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	[WP] Write a horror story with no villain.	I don't know what time it was when I heard the noise. I'm not even sure what the noise was, but whatever it was, it woke me up. Whether it woke me up right away, or if I was already awake, I have no idea. The rational part of my mind was saying "Hey, it's just the pipes." But there was that little bit of doubt in the back of my head. No one else was in the house, and no one was supposed to get back for another couple of days. After a few minutes, I heard another few noises, thumps if you will. Again, my rational mind tried to reassure me that it was nothing. But there was no way I could sleep with the doubt in my head. One way or another, I had to know what was going on downstairs. I opened my eyes, and considered for a moment if I should make any movements. If there was someone right here, surely I should appear asleep, right? The door was out of view, and I was lying on my side. Deciding to risk it, I rolled over, but tried to make it look like I was still asleep. At the midpoint of the turn, it was like time stopped. Half of my mind was screaming at me that this is an awful idea, while the other half was yelling at the first to calm the hell down. My heart was racing, and at the end of the roll, I could see there was no one there. I felt relieved, and a little silly. But I wasn't out of the woods yet. I sat up from my bed and looked around. My laptop was off. Obviously its updates finished while I was asleep. I wondered what time it was. My phone was on the bookshelf next to the door, so if I wanted to know, I'd have to risk the creaky floorboards and cross the room. But surely I'd have to do that whatever happens? Naturally, I decided to chance it. My heart raced on, and I heard another noise. I stepped slowly across the room, trying to be as gentle as possible to minimise any noise. I got lucky and only stepped on two creaky floorboards, and only one of them was loud enough to really hear. I leaned against the door slowly, thinking that if I lean against the door, no one can open it. I reached for my phone, and took a look at the time. 3:30AM. No texts, no missed calls. After taking a few moments to regain my composure, I stepped back from the door, and reached for the handle. Then I remembered a mistake I'd made; I forgot to oil the handle. Sounds silly, but this handle is the noisiest thing I've ever turned. If there's another living thing in this house, it'll hear it for sure. With the rational part of my mind overtaken by this irrational fear, I looked around me for something I could use to defend myself if there really was someone down there. I saw a window key, a pencil, and a small penlight. I looked over at the window. It only opens a little, but at least I had a last resort -- I could try to use the window key to break the glass. At that moment, a rational thought pierced through all of this; I'm getting ahead of myself. This is a rather old house. The noises are probably just faulty pipes. The only reason I was standing up now was to go downstairs and take a look so I can get back to sleep. With the small confidence boost this was, I threw caution to the wind, and slowly opened the door. It made a whiny grinding sound, and -- with my confidence beginning to fade again -- I grabbed the pencil, and opened the door a crack. I couldn't see anyone. Just the hall before me. I slowly continued to open the door, and continued to see nothing. Just the house. The other bedroom, the study, the bathroom. But from this position, I couldn't see downstairs at all. Thankfully, since the front door was directly ahead of the stairs, if I could just work up the courage to peer down the stairs, I could finally put my mind to rest. As I slowly stepped forward, I heard another sound from downstairs, and I once again noticed my heart pounding. I felt so on edge, I just wanted to scream. I felt like if this lasted much longer, my chest would burst open, so I peered over the stairs. The door was open. I just froze there for a moment, taking in the complete and utter horror that was coming over me. I honestly couldn't describe the emotions I was feeling, they all came so fast. My mind was turning to strategy, and I readied the pencil in my hand. If I'm going out, I'm going out kicking and screaming with all my might. But, despite this narrative of running up to this mystery person and desperately attacking them until one of us went down that I was weaving in my head, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't even move; I was still in the exact same position I was in when I saw the door was open. Deciding it was best to just get this over with, I slowly made my way down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. At the very least, I wanted to live long enough to see this guy's face. At the bottom of the stairs, I looked over at the door. I could feel the cool breeze on my face. Perhaps the last cool breeze I would feel? I peered around, looking for whoever was here. The only living thing I could see was in a fishtank. I just wanted this to be over, I felt like I was about to have a heart attack or something. I slowly walked down the hall, looking into each room as I walked onwards, until I looked in the kitchen, and saw the fridge door, wide open. I backed against the wall to the side of the doorway, and felt my heart racing faster than I've ever felt it. Then I cleared my mind. I accepted that I was helpless. I was ready for either way this could turn out. So, I stepped into the kitchen, and looked at the figure standing before me. There I sat, just a few minutes later, my heart not beating as fast as it was before, but just as hard. I survived. I've always been a survivor. Even if it means killing the owner of a house so I can sleep the rest of the night in it. I'm a survivor. But maybe the world would be a better place if I wasn't. - - - Constructive criticism is appreciated. And thank you to everyone who stuck with this long enough to see the ending. This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, and the initial setup for this seems rather obvious, so I imagine a lot of people probably gave up a few lines in.	It begins the same way every day. A noise and a light and nothing more. The light comes in strong through the window, automated shades lift violently up and the once dark room is assaulted with all of the sun's passion. In the distance there are footsteps, uncountable, unobtainable heels and toes on a hard floor. “Tick tock” goes the feet and the clock. Or i think the cock does anyway, i haven't seen one in such a time that the concept itself seems to be disappearing from me. Now the only way i keep time is the shades, up and down. And the heels back and forth. Hissing from a machine here or there, then the shades are down again The shades open, the light floods in and i lay here. How many times has this happened and how many times till it never happens again? Tick tock the sound goes somewhere behind me. Hiss hiss the machine next to me and i sleep. THe shades open, my eyes feel permanently dilated, the light is blinding me. I attempt to move my arm but it's useless, like the rest of my form. The light burns deep into the core of my head, eroding my sense of self. I can only hold them closed so long before the effort of that action becomes too painful in itself and i am forced to let the sun blind me, little by little. The heat is in the inside of my head now, i feel a fire in me that has reduced to embers. Shades, Light. I can't see it anymore but i can still feel it burn its way into my head, whatever parts of me that were in there are now surely useless and if i think about it long enough i swear i can smell something on fire. Tick Tock go the heals, always behind me. Shades, i just hear them, my face seems to have either lost the ability to feel heat and pain or it's no longer really there. Could it have been reduced to nothing, what is there if it's gone? Shades, Tick Tock, Shades Tick Tock. Noise Tic Toc. Sound Tic Toc. Mmm, Mmm Mmm. …. Cause of death: Advanced ALS and clerical error resulting in heat and light exposure for 10 hours a day, 6 months. Investigation in progress. Dr. Spinester
	[WP] Write a horror story with no villain.	My name is Claire and I’m an ex-EMT who used to work with the Indiana State Troopers. This is the story of my last response call before I quit. It was a violent night in late November – the season was in a limbo between winter and fall and the leaves were decaying in a brown mush on the ground. It was cold and dark outside but there was no snow. We received a call around half-past midnight – a hysteric woman screaming into the phone, unable to form coherent sentences. It isn’t unusual that victims of extreme trauma are so out of it that they’re unable to provide the emergency call takers with a location. They’re so jacked up on adrenaline and only manage to call 911 because that’s been drilled into them since childhood. I remember this call felt odd from the get go. We were only provided with GPS cords, which meant that the phone’s location was far from any roads. This isn’t all too unusual in the summertime when hikers and nature fanatics get into trouble in our many parks. But this time of the year, nobody has any business being out there, especially not this late at night. When the police truck driving in front of us diverted from the main road and started crawling down a small dirt path into the wilderness, I knew something was wrong. I remember that I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, though, but I just knew. With the headlights on, our two cars crept into the forest, branches tapping and scratching at the windows. My partner, Tom, was riding in the front with the state trooper. They had been chatting away until we entered the forest. Now they were quietly scanning the shifting shadows of the trees. The cars finally stopped on the side of a hill. It had taken us almost thirty minutes from the main road. That’s when I realized what was wrong. The dirt path had been untouched before we came. No car tracks. How had the woman even gotten herself this deep into the forest without a vehicle? I’ve regretted not opening my mouth about this ever since. We grabbed our equipment from the back of the truck and started climbing down the slope. We were close to the GPS cords now. We started shouting calling out for Mary because that was the registered name to the number. Our flashlights played over tree bark and wet mossy ground. “Mary!” “Hey, over here!” one of the state troopers called out. I hurried towards him, my hands already opening the supply bag. But what he had found wasn’t anything that could be saved. It was a plastic bag from which a horrible stench emitted. I’m not going to describe what I saw when the trooper, close to vomiting, opened the bag – but let’s just say I’ve seen a lot of sickening shit in my time as an EMT and I still have nightmares about that bag. While the troopers called in backup, Tom and I continued to search the perimeter. That’s when a shrill scream rang out from the top of the ridge, where we had parked our cars. In a moment we were all jogging up the hill again. Huffing, we closed in on the cars. My flashlight caught a figure crouched down between the cars. It was a woman clad in very filthy a hospital gown. Her bushy hair was a tangling mess and her hands and feet were pale blue from the cold. Her eyes stared wildly almost like an animal. She was obviously scared witless. Still, some of the troopers drew their guns. Tom held up his hand with a frown and approached the woman slowly. She remained still until he reached out his hand. Then she shied away and whispered something. “She says she’ll only be examined by a woman,” Tom said. When I came close she dug her fingers into my jacket. I saw the lines on her cheeks where tears had washed away the filth. What the hell had happened to this woman? “Are you Mary?” I asked as I checked her body for injuries. “Do you know where you are?” She didn’t answer just sucked on her lips and kept doing this weird noise in the back of her throat. The bottom part of her gown was caked with a dried black substance. “You need to get to a hospital, Mary,” I said, putting my hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her down. We wrapped her in heat blankets and I rode with her in the back of the car. She was shaking. She touched her stomach and then looked at me, tears filling her eyes. “Claire,” she whispered. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.” I just looked at her, suddenly feeling uneasy. I hadn’t told her my name. She reached out her hand, touching my belly. “Maybe you can?” she said, sincere hope filling her eyes. “Please?” Mary died on the way back to the hospital and I quit my job the day after. She was from West Virginia and had been checked into a local hospital the day before, waiting to deliver her baby. She had disappeared so suddenly that the hospital hadn’t even had time to report her missing. How she had traveled all those miles and somehow ended up in a national park in Indiana was a complete mystery. It’s now been eight months since that night in the forest and my belly is so big. I don’t know how it happened, and I worry what’s going to happen to me when it’s time. ***** If you liked this story, please subscribe /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.	It begins the same way every day. A noise and a light and nothing more. The light comes in strong through the window, automated shades lift violently up and the once dark room is assaulted with all of the sun's passion. In the distance there are footsteps, uncountable, unobtainable heels and toes on a hard floor. “Tick tock” goes the feet and the clock. Or i think the cock does anyway, i haven't seen one in such a time that the concept itself seems to be disappearing from me. Now the only way i keep time is the shades, up and down. And the heels back and forth. Hissing from a machine here or there, then the shades are down again The shades open, the light floods in and i lay here. How many times has this happened and how many times till it never happens again? Tick tock the sound goes somewhere behind me. Hiss hiss the machine next to me and i sleep. THe shades open, my eyes feel permanently dilated, the light is blinding me. I attempt to move my arm but it's useless, like the rest of my form. The light burns deep into the core of my head, eroding my sense of self. I can only hold them closed so long before the effort of that action becomes too painful in itself and i am forced to let the sun blind me, little by little. The heat is in the inside of my head now, i feel a fire in me that has reduced to embers. Shades, Light. I can't see it anymore but i can still feel it burn its way into my head, whatever parts of me that were in there are now surely useless and if i think about it long enough i swear i can smell something on fire. Tick Tock go the heals, always behind me. Shades, i just hear them, my face seems to have either lost the ability to feel heat and pain or it's no longer really there. Could it have been reduced to nothing, what is there if it's gone? Shades, Tick Tock, Shades Tick Tock. Noise Tic Toc. Sound Tic Toc. Mmm, Mmm Mmm. …. Cause of death: Advanced ALS and clerical error resulting in heat and light exposure for 10 hours a day, 6 months. Investigation in progress. Dr. Spinester
	[WP] Before you're born, you choose a difficulty that influences how hard your life will be. You've just unlocked the impossible setting.	When I played on easy i was the first son of some rich white guy in America. Everything was given to me. Medium was already harder but still pretty simple as it put me in a middleclass american household. Had to work to be able to study and I wasn't able to do everything I wanted but I still had a good life. The hard setting was almost impossible. It placed me in a gang controlled ghetto. I somehow managed to unite the gangs of the entire state and become the kingpin. After I died a new difficulty was unlocked: "IMPOSSIBLE" Wondering what how it could get even more difficult I chose it. That's when something weird happened. A screen popped up. TIME OF BIRTH: JANUARY 1933 LOCATION OF BIRTH: WARSAW, POLAND PARENTS: MIDDLE-CLASS, OWN A SMALL BUSINESS SIBLINGS: NONE RELIGION: JEWISH MISSION: SURVIVE TILL THE AGE OF 80 REWARDS: - PLAYABLE CHARACTER UNLOCKED: "GOD" - CONSOLE COMMANDS UNLOCKED - ADVANCED SETTINGS UNLOCKED	The old man in stood in front of me gives me a sly look whilst twirling his moustache. "The aim of the game is to live forever" he says, smiling and raising an eyebrow. "Ok" I reply. "Choose a difficulty" he asks, and then laughs manically. "The only choice is impossible?" I ask confused. "Exactly!" he shouts triumphantly. "So everyone dies?" I ask. "Precisely" he states, proud of himself. "Fine, I'm ready" I bravely say. "Oh by the way, you'll forget this whole thing" he states with a sly smile. "Then what's the point of it?" I ask. "Oh, it's for a writing prompt, of course"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	I laughed uncontrollably each time I was greeted into the afterlife. They knew me well, the same person always coming back years after years. I was a regular, a regular passer in the plains of the afterlife. "What will it be this time?" My life manager said. Each person who chose to be reborn would get a life manager, and my life manager has known me for all of my life. A life manager was someone you could depend on, most of the time, they would ask you questions about what or who you wanted to be, what kinda life you wanted to live, and then would proceed with the process of being born again. I had done it at all at some point. Originally, my first life, was a simple caveman. I stood tall and fare, fighting and hunting, hunting and fighting. And all those darn fires. It was a good life, a simple life, but little did I know about the afterlife. I could travel into the future, I could go into the past, I could choose who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. But for me? Oh no. I was too simple. I had heard of others, others who were so wise with the lives they chose and became famous or legendary on Earth. I could have easily done the same. But when my life manager looked me in the eyes, I knew he was pleading for me to choose something else. He saw me so regularly I once popped up on his time off in the heavens. "Just say it" he said bluntly, "If you wanna be a damn ant again, just say it." My life manager was a good guy, he really was. He always made my short lives unique and had the growing world around me interact. I had been in an ant farm in a school once, and I died because a boy named Tommy ate me. But from the many lives I had of living as an ant, I still enjoyed it. I was given a job, I had a family, I kept them alive and fulfilled my duties. It was simple. I liked simple. But because I choose an ant, my life is always quite short. Sometimes I think my life manager does that on purpose, it is probably to make me choose something else. "What do you recommend?" I asked him. He gleamed with a smile, and a twinkle appeared in his eye. He thought today was the day, he thought maybe, oh just maybe, I wouldn't choose an ant. "Well..." he paused as he thought. "I know you like a simple life", he then proceeded to hand me a few files from his desk. Where did he get those? Did they just magically appear? "How about a farmer, a good ol' Texan?" I skimmed through the file, eyeing the man I might be. "He looks like a pussy. Next." My poor life manager sighed. "Okay, that's okay. Look at the next file" he instructed. "A samurai? They live quite dangerously but with honor. Maybe you'd like that?" I pondered as I looked at the file. Maybe? Maybe I should? Maybe I should choose something else? "How about something more, I don't know, less life threatening?" I suggested. And that's when my manager knew it. He fucking knew it. He excitedly searched and found a random folder, I don't even think he looked through it. "Here!" He prestsened me a file and said it was a random human, a simple human who would live a long and boring life. "Okay. Sounds good." I, myself, didn't look at the file. But to my surprise, I chose to be a human. A human who thought he was an ant.	