all, it is you who is the fake assassin.” he chuckled
“Will do, sir”
There I was, perched on the stone wall by the garden with my dagger, waiting for the princess to walk by on Saturday at noon, her normal time for walking in the garden. I had all of the habits and movements of the royal family memorized, even the prince’s tic going toward his left shoulder.
I heard her footsteps on the cobblestone path. Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I aimed my dagger and threw it, gliding right before her nose.
“Take that, assassin! I survived your attempt to kill me!” she shouted into the sky
I walked back to the main hall, and met up with the king.
“How did it go?” he asked
“I missed and she shouted at the sky that the assassin missed. She seems happy to have survived her assassination attempt.”
“Thank you.” he said as he handed me a leather pouch before walking away. I opened it and saw over 900 shillings. I hid them in my money stash in my room upstairs and continued walking around the halls, waiting for my next job. | "You ever been to one of these dos before lad?" Garret asked looking over to the younger man standing next to him leaning on a spear.
"No, but it can't be that hard right? It's just a fancy dinner." Avery responded scratching his cheek un-concernedly.
"No lad it's far worse than that. It is a fancy dinner full of rich people that want to kill each other."
"So what? I'm from Gutter Row, I'm used to people gettin' killed" Avery said, raising an eyebrow.
"Nah you don't understand boy, these aren't just regular folk trying to kill each other. When a peasant wants you dead he just walks up and buries an axe in yer head. But, when a rich person wants ya dead they hire assassins and catspaws, they poison your drink or smother you in your sleep. This whole evening every one of them will be playing games of cat and mouse. You can bet that every person at the table will have paid off the chefs to poison the food and wine. Not a one of them will eat a bite the whole evening, you watch. They'll talk circles around each other, set up pretenses, hide food in their napkins and not a one of them will eat at all. They'll all be in armor too of course, since you can bet there will be snipers in the galleries."
Both men stood at attention as the courtier approached with a couple a step behind him. The man was dressed in a velvet jacket trimmed in lace he had a ridiculous ruff around his neck and a neatly trimmed goatee under a powdered wig that came to his shoulders. His wife, a rather plump woman in her 40's was squeezed into a floor length dress that shimmered in the torch light with a metallic silvery color. A matching silver collar beset with intricate engravings and jewel work completed the look.
"The Duke of Brekkenridge and his lady wife!" The courtier announced as Avery and Garret opened the doors for them.
After the Duke and his wife had found their seats and the courtier had departed, Garret turned to Avery with a wry smile.
"See? Told you they'd be in armor." He chuckled
"I didn't see any." Avery said, confused.
"When you've been at the palace as long as I have you learn to notice their tricks. Brekkenridge's a big man but he never had a barrel chest like that. He's wearin' a breastplate under his clothes or I'm mighty mistook. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a helmet under that wig neither."
"Blimey!" Avery said in disbelief, "You sure?"
"Oh aye! And his wife is mighty protected too. That weren't no ordinary dress! That was mithril thread that was! I heard the dwarves make it up north somewhere. It wears like silk but is stronger than steel. Ain't arrow or blade getting through that. That necklace she had on was carved with skaldic runes too, to protect against magical attacks."
"Caw" Avery said shaking his head in disbelief, "Bloody hell, they means business that's for sure!"
"Aye lad, they all want the king and the other lords gone, then they can rule see? But just you remember, it don't make a lick of diffference to you or me. If these rich folk want to kill each other that ain't any of our concern."
"We're the palace guard." Avery chidded "Shouldn't we... I don't know... DO something about it?"
"Nah. Makes no difference to folk like us who sits in the throne, one's just as bad as the other, says I. Don't go getting involved in politics."
The courtier approached with three more guests. There was a portly looking older man with a padded jacket with fine embroidery on it in silver thread, a high ermine cap, and flowing robes that obscured his legs. A slender girl of barely 16, stood next to him looking like she would rather be anywhere else. She was wearing a blue silk dress and had a gold pendant around her neck and when she walked the air around her shimmered ever so slightly. The third person was a man in a black dublet, black hoes and had his black hair pulled into a long glossy pony tail. He was so obviously a shady character that Avery marveled that he'd even been let in.
"Lord and Lady Eastwick and their nephew Bronn!" The courtier announced
"Nephew my eye!" Avery muttered to Garret under his breath. "If he's and assassin or I'm a lizard."
"Of course he his." Garret replied rolling his eyes, "But don't worry, he'll not get very far. Everyone here has their own assassins and counter assassins and body guards and mages and so on. It's all just for show. No one ever dies here."
"How's that then?"
"Well, they're all protected ain't they? And besides you can't bump off someone at the ball itself. Too many witnesses. Everyone is trying to kill everyone else and everyone knows it, but they can't be tied to the crime, see? So they'll try to sabotage the food and carriages and so on and kill them off outside the palace. There's deaths every year, but no one has ever died during the ball so far as I know, and I've been a guard for near on to 20 years. If you want to keep breathing just keep yer head down and yer mouth shut, and don't let on about it. They all think they're being terribly clever and that we don't know what they're up to, and they'll kill a guard like you an me without a second thought, so just tow the line and for goodness sake don't eat any of the food." | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | As I walked toward the main hall, I wondered what royal family member was paranoid this time.
My job is to “fail” an assassination whenever someone in the royal family becomes paranoid that someone is about to kill them. It’s not the best job I could get, but the protection by the guards and payout are great. My usual method was throwing a dagger away from them, but I also sometimes shoot an arrow exactly 30 degrees away from them.
“You wished to see me, sir?” I whispered as I entered the main hall and walked up to the king. He always arranged these, but they were to be kept secret from the rest of the family
“Ah, yes. The princess is paranoid about a possible assassination attempt this Saturday while she walks in the garden. I think it’s a ridiculous fear since the garden is hard to gain access to, but she can be scared of whatever she wants.”
“Would you like me to use daggers or arrows?”
“I would prefer for you to use arrows, but I’m no person to tell you how to do your job. After all, it is you who is the fake assassin.” he chuckled
“Will do, sir”
There I was, perched on the stone wall by the garden with my dagger, waiting for the princess to walk by on Saturday at noon, her normal time for walking in the garden. I had all of the habits and movements of the royal family memorized, even the prince’s tic going toward his left shoulder.
I heard her footsteps on the cobblestone path. Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet away. I aimed my dagger and threw it, gliding right before her nose.
“Take that, assassin! I survived your attempt to kill me!” she shouted into the sky
I walked back to the main hall, and met up with the king.
“How did it go?” he asked
“I missed and she shouted at the sky that the assassin missed. She seems happy to have survived her assassination attempt.”
“Thank you.” he said as he handed me a leather pouch before walking away. I opened it and saw over 900 shillings. I hid them in my money stash in my room upstairs and continued walking around the halls, waiting for my next job. | Once, just this once Harold wanted to kill his employer. He knew it wasn’t the job, knew he was there to fail, to help them sleep better at night but this one truly deserved to die.
Out of all the ruthless war lords, dictators, tyrants, he has had the pleasure of working for this one actually scared him. They were usually at their end anyway, mad from paranoia, he knew all he was doing was putting on a show to placate them for a time. He would come in fumbling in the night letting them have the victory and disappear on to the next. But not this one.
She was young, sound, cold and calculating and she had been watching him. She knew exactly what he was and she wanted him to try in earnest to kill her.
She had something the others didn’t. She took something that did not belong to her. She had made this personal. She had leverage. She had his cat and if he didn’t deliver, she would kill Whiskers.
He slipped inside her chamber like a ghost. This was plan E, or was it F? He first tried poison in various forms delivered in various ways, all failed. He tried from a distance, crossbow, arrow, spear, knife, ax, even a fucking anvil and she slipped, dodged, and even laughed at them all. So now it was down to scaling a 50 foot cliff, ducking 14 guards, slipping into her windowless room with only one solidly locked door and slitting her throat. Easy.
Yet he had managed it, he was here, standing above her sleeping form in the pitch black, knife poised. He said a silent prayer for Whiskers and plunged his knife into the soft yielding flesh of…
A match strike made him whirl around, the light illuminated cold eyes.
“I really thought you were much better at this.” She said in a board drawl, “I grow tired of this game.”
“Where’s Whiskers?” I demanded readying my stance to lunge at her.
“Oh he’s right here.” She smiled pointing to the bed.
No, no no no, oh please God no. I turned the faint light flickering across the slowly growing pool of crimson beneath the sheets, my hand shook as I reached for the cloth, pulling it away in one swift motion to reveal soft orange hair, curled into a ball around the stab wound in its belly.
I fell to my knees gasping, ringing in my ears. I took my dagger and with all the speed and agility I possessed I lept for her.
She was ready for me and had me skewered with her own sword before I took my second step.
“Really, is that all?” She tisked, “how disappointing.”
I smiled, took one step, the blade sinking deeper, her eyes growing wider and stuck my dagger through that bitch’s throat. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | Smoothly sliding off your bird, you landed on top of the palace roof.
You were hired by the palace butler, a surprisingly caring man. The pay was good, and he provided you cookies every time you came by to plot your play.
You grinned. Anything for the king, after all.
Fastening a rope to a stone gargoyle's beak, you listened for movement. Then, you let yourself slowly slide down the rope, using your feet as support as to not get flung around by the wind too much.
The lanterns down at the bridge were burning brightly, and you quickly lit a torch to let them know it was you. They waved their lanterns at you, signaling that they acknowledged you. Breathing a sigh of relief, you continued to lower yourself to the window of the king's quarters.
You were no assassin, that was for sure. You were a common entertainer with a proficiency in stealth. Or at least you used to be. Now, you were hired by nobles' households to make them feel saver. Your existence was common knowledge between the staff of all those households, even if the higher-ups knew nothing of you.
You waited for the signal. In a while, a guard would be hanging a flag out the window next to the bedroom. If it was a white flag, you were good to go. If the flag was red, you'd have to wait half an hour. And if it was black...
That would be a subject for another time.
And before you could even begin to think about the consequences of a black flag, a white flag was held out on a pole. The guards were in position.
You kicked open the window, awakening the sleeping monarch.
"My god! Who are you!?"
Your face was covered and you drew two knives from their sheaths, with dramatic effect.
"Your rule... HAS COME TO AN END!"
"No! Guards!"
The king shuffled away from you as you stalked towards him. The moonlight from behind you cast a large shadow over him, making him appear smaller as he shivered in the corner of his room.
"Your guards are of no use! Do you believe me to be *dumb*!?"
Panic overtook the man, who covered his head. And as if on cue, which it was, three guards stormed inside. You froze in your spot.
"*What!?* Impossible! You are all *dead!*"
The very alive guards, with wounds painted on their bodies, got into formation. One stood in front of the king, while the other two came closer to you.
"This is not over! I will return!"
You ran to the window, but the smaller guard charged at you and tackled you to the floor. She bent your arms behind your back, earning a loud yelp of pain from you.
"My lord! Are you alright? Were you hurt!?"
The other two guards helped the king up, who carefully came closer. You snarled at him, scaring him back and making the guards stifle a giggle.
"To- to the dungeons with them! No, take them away and execute them immediately! I can not *believe* that it would happen so soon!"
"So soon, my lord?"
He knew what the king was talking about, but feigned ignorance. The guard keeping you in check started pulling you up.
"I knew I'd get assassinated... Luckily I was saved!"
"Yes, my lord. The guard force will always stand behind you. At your command, sir!"
Your guard started dragging you out the room. With a last burst of your acting skills, you held your ground and turned around.
"I will not stand for this! How *dare* you!"
The guards exit, while you keep screeching words such as "how dare you" and the like. Only when you are out of earshot, they let you go.
You all share some high-fives.
"Excellent acting. Well done." | "Good day, your exilence" I was trembling a bit. Me and my friend were tasked with "assassinating" the king. My job, distract him. My friend had hidden a empty gun. The guards on duty were in on it. "Good morrow, my...commoner friends." The king said, disgusted. "Please excuse our small intrusion." My friend said. "We have heard many things about the assassination attempts on your life. We are here to help calm your nerves." He was also trembling. Just as much, if not more nervous than me. We both get up from bowing to him. We walk to the table and he starts eating. We start eating to and my friend pulls the gun under the table.
"Why are the both of you nervous?" The king asked, suspiciously. "We just have never been in the presence of royalty." I said, trembling even more. *click* "W-What was that?" The king asked tentatively. Me and my friend booked it out of there. We then get tackled and knocked out. After we wake up, we get paid for helping. Afterwards, the plan backfired.The king stepped down and his son took his spot. The king would die 3 years later. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | You know how some claim that happy cattle taste better than unhappy cattle? Well, that's because they're lulled into a false sense of safety. A lack of concern, and then ***blam***, they've got a bullet through their head anyways.
That's basically me. I'm the false sense of safety, the cushy blanket wrapped around a terrified child, the comfort food that helps you forget about the asshole who dumped you. I am the one who fails to kill you so that you think you're all good and safe before the real assassin shows up and finishes the job.
Personally, I see myself as a producer. When I was a kid, I wanted to go into producing movies. You should see the tapes we've got saved from the old video camera, they're great; even with all the ropes, fishing line, and really poorly made sets, you could tell that this kid *wanted* the audience to believe. However, I hate studying, so I dropped out of high school, made my way through amateur theater, and eventually landed a gig with a small indie movie company. I did alright.
Then, one day, someone suggested that I should bring my skills into what they called "action-pranking" and, before I knew it, I had hired five people to go along with my ruse. A waiter, two dudes with an ambulance, one cop, and a clumsy, obnoxious twit. Genuinely, that's the kind of person he was. Still is, unless he got on the wrong person's nerves.
I met up with this "prank target," had drinks, then... you know, the events continued according to plan. We all pretended that I was supposed to poison him, the annoying dude stole his drink and chugged it, pretended to die, got hauled off by the ambulance personnel, and the cop arrested me. The waiter genuinely works there but an extra $50 for giving me the table I wanted made them count as a hire.
Aaaaaaand two days later, the dude was on the front pages because he actually got assassinated. Turns out that was the point of my "action-prank," to lull targets into a false sense of securtiy. It's not much, and it's definitely not honest work, but I do it well enough. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. Right? | "Good day, your exilence" I was trembling a bit. Me and my friend were tasked with "assassinating" the king. My job, distract him. My friend had hidden a empty gun. The guards on duty were in on it. "Good morrow, my...commoner friends." The king said, disgusted. "Please excuse our small intrusion." My friend said. "We have heard many things about the assassination attempts on your life. We are here to help calm your nerves." He was also trembling. Just as much, if not more nervous than me. We both get up from bowing to him. We walk to the table and he starts eating. We start eating to and my friend pulls the gun under the table.
"Why are the both of you nervous?" The king asked, suspiciously. "We just have never been in the presence of royalty." I said, trembling even more. *click* "W-What was that?" The king asked tentatively. Me and my friend booked it out of there. We then get tackled and knocked out. After we wake up, we get paid for helping. Afterwards, the plan backfired.The king stepped down and his son took his spot. The king would die 3 years later. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The room was dark. The breeze gently wafted trough an open window. An oiled blade slid silently through the form on the bed. A match flared from the far side of the room.
"Jolly good thrust, there," the white-haired man with the match commented. He reached for a candle. "If that pillow were a person they'd be stone dead already," he said as he lit it.
"Talon." The cloaked figure with the sword nodded a greeting.
"You have the advantage of me, sir. Who am I addressing?"
The figure withdrew their sword from the lump of linens and shrugged. "It doesn't really matter."
Talon shook his head and set his candle on the dresser. "The names always matter, young pup. Any good assassin knows this."
"Not to the dying," the intruder sneered.
"Especially to the dying," Talon murmured. "But no matter. Why are you here? And before you try and play it cool with something like 'isn't it obvious?' I want to specify that I mean your motivations."
The intruder seemed a trifle disappointed, but shrugged and said: "You're slipping. You are called the Talon of the Hawk, precise, swift, invariably lethal. But for last two years, not one of your targets has been killed! Your arrows fail to make their mark, your poisons sicken without killing, your daggers make only the lightest of flesh wounds!" He raised his rapier in a mock salute. "You're worn out, old-timer. And what better way for a 'young pup' to make their name?"
Talon harrumphed as he rooted around in a drawer. "It *is* traditional. I've never much cared for the practice, though I admit to being somewhat biased in the present case." He withdrew a dark bottle and two glasses. "Brandy? It's my special reserve."
"You must be joking."
"Seems only appropriate, given the circumstances. Consider it an old man's last request, if you must." He set the bottle and glasses on a tray and held them out. "Here, you can pour if you like." He glared and waggled a finger. "But no funny business!"
The intruder actually laughed. "What the hell," he said, and sheathed his blade. He inspected the glasses, lid and bottle carefully, then poured two measures. He passed one back on the tray, lifted the other. "A toast?"
Talon raised his glass as well. "To the Profession." They touched glasses and drank, though the intruder waited until Talon had already swallowed. The potent liquid brought tears to his eyes, but he waited until he was sure he tasted no poison before he swallowed. "Damn fine stuff!"
"Indeed. Braces you up on a cool night like this," Talon said. "Now I don't suppose you'd let me explain? For you see, there are two reasons my work has appeared so slipshod of late.
"You see, I had a bit of an epiphany some time back. We're paid by lords to kill lords. Not a very sustainable business model there. If we're too efficient we'll deplete our clientele. Combine that with an aging man's newfound respect for the sanctity of life, and I determined to be the Profession's first non-lethal assassin." He made a small bow. "After all, how many problems can be better solved with a close call? Put the fear of the Almighty in them, put them back into line, you see? Let them know that their position, their very lives, hang in the balance. Much better to try and correct the old than gamble on an unknown successor."
"You mock our very code!" The intruder stepped back, aghast. "You really are going senile. I'm reassured of my choice."
"Now now, we aren't certain you're going to kill me," Talon chuckled. "You may yet be overcome by conscience."
The intruder shook his head. "It wouldn't matter." He held up a gloved finger. "I dipped this first into a pouch of Kinnithea powder, then into your drink as we toasted. Utterly flavorless, perfectly fatal."
"I thought I detected a certain absence of flavor," Talon grinned. "Not a bad trick, that! Alas, I take Kinnithea powder with my morning tea, you'll have to find something a bit more potent than that."
"Pompous old fool! Fine, back to the original plan it is!" The cloaked man went for his sword. As he drew it, it slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floorboards. He reached for it, then slumped and fell. "What is this?"
"Ah, an attack of conscience, as I predicted." Talon nodded sagely. "Either that or it's the two fingers of belladonna brandy you ingested."
Total silence held the room for a breath. "What did you say?"
"My private reserve! A taste I spent many years acquiring. It will probably not prove fatal, even though you haven't developed a tolerance, but you will be having some remarkably unpleasant dreams very soon. Now, while you're still conscious, let me tell you the other reason I stopped the killing: I got bored.
"These lords are such easy picking! They dress so finely and parade about like archery butts on holiday! After another too-simple job, the thought struck me: which is more challenging, really? Lodging a throwing knife in some peacock of a noble's chest, or trimming off his boutonniere with it? Sticking some watery eye with an arrow, or removing someone's precious earring with it? It takes an awful lot of skill to fail an assassination so precisely."
Talon looked into his intruder's widening eyes. "You should respect your elders, pup. Especially when they've grown old in this line of work." He went to the door. "I'll leave you the room for the night. I sleep very little as it is, and I could use a glass of milk to chase the brandy. I hope I will not see you here when I return tonight.
"Pleasant dreams." | "Good day, your exilence" I was trembling a bit. Me and my friend were tasked with "assassinating" the king. My job, distract him. My friend had hidden a empty gun. The guards on duty were in on it. "Good morrow, my...commoner friends." The king said, disgusted. "Please excuse our small intrusion." My friend said. "We have heard many things about the assassination attempts on your life. We are here to help calm your nerves." He was also trembling. Just as much, if not more nervous than me. We both get up from bowing to him. We walk to the table and he starts eating. We start eating to and my friend pulls the gun under the table.
"Why are the both of you nervous?" The king asked, suspiciously. "We just have never been in the presence of royalty." I said, trembling even more. *click* "W-What was that?" The king asked tentatively. Me and my friend booked it out of there. We then get tackled and knocked out. After we wake up, we get paid for helping. Afterwards, the plan backfired.The king stepped down and his son took his spot. The king would die 3 years later. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | There are so many ways to botch an assassination.
Your gun can malfunction. You can lose a fistfight. And, if you’re unlucky enough, you might even trip on the edge of a carpet and defenestrate yourself.
Still feel bad for that guy.
It’s much harder to complete one successfully, isn’t it? With every plot, every plan, there are so many intricacies and potential problems to consider, that when you finally figure it all out, it seems an insurmountable task. And with some targets, it kind of is.
Think about it: a plethora of guards and guard dogs, a multitude of civilian witnesses, and high-tech devices all throughout.
I consider myself lucky to have gotten away with three of them before I quit. Became too dangerous, and now I work solely on the botching part, the art of catastrophe sans success.
Or, in other words, I fail assassinations. It’s much simpler, yet it still pays a decent amount. Maybe a tad less thrilling, but not nearly as stressful.
In a way, I like to think of myself as a force of good. I help people get over their fears, their paranoia, giving them reasons to save money by cutting half of their security staff because I blundered into their very first guard.
They get to live life freely. Let their guard down and relax in the comfort of serenity, finally enjoying however much time they have left.
Sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like to live that way. Loose from life's stressors. Unrestrained.
But other times, I don't need to wonder.
After all, I'm not the one who’ll kill them.
---
Thank you so much for reading! I've been a bit busy lately, so this is a rather short and hurried piece, but feedback is both welcome and appreciated nonetheless!
r/TenFortySevenStories | "Good day, your exilence" I was trembling a bit. Me and my friend were tasked with "assassinating" the king. My job, distract him. My friend had hidden a empty gun. The guards on duty were in on it. "Good morrow, my...commoner friends." The king said, disgusted. "Please excuse our small intrusion." My friend said. "We have heard many things about the assassination attempts on your life. We are here to help calm your nerves." He was also trembling. Just as much, if not more nervous than me. We both get up from bowing to him. We walk to the table and he starts eating. We start eating to and my friend pulls the gun under the table.
"Why are the both of you nervous?" The king asked, suspiciously. "We just have never been in the presence of royalty." I said, trembling even more. *click* "W-What was that?" The king asked tentatively. Me and my friend booked it out of there. We then get tackled and knocked out. After we wake up, we get paid for helping. Afterwards, the plan backfired.The king stepped down and his son took his spot. The king would die 3 years later. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The room was dark. The breeze gently wafted trough an open window. An oiled blade slid silently through the form on the bed. A match flared from the far side of the room.
"Jolly good thrust, there," the white-haired man with the match commented. He reached for a candle. "If that pillow were a person they'd be stone dead already," he said as he lit it.
"Talon." The cloaked figure with the sword nodded a greeting.
"You have the advantage of me, sir. Who am I addressing?"
The figure withdrew their sword from the lump of linens and shrugged. "It doesn't really matter."
Talon shook his head and set his candle on the dresser. "The names always matter, young pup. Any good assassin knows this."
"Not to the dying," the intruder sneered.
"Especially to the dying," Talon murmured. "But no matter. Why are you here? And before you try and play it cool with something like 'isn't it obvious?' I want to specify that I mean your motivations."
The intruder seemed a trifle disappointed, but shrugged and said: "You're slipping. You are called the Talon of the Hawk, precise, swift, invariably lethal. But for last two years, not one of your targets has been killed! Your arrows fail to make their mark, your poisons sicken without killing, your daggers make only the lightest of flesh wounds!" He raised his rapier in a mock salute. "You're worn out, old-timer. And what better way for a 'young pup' to make their name?"
Talon harrumphed as he rooted around in a drawer. "It *is* traditional. I've never much cared for the practice, though I admit to being somewhat biased in the present case." He withdrew a dark bottle and two glasses. "Brandy? It's my special reserve."
"You must be joking."
"Seems only appropriate, given the circumstances. Consider it an old man's last request, if you must." He set the bottle and glasses on a tray and held them out. "Here, you can pour if you like." He glared and waggled a finger. "But no funny business!"
The intruder actually laughed. "What the hell," he said, and sheathed his blade. He inspected the glasses, lid and bottle carefully, then poured two measures. He passed one back on the tray, lifted the other. "A toast?"
Talon raised his glass as well. "To the Profession." They touched glasses and drank, though the intruder waited until Talon had already swallowed. The potent liquid brought tears to his eyes, but he waited until he was sure he tasted no poison before he swallowed. "Damn fine stuff!"
"Indeed. Braces you up on a cool night like this," Talon said. "Now I don't suppose you'd let me explain? For you see, there are two reasons my work has appeared so slipshod of late.
"You see, I had a bit of an epiphany some time back. We're paid by lords to kill lords. Not a very sustainable business model there. If we're too efficient we'll deplete our clientele. Combine that with an aging man's newfound respect for the sanctity of life, and I determined to be the Profession's first non-lethal assassin." He made a small bow. "After all, how many problems can be better solved with a close call? Put the fear of the Almighty in them, put them back into line, you see? Let them know that their position, their very lives, hang in the balance. Much better to try and correct the old than gamble on an unknown successor."
"You mock our very code!" The intruder stepped back, aghast. "You really are going senile. I'm reassured of my choice."
"Now now, we aren't certain you're going to kill me," Talon chuckled. "You may yet be overcome by conscience."
The intruder shook his head. "It wouldn't matter." He held up a gloved finger. "I dipped this first into a pouch of Kinnithea powder, then into your drink as we toasted. Utterly flavorless, perfectly fatal."
"I thought I detected a certain absence of flavor," Talon grinned. "Not a bad trick, that! Alas, I take Kinnithea powder with my morning tea, you'll have to find something a bit more potent than that."
"Pompous old fool! Fine, back to the original plan it is!" The cloaked man went for his sword. As he drew it, it slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floorboards. He reached for it, then slumped and fell. "What is this?"
"Ah, an attack of conscience, as I predicted." Talon nodded sagely. "Either that or it's the two fingers of belladonna brandy you ingested."
Total silence held the room for a breath. "What did you say?"
"My private reserve! A taste I spent many years acquiring. It will probably not prove fatal, even though you haven't developed a tolerance, but you will be having some remarkably unpleasant dreams very soon. Now, while you're still conscious, let me tell you the other reason I stopped the killing: I got bored.
"These lords are such easy picking! They dress so finely and parade about like archery butts on holiday! After another too-simple job, the thought struck me: which is more challenging, really? Lodging a throwing knife in some peacock of a noble's chest, or trimming off his boutonniere with it? Sticking some watery eye with an arrow, or removing someone's precious earring with it? It takes an awful lot of skill to fail an assassination so precisely."
Talon looked into his intruder's widening eyes. "You should respect your elders, pup. Especially when they've grown old in this line of work." He went to the door. "I'll leave you the room for the night. I sleep very little as it is, and I could use a glass of milk to chase the brandy. I hope I will not see you here when I return tonight.
"Pleasant dreams." | You know how some claim that happy cattle taste better than unhappy cattle? Well, that's because they're lulled into a false sense of safety. A lack of concern, and then ***blam***, they've got a bullet through their head anyways.
That's basically me. I'm the false sense of safety, the cushy blanket wrapped around a terrified child, the comfort food that helps you forget about the asshole who dumped you. I am the one who fails to kill you so that you think you're all good and safe before the real assassin shows up and finishes the job.
Personally, I see myself as a producer. When I was a kid, I wanted to go into producing movies. You should see the tapes we've got saved from the old video camera, they're great; even with all the ropes, fishing line, and really poorly made sets, you could tell that this kid *wanted* the audience to believe. However, I hate studying, so I dropped out of high school, made my way through amateur theater, and eventually landed a gig with a small indie movie company. I did alright.
Then, one day, someone suggested that I should bring my skills into what they called "action-pranking" and, before I knew it, I had hired five people to go along with my ruse. A waiter, two dudes with an ambulance, one cop, and a clumsy, obnoxious twit. Genuinely, that's the kind of person he was. Still is, unless he got on the wrong person's nerves.
I met up with this "prank target," had drinks, then... you know, the events continued according to plan. We all pretended that I was supposed to poison him, the annoying dude stole his drink and chugged it, pretended to die, got hauled off by the ambulance personnel, and the cop arrested me. The waiter genuinely works there but an extra $50 for giving me the table I wanted made them count as a hire.
Aaaaaaand two days later, the dude was on the front pages because he actually got assassinated. Turns out that was the point of my "action-prank," to lull targets into a false sense of securtiy. It's not much, and it's definitely not honest work, but I do it well enough. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. Right? | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The walkie talkie was burning a hole through my pocket. It had been too long since the last check-in, and that meant we were running behind. We absolutely couldn't be running behind. I absentmindedly chewed my lip and paced for another minute before I finally lost it. I whipped out the walkie talkie and pretty much shouted, "Status update!"
There was a moment of static and then a rough voice came through, "The final speaker is almost installed. IT is on the scene. Over."
"Shooter is prepped and ready. Over."
"Route is clear. Convoy is on schedule. Over."
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before responding. "Roger that everyone. Next time keep me up to date before I have a heart attack. Over and out."
With a sigh of relief, I returned the walkie talkie to my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was starting to come apart at the edge of the crease because I'd looked at it so many times. It was the Prince's schedule for the day, complete with the exact route he would be taking to get to his cousin's Christening.
My team would be stationed at perfect intervals around Center Square, with the lovely Selene perched in an upper story window, ready to fire the all important shot.
I was situated at home base: the backroom of a little cafe on the far edge of the square. This was Tech Central, and where everyone would meet afterward to celebrate a job well done. Just then a young bespectacled man waltzed in, computer in hand.
"How's everything looking, Jes?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up on his face and looked at me with excited eyes. "We just completed the sound check. Everything is working perfectly."
Praise be. If this job actually went well, we could be on our way to a bright future. I glanced down at my watch and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was 8 a.m. already!
"The cameras! Pull up the cameras!" I demanded.
Jes hurried to comply, and quickly turned his computer around so I could see. The convoy that carried the prince was right on schedule. It was a block away from Center Square. It was show time.
"Convoy inbound, everybody ready?" I asked.
A chorus of 'yes, sirs' came from the walkie talkie, and for the first time today I actually smiled. This was going to work. I watched the screen without so much as a blink as the car rolled steadily closer to the square. When the front wheels rolled onto the cobblestones of the square, it was time to go.
"On my signal..." I said, waiting for the car to reach the marked spot of the road.
"3, 2, 1. Now!"
Simultaneously, Jes hit a button on his computer and Selene took her shot. The BB hit the windshield hard enough to crack it, and the pre-recorded gunshot echoed through the speakers around the square.
The crowd went wild and the Prince's security force jumped into action. They cleared the way for the car to speed through the square, and as they went the sound of more gunshots accompanied them. I watched with glee as the car sped away and disappeared around a corner.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, but boy had it been executed perfectly. Jes had done an admirable job of timing the sound effects, and Selene's shot had been spot on. I emerged from the back room into the cafe, where innocent bystanders were still cowering in fear and confusion.
The team came in one-by-one and joined me at the booth in the corner. I was about to give my customary well-done speech when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and my smile got even bigger when I saw who it was from.
*Royal Advisor Cassian: Prince Paranoid nearly peed himself. Job well done. Your payment will be transferred in the next three business days.*
A job well done indeed.
I turned back to my team and with a satisfied smile asked, "Who's ready for cake?" | I was sipping a chilled coffee at an outdoor cafe when my watch chimed at 1:47 PM. The interface showed a message:
>1 New Task Waiting
The sun was hot and I was eager for work. I accepted with a swipe to the right. By 1:51 a black sedan pulled beside the cafe and sat idle. I knew it was for me - vehicles like this were always for me. Sometimes it was an SUV, other times a limousine. Every time, without fail, it was black with fully tinted windows and no license tag. It always felt cliche, but when I got inside I never cared. Luxury was a term for overpriced handbags and hotel penthouses. These vehicles would make a billionaire think twice about affording the features.
I got in the sedan at 1:52. By 10:13 the next morning, I was back at the cafe, in line for a chilled coffee. The heat was unforgiving, sapping away the fleeting comforts of my overnight endeavors. A markee of the latest headlines blared from an LCD screen across the street, and I watched as the morning’s news rolled in.
**Apple to release details of newest iPhone.**
**Plot against Nebraska governor uncovered. 14 arrested.**
**Famine in Siberia reaches third month. Death toll rising.**
A half a smile snuck across my sweaty face. My watch pinged at 10:18 AM:
>Task Failed Successfully.
I sipped my coffee and watched the traffic roll by, not letting my mind wander to the lives I’d ruined the night before for the sake of one’s sanity. | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | Marcu kicked in the door just as the guard slumped back in a rather convincing act of sudden unconsciousness. He would have to get his name for help in the future. The guy could improv.
"Prince Trove!" Marcu called out into the darkroom as he lifted his bat. "Is there a Prince Trove here?" He raked carefully with his feet to be sure to not break any of the toys strewn throughout the floor. He could hear the boy in bed, breathing quietly. He opened the window for his escape after the job was done.
"I sure hope," Marcu said, swinging his bat around lightly, "that this Prince isn't a Mage. Elsewise I'm going to assassinate him!"
"I knew you were coming!" the Prince yelled all at once. "But, I, well I am a Mage, a Pride Mage!" The young boy stood in his pajamas, hands illuminated in small golden fractal halos. Marcu froze, his face locked in a look of fear and awe.
The shot came from the boy, hitting with the strength of a snowball, as he had expected. Marcu stumbled back, pretending to slip on toys all across the room to the window, where he fell out with an acrobat's twist. He belted out the well-rehearsed yodel of a scream before catching the rope and sliding into the room a couple of floors down. He looked down to ensure the Archmage assistants had laid out the body sprawled below, dressed just like him.
He picked up the bag on the table and nodded to the two guards. "Easiest money I ever made," he said with a smirk, still unbelieving his luck. "say, who's your boy upstairs? the one with the mustache?"
...
"I killed him," the Prince said, looking down the window, "with my magic."
"Of course you did," the aging Archmage said, no the least bit out of breath. "You've been holding out on me. You were so worried about someone coming to kill the first blessed heir to the throne in a hundred years, you forgot how special you are. Imagine how strong you'll be by the end of the year?"
"I guess," the child said, doubt still occluding his so wide mana pathways. "It didn't feel like a strong blast but I was scared so maybe that helped?"
"No. Fear is the mind-killer, little one.," the Archmage said, squatting beside the boy. "You mustn't fear. A pride mage needs but to believe themself a God, and so they shall be. Now show me the strike that took down your first man."
"I was on the bed like this and he said he was gonna kill me and so I just started blasting." The boy mimed the motion with quiet hands.
"Well, blast away," the teacher said patiently, not letting it show how much he wished this shy boy, holding the destiny of a kingdom on his back was any other type of mage.
The boy threw a ball of light he took only a moment to summon, strong enough to slam the window shut, but not break it. That was an improvement at least, so paying the thief hadn't been a waste of time.
"Your power, it's unreal, Prince Trove!" he said with awe. "Now get some sleep and we'll wake up early to train tomorrow."
The walk back to his tower was filled with careful consideration of future ways to boost the boy's confidence and a fine one came indeed. He wrote 'orphanage' on his hand in runic lines before he forgot.
​
/r/surinical | “You see Mr. Richards, had this been an actual assassination attempt, you would be dead right about now, so can I interest you in a life insurance policy? Our insurance is ranked third in the world and offers coverage that our competitors won’t. You think other companies will give you coverage for acts of assassin? Not only will we insure any damage during the assassination, if someone unfortunately kills you, we will hire someone to avenge you. Now what do you say?”
“Gak, Ack, Gak.” Richards made a few pained sounds, reaching for the blade in his throat, trying to pull it out.
“Speechless? It is a great deal. Don’t worry, that’s just a rubber knife with a fake blood pouch inside. So, when you stab someone, the fake blood comes out, genius right?” James retrieved the blade from the target’s throat, only to watch Richards fall to the floor dead, having made a fatal mistake. “I… think I grabbed the wrong knife.”
Crouching beside the body, James pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, only to grow a little pale himself when he felt no response. This was bad, his agency was going to kill him for this. What sort of insurance salesperson murders someone? He was meant to put high pressure targets at ease, not stab their throats. Maybe he could hide the body?
“Boss, you got a phone call, it’s from someone called Never die insurance. They want you to rate their services out of five. They mentioned something about you having a visitor.” The thudding against the door caused James to jump, grabbing the body from the floor, awkwardly shifting it back into the chair.
“J-just a second. He’s passed out.”
“Who the hell are you? I’m coming in. Boss, are you alright?” The voice shouted, the locked door barely able to contain the voice’s heavy collisions with it, the person on the other side trying to break through.
When the body was sitting upright in the chair, James opened his briefcase, tossing aside the pile of paperwork that he wouldn’t need, retrieving the rubber knife from his pocket, slipping it into the wound, trying to conceal it. Just as he was done preparing the body, the door opened, a panting muscular guard charging in, pointing his gun at James.
“You killed him, you bastard, I’ll blow that ugly mug of yours clean off.”
“Ugly? Wait, this is all a mistake. I’m a sales agent, I sell insurance. One of our tactics is to target people who have been searching online phrases like. ‘How to know if someone is trying to kill me’ and ‘Am I being assassinated?’ This is all legally gained through cookies and other data. Mr. Richards is one of those people and as such they sent me to sell him our insurance. It’s all somewhat legal.”
“But you killed him, I can see blood. That doesn’t make any sense.” The man kept his gun on James, watching the sales agent for any sudden movements.
“Rubber knife. It’s a tactic to get people to buy our product. Statistics tell us that using a rubber knife increases sales ten percent.” James turned the body around in the chair, making it face away from the guard as he pulled the rubber knife from it. “See, fake knife with fake blood.” He said as he tossed the blade at the man’s feet.