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?" This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 billion times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all. "I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again." "I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him? "You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life. "Next!"	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	“I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said. Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are? “Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.” You could aspire to be something more challenging. “Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.” That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically. “Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.” She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. I can’t force you to try something different but I really think… “Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.” You’re still angry with me. “I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.” Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore. “It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.” I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago… “That was a fucking disaster too.”	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"And you're back" Peter said. "This time you, wait what, you gotten yourself killed on purpose this time?". "yes. I was done" I replied. "So you promised. Next time you're here you'd tell me why you have chose ant for the last 4 billion times". Peter continued while ignoring the fact that I stated I was done. "only if you keep your part of the deal Peter. And you know, if you promised, you have to keep it. It's one of God's rules" I said while tapping on the 4 tablets of commandments. I'm still puzzled how the others lost 2 of those all those years ago. Ten commandments my ass. There would be much less war if they kept the other 2. "You promised me you're reincarnate me no matter what and whatever my reason to chose ant was" "yeah yeah" Peter said annoyed. "just spill the beans. Why ants...." I looked him dead in the eyes and said "you really want to know?" "OH COME ONE!! you're here for the last 1000 years or so. Asking to be a frigging ant each time. You've seen the entire world as an ant. You promised you'd tell me so tell me!" Peter snarled. "Are you really sure? What I'm going to say might have repercussions for you as well. You'd might end up in the basement. And red never really suited you." Peter hesitated but said "oh it can't be that bad. Come on. Stop teasing me and tell me" "well ok. You know me and Addy where pals for years? You know before he went bonkers and ended up downstairs? Well, centuries ago we found a loophole in God's plans. We found a way to keep our memory. First I started remembering snippets of information. The next time around it was still there. Somehow only memories of the last reincarnation are getting wiped. Eventually I found a way to sort of shield memory from the wipe. I explained it to Addy and he too started keeping his memory of his past lives." Peter looked shocked but could utter a word. I continued "At one point we decided to observe the world. Learn everything there is to know. Learn about secrets governments don't want you to know. As a ant you can get almost everywhere. Addy always like the eagle. To investigate potential battlefields he said. Slowly we gotten to know the world, politics, how to play crowds. Addy was a brilliant speaker. He truly could rally the masses. But I told him he picked the wrong country. That he should wait just a little bit. Things went great for him in the beginning but I did warn him about the sleeping giant. I told him to go there if he really wanted to make the move. But Addy didn't listen. He always was stubborn." Peter was still looking at me as if he saw water burning. "Addy did show me I was right. The sleeping giant is the place to be. Trigger it's people right and you control the mightiest beast on earth. With them I can rule the world. Where Addy failed I will succeed. So Peter, I told you my story. Now I would like to be human. Place me in the United States. As you promised". "Bu.. bu.. but Donald... After what Addy did..." Peter stumbled. "as you promised Peter.." I said with a stern voice while tapping the tablets again "Ok fine. You tricked me Donald!"	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind. It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to. I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time. Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said. &nbsp; "Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-" &nbsp; "Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop." &nbsp; "Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time." &nbsp; "Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight." &nbsp; Poof Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie- &nbsp; Pitch black. Sigh. &nbsp; "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil. “You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.” “And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.” The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again. “Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.” I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings. «Tell me why. » “Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?” I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head. “It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ” “But some parts must be worse than others?” “Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.” We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder. “Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.” The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging. Then, I’ll finally be a dog.	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	Minim transmigrates, skitters, walks the intricate labyrinth of an entirely new colony. The tunnels branch out five-dimensionally, and far behind her is the distant memory of dying. She has emerged from her carapace a being of perfect and immortal soul, and the substrata of the world have revealed themselves to her. She crawls past matter, past space, past time, and in the fungal garden comes to rest. Nigoda swarm around her, single-celled souls so undifferentiated that they compose the base matter of the cosmos. She is afloat in a sea of life and death, of eternal rebirth. All possibilities are open to her. "And what shall you choose?" comes a waft of pheromones, and before her is the distended body of the queen, Tirthankara, all six legs folded in lotus formation, every segmented piece of her body a further elaboration of truth. Mimin feels her soul seize with the possibilities. Beyond one tunnel lies the unbound flight of the falcon, and she can peer down it to the glint of sun off the tops of clouds. There is the lotus emerging pure through the river mud. There is the antelope bounding gracefully through the plains. There is the crocodile with its slow and unnerving grin, snaking lazily through the waters. There is the elephant, there is the horse, there is the buffalo, there is the boar, there is the porcupine and the tortoise and monkey and the snake, a seemingly endless number of tiers of existence blurring indiscriminately into the looping circle of life. "Which of these are worthy of me?" trembles Minim, shaky on her fragile six legs. "Which do I deserve?" "There is neither retribution nor reward in death," Tirthankara says, her abdomen shining with light. "You, you yourself, are an intrinsically perfect soul, striving ever onward towards liberation. Only your actions, only your choices, shall determine what happens next." "I ... I only sought to serve while I lived," says Minim, struggling to remember. "My sisters, they foraged and guarded us. While I tended to the gardens." She remembers tending to the delicate sprouts of fungus as they sprouted from the rotting leaves, heedful of their chemical songs of fruition, rearranging the leaf beds for maximum growth, hauling away the waste. "I could not have -" The thought confounds her, and she looks up to Tirthankara. "I was a limb in a greater organism." She looks to the mammalian paths of rebirth, twisting and turning all the way to the end until she can feel the concept of them worming through her mind. "A teat, a hand on a breast." She can almost feel the sensation of a heart beating, of warm blood flowing through her limbs. "If I were to be reborn ... could I be something more?" "You could be as a demi-god," Tirthankara says, extending her limbs. "You could be as a being of hell." There are visions of creatures Minim has never imagined, never conceived of, standing vertically towards the sky. They stare through transparent eyes and incinerate dozens with a gaze. They extend many-toothed limbs and chew trees to the ground. They have built colonies of stone and smoke and fire that extend over the surface of the world. They could crush her and her colony with a single step. "You could stride atop the world. You could reach for the heavens. There are no limits imposed upon you here, sister. The choice is eternally yours." Minim sees, and shudders with vertigo. She has lived a life without leaving her colony, without seeing the sun, and now she sees before her the possibility to harness the sun for herself, or to blot it from the sky. "I-" she gasps, and collapses back. "Forgive me," she whispers, and thinks of her precious gardens, moist and warm and dark and rich with fungus song, of the rows of squirming hungry children awaiting her care. There are her sisters who roved the edges of the colony, foraging for food, fighting off all enemies, whose bodies fed the gardens when they died. There was the queen, eternally birthing, the supple young drones readied to birth colonies anew. Her family. Her body. Her life. At the mercy of all the gods and demons she had just witnessed. "I wish to be me," she says. "I am no god. I am no demon. I - I wish to serve. Tiny though I may be in the larger scheme of things. I wish to help them be better." Tirthankara beams, and the world slowly narrows down to a single familiar path. "You have trod this path well, sister," Tirthankara says. "Now walk it again." "Wait!" Minim gasps, and already she feels the constraints of a new physical form closing in around her. She is limbless, sightless. "How many times? How many times have I chosen this path?" "Four billion times," says Tirthankara. "And you shall walk it four billion times more. All paths are interconnected, sister. Your existence is entwined with air and earth and fire, with water and all the plants that grow. Seek to do no one harm, sister. Cultivate no attachments. Open yourself to the infinite possibilities of life." There is joy in Tirthankara's pheromonal voice. "Walk your path, sister, with ceaseless effort and free of delusions! And it shall lead you to liberation!" And Minim transmigrates to a different plane on a thousand skittering feet, and she is born and dies and is born and dies and is born and dies and is reborn.	""No. Not again. "I'm not gonna choose it." I'm gonna let the ****ing species die already. I kept it alive for so long thay I lost count of it. "Don't do it Tony!" Cried Edward. The chief ant. Bang. "I shot him with my revolver" At least i made them evolve this much. I'm looking forward to the new century. I'm gonna choose a new species that's gonna be born this time. A fresh. New start. Something that doesn't have an exoskeleton. I thought. My final words before I died in the 35th great battle between the ants and the mudscers." "Nice story grandpa" asked my 65th grandson yet to undergo metamorphosis "Was it real?"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	I laughed uncontrollably each time I was greeted into the afterlife. They knew me well, the same person always coming back years after years. I was a regular, a regular passer in the plains of the afterlife. "What will it be this time?" My life manager said. Each person who chose to be reborn would get a life manager, and my life manager has known me for all of my life. A life manager was someone you could depend on, most of the time, they would ask you questions about what or who you wanted to be, what kinda life you wanted to live, and then would proceed with the process of being born again. I had done it at all at some point. Originally, my first life, was a simple caveman. I stood tall and fare, fighting and hunting, hunting and fighting. And all those darn fires. It was a good life, a simple life, but little did I know about the afterlife. I could travel into the future, I could go into the past, I could choose who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. But for me? Oh no. I was too simple. I had heard of others, others who were so wise with the lives they chose and became famous or legendary on Earth. I could have easily done the same. But when my life manager looked me in the eyes, I knew he was pleading for me to choose something else. He saw me so regularly I once popped up on his time off in the heavens. "Just say it" he said bluntly, "If you wanna be a damn ant again, just say it." My life manager was a good guy, he really was. He always made my short lives unique and had the growing world around me interact. I had been in an ant farm in a school once, and I died because a boy named Tommy ate me. But from the many lives I had of living as an ant, I still enjoyed it. I was given a job, I had a family, I kept them alive and fulfilled my duties. It was simple. I liked simple. But because I choose an ant, my life is always quite short. Sometimes I think my life manager does that on purpose, it is probably to make me choose something else. "What do you recommend?" I asked him. He gleamed with a smile, and a twinkle appeared in his eye. He thought today was the day, he thought maybe, oh just maybe, I wouldn't choose an ant. "Well..." he paused as he thought. "I know you like a simple life", he then proceeded to hand me a few files from his desk. Where did he get those? Did they just magically appear? "How about a farmer, a good ol' Texan?" I skimmed through the file, eyeing the man I might be. "He looks like a pussy. Next." My poor life manager sighed. "Okay, that's okay. Look at the next file" he instructed. "A samurai? They live quite dangerously but with honor. Maybe you'd like that?" I pondered as I looked at the file. Maybe? Maybe I should? Maybe I should choose something else? "How about something more, I don't know, less life threatening?" I suggested. And that's when my manager knew it. He fucking knew it. He excitedly searched and found a random folder, I don't even think he looked through it. "Here!" He prestsened me a file and said it was a random human, a simple human who would live a long and boring life. "Okay. Sounds good." I, myself, didn't look at the file. But to my surprise, I chose to be a human. A human who thought he was an ant.	I had always hated living as a human. The politics; the messy destructive emotions; the naive idealism followed by soul-crushing cynicism. To be human was to constantly be thinking; to be questioning; to be doubting; and to never knowing. It gnawed away at me. Why? I screamed into the the void. And my screams were swallowed whole without a trace. &nbsp; Until one day. &nbsp; That day, everything changed. &nbsp; I was particularly hungry that day. I hungered in body, mind and soul. I don't remember the specific details. All I know was that the cold gut-wrenching pain spreading throughout my body wasn't my usual introspection. It was a visceral, physical pain. As I collapsed, I watched an ant carrying a leaf. Oh, what I would give to be that ant. To live, straight of purpose, free of doubt. &nbsp; And suddenly, there I was. A whole new world opened up to me. A unity unlike any I had known as a human had befallen me. No longer would I wonder about my purpose in life, about right or wrong, or any of that sappy dross. The colony was the purpose of my existence; it's prosperity was my prosperity; it's rights were my right. &nbsp; And for the next 4 billion life cycles, I was content. Edit: formatting
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	“I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said. Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are? “Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.” You could aspire to be something more challenging. “Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.” That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically. “Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.” She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. I can’t force you to try something different but I really think… “Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.” You’re still angry with me. “I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.” Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore. “It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.” I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago… “That was a fucking disaster too.”	I had always hated living as a human. The politics; the messy destructive emotions; the naive idealism followed by soul-crushing cynicism. To be human was to constantly be thinking; to be questioning; to be doubting; and to never knowing. It gnawed away at me. Why? I screamed into the the void. And my screams were swallowed whole without a trace. &nbsp; Until one day. &nbsp; That day, everything changed. &nbsp; I was particularly hungry that day. I hungered in body, mind and soul. I don't remember the specific details. All I know was that the cold gut-wrenching pain spreading throughout my body wasn't my usual introspection. It was a visceral, physical pain. As I collapsed, I watched an ant carrying a leaf. Oh, what I would give to be that ant. To live, straight of purpose, free of doubt. &nbsp; And suddenly, there I was. A whole new world opened up to me. A unity unlike any I had known as a human had befallen me. No longer would I wonder about my purpose in life, about right or wrong, or any of that sappy dross. The colony was the purpose of my existence; it's prosperity was my prosperity; it's rights were my right. &nbsp; And for the next 4 billion life cycles, I was content. Edit: formatting
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"And you're back" Peter said. "This time you, wait what, you gotten yourself killed on purpose this time?". "yes. I was done" I replied. "So you promised. Next time you're here you'd tell me why you have chose ant for the last 4 billion times". Peter continued while ignoring the fact that I stated I was done. "only if you keep your part of the deal Peter. And you know, if you promised, you have to keep it. It's one of God's rules" I said while tapping on the 4 tablets of commandments. I'm still puzzled how the others lost 2 of those all those years ago. Ten commandments my ass. There would be much less war if they kept the other 2. "You promised me you're reincarnate me no matter what and whatever my reason to chose ant was" "yeah yeah" Peter said annoyed. "just spill the beans. Why ants...." I looked him dead in the eyes and said "you really want to know?" "OH COME ONE!! you're here for the last 1000 years or so. Asking to be a frigging ant each time. You've seen the entire world as an ant. You promised you'd tell me so tell me!" Peter snarled. "Are you really sure? What I'm going to say might have repercussions for you as well. You'd might end up in the basement. And red never really suited you." Peter hesitated but said "oh it can't be that bad. Come on. Stop teasing me and tell me" "well ok. You know me and Addy where pals for years? You know before he went bonkers and ended up downstairs? Well, centuries ago we found a loophole in God's plans. We found a way to keep our memory. First I started remembering snippets of information. The next time around it was still there. Somehow only memories of the last reincarnation are getting wiped. Eventually I found a way to sort of shield memory from the wipe. I explained it to Addy and he too started keeping his memory of his past lives." Peter looked shocked but could utter a word. I continued "At one point we decided to observe the world. Learn everything there is to know. Learn about secrets governments don't want you to know. As a ant you can get almost everywhere. Addy always like the eagle. To investigate potential battlefields he said. Slowly we gotten to know the world, politics, how to play crowds. Addy was a brilliant speaker. He truly could rally the masses. But I told him he picked the wrong country. That he should wait just a little bit. Things went great for him in the beginning but I did warn him about the sleeping giant. I told him to go there if he really wanted to make the move. But Addy didn't listen. He always was stubborn." Peter was still looking at me as if he saw water burning. "Addy did show me I was right. The sleeping giant is the place to be. Trigger it's people right and you control the mightiest beast on earth. With them I can rule the world. Where Addy failed I will succeed. So Peter, I told you my story. Now I would like to be human. Place me in the United States. As you promised". "Bu.. bu.. but Donald... After what Addy did..." Peter stumbled. "as you promised Peter.." I said with a stern voice while tapping the tablets again "Ok fine. You tricked me Donald!"	I had always hated living as a human. The politics; the messy destructive emotions; the naive idealism followed by soul-crushing cynicism. To be human was to constantly be thinking; to be questioning; to be doubting; and to never knowing. It gnawed away at me. Why? I screamed into the the void. And my screams were swallowed whole without a trace. &nbsp; Until one day. &nbsp; That day, everything changed. &nbsp; I was particularly hungry that day. I hungered in body, mind and soul. I don't remember the specific details. All I know was that the cold gut-wrenching pain spreading throughout my body wasn't my usual introspection. It was a visceral, physical pain. As I collapsed, I watched an ant carrying a leaf. Oh, what I would give to be that ant. To live, straight of purpose, free of doubt. &nbsp; And suddenly, there I was. A whole new world opened up to me. A unity unlike any I had known as a human had befallen me. No longer would I wonder about my purpose in life, about right or wrong, or any of that sappy dross. The colony was the purpose of my existence; it's prosperity was my prosperity; it's rights were my right. &nbsp; And for the next 4 billion life cycles, I was content. Edit: formatting
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	I laughed uncontrollably each time I was greeted into the afterlife. They knew me well, the same person always coming back years after years. I was a regular, a regular passer in the plains of the afterlife. "What will it be this time?" My life manager said. Each person who chose to be reborn would get a life manager, and my life manager has known me for all of my life. A life manager was someone you could depend on, most of the time, they would ask you questions about what or who you wanted to be, what kinda life you wanted to live, and then would proceed with the process of being born again. I had done it at all at some point. Originally, my first life, was a simple caveman. I stood tall and fare, fighting and hunting, hunting and fighting. And all those darn fires. It was a good life, a simple life, but little did I know about the afterlife. I could travel into the future, I could go into the past, I could choose who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. But for me? Oh no. I was too simple. I had heard of others, others who were so wise with the lives they chose and became famous or legendary on Earth. I could have easily done the same. But when my life manager looked me in the eyes, I knew he was pleading for me to choose something else. He saw me so regularly I once popped up on his time off in the heavens. "Just say it" he said bluntly, "If you wanna be a damn ant again, just say it." My life manager was a good guy, he really was. He always made my short lives unique and had the growing world around me interact. I had been in an ant farm in a school once, and I died because a boy named Tommy ate me. But from the many lives I had of living as an ant, I still enjoyed it. I was given a job, I had a family, I kept them alive and fulfilled my duties. It was simple. I liked simple. But because I choose an ant, my life is always quite short. Sometimes I think my life manager does that on purpose, it is probably to make me choose something else. "What do you recommend?" I asked him. He gleamed with a smile, and a twinkle appeared in his eye. He thought today was the day, he thought maybe, oh just maybe, I wouldn't choose an ant. "Well..." he paused as he thought. "I know you like a simple life", he then proceeded to hand me a few files from his desk. Where did he get those? Did they just magically appear? "How about a farmer, a good ol' Texan?" I skimmed through the file, eyeing the man I might be. "He looks like a pussy. Next." My poor life manager sighed. "Okay, that's okay. Look at the next file" he instructed. "A samurai? They live quite dangerously but with honor. Maybe you'd like that?" I pondered as I looked at the file. Maybe? Maybe I should? Maybe I should choose something else? "How about something more, I don't know, less life threatening?" I suggested. And that's when my manager knew it. He fucking knew it. He excitedly searched and found a random folder, I don't even think he looked through it. "Here!" He prestsened me a file and said it was a random human, a simple human who would live a long and boring life. "Okay. Sounds good." I, myself, didn't look at the file. But to my surprise, I chose to be a human. A human who thought he was an ant.	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?" This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 billion times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all. "I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again." "I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him? "You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life. "Next!"	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	“I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said. Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are? “Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.” You could aspire to be something more challenging. “Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.” That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically. “Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.” She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. I can’t force you to try something different but I really think… “Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.” You’re still angry with me. “I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.” Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore. “It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.” I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago… “That was a fucking disaster too.”	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"And you're back" Peter said. "This time you, wait what, you gotten yourself killed on purpose this time?". "yes. I was done" I replied. "So you promised. Next time you're here you'd tell me why you have chose ant for the last 4 billion times". Peter continued while ignoring the fact that I stated I was done. "only if you keep your part of the deal Peter. And you know, if you promised, you have to keep it. It's one of God's rules" I said while tapping on the 4 tablets of commandments. I'm still puzzled how the others lost 2 of those all those years ago. Ten commandments my ass. There would be much less war if they kept the other 2. "You promised me you're reincarnate me no matter what and whatever my reason to chose ant was" "yeah yeah" Peter said annoyed. "just spill the beans. Why ants...." I looked him dead in the eyes and said "you really want to know?" "OH COME ONE!! you're here for the last 1000 years or so. Asking to be a frigging ant each time. You've seen the entire world as an ant. You promised you'd tell me so tell me!" Peter snarled. "Are you really sure? What I'm going to say might have repercussions for you as well. You'd might end up in the basement. And red never really suited you." Peter hesitated but said "oh it can't be that bad. Come on. Stop teasing me and tell me" "well ok. You know me and Addy where pals for years? You know before he went bonkers and ended up downstairs? Well, centuries ago we found a loophole in God's plans. We found a way to keep our memory. First I started remembering snippets of information. The next time around it was still there. Somehow only memories of the last reincarnation are getting wiped. Eventually I found a way to sort of shield memory from the wipe. I explained it to Addy and he too started keeping his memory of his past lives." Peter looked shocked but could utter a word. I continued "At one point we decided to observe the world. Learn everything there is to know. Learn about secrets governments don't want you to know. As a ant you can get almost everywhere. Addy always like the eagle. To investigate potential battlefields he said. Slowly we gotten to know the world, politics, how to play crowds. Addy was a brilliant speaker. He truly could rally the masses. But I told him he picked the wrong country. That he should wait just a little bit. Things went great for him in the beginning but I did warn him about the sleeping giant. I told him to go there if he really wanted to make the move. But Addy didn't listen. He always was stubborn." Peter was still looking at me as if he saw water burning. "Addy did show me I was right. The sleeping giant is the place to be. Trigger it's people right and you control the mightiest beast on earth. With them I can rule the world. Where Addy failed I will succeed. So Peter, I told you my story. Now I would like to be human. Place me in the United States. As you promised". "Bu.. bu.. but Donald... After what Addy did..." Peter stumbled. "as you promised Peter.." I said with a stern voice while tapping the tablets again "Ok fine. You tricked me Donald!"	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind. It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to. I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time. Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said. &nbsp; "Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-" &nbsp; "Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop." &nbsp; "Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time." &nbsp; "Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight." &nbsp; Poof Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie- &nbsp; Pitch black. Sigh. &nbsp; "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil. “You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.” “And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.” The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again. “Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.” I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings. «Tell me why. » “Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?” I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head. “It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ” “But some parts must be worse than others?” “Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.” We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder. “Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.” The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging. Then, I’ll finally be a dog.	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	Minim transmigrates, skitters, walks the intricate labyrinth of an entirely new colony. The tunnels branch out five-dimensionally, and far behind her is the distant memory of dying. She has emerged from her carapace a being of perfect and immortal soul, and the substrata of the world have revealed themselves to her. She crawls past matter, past space, past time, and in the fungal garden comes to rest. Nigoda swarm around her, single-celled souls so undifferentiated that they compose the base matter of the cosmos. She is afloat in a sea of life and death, of eternal rebirth. All possibilities are open to her. "And what shall you choose?" comes a waft of pheromones, and before her is the distended body of the queen, Tirthankara, all six legs folded in lotus formation, every segmented piece of her body a further elaboration of truth. Mimin feels her soul seize with the possibilities. Beyond one tunnel lies the unbound flight of the falcon, and she can peer down it to the glint of sun off the tops of clouds. There is the lotus emerging pure through the river mud. There is the antelope bounding gracefully through the plains. There is the crocodile with its slow and unnerving grin, snaking lazily through the waters. There is the elephant, there is the horse, there is the buffalo, there is the boar, there is the porcupine and the tortoise and monkey and the snake, a seemingly endless number of tiers of existence blurring indiscriminately into the looping circle of life. "Which of these are worthy of me?" trembles Minim, shaky on her fragile six legs. "Which do I deserve?" "There is neither retribution nor reward in death," Tirthankara says, her abdomen shining with light. "You, you yourself, are an intrinsically perfect soul, striving ever onward towards liberation. Only your actions, only your choices, shall determine what happens next." "I ... I only sought to serve while I lived," says Minim, struggling to remember. "My sisters, they foraged and guarded us. While I tended to the gardens." She remembers tending to the delicate sprouts of fungus as they sprouted from the rotting leaves, heedful of their chemical songs of fruition, rearranging the leaf beds for maximum growth, hauling away the waste. "I could not have -" The thought confounds her, and she looks up to Tirthankara. "I was a limb in a greater organism." She looks to the mammalian paths of rebirth, twisting and turning all the way to the end until she can feel the concept of them worming through her mind. "A teat, a hand on a breast." She can almost feel the sensation of a heart beating, of warm blood flowing through her limbs. "If I were to be reborn ... could I be something more?" "You could be as a demi-god," Tirthankara says, extending her limbs. "You could be as a being of hell." There are visions of creatures Minim has never imagined, never conceived of, standing vertically towards the sky. They stare through transparent eyes and incinerate dozens with a gaze. They extend many-toothed limbs and chew trees to the ground. They have built colonies of stone and smoke and fire that extend over the surface of the world. They could crush her and her colony with a single step. "You could stride atop the world. You could reach for the heavens. There are no limits imposed upon you here, sister. The choice is eternally yours." Minim sees, and shudders with vertigo. She has lived a life without leaving her colony, without seeing the sun, and now she sees before her the possibility to harness the sun for herself, or to blot it from the sky. "I-" she gasps, and collapses back. "Forgive me," she whispers, and thinks of her precious gardens, moist and warm and dark and rich with fungus song, of the rows of squirming hungry children awaiting her care. There are her sisters who roved the edges of the colony, foraging for food, fighting off all enemies, whose bodies fed the gardens when they died. There was the queen, eternally birthing, the supple young drones readied to birth colonies anew. Her family. Her body. Her life. At the mercy of all the gods and demons she had just witnessed. "I wish to be me," she says. "I am no god. I am no demon. I - I wish to serve. Tiny though I may be in the larger scheme of things. I wish to help them be better." Tirthankara beams, and the world slowly narrows down to a single familiar path. "You have trod this path well, sister," Tirthankara says. "Now walk it again." "Wait!" Minim gasps, and already she feels the constraints of a new physical form closing in around her. She is limbless, sightless. "How many times? How many times have I chosen this path?" "Four billion times," says Tirthankara. "And you shall walk it four billion times more. All paths are interconnected, sister. Your existence is entwined with air and earth and fire, with water and all the plants that grow. Seek to do no one harm, sister. Cultivate no attachments. Open yourself to the infinite possibilities of life." There is joy in Tirthankara's pheromonal voice. "Walk your path, sister, with ceaseless effort and free of delusions! And it shall lead you to liberation!" And Minim transmigrates to a different plane on a thousand skittering feet, and she is born and dies and is born and dies and is born and dies and is reborn.	I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill".