The guard stepped on it, checking it over. The rubber bending beneath his foot. “So, it’s all some big sales pitch? That’s somewhat impressive. I really should check on him though.”
“You can’t. He’s passed out. I’m certified to perform first aid if something goes wrong. You could endanger his life by interfering. Just come back in an hour when he is better, and we can discuss the contract he will be signing.”
The guard stared at James before sighing. “Fine, that sounds legit, plus the company wouldn’t call me if you killed him. I’ll come back in an hour, just make sure he’s better.”
“Will do.” As soon as the man left, James made his way for the window, pulling it open, before climbing out, not about to escape through the front door. “Guess, its time to look for another job.” He said as he escaped through the mansion’s backyard, tossing his briefcase behind him, getting ready for his life on the run.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | Ms. Melinda Caldwell was the kind of woman that I wanted to bring home to meet my parents, and not because she was richer than god or as pretty as a super model. She was that rich sure, but she looked like the mousy clerk at the grocery store or the bank teller I’d pass by on the way to the pretty one at the next window over.
No, the reason she was that kind of woman wasn’t because of anything so shallow. It was because when she looked at you, really, really looked you, she saw straight you to whoever you were at your core, and she didn’t judge you for it at all. She was the talk of the town, the popular queen of our little, inconsequential state. She ran an orphanage, did fundraisers, bought a zoo just to free the animals.
Frankly, I thought she was a goddamn saint, so when I got the call for her job I was downright excited to do it. Until I read the fine print.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell, it seemed, had a weird side.
“Yeah, so we’re gonna need you to break into Caldwell, Bob.” My handler said that fateful day.
I blinked hard, moving the phone from my ear to look at in shock for a moment. “Seriously?” I asked, “Did someone to try to knock off Ms. Caldwell?”
“Yep.”
“Shit! Boss, you’ve gotta moving on those negotiations with the assassins guild, there needs be a standard or something! I mean, some people just shouldn’t be on the table!”
“Bob,” my handler said, “do we fuckin’ pay you to editorialize?”
“Well no, but like…it’s Ms. Caldwell! Who does that?”
My handler sighed really heavily, the breath distorting in the phone speakers. “Bob, yes or no, can you break into the house?”
“Well yeah, of course I can break into the house, I’d love to help her out, I’m just surprised is all. When do you need it done?”
“How far away are you?”
“Oh shit, that soon? I can be there in about an hour.”
“Make it forty-five, and Bob, I’ve got a few things I need to warn you about.”
“Yeah, shoot.” I said as I hurriedly got ready, turning on speaker phone and grabbing my sketchiest looking black hoodie.
“Ok, so the assassination attempt happened last night and her staff says that Ms. Caldwell was never in any real danger. They also say she’s not handling it well at all. She’s shaking like hell, doesn’t want to leave the house. They described her symptoms to the therapy team and they recommended that she undergo Control Replacement therapy.”
I dropped my fake gun at that. “Control Replacement? For her?”
“Yep. Apparently Ms. Caldwell has some latent issues she needs to work out and we’ve picked you for the job.”
“Why me? I mean…damn ok but why?”
“Because they picked you out of a lineup and said you looked like the meth head version of a guy she used to date.”
“What? Come on boss, I don’t look that bad.”
“The fuck did I say about editorializing? Look Bob, get over there stat, get caught breaking in, and when they hand her whatever the hell they hand her, just lay back and take it. She’s what, five foot flat? A hundred pounds soaking wet? How much damage could she do?”
An hour later, after I’d kicked open the front door, swung my doctored up airsoft gun around, and been tackled to the ground, I found that out.
I’d felt terrible pointing the gun at her. Ms. Caldwell had been cowering on the couch when I’d come in, a pale, wan face poking up out of a stack of covers, and she’d shrieked like hell. I said some pretty rough stuff too, all part of the job normally, but to her? Suffice it to say I’m definitely not the kind of guy she wants to bring home.
There’d been a strange transformation though, in the time after I’d hit the deck and before she got up. Something had come over her, like fear giving way to other even stronger emotion, and she stood, towering over me despite her barely five feet of height.
“Not so tough are you now?” she said. Then she turned, reached beneath the couch, and pulled out an honest to god riding crop.
It was at that point that I realized I’d fucked up taking this job.
“You look like someone I used to know,” she said softly, crouching down and running her fingers down my cheek. “I almost hope you are him, it would his life really went to hell.”
*“OK, fuck you too, wow.”* I want to say but don’t say. It’s strange having her touch me. I try to enjoy it, to remember the feel of her skin against mine for the days when I’m back to only looking at her billboards wistfully.
My eyes keep going back to that riding crop though. She’d had it under the goddamn couch, who keeps a riding crop under their couch?
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Bill,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
I shrug.
The smile that crossed her face then was like nothing I’d ever seen. It made me regret everything thinking she was plain, or consigning to anything so simple as the moniker I had before. She was positively predator now, a leopard barely contained within a heart shaped face.
Then the riding crop fell harder than I’d ever have imagined she could swing it. *Control Replacement is fuckin’ bullshit,* I wanted to scream but did not say.
The crop fell again, and again.
And again, and again.
And I lost track of the strokes soon after.
The night continued on, far beyond the length of my normal contracts, far beyond any reasonable length for what I was getting paid. But somewhere in all those strikes and all that rage she mellowed and her guards let me up. I discovered something then, she swung again, and I didn’t stand.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell was not at all what I’d thought she was, she was far, far more than that. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring her home, but I knew that it wasn’t the last time I would visit this house.
If my boss wanted to drag his feet with the assassination guild, so be it, I wouldn’t drag mine. I had a friend on the other side of guild lines who owed me more than a few favors.
Ms. Caldwell and I would find more reasons to see each other.
r/TurningtoWords | “You see Mr. Richards, had this been an actual assassination attempt, you would be dead right about now, so can I interest you in a life insurance policy? Our insurance is ranked third in the world and offers coverage that our competitors won’t. You think other companies will give you coverage for acts of assassin? Not only will we insure any damage during the assassination, if someone unfortunately kills you, we will hire someone to avenge you. Now what do you say?”
“Gak, Ack, Gak.” Richards made a few pained sounds, reaching for the blade in his throat, trying to pull it out.
“Speechless? It is a great deal. Don’t worry, that’s just a rubber knife with a fake blood pouch inside. So, when you stab someone, the fake blood comes out, genius right?” James retrieved the blade from the target’s throat, only to watch Richards fall to the floor dead, having made a fatal mistake. “I… think I grabbed the wrong knife.”
Crouching beside the body, James pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, only to grow a little pale himself when he felt no response. This was bad, his agency was going to kill him for this. What sort of insurance salesperson murders someone? He was meant to put high pressure targets at ease, not stab their throats. Maybe he could hide the body?
“Boss, you got a phone call, it’s from someone called Never die insurance. They want you to rate their services out of five. They mentioned something about you having a visitor.” The thudding against the door caused James to jump, grabbing the body from the floor, awkwardly shifting it back into the chair.
“J-just a second. He’s passed out.”
“Who the hell are you? I’m coming in. Boss, are you alright?” The voice shouted, the locked door barely able to contain the voice’s heavy collisions with it, the person on the other side trying to break through.
When the body was sitting upright in the chair, James opened his briefcase, tossing aside the pile of paperwork that he wouldn’t need, retrieving the rubber knife from his pocket, slipping it into the wound, trying to conceal it. Just as he was done preparing the body, the door opened, a panting muscular guard charging in, pointing his gun at James.
“You killed him, you bastard, I’ll blow that ugly mug of yours clean off.”
“Ugly? Wait, this is all a mistake. I’m a sales agent, I sell insurance. One of our tactics is to target people who have been searching online phrases like. ‘How to know if someone is trying to kill me’ and ‘Am I being assassinated?’ This is all legally gained through cookies and other data. Mr. Richards is one of those people and as such they sent me to sell him our insurance. It’s all somewhat legal.”
“But you killed him, I can see blood. That doesn’t make any sense.” The man kept his gun on James, watching the sales agent for any sudden movements.
“Rubber knife. It’s a tactic to get people to buy our product. Statistics tell us that using a rubber knife increases sales ten percent.” James turned the body around in the chair, making it face away from the guard as he pulled the rubber knife from it. “See, fake knife with fake blood.” He said as he tossed the blade at the man’s feet.
The guard stepped on it, checking it over. The rubber bending beneath his foot. “So, it’s all some big sales pitch? That’s somewhat impressive. I really should check on him though.”
“You can’t. He’s passed out. I’m certified to perform first aid if something goes wrong. You could endanger his life by interfering. Just come back in an hour when he is better, and we can discuss the contract he will be signing.”
The guard stared at James before sighing. “Fine, that sounds legit, plus the company wouldn’t call me if you killed him. I’ll come back in an hour, just make sure he’s better.”
“Will do.” As soon as the man left, James made his way for the window, pulling it open, before climbing out, not about to escape through the front door. “Guess, its time to look for another job.” He said as he escaped through the mansion’s backyard, tossing his briefcase behind him, getting ready for his life on the run.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The walkie talkie was burning a hole through my pocket. It had been too long since the last check-in, and that meant we were running behind. We absolutely couldn't be running behind. I absentmindedly chewed my lip and paced for another minute before I finally lost it. I whipped out the walkie talkie and pretty much shouted, "Status update!"
There was a moment of static and then a rough voice came through, "The final speaker is almost installed. IT is on the scene. Over."
"Shooter is prepped and ready. Over."
"Route is clear. Convoy is on schedule. Over."
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before responding. "Roger that everyone. Next time keep me up to date before I have a heart attack. Over and out."
With a sigh of relief, I returned the walkie talkie to my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was starting to come apart at the edge of the crease because I'd looked at it so many times. It was the Prince's schedule for the day, complete with the exact route he would be taking to get to his cousin's Christening.
My team would be stationed at perfect intervals around Center Square, with the lovely Selene perched in an upper story window, ready to fire the all important shot.
I was situated at home base: the backroom of a little cafe on the far edge of the square. This was Tech Central, and where everyone would meet afterward to celebrate a job well done. Just then a young bespectacled man waltzed in, computer in hand.
"How's everything looking, Jes?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up on his face and looked at me with excited eyes. "We just completed the sound check. Everything is working perfectly."
Praise be. If this job actually went well, we could be on our way to a bright future. I glanced down at my watch and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was 8 a.m. already!
"The cameras! Pull up the cameras!" I demanded.
Jes hurried to comply, and quickly turned his computer around so I could see. The convoy that carried the prince was right on schedule. It was a block away from Center Square. It was show time.
"Convoy inbound, everybody ready?" I asked.
A chorus of 'yes, sirs' came from the walkie talkie, and for the first time today I actually smiled. This was going to work. I watched the screen without so much as a blink as the car rolled steadily closer to the square. When the front wheels rolled onto the cobblestones of the square, it was time to go.
"On my signal..." I said, waiting for the car to reach the marked spot of the road.
"3, 2, 1. Now!"
Simultaneously, Jes hit a button on his computer and Selene took her shot. The BB hit the windshield hard enough to crack it, and the pre-recorded gunshot echoed through the speakers around the square.
The crowd went wild and the Prince's security force jumped into action. They cleared the way for the car to speed through the square, and as they went the sound of more gunshots accompanied them. I watched with glee as the car sped away and disappeared around a corner.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, but boy had it been executed perfectly. Jes had done an admirable job of timing the sound effects, and Selene's shot had been spot on. I emerged from the back room into the cafe, where innocent bystanders were still cowering in fear and confusion.
The team came in one-by-one and joined me at the booth in the corner. I was about to give my customary well-done speech when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and my smile got even bigger when I saw who it was from.
*Royal Advisor Cassian: Prince Paranoid nearly peed himself. Job well done. Your payment will be transferred in the next three business days.*
A job well done indeed.
I turned back to my team and with a satisfied smile asked, "Who's ready for cake?" | “You see Mr. Richards, had this been an actual assassination attempt, you would be dead right about now, so can I interest you in a life insurance policy? Our insurance is ranked third in the world and offers coverage that our competitors won’t. You think other companies will give you coverage for acts of assassin? Not only will we insure any damage during the assassination, if someone unfortunately kills you, we will hire someone to avenge you. Now what do you say?”
“Gak, Ack, Gak.” Richards made a few pained sounds, reaching for the blade in his throat, trying to pull it out.
“Speechless? It is a great deal. Don’t worry, that’s just a rubber knife with a fake blood pouch inside. So, when you stab someone, the fake blood comes out, genius right?” James retrieved the blade from the target’s throat, only to watch Richards fall to the floor dead, having made a fatal mistake. “I… think I grabbed the wrong knife.”
Crouching beside the body, James pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, only to grow a little pale himself when he felt no response. This was bad, his agency was going to kill him for this. What sort of insurance salesperson murders someone? He was meant to put high pressure targets at ease, not stab their throats. Maybe he could hide the body?
“Boss, you got a phone call, it’s from someone called Never die insurance. They want you to rate their services out of five. They mentioned something about you having a visitor.” The thudding against the door caused James to jump, grabbing the body from the floor, awkwardly shifting it back into the chair.
“J-just a second. He’s passed out.”
“Who the hell are you? I’m coming in. Boss, are you alright?” The voice shouted, the locked door barely able to contain the voice’s heavy collisions with it, the person on the other side trying to break through.
When the body was sitting upright in the chair, James opened his briefcase, tossing aside the pile of paperwork that he wouldn’t need, retrieving the rubber knife from his pocket, slipping it into the wound, trying to conceal it. Just as he was done preparing the body, the door opened, a panting muscular guard charging in, pointing his gun at James.
“You killed him, you bastard, I’ll blow that ugly mug of yours clean off.”
“Ugly? Wait, this is all a mistake. I’m a sales agent, I sell insurance. One of our tactics is to target people who have been searching online phrases like. ‘How to know if someone is trying to kill me’ and ‘Am I being assassinated?’ This is all legally gained through cookies and other data. Mr. Richards is one of those people and as such they sent me to sell him our insurance. It’s all somewhat legal.”
“But you killed him, I can see blood. That doesn’t make any sense.” The man kept his gun on James, watching the sales agent for any sudden movements.
“Rubber knife. It’s a tactic to get people to buy our product. Statistics tell us that using a rubber knife increases sales ten percent.” James turned the body around in the chair, making it face away from the guard as he pulled the rubber knife from it. “See, fake knife with fake blood.” He said as he tossed the blade at the man’s feet.
The guard stepped on it, checking it over. The rubber bending beneath his foot. “So, it’s all some big sales pitch? That’s somewhat impressive. I really should check on him though.”
“You can’t. He’s passed out. I’m certified to perform first aid if something goes wrong. You could endanger his life by interfering. Just come back in an hour when he is better, and we can discuss the contract he will be signing.”
The guard stared at James before sighing. “Fine, that sounds legit, plus the company wouldn’t call me if you killed him. I’ll come back in an hour, just make sure he’s better.”
“Will do.” As soon as the man left, James made his way for the window, pulling it open, before climbing out, not about to escape through the front door. “Guess, its time to look for another job.” He said as he escaped through the mansion’s backyard, tossing his briefcase behind him, getting ready for his life on the run.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The walkie talkie was burning a hole through my pocket. It had been too long since the last check-in, and that meant we were running behind. We absolutely couldn't be running behind. I absentmindedly chewed my lip and paced for another minute before I finally lost it. I whipped out the walkie talkie and pretty much shouted, "Status update!"
There was a moment of static and then a rough voice came through, "The final speaker is almost installed. IT is on the scene. Over."
"Shooter is prepped and ready. Over."
"Route is clear. Convoy is on schedule. Over."
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before responding. "Roger that everyone. Next time keep me up to date before I have a heart attack. Over and out."
With a sigh of relief, I returned the walkie talkie to my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was starting to come apart at the edge of the crease because I'd looked at it so many times. It was the Prince's schedule for the day, complete with the exact route he would be taking to get to his cousin's Christening.
My team would be stationed at perfect intervals around Center Square, with the lovely Selene perched in an upper story window, ready to fire the all important shot.
I was situated at home base: the backroom of a little cafe on the far edge of the square. This was Tech Central, and where everyone would meet afterward to celebrate a job well done. Just then a young bespectacled man waltzed in, computer in hand.
"How's everything looking, Jes?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up on his face and looked at me with excited eyes. "We just completed the sound check. Everything is working perfectly."
Praise be. If this job actually went well, we could be on our way to a bright future. I glanced down at my watch and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was 8 a.m. already!
"The cameras! Pull up the cameras!" I demanded.
Jes hurried to comply, and quickly turned his computer around so I could see. The convoy that carried the prince was right on schedule. It was a block away from Center Square. It was show time.
"Convoy inbound, everybody ready?" I asked.
A chorus of 'yes, sirs' came from the walkie talkie, and for the first time today I actually smiled. This was going to work. I watched the screen without so much as a blink as the car rolled steadily closer to the square. When the front wheels rolled onto the cobblestones of the square, it was time to go.
"On my signal..." I said, waiting for the car to reach the marked spot of the road.
"3, 2, 1. Now!"
Simultaneously, Jes hit a button on his computer and Selene took her shot. The BB hit the windshield hard enough to crack it, and the pre-recorded gunshot echoed through the speakers around the square.
The crowd went wild and the Prince's security force jumped into action. They cleared the way for the car to speed through the square, and as they went the sound of more gunshots accompanied them. I watched with glee as the car sped away and disappeared around a corner.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, but boy had it been executed perfectly. Jes had done an admirable job of timing the sound effects, and Selene's shot had been spot on. I emerged from the back room into the cafe, where innocent bystanders were still cowering in fear and confusion.
The team came in one-by-one and joined me at the booth in the corner. I was about to give my customary well-done speech when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and my smile got even bigger when I saw who it was from.
*Royal Advisor Cassian: Prince Paranoid nearly peed himself. Job well done. Your payment will be transferred in the next three business days.*
A job well done indeed.
I turned back to my team and with a satisfied smile asked, "Who's ready for cake?" | Marcu kicked in the door just as the guard slumped back in a rather convincing act of sudden unconsciousness. He would have to get his name for help in the future. The guy could improv.
"Prince Trove!" Marcu called out into the darkroom as he lifted his bat. "Is there a Prince Trove here?" He raked carefully with his feet to be sure to not break any of the toys strewn throughout the floor. He could hear the boy in bed, breathing quietly. He opened the window for his escape after the job was done.
"I sure hope," Marcu said, swinging his bat around lightly, "that this Prince isn't a Mage. Elsewise I'm going to assassinate him!"
"I knew you were coming!" the Prince yelled all at once. "But, I, well I am a Mage, a Pride Mage!" The young boy stood in his pajamas, hands illuminated in small golden fractal halos. Marcu froze, his face locked in a look of fear and awe.
The shot came from the boy, hitting with the strength of a snowball, as he had expected. Marcu stumbled back, pretending to slip on toys all across the room to the window, where he fell out with an acrobat's twist. He belted out the well-rehearsed yodel of a scream before catching the rope and sliding into the room a couple of floors down. He looked down to ensure the Archmage assistants had laid out the body sprawled below, dressed just like him.