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	“I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said. Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are? “Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.” You could aspire to be something more challenging. “Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.” That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically. “Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.” She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. I can’t force you to try something different but I really think… “Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.” You’re still angry with me. “I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.” Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore. “It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.” I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago… “That was a fucking disaster too.”	I laughed uncontrollably each time I was greeted into the afterlife. They knew me well, the same person always coming back years after years. I was a regular, a regular passer in the plains of the afterlife. "What will it be this time?" My life manager said. Each person who chose to be reborn would get a life manager, and my life manager has known me for all of my life. A life manager was someone you could depend on, most of the time, they would ask you questions about what or who you wanted to be, what kinda life you wanted to live, and then would proceed with the process of being born again. I had done it at all at some point. Originally, my first life, was a simple caveman. I stood tall and fare, fighting and hunting, hunting and fighting. And all those darn fires. It was a good life, a simple life, but little did I know about the afterlife. I could travel into the future, I could go into the past, I could choose who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. But for me? Oh no. I was too simple. I had heard of others, others who were so wise with the lives they chose and became famous or legendary on Earth. I could have easily done the same. But when my life manager looked me in the eyes, I knew he was pleading for me to choose something else. He saw me so regularly I once popped up on his time off in the heavens. "Just say it" he said bluntly, "If you wanna be a damn ant again, just say it." My life manager was a good guy, he really was. He always made my short lives unique and had the growing world around me interact. I had been in an ant farm in a school once, and I died because a boy named Tommy ate me. But from the many lives I had of living as an ant, I still enjoyed it. I was given a job, I had a family, I kept them alive and fulfilled my duties. It was simple. I liked simple. But because I choose an ant, my life is always quite short. Sometimes I think my life manager does that on purpose, it is probably to make me choose something else. "What do you recommend?" I asked him. He gleamed with a smile, and a twinkle appeared in his eye. He thought today was the day, he thought maybe, oh just maybe, I wouldn't choose an ant. "Well..." he paused as he thought. "I know you like a simple life", he then proceeded to hand me a few files from his desk. Where did he get those? Did they just magically appear? "How about a farmer, a good ol' Texan?" I skimmed through the file, eyeing the man I might be. "He looks like a pussy. Next." My poor life manager sighed. "Okay, that's okay. Look at the next file" he instructed. "A samurai? They live quite dangerously but with honor. Maybe you'd like that?" I pondered as I looked at the file. Maybe? Maybe I should? Maybe I should choose something else? "How about something more, I don't know, less life threatening?" I suggested. And that's when my manager knew it. He fucking knew it. He excitedly searched and found a random folder, I don't even think he looked through it. "Here!" He prestsened me a file and said it was a random human, a simple human who would live a long and boring life. "Okay. Sounds good." I, myself, didn't look at the file. But to my surprise, I chose to be a human. A human who thought he was an ant.
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	“I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said. Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are? “Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.” You could aspire to be something more challenging. “Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.” That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically. “Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.” She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. I can’t force you to try something different but I really think… “Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.” You’re still angry with me. “I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.” Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore. “It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.” I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago… “That was a fucking disaster too.”	"Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?" This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 billion times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all. "I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again." "I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him? "You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life. "Next!"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"And you're back" Peter said. "This time you, wait what, you gotten yourself killed on purpose this time?". "yes. I was done" I replied. "So you promised. Next time you're here you'd tell me why you have chose ant for the last 4 billion times". Peter continued while ignoring the fact that I stated I was done. "only if you keep your part of the deal Peter. And you know, if you promised, you have to keep it. It's one of God's rules" I said while tapping on the 4 tablets of commandments. I'm still puzzled how the others lost 2 of those all those years ago. Ten commandments my ass. There would be much less war if they kept the other 2. "You promised me you're reincarnate me no matter what and whatever my reason to chose ant was" "yeah yeah" Peter said annoyed. "just spill the beans. Why ants...." I looked him dead in the eyes and said "you really want to know?" "OH COME ONE!! you're here for the last 1000 years or so. Asking to be a frigging ant each time. You've seen the entire world as an ant. You promised you'd tell me so tell me!" Peter snarled. "Are you really sure? What I'm going to say might have repercussions for you as well. You'd might end up in the basement. And red never really suited you." Peter hesitated but said "oh it can't be that bad. Come on. Stop teasing me and tell me" "well ok. You know me and Addy where pals for years? You know before he went bonkers and ended up downstairs? Well, centuries ago we found a loophole in God's plans. We found a way to keep our memory. First I started remembering snippets of information. The next time around it was still there. Somehow only memories of the last reincarnation are getting wiped. Eventually I found a way to sort of shield memory from the wipe. I explained it to Addy and he too started keeping his memory of his past lives." Peter looked shocked but could utter a word. I continued "At one point we decided to observe the world. Learn everything there is to know. Learn about secrets governments don't want you to know. As a ant you can get almost everywhere. Addy always like the eagle. To investigate potential battlefields he said. Slowly we gotten to know the world, politics, how to play crowds. Addy was a brilliant speaker. He truly could rally the masses. But I told him he picked the wrong country. That he should wait just a little bit. Things went great for him in the beginning but I did warn him about the sleeping giant. I told him to go there if he really wanted to make the move. But Addy didn't listen. He always was stubborn." Peter was still looking at me as if he saw water burning. "Addy did show me I was right. The sleeping giant is the place to be. Trigger it's people right and you control the mightiest beast on earth. With them I can rule the world. Where Addy failed I will succeed. So Peter, I told you my story. Now I would like to be human. Place me in the United States. As you promised". "Bu.. bu.. but Donald... After what Addy did..." Peter stumbled. "as you promised Peter.." I said with a stern voice while tapping the tablets again "Ok fine. You tricked me Donald!"	"Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?" This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 billion times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all. "I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again." "I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him? "You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life. "Next!"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil. “You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.” “And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.” The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again. “Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.” I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings. «Tell me why. » “Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?” I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head. “It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ” “But some parts must be worse than others?” “Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.” We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder. “Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.” The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging. Then, I’ll finally be a dog.	"Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?" This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 billion times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all. "I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again." "I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him? "You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life. "Next!"
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said. &nbsp; "Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-" &nbsp; "Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop." &nbsp; "Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time." &nbsp; "Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight." &nbsp; Poof Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie- &nbsp; Pitch black. Sigh. &nbsp; "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.	I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind. It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to. I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time. Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil. “You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.” “And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.” The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again. “Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.” I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings. «Tell me why. » “Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?” I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head. “It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ” “But some parts must be worse than others?” “Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.” We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder. “Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.” The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging. Then, I’ll finally be a dog.	I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind. It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to. I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time. Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	Minim transmigrates, skitters, walks the intricate labyrinth of an entirely new colony. The tunnels branch out five-dimensionally, and far behind her is the distant memory of dying. She has emerged from her carapace a being of perfect and immortal soul, and the substrata of the world have revealed themselves to her. She crawls past matter, past space, past time, and in the fungal garden comes to rest. Nigoda swarm around her, single-celled souls so undifferentiated that they compose the base matter of the cosmos. She is afloat in a sea of life and death, of eternal rebirth. All possibilities are open to her. "And what shall you choose?" comes a waft of pheromones, and before her is the distended body of the queen, Tirthankara, all six legs folded in lotus formation, every segmented piece of her body a further elaboration of truth. Mimin feels her soul seize with the possibilities. Beyond one tunnel lies the unbound flight of the falcon, and she can peer down it to the glint of sun off the tops of clouds. There is the lotus emerging pure through the river mud. There is the antelope bounding gracefully through the plains. There is the crocodile with its slow and unnerving grin, snaking lazily through the waters. There is the elephant, there is the horse, there is the buffalo, there is the boar, there is the porcupine and the tortoise and monkey and the snake, a seemingly endless number of tiers of existence blurring indiscriminately into the looping circle of life. "Which of these are worthy of me?" trembles Minim, shaky on her fragile six legs. "Which do I deserve?" "There is neither retribution nor reward in death," Tirthankara says, her abdomen shining with light. "You, you yourself, are an intrinsically perfect soul, striving ever onward towards liberation. Only your actions, only your choices, shall determine what happens next." "I ... I only sought to serve while I lived," says Minim, struggling to remember. "My sisters, they foraged and guarded us. While I tended to the gardens." She remembers tending to the delicate sprouts of fungus as they sprouted from the rotting leaves, heedful of their chemical songs of fruition, rearranging the leaf beds for maximum growth, hauling away the waste. "I could not have -" The thought confounds her, and she looks up to Tirthankara. "I was a limb in a greater organism." She looks to the mammalian paths of rebirth, twisting and turning all the way to the end until she can feel the concept of them worming through her mind. "A teat, a hand on a breast." She can almost feel the sensation of a heart beating, of warm blood flowing through her limbs. "If I were to be reborn ... could I be something more?" "You could be as a demi-god," Tirthankara says, extending her limbs. "You could be as a being of hell." There are visions of creatures Minim has never imagined, never conceived of, standing vertically towards the sky. They stare through transparent eyes and incinerate dozens with a gaze. They extend many-toothed limbs and chew trees to the ground. They have built colonies of stone and smoke and fire that extend over the surface of the world. They could crush her and her colony with a single step. "You could stride atop the world. You could reach for the heavens. There are no limits imposed upon you here, sister. The choice is eternally yours." Minim sees, and shudders with vertigo. She has lived a life without leaving her colony, without seeing the sun, and now she sees before her the possibility to harness the sun for herself, or to blot it from the sky. "I-" she gasps, and collapses back. "Forgive me," she whispers, and thinks of her precious gardens, moist and warm and dark and rich with fungus song, of the rows of squirming hungry children awaiting her care. There are her sisters who roved the edges of the colony, foraging for food, fighting off all enemies, whose bodies fed the gardens when they died. There was the queen, eternally birthing, the supple young drones readied to birth colonies anew. Her family. Her body. Her life. At the mercy of all the gods and demons she had just witnessed. "I wish to be me," she says. "I am no god. I am no demon. I - I wish to serve. Tiny though I may be in the larger scheme of things. I wish to help them be better." Tirthankara beams, and the world slowly narrows down to a single familiar path. "You have trod this path well, sister," Tirthankara says. "Now walk it again." "Wait!" Minim gasps, and already she feels the constraints of a new physical form closing in around her. She is limbless, sightless. "How many times? How many times have I chosen this path?" "Four billion times," says Tirthankara. "And you shall walk it four billion times more. All paths are interconnected, sister. Your existence is entwined with air and earth and fire, with water and all the plants that grow. Seek to do no one harm, sister. Cultivate no attachments. Open yourself to the infinite possibilities of life." There is joy in Tirthankara's pheromonal voice. "Walk your path, sister, with ceaseless effort and free of delusions! And it shall lead you to liberation!" And Minim transmigrates to a different plane on a thousand skittering feet, and she is born and dies and is born and dies and is born and dies and is reborn.	I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind. It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to. I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time. Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.
	[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.	The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil. “You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.” “And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.” The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again. “Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.” I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings. «Tell me why. » “Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?” I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head. “It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ” “But some parts must be worse than others?” “Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.” We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder. “Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.” The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging. Then, I’ll finally be a dog.	"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said. &nbsp; "Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-" &nbsp; "Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop." &nbsp; "Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time." &nbsp; "Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight." &nbsp; Poof Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie- &nbsp; Pitch black. Sigh. &nbsp; "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.
	[WP] When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you, but for some reason it is far more afraid than you are.	The abyss knows. It quivers, it trembles in my presence. Long has it awaited, long has it been silent. A pitiful thing now. It is a shell of what it once was. Once this endless darkness terrified man and beast alike. Once the abyss threatened to swallow mankind whole. The blackness of space, the emptiness of the void. Once mankind trembled. And now? Man has evolved. They have ascended from their place in the dirt to become masters of their worlds. They flood their planets with light to drive back the darkness. They shower the cosmos with signals and data, declaring their existence. They are obsessed with preserving their civilisation that they send their trinkets on ships into space so that beings may one day discover them. No more, they cried, can the abyss take us. We are too big! Too large! Too many! And the abyss must recede, must retreat from man's kingdom. The darkness has given way to light. The humans feel invincible. But they do not know of me. They do not know. The universe trembles before my coming. Across the cosmos the abyss quivers. It has remembered my coming time and time again. Remembered the worlds I shattered and the beings that I have exterminated. It knows me. It knows. Before time, before everything, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there was me.	"Come along, let's get on that ice!" “Just a Second! I know I still have my skates around here! I’m sure they still fit!” The front door slammed and I was alone in the house. It was the first time that the ice had been thick enough to support people. They’ve been tapping it every week this winter and now was the time. There had to be some reason to stick around here in the winters. For most of us, it was ice skating. I shoved aside the boxes in my closet and out tumbled an envelope from the photography lab. I never opened these photos. I knew what was in them and I didn’t want to look, but I had to. I ripped it open and saw a picture of my Mom. She had bought me the camera and took me to the zoo to use it. I snapped a few shots of her that day. She was so beautiful. I set aside the animal shots, I didn’t care about animals in cages anymore. As I flipped through the rest of the photos, I found a few from that night. Mom was helping Dad get ready. I captured that one beautiful moment where she was tying his bow tie. There was a rush of recollection and I remembered the conversation like it was five minutes ago. “Honestly Tom, how do you get ready for work every day without being able to tie a tie?” “Give me a break Martha, you tie it so perfectly, It’ll outshine the performers tonight.” Then that sudden, perfect laugh rang through the room. I haven’t heard it since but it still lingers, notable in its absence. That was the last photo in the roll and I set it down. They were taken from me that night and my world was shattered in three sharp gunshots. My eyes started burning and my cheeks were wet. I missed the footsteps but felt a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say anything. He always knew the perfect thing to say and right now, it was nothing. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and sniffed. “I don’t think my ice skates are in here.” “That’s quite alright Master Bruce. I’ve found another pair in the shed. Let’s get going.” “Alright Alfred.”
	[WP] When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you, but for some reason it is far more afraid than you are.	I hardly understood why my father cast me from our home, but when nothing but cold asphalt remains under your feet and dark clouds hang over your head, only nourishing my stomach and finding a place for rest matters. Torn from a warm place and comfortable existence, I found myself in the street among the most unfortunate of men while a fine mist illuminated by street lamps lit the path of the streets. Huddled in several coats and a blanket, I laid my head upon a pillow of concrete and rested my eyes. I prayed but the only response I heard was from the church bells of men who claimed to know God’s intention, but in doing so only showed their own ignorance. They told me I would get better while they rested a bowl of soup in front of me, but I never believed them. God, the father of all, abandoned me, his own child in the streets of poverty. The next few months saw a rise in petty thievery as I found a new profession to fund my incessant hunger. Local gangs occasionally hired me as muscle and soon I saw every sin of man proudly display itself as prostitutes performed favors to abusive dealers in exchange for a hit of dust that would alleviate the pain and anger, even if just for a few moments. In façade of the civilization, I saw man shed his skin and walk about as beasts. I clenched my fists, wanting to make all alright, but without wings, I was powerless. So I joined them. For months on end, I found myself in an endless sea of glass bottles and desperation. I tried to reach out to my father, but he only responded with silence. After many transactions and lives ruined, I found an apartment to call my own. The walls were cracked and the neighbors fought, but I rested my head on the sweetest soft, lice-infested pillow. I finally had refuge. When the man in the black suit came to our neighborhood, he threatened to tear it down. I knew immediately the sin he carried. Endless lives loss; innocents defiled. When cast his gaze upon me, I didn’t feel anything human. When I stared into his eyes, I stared into the abyss, yet, the tremored slightly at my sight. His soul was not of the earth; so mired in blackness and putrid guilt, he did come from this world. “A fallen angel,” he calmly spoke. “I suppose.” “A demon,” I replied with my fists clenched. “I suppose.” “So why did daddy kick you out? Bad behavior? Probabation?” “Shut up.” “Why? You’ve been abandoned. You’ve been on earth consorting with humans, and from what I’m told, you’ve been thoroughly defiled. Are you going to stand here without the authority of heaven and heavy with guilt and sin and tell yourself you’re better than me?” “You know not of what you speak.” “No, my sweet, angelic naïve fool, I know exactly of what I speak. The only difference between you and I is when we fell.” I looked to the floor in disappointment. He approached me and ran his fingers through my hair. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he reassured me. “We don’t have to be enemies. I can still feel the most tenuous link of loyalty in your bones. Burn it to ash, and reformed yourself like a magnificent phoenix.” “No,” I replied. “I know you think you’re free, but you’re tied to temptation. I understand that now. After all these months, I understand that now. ” “I don’t think you understand,” he answered. “You only want me to serve you’re his legions,” I fired back as I felt something I had not known for months return. The lights in the room flickered. The floor trembled. “We only want you to stand against him,” the demon hastily pleaded. “I shall not,” I answered. Storm clouds brewed over head as my body radiated a pure light, blinding him. He cowered as the prayers of the desperate filled my head. I could see beyond the veil of earth and I could understand the pure temptation which stood before me. When my wings sprouted from back, leaving a feathery impression on the wall behind me, I proudly proclaimed, “I am an Angel of the Lord.” I returned him to his cage and I ascended to my rightful home. ****** More stories at r/Andrew__Wells	"Come along, let's get on that ice!" “Just a Second! I know I still have my skates around here! I’m sure they still fit!” The front door slammed and I was alone in the house. It was the first time that the ice had been thick enough to support people. They’ve been tapping it every week this winter and now was the time. There had to be some reason to stick around here in the winters. For most of us, it was ice skating. I shoved aside the boxes in my closet and out tumbled an envelope from the photography lab. I never opened these photos. I knew what was in them and I didn’t want to look, but I had to. I ripped it open and saw a picture of my Mom. She had bought me the camera and took me to the zoo to use it. I snapped a few shots of her that day. She was so beautiful. I set aside the animal shots, I didn’t care about animals in cages anymore. As I flipped through the rest of the photos, I found a few from that night. Mom was helping Dad get ready. I captured that one beautiful moment where she was tying his bow tie. There was a rush of recollection and I remembered the conversation like it was five minutes ago. “Honestly Tom, how do you get ready for work every day without being able to tie a tie?” “Give me a break Martha, you tie it so perfectly, It’ll outshine the performers tonight.” Then that sudden, perfect laugh rang through the room. I haven’t heard it since but it still lingers, notable in its absence. That was the last photo in the roll and I set it down. They were taken from me that night and my world was shattered in three sharp gunshots. My eyes started burning and my cheeks were wet. I missed the footsteps but felt a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say anything. He always knew the perfect thing to say and right now, it was nothing. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and sniffed. “I don’t think my ice skates are in here.” “That’s quite alright Master Bruce. I’ve found another pair in the shed. Let’s get going.” “Alright Alfred.”
	[WP] When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you, but for some reason it is far more afraid than you are.	My fathers before me, and theirs before them, have all been guided by one thing. Some may think its strength, love, the humans need to survive… but it’s none of those things. It’s something more simple but at the same time more complex. We don’t know where it came from, or what its original intention was, what do we know is, it helps our colony. Our colony is the last group of surviving humans, all 300 of us. We have taken to an odd way of surviving, we have farmers, doctors, etc. all passed down generations. All chosen by the Abyss. The Abyss is an odd creature, most of the time it’s a formless amoeba that floats in a glass chamber. No one knows where it came from, all we know is to not question it. Each generation on a person’s 12th birthday they are brought to the Abyss. There are three rules one must follow, ingrained like the English language. 1) Do not speak when in the presence of the Abyss. It knows. 2) Do not dress as though you had no home. Respect is of utmost importance. 3) Be grateful, it knows many things we do not. These things come from an unknown number of generations are have not been touched or refined since. Today, it is my turn. Adorned in my custom tailored best dress I make my way to the Abyss chamber. People whooping and cheering me on as I make my way down the hallway. Most people are visibly nervous, some are in tears… I myself, nothing. I can’t say I feel anything at all. The door is opened to the chamber and I am greeted with stale almost electric feeling air, like there is a ton of static around. As I walk to the chair setup in front of the Abyss my steps echo endlessly in the cylindrical white chamber. It has a medical feel to it, I still don’t have any feeling either way at this point. The Abyss senses my presence and moves around its cylinder sporadically, until it moves in a way that makes me think its gazing into me. Moments pass as our staring contest continues, until out of nowhere it recoils and makes this squiggly lined shape like its shocked or scared. What did it see? My heart is now racing… what happened? Why is this thing recoiling, what did it find? “WHY?” I said aloud much louder than I expected. No one speaks, I broke one of the rules. But I needed to know. I felt what I can only describe as words float into my mind. They repeated over and over again until they got more clear. The End? What does that mean, I had to know more. “What does it mean?!” I said much softer this time. “What does ‘The End’ mean?” Far too much time has passed with the only sound filling the chamber is my heart beat. I sighed heavily, got up from the chair and started to walk away. No more than 3 steps taken before my brain is filled with horrific scenes of death, war, explosions, things no man, let alone a child, should have to endure. I collapsed to the ground and wept. The last scene I was shown was by far the worst. It was me, much older, executing my parents. So that is what it means by the end. I couldn’t control my own body, I got up, screaming, ran to the glass chamber. Bashing my fists as hard as I can onto the glass as the Abyss recoiled spreading itself as thin as it could to keep away from me. That’s when the glass cracked. It startled me at first and clearly the Abyss was not happy. The crack spread, I looked around panicked, what have I done?! I turned and looked at the door, no one came to aid, had they not heard my outburst? Just then the glass shattered and the Abyss swarmed around the room looking for an exit. Being unable to, it came flying at me at a high rate of speed stopping just before hitting me smack dab in the face. “We are one” I heard float into my mind clear as day, as the Abyss inched closer to me. The zap of static arced between my arm and the blob as it touched my flesh. Unsure of what to do I stood there frozen as the entity of the Abyss covers my body and absorbs itself into me. I start to walk to the door but it’s not under my own power, the Abyss is controlling me. I now see that it wasn’t recoiling in fear but excitement. It manipulated me and now I have to live out my days as its slave in the small corner of my own mind unable to stop the destroyer of humankind.	"Come along, let's get on that ice!" “Just a Second! I know I still have my skates around here! I’m sure they still fit!” The front door slammed and I was alone in the house. It was the first time that the ice had been thick enough to support people. They’ve been tapping it every week this winter and now was the time. There had to be some reason to stick around here in the winters. For most of us, it was ice skating. I shoved aside the boxes in my closet and out tumbled an envelope from the photography lab. I never opened these photos. I knew what was in them and I didn’t want to look, but I had to. I ripped it open and saw a picture of my Mom. She had bought me the camera and took me to the zoo to use it. I snapped a few shots of her that day. She was so beautiful. I set aside the animal shots, I didn’t care about animals in cages anymore. As I flipped through the rest of the photos, I found a few from that night. Mom was helping Dad get ready. I captured that one beautiful moment where she was tying his bow tie. There was a rush of recollection and I remembered the conversation like it was five minutes ago. “Honestly Tom, how do you get ready for work every day without being able to tie a tie?” “Give me a break Martha, you tie it so perfectly, It’ll outshine the performers tonight.” Then that sudden, perfect laugh rang through the room. I haven’t heard it since but it still lingers, notable in its absence. That was the last photo in the roll and I set it down. They were taken from me that night and my world was shattered in three sharp gunshots. My eyes started burning and my cheeks were wet. I missed the footsteps but felt a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say anything. He always knew the perfect thing to say and right now, it was nothing. I wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve and sniffed. “I don’t think my ice skates are in here.” “That’s quite alright Master Bruce. I’ve found another pair in the shed. Let’s get going.” “Alright Alfred.”