He picked up the bag on the table and nodded to the two guards. "Easiest money I ever made," he said with a smirk, still unbelieving his luck. "say, who's your boy upstairs? the one with the mustache?"
...
"I killed him," the Prince said, looking down the window, "with my magic."
"Of course you did," the aging Archmage said, no the least bit out of breath. "You've been holding out on me. You were so worried about someone coming to kill the first blessed heir to the throne in a hundred years, you forgot how special you are. Imagine how strong you'll be by the end of the year?"
"I guess," the child said, doubt still occluding his so wide mana pathways. "It didn't feel like a strong blast but I was scared so maybe that helped?"
"No. Fear is the mind-killer, little one.," the Archmage said, squatting beside the boy. "You mustn't fear. A pride mage needs but to believe themself a God, and so they shall be. Now show me the strike that took down your first man."
"I was on the bed like this and he said he was gonna kill me and so I just started blasting." The boy mimed the motion with quiet hands.
"Well, blast away," the teacher said patiently, not letting it show how much he wished this shy boy, holding the destiny of a kingdom on his back was any other type of mage.
The boy threw a ball of light he took only a moment to summon, strong enough to slam the window shut, but not break it. That was an improvement at least, so paying the thief hadn't been a waste of time.
"Your power, it's unreal, Prince Trove!" he said with awe. "Now get some sleep and we'll wake up early to train tomorrow."
The walk back to his tower was filled with careful consideration of future ways to boost the boy's confidence and a fine one came indeed. He wrote 'orphanage' on his hand in runic lines before he forgot.
​
/r/surinical | |
[WP] Whenever royalty or someone important becomes paranoid about potential assassins, you get hired, your job is to "fail" an assassination to make them feel like they can relax again. | The walkie talkie was burning a hole through my pocket. It had been too long since the last check-in, and that meant we were running behind. We absolutely couldn't be running behind. I absentmindedly chewed my lip and paced for another minute before I finally lost it. I whipped out the walkie talkie and pretty much shouted, "Status update!"
There was a moment of static and then a rough voice came through, "The final speaker is almost installed. IT is on the scene. Over."
"Shooter is prepped and ready. Over."
"Route is clear. Convoy is on schedule. Over."
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before responding. "Roger that everyone. Next time keep me up to date before I have a heart attack. Over and out."
With a sigh of relief, I returned the walkie talkie to my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was starting to come apart at the edge of the crease because I'd looked at it so many times. It was the Prince's schedule for the day, complete with the exact route he would be taking to get to his cousin's Christening.
My team would be stationed at perfect intervals around Center Square, with the lovely Selene perched in an upper story window, ready to fire the all important shot.
I was situated at home base: the backroom of a little cafe on the far edge of the square. This was Tech Central, and where everyone would meet afterward to celebrate a job well done. Just then a young bespectacled man waltzed in, computer in hand.
"How's everything looking, Jes?" I asked.
He pushed his glasses up on his face and looked at me with excited eyes. "We just completed the sound check. Everything is working perfectly."
Praise be. If this job actually went well, we could be on our way to a bright future. I glanced down at my watch and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was 8 a.m. already!
"The cameras! Pull up the cameras!" I demanded.
Jes hurried to comply, and quickly turned his computer around so I could see. The convoy that carried the prince was right on schedule. It was a block away from Center Square. It was show time.
"Convoy inbound, everybody ready?" I asked.
A chorus of 'yes, sirs' came from the walkie talkie, and for the first time today I actually smiled. This was going to work. I watched the screen without so much as a blink as the car rolled steadily closer to the square. When the front wheels rolled onto the cobblestones of the square, it was time to go.
"On my signal..." I said, waiting for the car to reach the marked spot of the road.
"3, 2, 1. Now!"
Simultaneously, Jes hit a button on his computer and Selene took her shot. The BB hit the windshield hard enough to crack it, and the pre-recorded gunshot echoed through the speakers around the square.
The crowd went wild and the Prince's security force jumped into action. They cleared the way for the car to speed through the square, and as they went the sound of more gunshots accompanied them. I watched with glee as the car sped away and disappeared around a corner.
It was all over in a matter of seconds, but boy had it been executed perfectly. Jes had done an admirable job of timing the sound effects, and Selene's shot had been spot on. I emerged from the back room into the cafe, where innocent bystanders were still cowering in fear and confusion.
The team came in one-by-one and joined me at the booth in the corner. I was about to give my customary well-done speech when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and my smile got even bigger when I saw who it was from.
*Royal Advisor Cassian: Prince Paranoid nearly peed himself. Job well done. Your payment will be transferred in the next three business days.*
A job well done indeed.
I turned back to my team and with a satisfied smile asked, "Who's ready for cake?" | Ms. Melinda Caldwell was the kind of woman that I wanted to bring home to meet my parents, and not because she was richer than god or as pretty as a super model. She was that rich sure, but she looked like the mousy clerk at the grocery store or the bank teller I’d pass by on the way to the pretty one at the next window over.
No, the reason she was that kind of woman wasn’t because of anything so shallow. It was because when she looked at you, really, really looked you, she saw straight you to whoever you were at your core, and she didn’t judge you for it at all. She was the talk of the town, the popular queen of our little, inconsequential state. She ran an orphanage, did fundraisers, bought a zoo just to free the animals.
Frankly, I thought she was a goddamn saint, so when I got the call for her job I was downright excited to do it. Until I read the fine print.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell, it seemed, had a weird side.
“Yeah, so we’re gonna need you to break into Caldwell, Bob.” My handler said that fateful day.
I blinked hard, moving the phone from my ear to look at in shock for a moment. “Seriously?” I asked, “Did someone to try to knock off Ms. Caldwell?”
“Yep.”
“Shit! Boss, you’ve gotta moving on those negotiations with the assassins guild, there needs be a standard or something! I mean, some people just shouldn’t be on the table!”
“Bob,” my handler said, “do we fuckin’ pay you to editorialize?”
“Well no, but like…it’s Ms. Caldwell! Who does that?”
My handler sighed really heavily, the breath distorting in the phone speakers. “Bob, yes or no, can you break into the house?”
“Well yeah, of course I can break into the house, I’d love to help her out, I’m just surprised is all. When do you need it done?”
“How far away are you?”
“Oh shit, that soon? I can be there in about an hour.”
“Make it forty-five, and Bob, I’ve got a few things I need to warn you about.”
“Yeah, shoot.” I said as I hurriedly got ready, turning on speaker phone and grabbing my sketchiest looking black hoodie.
“Ok, so the assassination attempt happened last night and her staff says that Ms. Caldwell was never in any real danger. They also say she’s not handling it well at all. She’s shaking like hell, doesn’t want to leave the house. They described her symptoms to the therapy team and they recommended that she undergo Control Replacement therapy.”
I dropped my fake gun at that. “Control Replacement? For her?”
“Yep. Apparently Ms. Caldwell has some latent issues she needs to work out and we’ve picked you for the job.”
“Why me? I mean…damn ok but why?”
“Because they picked you out of a lineup and said you looked like the meth head version of a guy she used to date.”
“What? Come on boss, I don’t look that bad.”
“The fuck did I say about editorializing? Look Bob, get over there stat, get caught breaking in, and when they hand her whatever the hell they hand her, just lay back and take it. She’s what, five foot flat? A hundred pounds soaking wet? How much damage could she do?”
An hour later, after I’d kicked open the front door, swung my doctored up airsoft gun around, and been tackled to the ground, I found that out.
I’d felt terrible pointing the gun at her. Ms. Caldwell had been cowering on the couch when I’d come in, a pale, wan face poking up out of a stack of covers, and she’d shrieked like hell. I said some pretty rough stuff too, all part of the job normally, but to her? Suffice it to say I’m definitely not the kind of guy she wants to bring home.
There’d been a strange transformation though, in the time after I’d hit the deck and before she got up. Something had come over her, like fear giving way to other even stronger emotion, and she stood, towering over me despite her barely five feet of height.
“Not so tough are you now?” she said. Then she turned, reached beneath the couch, and pulled out an honest to god riding crop.
It was at that point that I realized I’d fucked up taking this job.
“You look like someone I used to know,” she said softly, crouching down and running her fingers down my cheek. “I almost hope you are him, it would his life really went to hell.”
*“OK, fuck you too, wow.”* I want to say but don’t say. It’s strange having her touch me. I try to enjoy it, to remember the feel of her skin against mine for the days when I’m back to only looking at her billboards wistfully.
My eyes keep going back to that riding crop though. She’d had it under the goddamn couch, who keeps a riding crop under their couch?
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Bill,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
I shrug.
The smile that crossed her face then was like nothing I’d ever seen. It made me regret everything thinking she was plain, or consigning to anything so simple as the moniker I had before. She was positively predator now, a leopard barely contained within a heart shaped face.
Then the riding crop fell harder than I’d ever have imagined she could swing it. *Control Replacement is fuckin’ bullshit,* I wanted to scream but did not say.
The crop fell again, and again.
And again, and again.
And I lost track of the strokes soon after.
The night continued on, far beyond the length of my normal contracts, far beyond any reasonable length for what I was getting paid. But somewhere in all those strikes and all that rage she mellowed and her guards let me up. I discovered something then, she swung again, and I didn’t stand.
Ms. Melinda Caldwell was not at all what I’d thought she was, she was far, far more than that. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring her home, but I knew that it wasn’t the last time I would visit this house.
If my boss wanted to drag his feet with the assassination guild, so be it, I wouldn’t drag mine. I had a friend on the other side of guild lines who owed me more than a few favors.
Ms. Caldwell and I would find more reasons to see each other.
r/TurningtoWords | |
[WP] You are on the run from a dragon. Not because it wants to kill you, quite the opposite in fact. This dragon hoards powerful adventurers and unfortunately your skills caught its eye. Now it will stop at nothing until you are a part of its guild. | Sabrina's head popped off the pillow. She herd footsteps outside her bedroom, and knew the adventurers had her trail. Sent by the dragon, no doubt. She slung her pack around her shoulder, kicked open the window, and barely glanced before jumping out from the second level.
She hit the ground hard and tucked into a roll. The door was kicked open a second later, and voices were calling after her. Not friendly voices either. An arrow whizzed past her head a second later. She took off running. It was an open field, so she had nowhere to run for cover. A second arrow whizzed past, but after that she was out of range.
Gods! Is the dragon really trying to kill her now? Was it offended at all the times she had told it 'no'?
Sabrina kept running until she was deep in the foothills, and was sure there was no pursuit. It was already dark when she started a fire. Perhaps a fire wasn't the most sensible thing, but she was afraid she might freeze to death otherwise.
She was about to fall asleep when a figure approached. It was large, and the fire illuminated its coppery scales. She wondered how it approached without making sound.
"You've proven your point," Sabrina said, "You can kill me whenever you want. Go ahead. I won't join your guild."
The Cerphus scoffed, "Three years you have eluded me. You posses skill beyond many in my guild. It was a shame when I found you had disappeared."
"I won't fight back," Sabrina said, "I won't give you the satisfaction."
"Then this will only take a moment," Cerphus said.
The dragon raised his claws, and there was a bright blue light. Sabrina curled up in pain, then it was over.
"It's done," Cerphus said.
"Not well enough, apparently. Look, I'm still here." Sabrina looked up at him. "Three years you track me down to shoot off a half-assed death spell. Why?"
The dragon let out a low growl. It was the only time she had ever known him when he sounded offended.
"You joined my guild for a very short time. Not long enough to learn the dangers. Other guilds... are not fond of my guild. Not fond of my members. Being a member of my guild marks you in a way that cannot be seen or felt, but does allow you to be tracked. The spell removed this marker. The people trying to kill you can no longer find you."
Sabrina took this in. It didn't make sense, and she felt rage boiling within her.
"You couldn't have just told me!?" Sabrina yelled, "That was three years of my life!"
"It is the first rule of the guild," Cerphus said. He recited it from memory, "'None may leave the guild, even for a short time.' It was for everyone's safety. You did not stay long enough to learn why. It does not matter. The marker has been lifted. You are free now."
Sabrina grunted. She didn't have anything to say.
"Enjoy your life, Sabrina," Cerphus said.
He opened his great wings, and launched himself from her campsite. The campfire flickered out and only cast a dull glow from its coals. She looked up into the stars, and felt truly alone for the first time.
The next morning she awoke and pondered her next destination. She wasn't sure where to go, the last three years of her life being solely dedicated to fleeing. She started walking, telling herself it was a random direction. But it wasn't a random direction. It was in the direction of the dragon's guild.
If only she had known it was her choice all along. It would have saved her three years. | As a swarm of daggers pin themselves to the floor in front of me, I seriously started thinking if it was time to change careers.
Now don't get me wrong, being an adventurer is fulfilling in many ways. The sense of purpose and direction, the abundance of hidden treasure, the adoration of the masses while you singlehandedly save them from an Elder Dragon that has long terrorized the countryside.
But what is **not fulfilling**, is being beset by other adventurers sent by that very same dragon every single waking moment of my life. One of whom I am staring down at this very moment, an elf clad in a dark cloak brandishing a intricate bloodstained knife. I find my eyes wandering down at his breast, and sure enough, I find his badge, fashioned after a dragon's skull, the symbol of that damned beast's guild.
"Finally stopped running from your fate, ay? We dun have to come to blows. Just come peacefully, no one needs to get hurt here." The bastard smirks, spinning his blade in deft motions.
I slowly unsheathe my prized sword and frown, irritation and the lack of proper sleep coloring my voice. "I said it before and I will say it again, I am not going to join up with a group of savages. look at the blood on your cloak, surely that didn't come from butchered pigs?"
His smirk widened, a chuckle escaping from his lips. "Well, ye could have chosen somewhere easier to reach." He flicks a drop of blood off his knife "Not my fault ye hired so many guards, we all know no protection will help against us."
Damn him, those guards had families and lives, and now he is talking about them as if they were nothing but filthy obstacles in the way of their ultimate prize. A sigh escapes my lips, I stand and brandish my sword, staring him down like how I did the many that came before him.
I still remember their faces. A druid holding dominion over insect swarms, a sorceror who was just as crafty as she was powerful. Even my own brother was swayed to her cause, wearing their cloak and badge as he dueled me to a standstill. Each and every member of that dragon's guild is more powerful than the last and I fear that it will just get worse.
"I am not joining and that is final. Pass that on to your damned guildmaster." I say, ready to run him down at the slightest indication of danger.
But instead of fear or trepidation, the elf's eyes betrayed only sadistic mirth. "Impossible, once the guildmaster sets his sights on someone, they are his." The assassin looks down on his knives in contemplation. "He came for me too, ya know, Was pretty scared just like ye. But it all passed once he helped me reach heights I never dreamed off, potential I couldn't have accessed without his help"
"I don't care about your damn potential, leave me alone!" I bark, my patience wearing thin. He may act superior, but I can see through his facade, his armor is pierced, small bloodstains appearing on poorly hidden wounds. Those guards were some trouble for him after all. I put one hand behind my back and start preparing a teleport spell, all I need to do is stall him until it finishes and I'll finally be free of this maniac.
But despite it all, an air of recklessness never left that damn elf's face. "Of course, of course, not everyone seeks power, I know yer type, and so does everyone else in the guild. That is why I am here to present you an ultimatum we all decided upon." His smile turns predatory "Ye walk with me right now or come next week, one nice beautiful village of our choosing will be nothing but ashes."
My eyes widened in fear "W-what, you can't do that! The military will stop you, the kingdom will shut your guild down."
"The kingdom military? don't make us laugh. Old Salem can roast the lot in seconds." He continues, cherishing the defeated look on my face "Shut down? with a bit of *convincing* from maestro Mozert I am sure they can just write it off as a wildfire gone *horribly, horribly* wrong."
At this moment the teleport spell in my hand finishes. If I decide so, I can be half a mile away from here. But...
The assassin smiles at me, relaxing against the wall, waiting for my decision.
"Fine, you win. bring me to your guild."
"Good choice, looks like ye not as dumb as ye look." He gestures to the open door. "Come along, I'll be looking forward to working with ye."
I will come, but not for the reason the assassin thinks. As I pass the hallway, I see multiple armored corpses, necks slit and faces drawn into horrified expressions. I know I cannot run forever, once I get to their guild I will cut down the evil at the source, as I failed to do so in the past. Even if I die, at least I go out on my own terms. | |
[WP] You are on the run from a dragon. Not because it wants to kill you, quite the opposite in fact. This dragon hoards powerful adventurers and unfortunately your skills caught its eye. Now it will stop at nothing until you are a part of its guild. | Hey Sorcer-Sis!
Hope you charged your crystals well last full moon.
I haven’t heard from you in fortnights, so I wanted to invite you to my exclusive guild-girl party this weekend. Witches, succubi, and nymphs have all said that the guild has shaped them into the ultra-powerful beings they are today, not to mention VIP access to the best quality blood spells on the market. A curse-weaver like you would be an impressive addition to our team.
I know you might wonder, what’s the catch? Magic always has a price, and it’s easy to assume it’s best to go your own way. Maybe you’ve heard rumors of past royal members being trapped for centuries for breaking their contract early. Well, no worries here miss mage. Unlike some organizations, this girl-guild believes in super transparent dark binding spells.
With membership, occupational buzz-kills out there like paladins concerned with “darkness overcoming the world” will no longer be getting in the middle of your spell or questing grind. That’s where your fellow girl-guild members will come in. With our 3 tiered protection options, you can call upon fire, demons, or even an undead legion to make sure you get the job done.
So what are you waiting for? Perform a blood oath and join us this weekend to plot your newest exploits.
See you soon!
\~ Tarok ShadowClaw
I crumpled the latest letter, preparing to throw it underneath the cauldron where the other dozen had long since turned to ash. I knew Tarok and the guild for its half-baked castle takeovers and spells rife with loopholes. It seemed like the only spells they’d mastered were unescapable recruitment letters like this, sending carefully folded ravens flying to gullible, lonely crones. Or as she probably called us, “high powered curse queens”.
A wicked smile slipped on my face and I began refolding the letter, weaving a sharpened beak and claws along the edges of cardstock. It hopped on to the table and it made a tearing noise, fully functional again.
“I’d like to see what this blood oath actually does. I doubt it’s any easier when doubled,” I said with a wave of my fingers.
With a rustle of paper, the crow returned to its sender. I rolled my eyes and watched it leave.
“Good luck fire fam.” | Why did I go? Why didn't I just keep that urge stifled for just 5 more minutes? I had gotten away from it all. I gave up on adventures, I moved on to being part of a civilized society. It was all going great! I had a mundane job, a cozy apartment, and even made my first payment on my new car. I had it all.
So why? Why did I agree on that damned trip? Get away from it all he said. It'll be a fun adventure she chimed. That should have raised the hairs on my neck. Instead I just agree like the dumbass I am.
Ugh! I saved their lives from that... That creature and they're sharing that tale at a bar somewhere on street level while I'm up here doing overtime paperwork, trying to keep my mind off the whole affair. I don't want that life anymore and it keeps coming-
"Back..." I state with a sigh at the sound of approaching foot steps.
"You really did go full boring, didn't you?" The feminine voice rumbles through my body and finally illicit that neck hair response I've been looking for, "You can't hide from The Protectorate. At least not when we have our eyes on you."
"Yeah, and you people can't wait to dig your claws in either," I spit back. I'm so tired of these people. Their causes, their crusades. You fight enough of them, they all start looking like one endless bloodbath, "I don't fight for a reason."
"You stopped fighting because you saw no reason," she tosses back, "You didn't have to save them. You could have just been another survivor of a very unfortunate animal attack."
"But you're no animal. At least not off the battlefield," I say as I sigh again, "So how'd you draw them to that camp site?"
"Eh, usual subliminal stuff. An ad here, a pamphlet there. I know your usual partner is bit more forward and she'd probably just drag you by your hair out the office, but I?" She turns and sits at the edge of my desk, facing the cubicle opening, and let's her long, charcoal colored, spike tipped, tail to drape across my paperwork, "I figured people are more cooperative if you say please..." Her tail slaps a few pages to the floor as I finally lift my head up and face her back. Her curling, vermillion hair draping her shoulders and down her back stands brightly against the jet black dress suit she dons.
No good deed goes unpunished. | |
[WP] You are on the run from a dragon. Not because it wants to kill you, quite the opposite in fact. This dragon hoards powerful adventurers and unfortunately your skills caught its eye. Now it will stop at nothing until you are a part of its guild. | Let me tell you, most people don't know the first thing about dragons. Everyone thinks they're all treasure, treasure, treasure and the ocassional firebreathing. Sure, splash in a little magic and some lamb barbecue and most would say that that's that. Not that they're wrong. This honestly is *pretty much* it. But what they don't know, the second thing about dragons, is that they're awfully persistent fellows. They just won't let up!
Anyway. Call me Bobby. Bobby the Blade. Though, I must tell you whoever came up with it can't have been a lot more clever I—'cause I could barely tell a knife from a rapier! Nor can I remember where I got that name, when I got that name, who gave it to me, or why they did so. Anyway, it hasn't really had an impact on me life. Rarely do I get to stay in a place for long enough for it to really become a topic of conversation. Whenever it does become a topic of conversation it is usually because they know that I've had a dragon problem for the past decade, and figure it must have something to do with a great battle of man and lava lizard. Sadly it doesn't and I really have no idea what is going on with this whole dragon thing. I haven't done 'im a single thing. Nothing! Didn't toss no thunderbolts his way—not that I even could if I wanted to! I didn't go sharpshootin' 'im no arrows—couldn't do that either, I'm a terrible shot. And I most definitely did not try to turn him into scaly sirloin, because as I already stated, I'm truly terrible with blades! I'm awful! As far as my old man is concerned I don't possess a single skill worthy of speaking aloud. So why then, is Shmauragon in a literal hot pursuit of me? Get it? Hot pursuit? Because of dragon? Aghhh... Anyhow. What do I tell you! I do not know! It's been a decade and he keeps trying to have me killed! He's sent assassins to slit me throat, mages to freeze me solid, hunters to send me barreling down a spikey hole, druids to encase me in amber. The list is long my friends, but good ol' Bobby the Blade here is still kicking it.
*From over yonder a magnificent roar shakes the wooden logged walls of the tavern. The chandelier rocks violently above them, a candle falls, and begins descending towards the straw covered floor. Disaster is about to strike, within seconds the whole tavern and everyone inside it could be set ablaze. One of the patrons is frozen in place as he sees the candle barrel downwards. At the same time, Bobby the Blade readies himself to leave. He rises, stretches his arms wide out, and the candle which could've been the death sentence of them all lands perfectly in his hand.*
Oh my! Look at that! How lucky aren't we? Anyway fellas, you heard the noise, time for me to head off. Best of luck with old Shmauragon to you all.
*Bobby the Blade sets the candle down gently on the table, along with three silver coins and bids his adieu to the small audience that has formed. A gust of wind blows the back door open and Bobby decides exiting the tavern a different way than he entered might be a good call. Now unknown to Bobby the Blade, the rear exit has been blocked off for the past couple of weeks. There just so happens to be a massive hole in front of it after a geomancer got into a bit of a tussle with with a crystal knight about whether or not it was ethical to manipulate mineral based armor. Bobby the Blade doesn't hear any of the warnings being called his way and plummets all the way down the shaft. Bobby the Blade is knocked out cold. At that very same moment that Bobby the Blade fell to the bottom of a dirt shaft, the patrons of the tavern all turn to focus on something else entirely. Namely, a massive hunk torn out of the tavern's ceiling by none other than the fabled elder dragon, Shmauragon. Like a slithering snake, it begins scanning every crack and creavasse of the Nothinere's Inn. Hot air belches out of it it's big, round nostrils. Those unlucky to get close enough could even here the raging fire burning in it's belly. Shmauragon finally stops right by the table where Bobby the Blade had just been sat, telling stories of his grand escapes from this very beast.*
WHERE IS HE? Shmauragon snarled, causing the floor to quake, the tables to rumble, the mugs and cups to topple and spill their delicious mead and wine all over the floor.
*A few confused guests scratch their necks, too drunk to realise that they may well be seconds from disintegration. Those terrified enough to understand the dire situation they have been presented plead and bargain, but Shmauragon seeks one thing and one thing alone. Bobby, the Blade. A knight clad in pitch black armor crouches
and climbs past broken planks to inform the hulking beast that, unfortunately, Bobby the Blade seems to have eluded them yet again. Shmauragon rips his head up out of the tavern and begins to monologue from above.*
OH MY GODDD THIS GUYYYY!? YOU SERIOUSLY HAVE NO IDEA HOW DIFFICULT THIS FUCKING GUY IS BEING.
*Each word that escapes his snout sends wafts scorching hot air through the tavern. People wipe their foreheads, remove their shirts and have their drinks refilled as Shmauragon continues.*
TEN FUCKING YEARS, DUDE. AND EVERY FUCKING TIME HE NOT ONLY ESCAPES ME, BUT INVENTS SOME LUDICROUS FUCKING STORY ABOUT HOW I'M TRYING TO TORCH HIM, OR IMPALE HIM, OR, OR... DID HE, UH, DID HE TELL YOU GUYS ABOUT THE "ASSASSIN" I SENT FOR HIM?
*The patrons around the table where Bobby the Blade was just sat nod their heads.*
OH HE DID! WELL, OF COURSE HE FUCKING DID. HMPF. THE AUDACITY. JESUS CHRIST. LOOK GUYS, THERE'S A RIVAL OF MINE, I'M SSURE YOU'VE HEARD OF HIM, GOES BY KING GHIDROGON. SO, KG, ACTUALLY SENDS AN ASSASSIN TO KILL BOBBY IN ORDER TO SPITE ME. BUT ONE OF MY GUYS, STEVE, BLESS HIS SOUL, LUNGES HIMSELF IN FRONT OF BOBBY AND SPLITS A POISON DART—MID AIR—RIGHT IN FRON OF BOBBY'S FACE. NOW UNFORTUNATELY, STEVE WAS SO FOCUSED ON TRYING TO SAVE BOBBY, HE THREW HIMSELF A LITTLE TOO FAR AND FELL OF THE BALCONY BOBBY WAS ON. THE REAL ASSISSIN REALISES HIS OPPORTUNITY, RUNS UP BEHIND BOBBY TO START GIVING HIM THE OLD STABBY STAB, RIGHT? BUT BOBBY NOTICES A POUCH OF GOLD THAT FELL OFF OF STEVE AS HE FLEW BY AND BENDS DOWN TO PICK IT UP, RIGHT AS THE ASSASSIN LUNGES TOWARDS BOBBY WITH HIS DGGER. SO THE ACTUAL ASSASSIN THEN TRIPS OVER BOBBY AND PLUMMETS RIGHT DOWN ON TOP OF STEVE! THIS WAS FOUR MONTHS AGO NOW AND POOR STEVE'S STILL IN CASTS. THE ASSASSIN PROBABLY WOULD'VE BEEN TOO HAD I NOT DECIDED TO TURN HIM INTO SHISH KEBAB FOR TRYING TO TAKE OUT MY GUY BOBBY. AND BOBBY HIMSELF DOES NOT ONLY WALK AWAY UNSCAHTED, BUT WITH A FAT PAYCHECK AS WELL FOR DOING NOTHING. AND THIS IS JUST A SINGLE EXAMPLE! THE GUY COULD FALL OFF A CLIFF, LAND PERFECTLY IN A HALF METER WIDE WELL, SWIM BACK UP TO THE SURFACE, GET AIRLIFTED OUT BY GRABBING ONTO THE WELL HOOK THAT JUST HAPPENED TO BE TIED TO A DONKEY SOMEONE FROM THE NEARBY VILLAGE HAD MISTAKENLY LEFT BEHIND THAT SAME MORNING. BUT NOT ONLY THAT, NO NO NO. BECAUSE THIS IS BOBBY THE FUCKING BLADE WE'RE ON ABOUT. ONCE OUT OF THE WELL, BOBBY REALISES THAT HE'S GOTTEN SOMETHING CAUGHT IN HIS BOOTS AND IT JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE THE **DAWN KINGS EYE**. YOU KNOW, THE MAGICAL GEM THAT GIVES IT'S USER THE ABILITY TO BEND LIGHT TO HIS WILL? UN-BE-FUCKING-LIEVEABLE. THE **EYE** SPENT THE LAST SIX DECADES UNDISTURBED AT BOTTOM OF A RANDOM WELL UNTIL BOBBY COMES PLUMMETING INTO IT. IT'S INCREDIBLE!
*Shmauragon shakes his head, then clears his throat, clearly ready to continue his tirade as a series of shouts climb past him. The black knight from earlier has returned to inform that they have been told that somebody believes to have seen Bobby the Blade leave town by way of mead barrel down the river.*
YOU'VE GOTTA BE FUCKING—. GUESS THAT MEANS WE'RE ON OUR WAY. SORRY ABOUT THE ROOF, RODRIGO HERE WILL MAKE SURE YOU'RE FAIRLY COMPENSATED FOR IT. OH! AND IF YOU GUYS SEE HIM AGAIN, COULD YOU TELL HIM I REALLY, TRULY, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART OF HEARTS: DO. NOT. SEEK. TO. DO. HIM. ANY. HARM. LIKE AT ALL. I JUST WANT HIM ON THE TEAM... AND I GOT SOME COOL GUYS ON THERE, TOO! MALYCON THE MARVELOUS, HERON THE HEROIC, STEVE...
*Shmauragon rises and flaps his wings, sending dirt and dust and straws through the air. He flexes his hind legs and right before taking off he looks down and adds one final thing.*
I SWEAR TO GOD THE GUY MAY DUMBER THAN A WHEEL BARROW, BUT HE SURE IS LUCKY. TAKE CARE YOU GUYS, AND SORRY AGAIN 'BOUT THE ROOF. | Why did I go? Why didn't I just keep that urge stifled for just 5 more minutes? I had gotten away from it all. I gave up on adventures, I moved on to being part of a civilized society. It was all going great! I had a mundane job, a cozy apartment, and even made my first payment on my new car. I had it all.
So why? Why did I agree on that damned trip? Get away from it all he said. It'll be a fun adventure she chimed. That should have raised the hairs on my neck. Instead I just agree like the dumbass I am.
Ugh! I saved their lives from that... That creature and they're sharing that tale at a bar somewhere on street level while I'm up here doing overtime paperwork, trying to keep my mind off the whole affair. I don't want that life anymore and it keeps coming-
"Back..." I state with a sigh at the sound of approaching foot steps.
"You really did go full boring, didn't you?" The feminine voice rumbles through my body and finally illicit that neck hair response I've been looking for, "You can't hide from The Protectorate. At least not when we have our eyes on you."
"Yeah, and you people can't wait to dig your claws in either," I spit back. I'm so tired of these people. Their causes, their crusades. You fight enough of them, they all start looking like one endless bloodbath, "I don't fight for a reason."
"You stopped fighting because you saw no reason," she tosses back, "You didn't have to save them. You could have just been another survivor of a very unfortunate animal attack."
"But you're no animal. At least not off the battlefield," I say as I sigh again, "So how'd you draw them to that camp site?"
"Eh, usual subliminal stuff. An ad here, a pamphlet there. I know your usual partner is bit more forward and she'd probably just drag you by your hair out the office, but I?" She turns and sits at the edge of my desk, facing the cubicle opening, and let's her long, charcoal colored, spike tipped, tail to drape across my paperwork, "I figured people are more cooperative if you say please..." Her tail slaps a few pages to the floor as I finally lift my head up and face her back. Her curling, vermillion hair draping her shoulders and down her back stands brightly against the jet black dress suit she dons.
No good deed goes unpunished. | |
[WP] "I think-- I think I died 12 years ago," the voice on the other end of the line says. It has an echoing, tinny quality, and bursts of static make it difficult to hear. "Can you help me figure out why?" | "Aaron Vahn, Psychic Investigator, how may I help you?"
I waited for the usual 'You're the psychic, you tell me!', likely followed up with immature giggles, but got a pleasant surprise. Well, a surprise, at least. Pleasant was still to be seen. "Mr. Vahn? My name *sskk* -ackson. I need you to investiga- *sskk* -r me."
It sounded like he (I assumed 'he') was talking down a metal tube, from the base of a radio tower. "Well Mr. ...Jackson, was it? I'm sure I can squeeze you into my schedule. Would you like to set up a face-to-face to discuss your problem?" I glanced at my desk calendar, one of those nice, couple-feet across deals with each day of the month getting a small piece of real estate. Empty save for a brown ring connecting the 9th and 10th.
"I'm not sure I can get to *sk* you, sir. I think-- I think I died twelve years ago." The last word echoed a bit before fading away. "Can you help me figure out why?"
The line was silent as I mulled over the question. A faint pop-crackle was the only sign he hadn't hung up. "Mr. Jackson, I'm sure my ad in the phonebook has brought you some amusement, but I'm not here for your entertainment. If you aren't going to be serious..." Before I could finish, the static pulsed. I could hear the agitation in his voice, oddly clear through the noise. "I am serious, Mr. Vahn! I am! Please, don't turn me away before you've heard my story. I live...that is, I'm ... at the Stonebridge Senior Facility. And I just... *sskk*" The static faded out and in a moment longer, but the voice was gone. I could chalk it up to a dedicated jokester, but I had a feeling there was something to this one. I sighed, and checked the caller ID. Plain number, right area code... there wasn't a lot of call for reverse phone indexes these days, but I still had an old paper one lying around. Never trusted the online services, but that's probably just my age showing. The number checked out, but it wouldn't be hard to fake it. Just more trouble than the average teenage prank caller would go to.
I sighed, and grabbed my hat as I pulled myself out of my seat. Better than another afternoon wasted reading cheap romance novels.
________
(Out of time, but I might write more later.) | A prank? At this time of the night?
Chris couldn’t help but be curious. He had received a call at 3 in the morning by an unknown number. He would have usually chosen to ignore it, but something told him to pick it up. And he wasn’t disappointed.
It must be Jason’s idea, he’s the one who comes up with such things. *Rather well thought, Jason*.
Calling someone at this time and telling them they died was a brilliant idea, and the woman speaking on the other end did a very convincing job. *Let’s play along then*
“ Ma’am, don’t worry. Everything will be fine, please tell me where you’re calling from” he said, a small smile appearing on his mouth as he spoke. *This is so ridiculous*
The bursts of static made it difficult to hear, but the woman said something along the lines of
“ Near Justin’s cafe…….but I don’t think it’s here anymore”
Of course she’d mention Justin’s cafe, someone who died twelve years ago would definitely mention the Cafe that closed 5 years ago.
“ Oh, you’re calling from Turns park huh?” he said, grinning a bit more, there is no more Turns park, but this poor lady died 12 years ago.
“ Yes! Yes!” said the voice from the other side. The static increased a bit more, making him move his phone away from his ear.
“ Okay, okay. I’ll help you ma’am,”
Chris heard a little whisper, “ Tha-thank you” it said.
“ Okay ma’am, just tell me your name” *Come on mystery woman, surprise me*
“ Isabelle, Isabelle Laforet” said the voice, hesitant.
“ WHAT?” he said, shocked. His breath started getting heavier, he gasped as tears formed in his eyes. *How could anyone know? This was impossible. Jason could never know. This….this is ridiculous. Belle? No way, this….this is nonsense.*
“ Excuse me? Are you here” said the broken voice coming from his phone.
Chris sighed, *this is just a prank, the name is just a coincidence, there are tons of Isabelle Laforets out there, she’s just playing with me. But…..what if it’s real, what if it’s really her? N-no way, that was impossible. Just finish the call, then go to sleep.*
“ I’m here” he said
“ C-could you please pick me up? I’m all alone in here” said the Isablle
“ Oh, uh, well, it’s like, really late now. How about tomorr-”
“ There is no time!” Isabelle cried, “ I don't know what all this is, but please, I need help. You said you’ll help, please!”
Chris couldn’t hold back, it did sound like her.
“ O-okay, I’ll be there. Wait for me, kay?” his voice rather reassuring
“ Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” cried the voice on the other end.
He hung up and headed out to the door.
*Are you crazy? You just volunteered to go out at 3 am to pick up this prankster. Just sleep, this is all just nonsense, you’ll be falling right into Jason’s trap. Just sleep.*
*But…...what if? Going out wouldn’t hurt would it? Even if it’s a simple prank, maybe I’ll get a good laugh out of it.*
He opened his garage door, and walked into his car. *This is crazy* | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | You see, every soldier has their own "I can't believe I did that" story's. For me, the one that stands out the most remains our first real mission.
For a little context here, I was a member of UXA squad 17. Yup, that's me, er us I should say since I'm not the only one who's in this story.
As you know, the UXA program took 200 elite soldiers, transferred'em to the newest generation of modified clone bodies, and trained us for nearly 4 years in all forms of combat and tactics. Hell, they even gave us a dressing down and made us re-learn how to shoot.
Of course, that aside, we were given the latest gen armour to field test during our last 2 months. This armour was the first true full body exo-suits. Basically, with this armour, we turned into the first human tanks. If it wasn't for the hellish training as we had to relearn how to do everything while wearing armour ( when the suit plugs into your brain itself and moves before your body finishes thinking about the movement, it's kinda hard to be precise off the bat )
Hmmmm, damn I'm as bad at telling stories as ever, I ramble more than our old CO, I'll just skip ahead here for your sake.
Our first official mission with the suits. A planetary insertion behind enemie lines. Something everyone had done at least a dozen times.
And we, squad 17, pulled the short straw, we would be the last to insert. Which meant that by the time we lef the ship and entered the atmosphere at nearly twice the speed of sound, their guns would already be all over us.
We loaded into our pod and waited. Well, we tried to wait but dammit, that beautiful basterd Jerry had to bring up what was on everyone's mind "So Sarge, what happens if we get blown out?" Well fuck! What am I supposed to say? We don't have any kind of parachutes here that could work with our armour. And by the time we hit the ground we'd be going at mach 3. We'd be better off dying when the pog blew.