	[WP] The head of the Illuminati, the shadowy organization that runs the entire world, is a four-year-old girl.	It had been so long since I've joined the Illuminati. I was still a young lad then, who was blinded by the power dangled over me. Just think about it, if a person offered you power to control governments, nations and people like a puppeteer, would you not bat an eyelash? Exactly. Joining this organization had been the best decision in my life. It was through this work I've made a mark in history, albeit in the shadows. There was this Council who gave us the orders, briefing us what to do and the specifics. Numerous times, however, during the urgent missions, they mentioned that the order was from a higher power than them. There was someone higher? What kind of person can single-handedly run the Illuminati, with the whole world on that person's fingertips? Most of my years, that thought would be just on the back on my mind. That was until the Council summoned me into an important mission, coming from the boss. They said it was to know if I'm worthy to go up the ladder. I was ecstatic, as I can finally achieve the power I've always wanted. Through hard trials and tribulations, including a near-death experience, I've succeeded. Now, according to the Council my orders will come from this Big Boss personally. It's been two weeks since I've been promoted, and now I've been summoned to the Big Boss' quarters. I quiver in anticipation. Finally it's about time they put me back to work. I knock on the grand spruce door. The hallway to the Big Boss' chambers were huge, filled with chandeliers and fountains. It was bright and colorful, and the mosaic patterns were exquisite, nothing like I've seen before. Paintings from numerous eras hanged into the walls, alongside historical heirlooms. There were no guards, but numerous cameras and turrets were tactically placed across the hall. I now wait, standing firm in my shoes, sweat forming in my forehead despite the air conditioning. I knocked. creak "Hiya! Come in!" said the little girl that opened the door. She was wearing an elegant dress and an Illuminati hair pin on her head. She had a Dora the Explorer backpack behind her, completely contrasting the outfit she wore. Confused, and unable to find words to describe my shock, I just sheepishly walk behind her. So many questions were forming, but, I knew better than to ask. Inside, was the Council, seated on a U styled conference room. The members were talking in hushed voices. They immediately stood up as soon as they saw the child, almost falling over their seats because of the urgency. Deafening silence filled the room, being broken by the carefree singing of a little child. If the room was to be described, I would say a pictorial studio, but the studio was designed to the brim with childish art. It would seem like all the colors found themselves to this place, exploded, and splattered the walls as wallpaper. My eyes went to the middle, where a throne stood covered in elegant jewels and cloths. As soon as the child sat down the throne, the council did also. I still just stood there beside the kid, mesmerized by the things unfolding before my eyes. "Okay! Sit oveeeeeer-" she closed her eyes and started to point randomly across the room. The Council members flinched every time her finger sets to them, and a sigh of relief soon after the finger went somewhere else. "There!" she squeaked, pointing at the leftmost seat. The woman sitting there began weeping, and soon after she was taken away by guards. She was practically dragged on the floor, begging the kid to reconsider. The little kid just replied with an innocent smile. The former council member was then thrown out, and I sat on her place. "Okay!" she began fiddling with her bag. While she was searching and mumbling to herself, a muffled scream rang outside. The kid however, heeded it no mind, while me and the Council members were listening to pleads for dear life. "Stawwy night please!" she declared, clapping her hands. Without delay, a holographic map plopped itself on the ceiling. She took out a laser pointer from her bag, and pointed the laser to a random place in the map. "Okay! Let's make this place go BOOM!" she exclaimed, excited by her own thoughts. "Ma'am, I don't think that's wise." a Council member nervously says. "Aww. Okay, how about this place?" she continued, pointing to another place in the map. "I want BOOM!" "W-what?" we mutter to ourselves. Are we going to bomb a place just for the entertainment of a child? "Please, reconsider Ma'am. We could go unicorn hunting again." one of them implored. "Aww. But I want boom! Do it, or else, I'll tell Daddy!" she warned, placing her tiny hands on her hips, her face pouting. I did not understand what that threat meant, but that seemed to stir the Council members into movement. They all acknowledged the request and began disbanding, some even started sprinting away. Me? I just stood there, watching in awe as a kid, no more than five years old, color away at a booklet. She began humming without even a trace of guilt on her face, as she probably took away hundreds of thousands of lives. This, before my eyes was the Big Boss I've been envisioning. The boss was more terrifying than what I had imagined.	"Alright, let's review the suspicious deaths that weren't us" announced Simon. "The only one I could find was an old man found dead in the street. Found by a mother and daughter on a walk. No identification or possessions on the man. Autopsy indicated a heart attack" explained Matt. "Just a hobo on the street?" I suggest. "Seems like it, any other business?" Asked Simon. "I don't think..." I begin to say. Ring I pick up the phone. "This is exclaibur" I say. "This is princess" says a masked voice over the speakers. "Acknowledged" I reply. "Johnny Rumpcorn was mean to me today" said the voice. "Shall we remove him from the equation?" I ask. "I don't want him around when I'm doing math" replied the voice. "Understood, anything else?" I ask. "I want a pony" replied the voice. There are several confused looks around the room. "A pony will be at the usual locating tomorrow afternoon" I reply. "Thanks" said the voice, then the call ended.
	[WP] You are a 911 operator during the final, life or death battle between the superheroes and super villains. The heroes lose.	I looked on the clock. These guys have been fighting for almost 3 hours now. And the emergency calls were flooding the central. I picked up another call. "911, whats your emergency?" "The Thompson Tower has just collapsed!!!!! Nuclear man just kicked Tiger Gal trough the building!!!! There are injured and dead people everywhere, we need help!!!" "Now now, hold on" I searched trough the mess of a workdesk in front of me for the book with the standart questions for dispatchers. It was there, somewhere between those old pizza boxes and KFC paper bags. "Oh god!!! The Freezer just froze Crimson Shadow and smashed him into a million pieces. Its a massacre out here!!! "Wait, I almost got it. Ah there we go" I found the old old rugged book next to a crusted porn magazine. Looks like someone had a good time here. I opened the book and began with the standart questions. "Ehm, how many people are injured?" "The entire building just came down!!!!!!!! There are injured people everywhere! And hundreds of them are buried under the rubble!" "Sir, I need you to calm down. Could you just try to count or give me a approx. number?" "What the fuck man???? We need help immediately, send everyone you got! We.. AAAAAHHHHH...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep" I shrugged, the guy just ended his call. The next call came in immediately after that. "911, whats your emergency?" "This is chief Morgan of the Thompson City Police Department. All our intern phone lines are dead. I need you to transmit a message from mayor Botton. Tell.." "Sir, what is your current location?" "I am here in the Central Police Station together with the mayor and about 50 survivors. You need to bring the army a message. Tell them that Thompson City is lost!!!! Tell them to level the entire fucking area if they have to to stop those villains!!!" "Could you pls repeat your name again and give me your number just for the case we need to call you back?" "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU FUCKING RETARRD?????!!! THE ENTIRE CITY IS GETTING SLAUGHTERED HERE!!" I calmly responded. "Sir, I dont appreciate you insulting and yelling at me. I am just trying to help" "THEN IN THE NAME OF GOD ALMIGHTY MESSAGE THE ARMY YOU DIMWIT!!!!" "Sir, since you obviously dont have an emergency and are just here to insult me I will end this call. I let you know that prank calls are a serious issue and can be fined or even punished with prison. Have a good day." I hung up, grabbed my own cellphone and dialed. "Hello?" "Granddad! Sounds like you guys are having a real party out there!" "Jerry, how often did I told you not to call me on this number when Im at work?" "I know, but its so boring here. I never wanted to sit in the background, I wanted action" "Jerry, do I have to remind you of our plan? We have to destroy the faith of the population in the heroes and the police. My part is to annihilate the heroes. Yours is to fuck up the emergency calls and misdirect the police. Its really important!" "Yeah yeah, I know" "By the way, are you sure you got the entire central under your control?" "Yep and.. oh wait" A injured guard tried to crawl away. I pulled out my silenced FN57 and shot him in the head. "What was that?" "Just a dude who wasnt complete dead, now he is. Listen granddad, could you try to capture some of the female heroes for me? Especially Lady Sniper and Leopard Woman. Oh and the Bunnyhop. I know he is a dude but that ass... Also could send someone to bring me something to eat and drink? Im really starving here" "I will see what I can do and Claw will join you very soon. I will call him and tell him to pick something up from Burger King. Just please sit tight and do your part." "Fine fine. Alright, love you granddad. Bye" I sighed and returned to my glorious work as a 911 dispatcher. "911, whats your emergency?"	Each battle seems like the grand finale when it is waged between superheroes and supervillains. Each time they fight it seems like the ultimate fate of Earth hangs in the balance. We watch anxiously on our televisions as the battles rage in the streets, or we watch out our windows as they transpire in our very neighbourhoods. I often hear about such battles directly from those impacted, as I work in a 911 call centre; people caught up in the carnage call 911, sometimes to alert us as to the whereabouts of injured people, but more often than anything to ask us for help. They seem, erroneously, to think our city police are capable of taking down the evil immortals that plague us, are capable of doing anything but watching from a distance in fearful anticipation as demidemons strive to sow ruin and demigods strive to stop them. But one can only brace for the end of the world, the destruction of all goodness, all hope, all humanity, for so long. It's too stressful to stay in perpetual anticipation of absolute annihilation. Eventually, one has to take such battles less seriously. One has to assume the heroes will triumph, as they always have in the past. One has to assume that though there will be death, despair, and destruction, that some humans will perish at the hands of the immortals, that parts of the city will crumble, at least, at the end of the day, the city, the world will continue on. One would go crazy if one did not gradually become somewhat apathetic, somewhat over-trusting about the capabilities of the heroes. One needed to trust the heroes, otherwise one would lose ones sanity utterly. But something about today felt different. Perhaps it was something in the air, in the atmosphere. I felt it in the morning, when I woke up. There was a shadow hanging over me, over the city, over the planet. It hung over me throughout the afternoon, brooding, malevolent, as I sat at my desk at work. I received my first call of the day about half an hour ago. "911," I said, speaking through my headset, "what's your emergency?" As I spoke I saw the other lines lighting up around me. A number of people were calling at once. This meant either a terrorist had attacked somewhere in the city, or Dr Indignum and his mutant immortals were wreaking havoc on the populace once again. "He's got a new weapon," a woman's voice sputtered through my earpiece. So it is Dr Indignum, I thought. "He's afloat on his hoverboard above Marshall Tower, pontificating about its unprecedented powers to us, the gathered masses below. He said it will enshroud the planet in endless night and reduce our cities to rubble and all living beings to icy death!" "Please remain calm," I said to the woman as I took out my notepad. "So you said he's at Marshall Tower?" Marshall Tower was on the other side of the river. That meant we, in the call centre, were safe. At least for now. "Ye--" she began, but the call dropped. I looked around at my peers who were also looking around confusedly. All the calls had dropped at once. "Marshall Tower?" one of them asked. "That's what I heard," said another. "Me too," said I. I looked out the window, across the river, at the city skyline. I could see Marshall Tower outlined against the horizon, but it was too far away for me to see Dr Indignum or any of his gang floating above it. Another call came in. Another dispatcher picked it up. Then a whole flood came in at once. Apparently the phones were back up and running. I pressed one of the flashing buttons and greeted the caller on the line. There was screaming and wailing in the background. "911, what's your emergency?" "Positivo and the other heroes. They ca-- and now they--- been captured in some ---- -- field. I--" The call dropped. Positivo and the heroes captured? "What is everyone else getting?" I asked, my heart racing, turning to the room. "My calls keep dropping." "Oh my god," said Rick, still listening on his headset. All the rest of our calls had dropped. We all went quiet and watched Rick listening on his headset and responding. "Oh my god, captured and he's doing what to them? Are you? You're sure, sir? Oh my god. Try to get out, then. Now! As fast as you can! Yes. What? His head on a...? Get out sir! Now! Go somewhere safe!" Another call came in and I picked it up. "911, what's your--" I was cut off with shrieking. "He's detonating the device! Positivo is dead! Please, send help! Please, send help now! So many dead! Someone must stop him! Please! Send--" The call dropped. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a bright flash, like lightening. I looked out the window. The flash came from across the river. Right above Marshall Tower. As my eyes adjusted from the blinding flash, I saw what followed it. Descending from the sky over the skyline was a great black vortex. It looked as if it had come all the way from space itself. Like a giant tornado made of the black vacuum of the cosmos. It looked like it were corkscrewing the cold and empty blackness of space into Earth's atmosphere. The vortex was growing rapidly. I saw whole buildings torn from the skyline and tossed about in the growing whirlwind like brittle leaves. The whole skyline was quickly consumed. Our building began rumbling. The electricity went out. The black vortex was growing and approaching, feeding on the city, on the lost souls, seeking out more, growing wider, expanding across the river. The insatiable darkness was swirling and tearing through everything. "Goodbye," he said. I looked beside me. There was no fear in my coworker's eyes. Only resignation. In a way, all of us in the city, perhaps everyone in the world, knew this day would come eventually. It was not a matter of if, but when. "Goodbye," I said, just as the whirling darkness reached one of its black and ruinous tentacles through our glass window, shattering our world, turning it colder than ice, unleashing a sound and fury unlike anything I could ever have imagined. It was deafeningly loud for a moment but a moment only... --- /r/lalalobsters
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	It was a slow news night, and a great human interest story. The device was discovered in cafeteria of a children's hospital my daughter had stayed at. It was in a Sponge Bob backpack of all things, an ugly tangle of wires, explosives and an odd digital mechanism that was counting down in fits and starts - with nearly no time at all on the clock. I had been one floor up, receiving condolences from the staff when the fire alarm went off and the screaming started. Their, wouldn't have been time for anyone else to arrive. No time to evacuate, no time for safety equipment, no time for anything really. Their was some dramatic footage of me hunched over the device, my face calm, but sweat staining my shirt. Pulling the mechanism apart, clipping the wires and finally removing the explosives - and setting them gently to one side. And then, their on camera, I put my face in my hands, and wept. It was that footage that made me a hero I guess. And the photo that was taken outside of the hospital of the children mobbing me. Wrapping their stick thin arms around me, their little hospital robes flapping in the wind and their thin pales faces looking up at me with adoration. That and fact that I had just lost my child, but saved so many others. That a man, who had lost so much, could find redemption in saving so many. Since then, I've defused other devices. Somehow surviving, dispute my carelessness and lack of knowledge. Nothing quite as personal or spectacular as what happened in that evacuated cafeteria, beneath the fluorescent lights, and the impartial eyes of camera and the mural's cartoon animals. But that's going to change. That first device wouldn't, couldn't have worked - but the next one will. You see, you can learn a lot from reverse engendering the work of others and you can build something amazing out of broken and discarded parts. I'm going back to the hospital. My daughter had more than one backpack.	"10 SECONDS UNTIL DEPLOYMENT!" The General shouted above the noise of the helicopter we were in, sweeping low above the bright orange ground of the Sahara Desert. I could see it, even from up here. A bright blue glow emanated from it's core. Of all the bombs I'd defused, this one was something entirely new. "We don't know what that thing will do when it goes off," said the Warrant Officer, sat to my right, "so it's safe to say that we're all counting on you, Abe. Don't let us down." "Never have." "DEPLOYMENT IN 3, 2, 1..." I descended from the helicopter quickly, my stomach rising, before landing heavily on the sand below. The para-cord detached, the helicopter departed, and in what felt like a second, I was alone. The bomb, or whatever the hell it was, hummed flatly only a few metres ahead. As I approached it, I saw the timer. Just two minutes left. It was discovered by a nomad on camelback only a day prior, who said that when he touched it, the 24 hour timer and blue glow started. I put my hand on the strange metal design. It was warm, covered in alien symbols and details. And without a second thought, I did what I do best. I reached inside and started moving shit around, madly and without care as to the consequences. The chance of dying in an instant gave me peace. Maybe that's why I chose this line of work. I felt something wet, and pulled. In my hand was a small, blue object, and with only a quarter minute left on the timer, the faint glow and hum died, and the timer stopped. "General, this is Abe reporting mission success."