Of course I couldn't say these things, so I gave him a straight face, and said "activate your thrusters when your 5 miles out at 20% otherwise any sooner and you'll be a target to more AA fire. Then aim for the trees" I said as I pulled up the map on the team network, I knew the rest of them were listening anyways.
"The forest a few klicks out from our target is filled with zinewood trees. Our armour can take a beating, but if we don't get rid of some speed before we hit the ground, nothing will save us. So hit as many trees as you can to eat away your speed. If you can't do that, ain for water and pray."
Now of course, this had been the stupid idea I'd come up with in the heat of the moment, but Jerry looked at me like I was a genius and nodded his head. "Sounds good Sarge!" While the rest of the squad gave gazes ranging from "are you sure that will work?" To "are you fucking nuts!" Of course no one said anything, as they all knew it wasn't some matter plan, rather a cheap Plan B to soothe their minds before we dropped.
15 minutes later, at a height of nearly 150 miles in the sky, we dropped. Like a metal bullet we descended into the atmosphere at a speed barely visible with the eye. I watched the counter on my HUD with weary eyes as we sunk deeper and deeper into the sea of air.
100 miles
75 miles
50 miles
40 miles
30 miles
21 miles
And then it happened. There was no time to react, no time to brace. One second we were in the pod, the next me and the 8 others who weren't in the direct path of the round when it stuck the pod, were tumbling through the sky like marionettes with their strings cut.
There was no time to think, there was no time to make a plan. My body seemed to move on it's own. Trained instincts slowing my tumble and allowing me to stabilize my decent. It took all of a half second, but by then we'd fallen nearly another mile down towards the ground.
I dearly wanted to spend the next few seconds contemplating death. But at least half of me didnt want to die that day so I snapped out of it. Or I guess it's closer to not wanting to go out without a fight. I wasted another second trying to think of something, some way to survive this. And what came up? What possible solution came to mind? That crazy plan I'd made less than 20 minutes ago. Although I I fell to my death it seemed closer to a lifetime.
Without delay, I pulled open my map at once and analyzed my position over the surrounding terrain. After finding what I was looking for, I left it open as I shifted my body to the right, changing my heading due west. Aiming for the forest.
10 seconds later, I was nearing 5 miles from the ground. I activated my back thrusters at 20% power ( any higher and they'd be detectable, even at this height ) and braced myself for impact.
I overpressure the suits protective gel layer. My limbs instantly became stiff and were locked in place by the gel. I finally turned on the team locations on my map. One dot was dark, signifying death. "Whoever was in the path of the AA shot" I thought with a heavy heart. However, the 8 remaining green dots were scattered around me, everyone had followed this absolute nightmare of a plan.
At one mile off, I turned off my map and took a deep breath in preparation. Finally, I hit the top of the first tree, shattering it into a hundred fragments. After that I could barely tell what was happening. I blew through tree after tree. Going through meter thick trunks like an armour piercing round through a sheet of paper. Finally, I hit the ground with a thud, skidding hundreds of feet through the loose soil as my momentum was gradually lost.
It took me a few minutes before I could even think. I just sat there, breathing in and out slowly, savoring every second as though it was my last. With snail like speed I deactivated the gel layer, expecting a wave of pain to overwhelm me, but to my surprise, I barely felt a thing. Sure, I was undoubtedly not ok, if I was in the body of a normal human being, I'd be mush. But as I checked my vitals readout, the only major injury was a broken rib and some bruising to give or take 73% of my body.
Not bad for a fall from space, not bad at all. I reached for the can of bio foam on my hip, only to realize it, and the rest of my gear, had been stripped away during the crash. My armour's mag clamps having rip off either when the pod got hit, or when I was crashing through the trees.
Sitting up now, I turned the map back on, still in a state of shock from my survival. I turned on my teams readouts, and I became convinced that I really was dead. That this was just some elaborate dream as I lay dying, my armour and bodies destroyed, on the forest floor.
...
...
...
My entire team, with the exception of the dot that was out earlier, was alive. After a few more seconds of looking at the green dots, I finally awoke from my stupor and made a team waypoint on the map, a few klicks from my location, and in the center of the dots on my map. While they certainly wouldn't be looking for survivors, their would def be patrols about. So we had to act quickly.
With a shitfaced smile on my face, I finally arose from the ground and began walking towards the waypoint.
We still had a mission to complete.
Hi, So this is the first time I've actually done one of these, so uh... how did I do? I'll add a second part if anyone seems interested. I just saw this prompt and wanted to put a spin on it. I'm already imagining the look on commands faces when they realize 17 is still kicking.
The more I type the more I want to write lol. | The Invasion of Talak was in full swing.
The Imperial Fleet, consisting of human carriers and elok bombers, was sitting in orbit, at the center of the fleet the huge capital ship.
Soon, the Imperium of Alliances would take over the groknak's homeworld.
In the flagship's cockpit, the human Admiral Jenkins and the elok Battleleader Skjôrky were overseeing the battle.
"Drop pods 15 to 19 inbound for planetfall", the Informant shouted over his shoulder, eyes glued to the console.
Battleleader Skjôrky adressed the general, "I am truly lucky to be able to fight by your side. We eloks have little experience in planetary invasions. Or ground combat in general."
"That's fine", Admiral Jenkins replied, "Just make sure to not hit our own troops down there."
"Drop Pod 17 just experienced RUD, currently attempting LBM!", the Informant exclaimed loud but calmly.
Battleleader Skjôrky raised his antennas: "What's that supposed to mean? what is RUD and what is LBM?"
Admiral Jenkins turned to the confused alien.
"RUD is a short form for 'Rapid Unplanned Disassembly', while LBM stands for 'Lithobreak Maneuver'. all whithin parameter, nothing to worry about."
Battleleader Skjôrky pondered this information for a while. Lithobreak maneuver? if he remembers his education correctly, the lithosphere is the outermost crust of a planet, meaning a lithobreak maneuver would be... a decelleration procedure using the planet itself?? and why should it happen after a...
"Admiral, are you saying that the drop pod exploded?"
"Squad 17 sucessfully touched down in enemy territory. Reports of enemies in every direction." The Informants voice was calm as ever, as if he just announced that a location of mercantile exchange would stop it's operation for the cycle.
"Admiral, our troops have crashed, possibly injured and are being surrounded by enemies? and THAT is your plan?" The Battlemaster's antennas jittered, the whole aline shifting uneasily from one side to the other.
"Battleleader, please. No need for panic. That's all anticipated. Our troops are fine, look. Still almost no casualties.
You might not be familiar with how we humans do warfare, but being surrounded means to us that you can advance in any direction.
Besides, they're paratroopers. They're meant to be surrounded." | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | The mission was easy enough. Just another raid. But it was on a different target. This time we were going after a refinery on the east coast of Vemlek. Cortexia itself was a rocky wasteland of factories and forges. This refinery turned the chemical soup they extracted out of the Vemleki sea bed into Hessek-6, a compound which was put into Annihilator rounds. The seizing of this refinery would give us an edge over the other crews operating in Cortexian space. It was hoped that all would go smoothly. And it did, for the most part anyways. We had touched down a klick from the refinery, and already something had gone to shit. 60 squads were sent down to the area. Squads 45, 13, 6 and 4 were blown apart. But the rest of us had touched down fine. But we came across something odd. Squad 17’s pod was recorded as touched down, but here it was, fried like a ghelix fruit slice. None of the inhabitants were alive. In fact Lukrix got the sergeant stuck to the bottom of his shoe. What was left of him anyway. But then something even odder happened. We saw the members of 17 on our HUD’s, communicating with the rest of the strike force.
“Where the hell were you guys? Your pod was disintegrating back there!”
“So what?”
“You’re supposed to be dead!”
“It’s a bad thing we aren’t?”
“I’m just confused. Keep moving.”
We took the refinery that very same day. But squad 17 never revealed how the hell they got away from that event unscathed. And I doubt they ever will. | 4 people to a squad, 21 squads, 21 pods, 1 planet, 2 landing zones, 1 target. Perfectly by the book attack, land in mass, fight way to stationary target, destroy said target, get survivors out of there. Assuming we lose two or three pods in the air and another few squadrons to ground troops we should expect to destroy the target and exfil roughly 15 or 16 squadrons worth of men and equipment. Everything makes sense.
As the pods drop only 20 release, pod 2 has a malfunction preventing them from safely deploying. Heavy anti air is encountered, the pods of squadrons 17 and 9 are completely destroyed approximately 20 miles up, all members presumed casualties. Ten pods reach landing zone 1 and eight reach landing zone 2, everything is going as planned with allowance for chance and risk.
Squads deploy from their respective landing pods, brief but intense firefights at both sites. Tally of troops deployed taken, as expected squads 2, 9, and 17 are unaccounted for on the ground, squad 3 is down to a single, squad 15 and 8 only have 2 left, singular casualties within squad not noted. Ordered 15 and 8 to merge if at all possible, sole survivor of 3 is too join any squad with a single casualty. Mission is too continue.
Everything is going as planned with allowances for chance and risk
All squads encounter heavy fire roughly 200 yards away from target zone. All squads are pinned down and enduring casualties. Unexpected mortar fire from camoflauged and entrenched positions, unable to neutralize with artillery or close in air support. Enemy fire is heavier than anticipated, no squad is able to move or effectively return fire. Everything is not going according to plan even including allowances for risk and chance. | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | You see, every soldier has their own "I can't believe I did that" story's. For me, the one that stands out the most remains our first real mission.
For a little context here, I was a member of UXA squad 17. Yup, that's me, er us I should say since I'm not the only one who's in this story.
As you know, the UXA program took 200 elite soldiers, transferred'em to the newest generation of modified clone bodies, and trained us for nearly 4 years in all forms of combat and tactics. Hell, they even gave us a dressing down and made us re-learn how to shoot.
Of course, that aside, we were given the latest gen armour to field test during our last 2 months. This armour was the first true full body exo-suits. Basically, with this armour, we turned into the first human tanks. If it wasn't for the hellish training as we had to relearn how to do everything while wearing armour ( when the suit plugs into your brain itself and moves before your body finishes thinking about the movement, it's kinda hard to be precise off the bat )
Hmmmm, damn I'm as bad at telling stories as ever, I ramble more than our old CO, I'll just skip ahead here for your sake.
Our first official mission with the suits. A planetary insertion behind enemie lines. Something everyone had done at least a dozen times.
And we, squad 17, pulled the short straw, we would be the last to insert. Which meant that by the time we lef the ship and entered the atmosphere at nearly twice the speed of sound, their guns would already be all over us.
We loaded into our pod and waited. Well, we tried to wait but dammit, that beautiful basterd Jerry had to bring up what was on everyone's mind "So Sarge, what happens if we get blown out?" Well fuck! What am I supposed to say? We don't have any kind of parachutes here that could work with our armour. And by the time we hit the ground we'd be going at mach 3. We'd be better off dying when the pog blew.
Of course I couldn't say these things, so I gave him a straight face, and said "activate your thrusters when your 5 miles out at 20% otherwise any sooner and you'll be a target to more AA fire. Then aim for the trees" I said as I pulled up the map on the team network, I knew the rest of them were listening anyways.
"The forest a few klicks out from our target is filled with zinewood trees. Our armour can take a beating, but if we don't get rid of some speed before we hit the ground, nothing will save us. So hit as many trees as you can to eat away your speed. If you can't do that, ain for water and pray."
Now of course, this had been the stupid idea I'd come up with in the heat of the moment, but Jerry looked at me like I was a genius and nodded his head. "Sounds good Sarge!" While the rest of the squad gave gazes ranging from "are you sure that will work?" To "are you fucking nuts!" Of course no one said anything, as they all knew it wasn't some matter plan, rather a cheap Plan B to soothe their minds before we dropped.
15 minutes later, at a height of nearly 150 miles in the sky, we dropped. Like a metal bullet we descended into the atmosphere at a speed barely visible with the eye. I watched the counter on my HUD with weary eyes as we sunk deeper and deeper into the sea of air.
100 miles
75 miles
50 miles
40 miles
30 miles
21 miles
And then it happened. There was no time to react, no time to brace. One second we were in the pod, the next me and the 8 others who weren't in the direct path of the round when it stuck the pod, were tumbling through the sky like marionettes with their strings cut.
There was no time to think, there was no time to make a plan. My body seemed to move on it's own. Trained instincts slowing my tumble and allowing me to stabilize my decent. It took all of a half second, but by then we'd fallen nearly another mile down towards the ground.
I dearly wanted to spend the next few seconds contemplating death. But at least half of me didnt want to die that day so I snapped out of it. Or I guess it's closer to not wanting to go out without a fight. I wasted another second trying to think of something, some way to survive this. And what came up? What possible solution came to mind? That crazy plan I'd made less than 20 minutes ago. Although I I fell to my death it seemed closer to a lifetime.
Without delay, I pulled open my map at once and analyzed my position over the surrounding terrain. After finding what I was looking for, I left it open as I shifted my body to the right, changing my heading due west. Aiming for the forest.
10 seconds later, I was nearing 5 miles from the ground. I activated my back thrusters at 20% power ( any higher and they'd be detectable, even at this height ) and braced myself for impact.
I overpressure the suits protective gel layer. My limbs instantly became stiff and were locked in place by the gel. I finally turned on the team locations on my map. One dot was dark, signifying death. "Whoever was in the path of the AA shot" I thought with a heavy heart. However, the 8 remaining green dots were scattered around me, everyone had followed this absolute nightmare of a plan.
At one mile off, I turned off my map and took a deep breath in preparation. Finally, I hit the top of the first tree, shattering it into a hundred fragments. After that I could barely tell what was happening. I blew through tree after tree. Going through meter thick trunks like an armour piercing round through a sheet of paper. Finally, I hit the ground with a thud, skidding hundreds of feet through the loose soil as my momentum was gradually lost.
It took me a few minutes before I could even think. I just sat there, breathing in and out slowly, savoring every second as though it was my last. With snail like speed I deactivated the gel layer, expecting a wave of pain to overwhelm me, but to my surprise, I barely felt a thing. Sure, I was undoubtedly not ok, if I was in the body of a normal human being, I'd be mush. But as I checked my vitals readout, the only major injury was a broken rib and some bruising to give or take 73% of my body.
Not bad for a fall from space, not bad at all. I reached for the can of bio foam on my hip, only to realize it, and the rest of my gear, had been stripped away during the crash. My armour's mag clamps having rip off either when the pod got hit, or when I was crashing through the trees.
Sitting up now, I turned the map back on, still in a state of shock from my survival. I turned on my teams readouts, and I became convinced that I really was dead. That this was just some elaborate dream as I lay dying, my armour and bodies destroyed, on the forest floor.
...
...
...
My entire team, with the exception of the dot that was out earlier, was alive. After a few more seconds of looking at the green dots, I finally awoke from my stupor and made a team waypoint on the map, a few klicks from my location, and in the center of the dots on my map. While they certainly wouldn't be looking for survivors, their would def be patrols about. So we had to act quickly.
With a shitfaced smile on my face, I finally arose from the ground and began walking towards the waypoint.
We still had a mission to complete.
Hi, So this is the first time I've actually done one of these, so uh... how did I do? I'll add a second part if anyone seems interested. I just saw this prompt and wanted to put a spin on it. I'm already imagining the look on commands faces when they realize 17 is still kicking.
The more I type the more I want to write lol. | 4 people to a squad, 21 squads, 21 pods, 1 planet, 2 landing zones, 1 target. Perfectly by the book attack, land in mass, fight way to stationary target, destroy said target, get survivors out of there. Assuming we lose two or three pods in the air and another few squadrons to ground troops we should expect to destroy the target and exfil roughly 15 or 16 squadrons worth of men and equipment. Everything makes sense.
As the pods drop only 20 release, pod 2 has a malfunction preventing them from safely deploying. Heavy anti air is encountered, the pods of squadrons 17 and 9 are completely destroyed approximately 20 miles up, all members presumed casualties. Ten pods reach landing zone 1 and eight reach landing zone 2, everything is going as planned with allowance for chance and risk.
Squads deploy from their respective landing pods, brief but intense firefights at both sites. Tally of troops deployed taken, as expected squads 2, 9, and 17 are unaccounted for on the ground, squad 3 is down to a single, squad 15 and 8 only have 2 left, singular casualties within squad not noted. Ordered 15 and 8 to merge if at all possible, sole survivor of 3 is too join any squad with a single casualty. Mission is too continue.
Everything is going as planned with allowances for chance and risk
All squads encounter heavy fire roughly 200 yards away from target zone. All squads are pinned down and enduring casualties. Unexpected mortar fire from camoflauged and entrenched positions, unable to neutralize with artillery or close in air support. Enemy fire is heavier than anticipated, no squad is able to move or effectively return fire. Everything is not going according to plan even including allowances for risk and chance. | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | Commander Abrams stares at the data for what must be the tenth time in the last hour since Squad 17, impossibly, reported in.
The perplexed Commander rubs his aching eyes and tries to suppress the frustration and confusion threatening to engulf his mind.
Just as he is about to begin watching the video of the dropship and its subsequent fiery explosion for the umpteenth time, his second in command enters the room with, based upon his anxiety and lack of knocking, important news.
"What is it, Captain?" Abrams asks expectantly.
"Sir, well.... Squad 17 is reporting in, they have managed to accomplish their first objective." his subordinate answers promptly.
"Really? That quickly?" the Commander says with his confusion rising ever higher, along with suspicion.
"Patch them through to my console, Captain. I\`ll need to have all of the details before bringing anything to the Admiral for an update." the Commander says after forcibly firming up his somewhat tired and overwhelmed mind.
The Captain quickly manipulates a few things on the datapad implant in his forearm and the console in front of the Commander opens up a comm channel to the squad far below on the surface of the planet they are orbiting.
"Squad Leader, Commander Abrams here. Report."
"Sir, Squad Leader reporting in. We encountered...*difficulties* on our drop, as I am sure you have become aware. Our ship exploded around us and we all blacked out, only to wake up nearly immediately on the surface, right under our exploded ship. It was...quite strange, sir." a deep voice replies over the comm.
"That is definitely a peculiar phenomenon. We will have to investigate it more after all other objectives have been accomplished. Now, what about your first objective, it\`s already accomplished?"
The squad leader replies quickly, "Yes, sir. And as far as our mystery arrival, we may have already solved it..."
"What?" Abrams says, louder than he intended, "What sort of solution have you found?"
"Well, sir, after accomplishing the first objective...much became clear."
The Commander, now red faced and frustrated, growls out, "Soldier, spit it out. What the hell is going on?"
"Sir, after capturing a native, per our objective, the native had much to tell us regarding this planet and our...unorthodox arrival. He was quite frantic and anxious to tell us everything, in fact..." the squad leader says in a musing tone.
"For Earth\`s sake soldier! Get to the fucking point!" Abrams yells, spit flying from his mouth as he finally loses the last of his already diminished patience.
"Sorry, sir. Its just kind of unbelievable to us but we tested it out already and it seems to be true. The captive informed us that this planet has a peculiar set of laws; essentially, nothing dies here...ever and no one can leave after entering. That is why they used their defense system on us, although it was too late. They were trying to prevent us from entering the planet\`s strange environment, thereby becoming trapped, according to him, and unable to die for all of eternity." The squad leader says in a slightly fearful, yet awe-filled voice.
"So, you\`re saying that you boys all survived because you can\`t die on that planet? That you survived because of it? And what do you mean you tested it out?!" The commander says in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes, sir. Apparently, whenever someone experiences sufficient trauma here they simply collapse and their body is completely healed or reformed a moment later. We tested it on the captive, at his own insistence, and it appears true."
"That is...quite incredible, soldier. We will have to test that out more, I suppose. For now, keep pumping the captive for as much intel as you can. I will need all of the data I can for the Admiral."
"Understood, sir. I will transmit everything we have so far now and update you as I can. We are trying to remain undetected by the rest of the natives. They are everywhere, wherever we go, their population appears huge. I figure that makes sense if no one ever dies. Thankfully, it appears the plant life is much the same, its been useful to hide in. Over and out." the squad leader replies with rigid military discipline filling his tone.
Commander Abrams scans the data from the squad, taking in the wealth of information already gathered and contemplating the strange and apparently mystical planet below them.
"Captain, prepare a communique for the Board of the Great Corporation, I believe this will be of interest to them." the commander orders to his second.
'Will do, sir. Why do you think they would be interested in this backwater, though? Even if the whole undying thing is true, it can\`t be of much use if you can never leave." the captain asks, puzzled.
"Well, the higher ups are always getting on us about bringing more captured labor for them, so they can continue our expansion and so they can increase profits. Even if no one can leave, an undying work force, trapped on a planet forever? That could be the answer to all of their problems!" the commander explains with an almost religious fervor infecting his words.
"Oh, yes, sir. That hadn\`t occurred to me." the Captain replies with understanding dawning in his eyes, before snapping off a salute and going about his orders.
The Commander continues his perusal of the data from the captive, his delight growing with each further revelation about the planet below and the goldmine it could be, for all of the Great Human Corporation.
Coming across a specific point in the data, the Commander muses to himself in a quiet voice:
"The Immortal Realm, huh? Seems appropriate." | 4 people to a squad, 21 squads, 21 pods, 1 planet, 2 landing zones, 1 target. Perfectly by the book attack, land in mass, fight way to stationary target, destroy said target, get survivors out of there. Assuming we lose two or three pods in the air and another few squadrons to ground troops we should expect to destroy the target and exfil roughly 15 or 16 squadrons worth of men and equipment. Everything makes sense.
As the pods drop only 20 release, pod 2 has a malfunction preventing them from safely deploying. Heavy anti air is encountered, the pods of squadrons 17 and 9 are completely destroyed approximately 20 miles up, all members presumed casualties. Ten pods reach landing zone 1 and eight reach landing zone 2, everything is going as planned with allowance for chance and risk.
Squads deploy from their respective landing pods, brief but intense firefights at both sites. Tally of troops deployed taken, as expected squads 2, 9, and 17 are unaccounted for on the ground, squad 3 is down to a single, squad 15 and 8 only have 2 left, singular casualties within squad not noted. Ordered 15 and 8 to merge if at all possible, sole survivor of 3 is too join any squad with a single casualty. Mission is too continue.
Everything is going as planned with allowances for chance and risk
All squads encounter heavy fire roughly 200 yards away from target zone. All squads are pinned down and enduring casualties. Unexpected mortar fire from camoflauged and entrenched positions, unable to neutralize with artillery or close in air support. Enemy fire is heavier than anticipated, no squad is able to move or effectively return fire. Everything is not going according to plan even including allowances for risk and chance. | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | "Squad 17 to Command, do you read?", Harvey said into the microphone.
We sat in a cramped, circular 'room' waiting for touchdown. There were four of us and below there were countless amounts of rations and supplies. Pilo, or Exoplanet 3AB was a planet rich in natural resources, minerals and water. It had a breathable atmosphere, the perfect amount of gravity and a comfortable surface temperature. What's not to like?
Harvey, our engineer was still trying to regain contact with Command. The ship was only 10,000 km away from us, and conventional laser link systems have a range of a thousand times of that. This was no conventional laser link system, this was a specially tailored system just for this mission.
Eventually Harvey gave up and let out a sigh of resignation. He banged on the control panel and slouched in his seat.
Olive, the onboard scientist was unfazed by his attitude. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her book.
"How long until we touchdown?"
"30 minutes until Command cuts the tether." Olive said.
I sigh and look at the display below me. There was a live camera feed displaying the outside of the dropship, with Pilo's royal blue atmosphere gleaming. We were slowly orbiting in the vacuum of space.
Marcus, the captain decided to challenge the onboard AI to game of chess.
Meanwhile I had nothing to do.
I was the construction manager for the expedition. A degree in Engineering and Mechanics, like Harvey, and a few years of work experience on building the Dyson Sphere for Earth, and here I ended up. Bored and with 3 people with nothing to talk about.
"Don't we have snacks or something?"
"Sure, go down below deck and eat the only rations we're going to get in 6 months." said Marcus, obviously taking out his impatience on me.
He continued his chess game.
I wish I'd brought a deck of cards or a yo-yo, or something to pass the time. Ugh.
When the spherical ship we were onboard leapt onto action with a *hiss* of pure CO2 thrusters, and off we went into planetfall.
The crew, startled all lept up and a small celebration started. We were off headed to planetfall.
I opened up the camera feeds and saw the massive marble approaching slowly. I opened up the next one and saw the dropship slowly shrinking into a small speck, disappearing into the darkness.
If this second ever exoplanet expedition was successful, it could open up a whole other solar system for us.
"How long until planetfall?" I asked impatiently.
"3 minutes."
"Cool."
"Marcus, you done with that chess game?" Harvey jeered, softly punching him on the shoulder.
"I lost. And shut up." he smiled, failing to contain his excitement.
Smooth sailing, right?
No.
We didn't know what was in store for us.
We stopped in the middle of atmospheric entry. The cord attaching us and the dropship was retracting slowly.
"What's going on? We're 25 miles from the surface!"
"17, this is Command." a voice crackled.
"This is Harvey, we copy."
"Unknown weaponry detected on Pilo's surface. It seems like it's locking onto you. Do not decouple from the cord. We're pulling you out of there."
"We copy." Harvey replied.
The atmosphere underwent a sharp turn. From excitement to dread in under a second.
When suddenly we lurched in our seats.
Our seatbelts kept us sitting down. An alarm blared and the AI went into a frenzy.
"17! You've been hit!" a shocked voice shouted over the comms.
"Fucking thanks, Sherlock!" Marcus screamed at the microphone.
Olive was hyperventilating in her seat, scared.
#Wham!
Another blast hit us. My stomach was sore from the seatbelt.
This time, there was a breach below deck. We were losing supplies fast. Not enough to depressurise our craft, however.
But that did mean one thing:
The airbags meant to break our fall?
Yeah, they aren't going to work.
We crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. Everything went black.
I woke up in my seat in an awkward position. Only 30 seconds since we were shot down. Marcus and Olive were still awake, unbuckling their seatbelts. Harvey was still out cold.
I checked the screen to see if the cameras were working, and sure enough they were. Somehow.
"Are we all okay?" Olive spoke.
"I was knocked unconscious." I spoke.
Luckily for us, Olive was the onboard doctor.
I looked back down at the camera feed, and was shocked:
We were underwater.
"Guys, we're submurged.
"Oh fuck." said Marcus.
Harvey came back to us eventually, regaining consciousness.
"Wha? I'm not dead?"
"Yeah, and don't open the hatch. We're underwater."
"Okay."
"So what now?" I 'calmly' uttered.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Marcus may have been a great planner, but he didn't work great under pressure.
"I guess we die then." Harvey remarked.
"Yeah, yeah I guess we-"
The pod shook. We were being lifted up.
"Oh God." I said. | 4 people to a squad, 21 squads, 21 pods, 1 planet, 2 landing zones, 1 target. Perfectly by the book attack, land in mass, fight way to stationary target, destroy said target, get survivors out of there. Assuming we lose two or three pods in the air and another few squadrons to ground troops we should expect to destroy the target and exfil roughly 15 or 16 squadrons worth of men and equipment. Everything makes sense.
As the pods drop only 20 release, pod 2 has a malfunction preventing them from safely deploying. Heavy anti air is encountered, the pods of squadrons 17 and 9 are completely destroyed approximately 20 miles up, all members presumed casualties. Ten pods reach landing zone 1 and eight reach landing zone 2, everything is going as planned with allowance for chance and risk.
Squads deploy from their respective landing pods, brief but intense firefights at both sites. Tally of troops deployed taken, as expected squads 2, 9, and 17 are unaccounted for on the ground, squad 3 is down to a single, squad 15 and 8 only have 2 left, singular casualties within squad not noted. Ordered 15 and 8 to merge if at all possible, sole survivor of 3 is too join any squad with a single casualty. Mission is too continue.
Everything is going as planned with allowances for chance and risk
All squads encounter heavy fire roughly 200 yards away from target zone. All squads are pinned down and enduring casualties. Unexpected mortar fire from camoflauged and entrenched positions, unable to neutralize with artillery or close in air support. Enemy fire is heavier than anticipated, no squad is able to move or effectively return fire. Everything is not going according to plan even including allowances for risk and chance. | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | Commander Abrams stares at the data for what must be the tenth time in the last hour since Squad 17, impossibly, reported in.
The perplexed Commander rubs his aching eyes and tries to suppress the frustration and confusion threatening to engulf his mind.
Just as he is about to begin watching the video of the dropship and its subsequent fiery explosion for the umpteenth time, his second in command enters the room with, based upon his anxiety and lack of knocking, important news.
"What is it, Captain?" Abrams asks expectantly.
"Sir, well.... Squad 17 is reporting in, they have managed to accomplish their first objective." his subordinate answers promptly.
"Really? That quickly?" the Commander says with his confusion rising ever higher, along with suspicion.
"Patch them through to my console, Captain. I\`ll need to have all of the details before bringing anything to the Admiral for an update." the Commander says after forcibly firming up his somewhat tired and overwhelmed mind.
The Captain quickly manipulates a few things on the datapad implant in his forearm and the console in front of the Commander opens up a comm channel to the squad far below on the surface of the planet they are orbiting.
"Squad Leader, Commander Abrams here. Report."
"Sir, Squad Leader reporting in. We encountered...*difficulties* on our drop, as I am sure you have become aware. Our ship exploded around us and we all blacked out, only to wake up nearly immediately on the surface, right under our exploded ship. It was...quite strange, sir." a deep voice replies over the comm.
"That is definitely a peculiar phenomenon. We will have to investigate it more after all other objectives have been accomplished. Now, what about your first objective, it\`s already accomplished?"
The squad leader replies quickly, "Yes, sir. And as far as our mystery arrival, we may have already solved it..."
"What?" Abrams says, louder than he intended, "What sort of solution have you found?"
"Well, sir, after accomplishing the first objective...much became clear."
The Commander, now red faced and frustrated, growls out, "Soldier, spit it out. What the hell is going on?"
"Sir, after capturing a native, per our objective, the native had much to tell us regarding this planet and our...unorthodox arrival. He was quite frantic and anxious to tell us everything, in fact..." the squad leader says in a musing tone.
"For Earth\`s sake soldier! Get to the fucking point!" Abrams yells, spit flying from his mouth as he finally loses the last of his already diminished patience.
"Sorry, sir. Its just kind of unbelievable to us but we tested it out already and it seems to be true. The captive informed us that this planet has a peculiar set of laws; essentially, nothing dies here...ever and no one can leave after entering. That is why they used their defense system on us, although it was too late. They were trying to prevent us from entering the planet\`s strange environment, thereby becoming trapped, according to him, and unable to die for all of eternity." The squad leader says in a slightly fearful, yet awe-filled voice.
"So, you\`re saying that you boys all survived because you can\`t die on that planet? That you survived because of it? And what do you mean you tested it out?!" The commander says in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes, sir. Apparently, whenever someone experiences sufficient trauma here they simply collapse and their body is completely healed or reformed a moment later. We tested it on the captive, at his own insistence, and it appears true."
"That is...quite incredible, soldier. We will have to test that out more, I suppose. For now, keep pumping the captive for as much intel as you can. I will need all of the data I can for the Admiral."
"Understood, sir. I will transmit everything we have so far now and update you as I can. We are trying to remain undetected by the rest of the natives. They are everywhere, wherever we go, their population appears huge. I figure that makes sense if no one ever dies. Thankfully, it appears the plant life is much the same, its been useful to hide in. Over and out." the squad leader replies with rigid military discipline filling his tone.
Commander Abrams scans the data from the squad, taking in the wealth of information already gathered and contemplating the strange and apparently mystical planet below them.
"Captain, prepare a communique for the Board of the Great Corporation, I believe this will be of interest to them." the commander orders to his second.
'Will do, sir. Why do you think they would be interested in this backwater, though? Even if the whole undying thing is true, it can\`t be of much use if you can never leave." the captain asks, puzzled.
"Well, the higher ups are always getting on us about bringing more captured labor for them, so they can continue our expansion and so they can increase profits. Even if no one can leave, an undying work force, trapped on a planet forever? That could be the answer to all of their problems!" the commander explains with an almost religious fervor infecting his words.
"Oh, yes, sir. That hadn\`t occurred to me." the Captain replies with understanding dawning in his eyes, before snapping off a salute and going about his orders.
The Commander continues his perusal of the data from the captive, his delight growing with each further revelation about the planet below and the goldmine it could be, for all of the Great Human Corporation.
Coming across a specific point in the data, the Commander muses to himself in a quiet voice:
"The Immortal Realm, huh? Seems appropriate." | "Sir," Group Captain Randall reported. " we are almost finished with our mission."
"Good job," said the voice from the fleet, 2000 miles above them. " we also need you to do us an extra job while we send you a replacement ship."
"One more mission, sir?" asked Randall, confused.
"We need you to assasinate the Emperor of this world."
"Come on man. Are you kidding me?"
"No Randall, I am not kidding."
"That's not funny, boss."
"I told you, that's not a joke."
"Seriously, man. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"We will send you further notice. Keep up the good work. Good day."
"Boss, wait..."
The call cut from the other side.
Randall slammed his hand on the control board. Red light started blinking, the entire base was filled with red colored light, the emergency sound started.
"Come on, what did I press again?" Randall muttered to himself. He started to press different buttons trying to stop the sound and the lights.
Just then a crew member walked into the control room. "Sir, we have a problem..."
Randall jumped. "I swear I didn't do anything."
"What?" The member looked confused, "Anyway we are under attack. They found us."
"Thank God. Oh... I mean. Oh God," Randall looked relieved that he didn't do anything like the last time he almost blew up the base. Then he remembered that they might actually die now, " Ok, let's distract them with some autopilot airplanes and let us escape from the safety route."
"Yes, sir" the member, walked away to carry the plan.
Randall ran toward the main hall, everyone were running in different directions.
*
Everyone in the base safely escaped through the safe passage.
Randall walked toward towards a tall man.
"Your Highness, can I talk to you for a second?"
said Randall.
"Yes," said the emperor, delighted at seeing Randall. "First of all let me thank you for saving me from those people who worship we as a king, I know you went out of your way to help me, that life didn't suit me at all."
"Your welcome." Randall said, giving a fake smile.
"When will we going outside this planet."
Randall thought he would surprise everyone by bringing the king with him to the fleet. Guess that's not gonna happen anymore.
"Yeeeah about that." Randall scratched his head. "Sorry, man." | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | "Squad 17 to Command, do you read?", Harvey said into the microphone.
We sat in a cramped, circular 'room' waiting for touchdown. There were four of us and below there were countless amounts of rations and supplies. Pilo, or Exoplanet 3AB was a planet rich in natural resources, minerals and water. It had a breathable atmosphere, the perfect amount of gravity and a comfortable surface temperature. What's not to like?
Harvey, our engineer was still trying to regain contact with Command. The ship was only 10,000 km away from us, and conventional laser link systems have a range of a thousand times of that. This was no conventional laser link system, this was a specially tailored system just for this mission.
Eventually Harvey gave up and let out a sigh of resignation. He banged on the control panel and slouched in his seat.
Olive, the onboard scientist was unfazed by his attitude. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her book.
"How long until we touchdown?"
"30 minutes until Command cuts the tether." Olive said.
I sigh and look at the display below me. There was a live camera feed displaying the outside of the dropship, with Pilo's royal blue atmosphere gleaming. We were slowly orbiting in the vacuum of space.
Marcus, the captain decided to challenge the onboard AI to game of chess.
Meanwhile I had nothing to do.
I was the construction manager for the expedition. A degree in Engineering and Mechanics, like Harvey, and a few years of work experience on building the Dyson Sphere for Earth, and here I ended up. Bored and with 3 people with nothing to talk about.
"Don't we have snacks or something?"
"Sure, go down below deck and eat the only rations we're going to get in 6 months." said Marcus, obviously taking out his impatience on me.
He continued his chess game.
I wish I'd brought a deck of cards or a yo-yo, or something to pass the time. Ugh.
When the spherical ship we were onboard leapt onto action with a *hiss* of pure CO2 thrusters, and off we went into planetfall.
The crew, startled all lept up and a small celebration started. We were off headed to planetfall.
I opened up the camera feeds and saw the massive marble approaching slowly. I opened up the next one and saw the dropship slowly shrinking into a small speck, disappearing into the darkness.
If this second ever exoplanet expedition was successful, it could open up a whole other solar system for us.
"How long until planetfall?" I asked impatiently.
"3 minutes."
"Cool."
"Marcus, you done with that chess game?" Harvey jeered, softly punching him on the shoulder.
"I lost. And shut up." he smiled, failing to contain his excitement.
Smooth sailing, right?
No.
We didn't know what was in store for us.
We stopped in the middle of atmospheric entry. The cord attaching us and the dropship was retracting slowly.
"What's going on? We're 25 miles from the surface!"
"17, this is Command." a voice crackled.
"This is Harvey, we copy."
"Unknown weaponry detected on Pilo's surface. It seems like it's locking onto you. Do not decouple from the cord. We're pulling you out of there."
"We copy." Harvey replied.
The atmosphere underwent a sharp turn. From excitement to dread in under a second.
When suddenly we lurched in our seats.
Our seatbelts kept us sitting down. An alarm blared and the AI went into a frenzy.
"17! You've been hit!" a shocked voice shouted over the comms.
"Fucking thanks, Sherlock!" Marcus screamed at the microphone.
Olive was hyperventilating in her seat, scared.
#Wham!
Another blast hit us. My stomach was sore from the seatbelt.
This time, there was a breach below deck. We were losing supplies fast. Not enough to depressurise our craft, however.
But that did mean one thing:
The airbags meant to break our fall?
Yeah, they aren't going to work.
We crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. Everything went black.
I woke up in my seat in an awkward position. Only 30 seconds since we were shot down. Marcus and Olive were still awake, unbuckling their seatbelts. Harvey was still out cold.
I checked the screen to see if the cameras were working, and sure enough they were. Somehow.
"Are we all okay?" Olive spoke.
"I was knocked unconscious." I spoke.