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	I walked towards the basement of one of the largest buildings in the city. An officer lifted the police tape for me and I ducked under and continued on my way. Police held back a terrified crowd that were for some reason not fleeing to a safe distance. Maybe they realised there was no point. From what I’d been briefed on this bomb already, if it went off, it would probably take out half the city. I don’t know. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening. The technical aspects of bombs bore me. I just choose a wire and go snip! And the thing is, I’ve never snipped the wrong wire. I finally approached the bomb. One of the squad members had already removed the outer casing. I liked it when they did that. It made it easier for me. I knelt down and looked at the bomb. Four wires. Red, blue, green and yellow. I made a show of looking at where each wire went, but it didn’t matter. I pulled a pair of clippers from my pocket and reached in and snipped. What people don’t know is that in three timelines, the bomb exploded and wiped out a significant chunk of the city, killing me and several million people. But there is always one timeline where I cut the correct wire, and that is always the one I’m on. Wouldn’t make sense for me to be on a timeline where I die, right? With the bomb disarmed, I walk out of the building to the cheers and adulations of the crowd and the police officers. They all love me. No one knows that I don’t know anything about bombs. I don’t even know which colour wire I cut. My eyes were closed when I snipped that wire. Each choice we make creates an alternate timeline. The secret to my skill is knowing there is always going to be a timeline where you succeed. It’s pretty simple, really.	"10 SECONDS UNTIL DEPLOYMENT!" The General shouted above the noise of the helicopter we were in, sweeping low above the bright orange ground of the Sahara Desert. I could see it, even from up here. A bright blue glow emanated from it's core. Of all the bombs I'd defused, this one was something entirely new. "We don't know what that thing will do when it goes off," said the Warrant Officer, sat to my right, "so it's safe to say that we're all counting on you, Abe. Don't let us down." "Never have." "DEPLOYMENT IN 3, 2, 1..." I descended from the helicopter quickly, my stomach rising, before landing heavily on the sand below. The para-cord detached, the helicopter departed, and in what felt like a second, I was alone. The bomb, or whatever the hell it was, hummed flatly only a few metres ahead. As I approached it, I saw the timer. Just two minutes left. It was discovered by a nomad on camelback only a day prior, who said that when he touched it, the 24 hour timer and blue glow started. I put my hand on the strange metal design. It was warm, covered in alien symbols and details. And without a second thought, I did what I do best. I reached inside and started moving shit around, madly and without care as to the consequences. The chance of dying in an instant gave me peace. Maybe that's why I chose this line of work. I felt something wet, and pulled. In my hand was a small, blue object, and with only a quarter minute left on the timer, the faint glow and hum died, and the timer stopped. "General, this is Abe reporting mission success."
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	"Ty, hurry it up," she whispered. "Clock is at seven minutes and counting." Together, we knelt on the ground, around what appeared to be the finest selection of nineties board game pieces and discarded Chinese electronics a New Jersey landfill could belch up. "Can I have another swig?" I asked. It rarely hurt to ask. Sometimes she gave it up without a fight, but my sister was as hardheaded as I. It often felt like she only gave in after a calculated risk assessment indicated a sip of whiskey would make me work better. Like I was an engine in need of an oil change before a day on the track. "Bes?" I plied. "Fine. One more. I'm watching." She passed me the flask. I took a long, deliberate, drag out of the contents. We'd be stopping at ABC on the way back after a job like this. Did New Jersey even have ABC stores, or was it like New Hampshire, where the state had to sponsor the store for them to get a liquor license. Maybe we'd get an upgrade to First Class on the way home. I bet they'd let me have six drinks this time. The lady on the way here told me I could only have five by law, but I had a suspicion she was just being stingy. I didn't care for stingy people. "How were these people even fooled by this one?" I asked. "Is that the timer off a game of Perfection?" "You have no idea, do you?" Replied my sister. Truth is, I did. Once word got out of my exploits, the country over, many local and county police forces abandoned their own EOD units. Couldn't blame them, we demanded less then they paid in insurance, let alone hazard pay for these poor schlubs. But we had a secret weapon. Well... I did. That one time my sister tried to use them, she ended up losing herself in a bet. She had to date that reject for... "Hey, Bes? Aren't you late for a meeting?" I chided. "Don't remind me," she groaned back. "How many more do you owe that guy? What was his name? 'Talon'?" I looked up, no longer concentrating at the task at hand. She had taken notice, but then again, I'd also hit a soft spot. My sister was... how should I put it? Unlucky. "Talos. Don't remind me." "Who names their kid 'Talos'?" I asked, stifling a laugh. "Could you focus here? Four minutes." "Unfortunate, that guy," I clucked, shaking my head. "Unfortunate - me." "Pass me the dice." "Really, again? I think they're watching. You can't do this again." "Just pass them. Three minutes, sister." I was mocking her, and she was getting heated. This always made things a little more exciting. She groaned again, and gave in. "You know you're a laughing stock, right?" She reached into her bag and produced an old hard-shelled cigar case. It rattled, fat with a selection of polyhedral dice. Once in my hands, I spilled the contents to the floor and selected two - a purple one and a white one. "Is it better to be famous, or infamous?" I asked her, casting the dice to the ground: seventy-seven came the result. "They're the same thing, sister." "No," I murmured, flicking open my multi-tool in a neat motion. "To be famous, people most love you. To be infamous, they're uncertain about you, but you carry reknown." "Who says?" She shouted, then after a pause: "One minute!" "Damn." I had forgotten to decide what the roll meant before casting the dice - a rookie mistake. "This is it. This is how I die," muttered sister. Always the dramatic one. I noticed that was a trend with prettier siblings. More beauty - more drama. I cut the red wire. There was silence for a moment. Bzzzzzt came the sound of the timer. It shocked me. Not because I expected to explode, but because I expected my sister to catch a yellow plastic half-moon to the eye. It had been that way since we were little, she was always so... misfortuned. "Job well done! Come on, let's snag a beer and watch the south-beach bros flex at each other!" "You forgot again, didn't you?" She asked, still clutching her hair. "Never mind that! Aren't you late for a date or something?" "I want a new life."	"10 SECONDS UNTIL DEPLOYMENT!" The General shouted above the noise of the helicopter we were in, sweeping low above the bright orange ground of the Sahara Desert. I could see it, even from up here. A bright blue glow emanated from it's core. Of all the bombs I'd defused, this one was something entirely new. "We don't know what that thing will do when it goes off," said the Warrant Officer, sat to my right, "so it's safe to say that we're all counting on you, Abe. Don't let us down." "Never have." "DEPLOYMENT IN 3, 2, 1..." I descended from the helicopter quickly, my stomach rising, before landing heavily on the sand below. The para-cord detached, the helicopter departed, and in what felt like a second, I was alone. The bomb, or whatever the hell it was, hummed flatly only a few metres ahead. As I approached it, I saw the timer. Just two minutes left. It was discovered by a nomad on camelback only a day prior, who said that when he touched it, the 24 hour timer and blue glow started. I put my hand on the strange metal design. It was warm, covered in alien symbols and details. And without a second thought, I did what I do best. I reached inside and started moving shit around, madly and without care as to the consequences. The chance of dying in an instant gave me peace. Maybe that's why I chose this line of work. I felt something wet, and pulled. In my hand was a small, blue object, and with only a quarter minute left on the timer, the faint glow and hum died, and the timer stopped. "General, this is Abe reporting mission success."
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	"10 SECONDS UNTIL DEPLOYMENT!" The General shouted above the noise of the helicopter we were in, sweeping low above the bright orange ground of the Sahara Desert. I could see it, even from up here. A bright blue glow emanated from it's core. Of all the bombs I'd defused, this one was something entirely new. "We don't know what that thing will do when it goes off," said the Warrant Officer, sat to my right, "so it's safe to say that we're all counting on you, Abe. Don't let us down." "Never have." "DEPLOYMENT IN 3, 2, 1..." I descended from the helicopter quickly, my stomach rising, before landing heavily on the sand below. The para-cord detached, the helicopter departed, and in what felt like a second, I was alone. The bomb, or whatever the hell it was, hummed flatly only a few metres ahead. As I approached it, I saw the timer. Just two minutes left. It was discovered by a nomad on camelback only a day prior, who said that when he touched it, the 24 hour timer and blue glow started. I put my hand on the strange metal design. It was warm, covered in alien symbols and details. And without a second thought, I did what I do best. I reached inside and started moving shit around, madly and without care as to the consequences. The chance of dying in an instant gave me peace. Maybe that's why I chose this line of work. I felt something wet, and pulled. In my hand was a small, blue object, and with only a quarter minute left on the timer, the faint glow and hum died, and the timer stopped. "General, this is Abe reporting mission success."
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	I walked towards the basement of one of the largest buildings in the city. An officer lifted the police tape for me and I ducked under and continued on my way. Police held back a terrified crowd that were for some reason not fleeing to a safe distance. Maybe they realised there was no point. From what I’d been briefed on this bomb already, if it went off, it would probably take out half the city. I don’t know. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening. The technical aspects of bombs bore me. I just choose a wire and go snip! And the thing is, I’ve never snipped the wrong wire. I finally approached the bomb. One of the squad members had already removed the outer casing. I liked it when they did that. It made it easier for me. I knelt down and looked at the bomb. Four wires. Red, blue, green and yellow. I made a show of looking at where each wire went, but it didn’t matter. I pulled a pair of clippers from my pocket and reached in and snipped. What people don’t know is that in three timelines, the bomb exploded and wiped out a significant chunk of the city, killing me and several million people. But there is always one timeline where I cut the correct wire, and that is always the one I’m on. Wouldn’t make sense for me to be on a timeline where I die, right? With the bomb disarmed, I walk out of the building to the cheers and adulations of the crowd and the police officers. They all love me. No one knows that I don’t know anything about bombs. I don’t even know which colour wire I cut. My eyes were closed when I snipped that wire. Each choice we make creates an alternate timeline. The secret to my skill is knowing there is always going to be a timeline where you succeed. It’s pretty simple, really.	You ever seen a home made nuke? How about eight of them in a room, all set to one trigger system? Well... that's what I am looking at right now! I don't know why whoever set this put all eight in one room. I mean I'm no nuke expert but wouldn't like the first one going off cancel out the other seven? I sat there looking at the laptop that had a timer ticking down. There was some hacker in here trying to some how... i don't know break the firewall to get at the... router or something? The only hacking I know about is from shit tv... And that's where I got my bomb defuser "skills". Ass loads of shit tv and action movies. I don't know how i got this job or how i haven't killed myself and others with my random guessing. Hell I took the praise and rewards and all... But sitting in here now, watching the timer tick down... I felt like a total fraud! I sipped my soda and looked at the screen. A part of me thought about just clicking the start button on the windows screen and hit shut down but the hacker said something about it being booby trapped. There were no wires I could see and the bombs were sealed shut in some cases, also booby trapped. I just sat there, can of soda in hand. "Fuck it." I said as I poured the soda on the keyboard. I figured I could try something before being blown to hell. The laptop wigged out and died. I sat there in silence... Nothing blew up. I closed my eyes and forced myself not to cry. Soon the police and some men in black suits ran in. The men in suites were CIA, explained to me that this set of bombs were part of a chain. There were clusters of nukes spread out across the US and if these went off then pretty much this half of the earth would have been vaporized. I was a hero! And I still have no idea what I am doing!