Luckily for us, Olive was the onboard doctor.
I looked back down at the camera feed, and was shocked:
We were underwater.
"Guys, we're submurged.
"Oh fuck." said Marcus.
Harvey came back to us eventually, regaining consciousness.
"Wha? I'm not dead?"
"Yeah, and don't open the hatch. We're underwater."
"Okay."
"So what now?" I 'calmly' uttered.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Marcus may have been a great planner, but he didn't work great under pressure.
"I guess we die then." Harvey remarked.
"Yeah, yeah I guess we-"
The pod shook. We were being lifted up.
"Oh God." I said. | "Sir," Group Captain Randall reported. " we are almost finished with our mission."
"Good job," said the voice from the fleet, 2000 miles above them. " we also need you to do us an extra job while we send you a replacement ship."
"One more mission, sir?" asked Randall, confused.
"We need you to assasinate the Emperor of this world."
"Come on man. Are you kidding me?"
"No Randall, I am not kidding."
"That's not funny, boss."
"I told you, that's not a joke."
"Seriously, man. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"We will send you further notice. Keep up the good work. Good day."
"Boss, wait..."
The call cut from the other side.
Randall slammed his hand on the control board. Red light started blinking, the entire base was filled with red colored light, the emergency sound started.
"Come on, what did I press again?" Randall muttered to himself. He started to press different buttons trying to stop the sound and the lights.
Just then a crew member walked into the control room. "Sir, we have a problem..."
Randall jumped. "I swear I didn't do anything."
"What?" The member looked confused, "Anyway we are under attack. They found us."
"Thank God. Oh... I mean. Oh God," Randall looked relieved that he didn't do anything like the last time he almost blew up the base. Then he remembered that they might actually die now, " Ok, let's distract them with some autopilot airplanes and let us escape from the safety route."
"Yes, sir" the member, walked away to carry the plan.
Randall ran toward the main hall, everyone were running in different directions.
*
Everyone in the base safely escaped through the safe passage.
Randall walked toward towards a tall man.
"Your Highness, can I talk to you for a second?"
said Randall.
"Yes," said the emperor, delighted at seeing Randall. "First of all let me thank you for saving me from those people who worship we as a king, I know you went out of your way to help me, that life didn't suit me at all."
"Your welcome." Randall said, giving a fake smile.
"When will we going outside this planet."
Randall thought he would surprise everyone by bringing the king with him to the fleet. Guess that's not gonna happen anymore.
"Yeeeah about that." Randall scratched his head. "Sorry, man." | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | We were finally advanced enough for space travel. Advanced enough to leave our galaxy and explore a new one, at least. We'd been studying for years and noticed a promising planet that might be able to be our new home. Our home planet at this point is riddled with war, pollution, and other toxicity that makes it... less than ideal for living. Oh well, that's why we're here. Finding our select group of survivors a new place to call home.
The mission had been going as perfect as it could have been. Our main ship was floating in the planet's atmosphere, waiting for our return. We survived the landing, though a bit scratched up. Part of that could be blamed on our landing vehicle being completely destroyed by something. As much as we didn't want to believe it, it seemed to be a defense system. Our scientists didn't warn us about the possibility of aliens.
Although a bit shaken up, we were alive. It was a bit terrifying to see that we were surrounded by buildings. Massive ones reaching towards the sky, about as large as our planet's cities. This city, however, was quiet. There seemed to be some sort of movement within the windows, but no living creature was outside. So we stood, still, waiting for something to happen.
It felt like hours, but really it was only a few moments before we were surrounded by giant vehicles, loud sirens, and some sort of weapons pointed in our direction. They were yelling at us, but we couldn't understand them. A different language. Finally an individual approached us. It tilted its head and seemed to ask a question, at which we glanced at each other. It soon realized we couldn't understand it and motioned for us to follow it. Hesitantly, we did.
Upon entering its vehicle, it pointed at a screen. It seemed to be a translator of some sort, holding languages we'd never even heard of. After a bit of scrolling through the options, we found ours. The creature then typed something and pressed a button, allowing the machine to speak.
"Welcome to Earth." | "Sir," Group Captain Randall reported. " we are almost finished with our mission."
"Good job," said the voice from the fleet, 2000 miles above them. " we also need you to do us an extra job while we send you a replacement ship."
"One more mission, sir?" asked Randall, confused.
"We need you to assasinate the Emperor of this world."
"Come on man. Are you kidding me?"
"No Randall, I am not kidding."
"That's not funny, boss."
"I told you, that's not a joke."
"Seriously, man. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"We will send you further notice. Keep up the good work. Good day."
"Boss, wait..."
The call cut from the other side.
Randall slammed his hand on the control board. Red light started blinking, the entire base was filled with red colored light, the emergency sound started.
"Come on, what did I press again?" Randall muttered to himself. He started to press different buttons trying to stop the sound and the lights.
Just then a crew member walked into the control room. "Sir, we have a problem..."
Randall jumped. "I swear I didn't do anything."
"What?" The member looked confused, "Anyway we are under attack. They found us."
"Thank God. Oh... I mean. Oh God," Randall looked relieved that he didn't do anything like the last time he almost blew up the base. Then he remembered that they might actually die now, " Ok, let's distract them with some autopilot airplanes and let us escape from the safety route."
"Yes, sir" the member, walked away to carry the plan.
Randall ran toward the main hall, everyone were running in different directions.
*
Everyone in the base safely escaped through the safe passage.
Randall walked toward towards a tall man.
"Your Highness, can I talk to you for a second?"
said Randall.
"Yes," said the emperor, delighted at seeing Randall. "First of all let me thank you for saving me from those people who worship we as a king, I know you went out of your way to help me, that life didn't suit me at all."
"Your welcome." Randall said, giving a fake smile.
"When will we going outside this planet."
Randall thought he would surprise everyone by bringing the king with him to the fleet. Guess that's not gonna happen anymore.
"Yeeeah about that." Randall scratched his head. "Sorry, man." | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | "Squad 17 to Command, do you read?", Harvey said into the microphone.
We sat in a cramped, circular 'room' waiting for touchdown. There were four of us and below there were countless amounts of rations and supplies. Pilo, or Exoplanet 3AB was a planet rich in natural resources, minerals and water. It had a breathable atmosphere, the perfect amount of gravity and a comfortable surface temperature. What's not to like?
Harvey, our engineer was still trying to regain contact with Command. The ship was only 10,000 km away from us, and conventional laser link systems have a range of a thousand times of that. This was no conventional laser link system, this was a specially tailored system just for this mission.
Eventually Harvey gave up and let out a sigh of resignation. He banged on the control panel and slouched in his seat.
Olive, the onboard scientist was unfazed by his attitude. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her book.
"How long until we touchdown?"
"30 minutes until Command cuts the tether." Olive said.
I sigh and look at the display below me. There was a live camera feed displaying the outside of the dropship, with Pilo's royal blue atmosphere gleaming. We were slowly orbiting in the vacuum of space.
Marcus, the captain decided to challenge the onboard AI to game of chess.
Meanwhile I had nothing to do.
I was the construction manager for the expedition. A degree in Engineering and Mechanics, like Harvey, and a few years of work experience on building the Dyson Sphere for Earth, and here I ended up. Bored and with 3 people with nothing to talk about.
"Don't we have snacks or something?"
"Sure, go down below deck and eat the only rations we're going to get in 6 months." said Marcus, obviously taking out his impatience on me.
He continued his chess game.
I wish I'd brought a deck of cards or a yo-yo, or something to pass the time. Ugh.
When the spherical ship we were onboard leapt onto action with a *hiss* of pure CO2 thrusters, and off we went into planetfall.
The crew, startled all lept up and a small celebration started. We were off headed to planetfall.
I opened up the camera feeds and saw the massive marble approaching slowly. I opened up the next one and saw the dropship slowly shrinking into a small speck, disappearing into the darkness.
If this second ever exoplanet expedition was successful, it could open up a whole other solar system for us.
"How long until planetfall?" I asked impatiently.
"3 minutes."
"Cool."
"Marcus, you done with that chess game?" Harvey jeered, softly punching him on the shoulder.
"I lost. And shut up." he smiled, failing to contain his excitement.
Smooth sailing, right?
No.
We didn't know what was in store for us.
We stopped in the middle of atmospheric entry. The cord attaching us and the dropship was retracting slowly.
"What's going on? We're 25 miles from the surface!"
"17, this is Command." a voice crackled.
"This is Harvey, we copy."
"Unknown weaponry detected on Pilo's surface. It seems like it's locking onto you. Do not decouple from the cord. We're pulling you out of there."
"We copy." Harvey replied.
The atmosphere underwent a sharp turn. From excitement to dread in under a second.
When suddenly we lurched in our seats.
Our seatbelts kept us sitting down. An alarm blared and the AI went into a frenzy.
"17! You've been hit!" a shocked voice shouted over the comms.
"Fucking thanks, Sherlock!" Marcus screamed at the microphone.
Olive was hyperventilating in her seat, scared.
#Wham!
Another blast hit us. My stomach was sore from the seatbelt.
This time, there was a breach below deck. We were losing supplies fast. Not enough to depressurise our craft, however.
But that did mean one thing:
The airbags meant to break our fall?
Yeah, they aren't going to work.
We crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. Everything went black.
I woke up in my seat in an awkward position. Only 30 seconds since we were shot down. Marcus and Olive were still awake, unbuckling their seatbelts. Harvey was still out cold.
I checked the screen to see if the cameras were working, and sure enough they were. Somehow.
"Are we all okay?" Olive spoke.
"I was knocked unconscious." I spoke.
Luckily for us, Olive was the onboard doctor.
I looked back down at the camera feed, and was shocked:
We were underwater.
"Guys, we're submurged.
"Oh fuck." said Marcus.
Harvey came back to us eventually, regaining consciousness.
"Wha? I'm not dead?"
"Yeah, and don't open the hatch. We're underwater."
"Okay."
"So what now?" I 'calmly' uttered.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Marcus may have been a great planner, but he didn't work great under pressure.
"I guess we die then." Harvey remarked.
"Yeah, yeah I guess we-"
The pod shook. We were being lifted up.
"Oh God." I said. | Everybody who served in the space forces have some crazy story of theirs, my one is a bit... different though.
It played out during the last year of the war, the aliens were close to surrender and there was only one stronghold of theirs left to break, their homeplanet.
Needless to say, they defended it with everything they had, and that drop was the hardest one I've experienced through the whole war.
Our goals were simple, disable their shield generators so we could storm the capital, and soon after we dropped my squad started pushing towards an outpost, we encountered some resistance but made quick work of it.
Thats when we got a order to give up on our firsf objective and instead find Squad 17 they apparently already achieved their objective and needed some assistance, it was a weird order but we were happy that we weren't the ones pushing through heave enemy fire anymore.
We redirected ourselves and soon made it to this Squad, its about now I should explain how each Squad worked.
Each Squad had a Medic, a Marksman equipped with a DMR, a Explosive specialist who was tasked with breaching walls and dismantling enemy explosives, a Sergeant who is the commanding officer, and three regular infantrymen armed with assault rifles.
However, when we arrived we saw 5 soldiers equipped with DMR's, which was rather suspicious, but we didn't think much of it, maybe multiple squads got separated and now mixed together at this point?
Anyway, soon enough Sarge got in contact with the Sergeant of the other squad and they started talking, while the rest of us guarded the camp.
Thats when Sarge came back from the talk, got our squad back together and told us in a hurry that he got another order.
Squad 17 was apparently killed before even entering the atmosphere, whoever these guys were they weren't that squad, and they weren't friendly either.
Oh yeah, and also they were going to orbit strike the camp in 10 minutes and we had to get going now.
We sneaked our way out, or at least tried to, before they realized what was happening, and a firefight ensued.
We somehow all made it to the relative safety of the treeline alive, and I even got some of them, though they looked like nothing I ever saw before or after.
Now, as you may know the species we were fighting was rather humanoid in appearance, only having different eyes and skin color, alongside being a little taller on average.
However, these things were just.... whenever I hit one it would just transform into this weird gooey mess with tentacles, it was quite creepy to be honest.
Anyway, the bastards got incinerated, good riddance I say, good riddance | |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | We were finally advanced enough for space travel. Advanced enough to leave our galaxy and explore a new one, at least. We'd been studying for years and noticed a promising planet that might be able to be our new home. Our home planet at this point is riddled with war, pollution, and other toxicity that makes it... less than ideal for living. Oh well, that's why we're here. Finding our select group of survivors a new place to call home.
The mission had been going as perfect as it could have been. Our main ship was floating in the planet's atmosphere, waiting for our return. We survived the landing, though a bit scratched up. Part of that could be blamed on our landing vehicle being completely destroyed by something. As much as we didn't want to believe it, it seemed to be a defense system. Our scientists didn't warn us about the possibility of aliens.
Although a bit shaken up, we were alive. It was a bit terrifying to see that we were surrounded by buildings. Massive ones reaching towards the sky, about as large as our planet's cities. This city, however, was quiet. There seemed to be some sort of movement within the windows, but no living creature was outside. So we stood, still, waiting for something to happen.
It felt like hours, but really it was only a few moments before we were surrounded by giant vehicles, loud sirens, and some sort of weapons pointed in our direction. They were yelling at us, but we couldn't understand them. A different language. Finally an individual approached us. It tilted its head and seemed to ask a question, at which we glanced at each other. It soon realized we couldn't understand it and motioned for us to follow it. Hesitantly, we did.
Upon entering its vehicle, it pointed at a screen. It seemed to be a translator of some sort, holding languages we'd never even heard of. After a bit of scrolling through the options, we found ours. The creature then typed something and pressed a button, allowing the machine to speak.
"Welcome to Earth." | Everybody who served in the space forces have some crazy story of theirs, my one is a bit... different though.
It played out during the last year of the war, the aliens were close to surrender and there was only one stronghold of theirs left to break, their homeplanet.
Needless to say, they defended it with everything they had, and that drop was the hardest one I've experienced through the whole war.
Our goals were simple, disable their shield generators so we could storm the capital, and soon after we dropped my squad started pushing towards an outpost, we encountered some resistance but made quick work of it.
Thats when we got a order to give up on our firsf objective and instead find Squad 17 they apparently already achieved their objective and needed some assistance, it was a weird order but we were happy that we weren't the ones pushing through heave enemy fire anymore.
We redirected ourselves and soon made it to this Squad, its about now I should explain how each Squad worked.
Each Squad had a Medic, a Marksman equipped with a DMR, a Explosive specialist who was tasked with breaching walls and dismantling enemy explosives, a Sergeant who is the commanding officer, and three regular infantrymen armed with assault rifles.
However, when we arrived we saw 5 soldiers equipped with DMR's, which was rather suspicious, but we didn't think much of it, maybe multiple squads got separated and now mixed together at this point?
Anyway, soon enough Sarge got in contact with the Sergeant of the other squad and they started talking, while the rest of us guarded the camp.
Thats when Sarge came back from the talk, got our squad back together and told us in a hurry that he got another order.
Squad 17 was apparently killed before even entering the atmosphere, whoever these guys were they weren't that squad, and they weren't friendly either.
Oh yeah, and also they were going to orbit strike the camp in 10 minutes and we had to get going now.
We sneaked our way out, or at least tried to, before they realized what was happening, and a firefight ensued.
We somehow all made it to the relative safety of the treeline alive, and I even got some of them, though they looked like nothing I ever saw before or after.
Now, as you may know the species we were fighting was rather humanoid in appearance, only having different eyes and skin color, alongside being a little taller on average.
However, these things were just.... whenever I hit one it would just transform into this weird gooey mess with tentacles, it was quite creepy to be honest.
Anyway, the bastards got incinerated, good riddance I say, good riddance | |
[WP] An eldrich horror has arisen. Anyone who looks at it is struck with insanity because the human mind can not comprehend the secrets of the infinite darkness. However, the 16 year old teenager is not impressed. | So...
I'm James, 16. Living in Boston.
Very, very bored of life. Likes anime music.
3 suicide attempts within the last six months.
So, Mom got concerned and sent me from Georgia to here, so that I could stay with her psychologist sister, Aunt Mary. It has been a week since.
And here I am, wandering about in Central Park, New York, when the air was literally torn apart and something... black came out. For some reason, people started screaming and crying and running, so I decided to go with it and move away.
There are tall buildings that you can access the roof of near Central Park, so within minutes, I'm at the rooftop, looking at the thing with a compact spyglass. Don't ask me on why I had this.
It looks like that thing is not just black, but also iridescent, like oil on water, but more glowy. And it's more of a slime than anything. But there's something in the black parts that is... unusual... oh, right! Was it vantablack, or something? Dunno, but it's just so black, if you get what I mean.
(Why am I even writing this)
I don't know why the people are screaming and dancing and stripping, but that's beyond me since I hightailed it when the naked ones started fucking. I don't want any part in this, and I'm not interested.
Turns out, that's the appetizer. And the main course is just to be served.
The sky was torn apart again, and a big mofo came out. Big bunch of tentacles all waving and a lot of eyes. Also muscles, no skin. Pure black in color, as in no light. Big enough to fit in a baseball field sitting down.
More screaming around me, more pants wetting crying. The Military went gung-ho on the guns, so there are explosions and gunfire. And then it screamed. It was loud, yes, but was it really loud enough to burst ears? People are bleeding in the mouth, too.
Why is there someone gouging their eyes out!? Why are you screaming in baby talk!? Why is that couple doing it in public, moaning like that!?
It's just a giant shadow kaiju that looks Lovecraftian... right?
...
I'm back in Boston. I used my motorcycle. Nearly forgot it, with all the chaos in New York. Mom called, saying that the news declared that New York be closed until the creature is put down, and soldiers are getting insane. Aunt Mary told me, when I asked her later about all the weird shit that I've seen the people do, that since people tried to rationalize the sight of the creature, their mind went haywire. Or so her theory goes. She's even surprised that I'm still quite sane.
"Or maybe," she mused, "you're already quite insane, which might have made it easier on you?" | In the chaos of people going crazy around him. Ben, a 16 years old teen, just looks at the horror with the apathic glare of an emo teen. "Seriously that's the best you got. It's not even as dark as my soul." The lopsided navy blue hair Ben sarcasm dripping from his voice. The horror stopped it's rampage in confusion. The horror finally spoke in a voice niegh unintelligible. "I'm literally made of infinite darkness how can your soul be darker than mine." Miffed by the horror words. The navy blue jacketed teen glare again with his purple eyes. "You've just drove people crazy. I've seen more horrible stuff then your darkness." Shows the horror a brutal murder scene and someone dead in the eyes. The horror flinched at seeing such brutality. "So go back to wherever you came from or else. I'll kill you myself." He said as a feral smile graced Ben's lips. The horror didn't back down and stayed it's ground. As Ben now furious. Climbs with great speed up a nearby building. He jumps straight into the horrors center with that same wild look in his eyes. As the horror felt it's heart be crushed. And then it's brain as the horror disappeared from the universe. As the apathic teen softly fell down a cheer went up for the hero. Ben rolled his eyes as he put in headphones and his hood up and left the scene. |
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