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	"Ty, hurry it up," she whispered. "Clock is at seven minutes and counting." Together, we knelt on the ground, around what appeared to be the finest selection of nineties board game pieces and discarded Chinese electronics a New Jersey landfill could belch up. "Can I have another swig?" I asked. It rarely hurt to ask. Sometimes she gave it up without a fight, but my sister was as hardheaded as I. It often felt like she only gave in after a calculated risk assessment indicated a sip of whiskey would make me work better. Like I was an engine in need of an oil change before a day on the track. "Bes?" I plied. "Fine. One more. I'm watching." She passed me the flask. I took a long, deliberate, drag out of the contents. We'd be stopping at ABC on the way back after a job like this. Did New Jersey even have ABC stores, or was it like New Hampshire, where the state had to sponsor the store for them to get a liquor license. Maybe we'd get an upgrade to First Class on the way home. I bet they'd let me have six drinks this time. The lady on the way here told me I could only have five by law, but I had a suspicion she was just being stingy. I didn't care for stingy people. "How were these people even fooled by this one?" I asked. "Is that the timer off a game of Perfection?" "You have no idea, do you?" Replied my sister. Truth is, I did. Once word got out of my exploits, the country over, many local and county police forces abandoned their own EOD units. Couldn't blame them, we demanded less then they paid in insurance, let alone hazard pay for these poor schlubs. But we had a secret weapon. Well... I did. That one time my sister tried to use them, she ended up losing herself in a bet. She had to date that reject for... "Hey, Bes? Aren't you late for a meeting?" I chided. "Don't remind me," she groaned back. "How many more do you owe that guy? What was his name? 'Talon'?" I looked up, no longer concentrating at the task at hand. She had taken notice, but then again, I'd also hit a soft spot. My sister was... how should I put it? Unlucky. "Talos. Don't remind me." "Who names their kid 'Talos'?" I asked, stifling a laugh. "Could you focus here? Four minutes." "Unfortunate, that guy," I clucked, shaking my head. "Unfortunate - me." "Pass me the dice." "Really, again? I think they're watching. You can't do this again." "Just pass them. Three minutes, sister." I was mocking her, and she was getting heated. This always made things a little more exciting. She groaned again, and gave in. "You know you're a laughing stock, right?" She reached into her bag and produced an old hard-shelled cigar case. It rattled, fat with a selection of polyhedral dice. Once in my hands, I spilled the contents to the floor and selected two - a purple one and a white one. "Is it better to be famous, or infamous?" I asked her, casting the dice to the ground: seventy-seven came the result. "They're the same thing, sister." "No," I murmured, flicking open my multi-tool in a neat motion. "To be famous, people most love you. To be infamous, they're uncertain about you, but you carry reknown." "Who says?" She shouted, then after a pause: "One minute!" "Damn." I had forgotten to decide what the roll meant before casting the dice - a rookie mistake. "This is it. This is how I die," muttered sister. Always the dramatic one. I noticed that was a trend with prettier siblings. More beauty - more drama. I cut the red wire. There was silence for a moment. Bzzzzzt came the sound of the timer. It shocked me. Not because I expected to explode, but because I expected my sister to catch a yellow plastic half-moon to the eye. It had been that way since we were little, she was always so... misfortuned. "Job well done! Come on, let's snag a beer and watch the south-beach bros flex at each other!" "You forgot again, didn't you?" She asked, still clutching her hair. "Never mind that! Aren't you late for a date or something?" "I want a new life."	You ever seen a home made nuke? How about eight of them in a room, all set to one trigger system? Well... that's what I am looking at right now! I don't know why whoever set this put all eight in one room. I mean I'm no nuke expert but wouldn't like the first one going off cancel out the other seven? I sat there looking at the laptop that had a timer ticking down. There was some hacker in here trying to some how... i don't know break the firewall to get at the... router or something? The only hacking I know about is from shit tv... And that's where I got my bomb defuser "skills". Ass loads of shit tv and action movies. I don't know how i got this job or how i haven't killed myself and others with my random guessing. Hell I took the praise and rewards and all... But sitting in here now, watching the timer tick down... I felt like a total fraud! I sipped my soda and looked at the screen. A part of me thought about just clicking the start button on the windows screen and hit shut down but the hacker said something about it being booby trapped. There were no wires I could see and the bombs were sealed shut in some cases, also booby trapped. I just sat there, can of soda in hand. "Fuck it." I said as I poured the soda on the keyboard. I figured I could try something before being blown to hell. The laptop wigged out and died. I sat there in silence... Nothing blew up. I closed my eyes and forced myself not to cry. Soon the police and some men in black suits ran in. The men in suites were CIA, explained to me that this set of bombs were part of a chain. There were clusters of nukes spread out across the US and if these went off then pretty much this half of the earth would have been vaporized. I was a hero! And I still have no idea what I am doing!
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	You ever seen a home made nuke? How about eight of them in a room, all set to one trigger system? Well... that's what I am looking at right now! I don't know why whoever set this put all eight in one room. I mean I'm no nuke expert but wouldn't like the first one going off cancel out the other seven? I sat there looking at the laptop that had a timer ticking down. There was some hacker in here trying to some how... i don't know break the firewall to get at the... router or something? The only hacking I know about is from shit tv... And that's where I got my bomb defuser "skills". Ass loads of shit tv and action movies. I don't know how i got this job or how i haven't killed myself and others with my random guessing. Hell I took the praise and rewards and all... But sitting in here now, watching the timer tick down... I felt like a total fraud! I sipped my soda and looked at the screen. A part of me thought about just clicking the start button on the windows screen and hit shut down but the hacker said something about it being booby trapped. There were no wires I could see and the bombs were sealed shut in some cases, also booby trapped. I just sat there, can of soda in hand. "Fuck it." I said as I poured the soda on the keyboard. I figured I could try something before being blown to hell. The laptop wigged out and died. I sat there in silence... Nothing blew up. I closed my eyes and forced myself not to cry. Soon the police and some men in black suits ran in. The men in suites were CIA, explained to me that this set of bombs were part of a chain. There were clusters of nukes spread out across the US and if these went off then pretty much this half of the earth would have been vaporized. I was a hero! And I still have no idea what I am doing!
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	00:10 The blinking light of the digital display showed an ever growing number. Panic forced its way on to Kyles face as he came to terms with the thought that he may not be getting out of this situation alive. Even if he ran out of this room on to a fast jet, he knew that there was no outrunning this. He only questioned whether or not to try, as adrenaline pumped into his veins. He slowly remembered all of those small events that led him to this moment. 00:11 It begin with a pipe bomb he found under his desk. Thinking it was a prank he poured his morning coffee over it. He believed that he had destroyed the fine craftsmanship of what was a clear escalation of a prank war he had wage against the IT guys. When the bomb guys came they congratulated him on short circulating the thing. 00:12 Next time it was South America and the half a dozen nail bombs in a cathedral. All he wanted to do was charge his phone. Who knew that his phone was the exact brand and make which had belonged to the bomber. Access to the bombs instantly enabled the safe self install safeguards automatically disabling the bombs. The cherry on top was that his phone gave access to internal software which had suggested an address in Winchester to the investigators. 00:13 Some bloody group eventually hired him as a consultant. Hero’s for hire. He thought it was due to the advertisement project he had made, which went viral earlier in the year. They offered to triple his current wage and gave him the use to the company jet. So smug he asked them to further the amount by doubling it and to no one’s surprise they agreed. 00:14 In Bangkok and Belize all he had thought they were asking him to do was provide some insight on modern society’s view on technology. Who knew some suggestions on the fragile nature of technology and an overreliance on wireless internet would result in his team shutting off the malls Wi-Fi and disabling the bombers remote access to their explosives. A week later he quit and flew back hope with bank accounts drowning in cash. 00:15 And here he was in some warehouse near a munitions factory, trying to disable a dirty bomb. When they found the blasted thing they originally panicked because it was nuclear, and yet the many glowing references he had produced enabled them to sigh with relief. Apparently they had the world’s best “bomb defuser” under their employ. 00:16 Bomb is about to blow in five minute, they told him. Had a bomb scare near midnight, they told him. “Gods” he thought to himself, “if I could do it all again all I would do is learn about bombs." He asked them for a manual. They laughed. Apparently nuclear weapons are constructed with parts in other factories before final assemblage. Keeps the technology secret. If only he ran when they told him that they only had five minutes to spare. 00:17 “So seventeen minutes left ...can I run or?” Kyle had said before thinking about what he had been saying. He stared at the clock on the wall and saw that it did not connect to the upright bomb he was trying to disable. A few minutes of searching showed him the only timing device available had been connected to the release lever of a nearby crane. With a large painted target on the floor.	I got the call again. This one was a doosey that even he bomb squad elite couldn't crack. They always call me to get the job done, the only problem with that however, is I have idea what I'm doing. I'm rushed over to the scene by an officer. "There's only five minutes left!" Screams out the officer in charge. I can see the panic written all over his face. He wasn't prepared for this, none of them were. Not even te bomb squad, hell even I wasn't. The closer I got the louder the ticking was. I wasn't even in bomb gear but I've also never failed to defuse one of these confusing contraptions. I see the timer, just four and a half minutes left. What did I do with the last bomb? Pull some wires out or something. I'll try that again. The remaining time on the timer is now half of what it was. This is bad, why is it always me that gets stuck doing the job I have no clue of how to do? I'm gonna try something new, I'm going to kick the bomb. I stand up, pull my leg back and swing my leg forward. The bomb flew towards the closest building and hit the wall breaking into pieces. Well that was lucky, it didn't explode and the ticking has stopped. I motion with my hands that it was safe. The bomb squad comes in and retrieves the bomb while I head back to the scene commander. "How did you know that would work?" He asked puzzled. "Lucky guess." I smirked. All in a days work for not knowing what the hell you are doing. I see a pub across the street and head towards it. I could use a drink.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	"Ty, hurry it up," she whispered. "Clock is at seven minutes and counting." Together, we knelt on the ground, around what appeared to be the finest selection of nineties board game pieces and discarded Chinese electronics a New Jersey landfill could belch up. "Can I have another swig?" I asked. It rarely hurt to ask. Sometimes she gave it up without a fight, but my sister was as hardheaded as I. It often felt like she only gave in after a calculated risk assessment indicated a sip of whiskey would make me work better. Like I was an engine in need of an oil change before a day on the track. "Bes?" I plied. "Fine. One more. I'm watching." She passed me the flask. I took a long, deliberate, drag out of the contents. We'd be stopping at ABC on the way back after a job like this. Did New Jersey even have ABC stores, or was it like New Hampshire, where the state had to sponsor the store for them to get a liquor license. Maybe we'd get an upgrade to First Class on the way home. I bet they'd let me have six drinks this time. The lady on the way here told me I could only have five by law, but I had a suspicion she was just being stingy. I didn't care for stingy people. "How were these people even fooled by this one?" I asked. "Is that the timer off a game of Perfection?" "You have no idea, do you?" Replied my sister. Truth is, I did. Once word got out of my exploits, the country over, many local and county police forces abandoned their own EOD units. Couldn't blame them, we demanded less then they paid in insurance, let alone hazard pay for these poor schlubs. But we had a secret weapon. Well... I did. That one time my sister tried to use them, she ended up losing herself in a bet. She had to date that reject for... "Hey, Bes? Aren't you late for a meeting?" I chided. "Don't remind me," she groaned back. "How many more do you owe that guy? What was his name? 'Talon'?" I looked up, no longer concentrating at the task at hand. She had taken notice, but then again, I'd also hit a soft spot. My sister was... how should I put it? Unlucky. "Talos. Don't remind me." "Who names their kid 'Talos'?" I asked, stifling a laugh. "Could you focus here? Four minutes." "Unfortunate, that guy," I clucked, shaking my head. "Unfortunate - me." "Pass me the dice." "Really, again? I think they're watching. You can't do this again." "Just pass them. Three minutes, sister." I was mocking her, and she was getting heated. This always made things a little more exciting. She groaned again, and gave in. "You know you're a laughing stock, right?" She reached into her bag and produced an old hard-shelled cigar case. It rattled, fat with a selection of polyhedral dice. Once in my hands, I spilled the contents to the floor and selected two - a purple one and a white one. "Is it better to be famous, or infamous?" I asked her, casting the dice to the ground: seventy-seven came the result. "They're the same thing, sister." "No," I murmured, flicking open my multi-tool in a neat motion. "To be famous, people most love you. To be infamous, they're uncertain about you, but you carry reknown." "Who says?" She shouted, then after a pause: "One minute!" "Damn." I had forgotten to decide what the roll meant before casting the dice - a rookie mistake. "This is it. This is how I die," muttered sister. Always the dramatic one. I noticed that was a trend with prettier siblings. More beauty - more drama. I cut the red wire. There was silence for a moment. Bzzzzzt came the sound of the timer. It shocked me. Not because I expected to explode, but because I expected my sister to catch a yellow plastic half-moon to the eye. It had been that way since we were little, she was always so... misfortuned. "Job well done! Come on, let's snag a beer and watch the south-beach bros flex at each other!" "You forgot again, didn't you?" She asked, still clutching her hair. "Never mind that! Aren't you late for a date or something?" "I want a new life."	I got the call again. This one was a doosey that even he bomb squad elite couldn't crack. They always call me to get the job done, the only problem with that however, is I have idea what I'm doing. I'm rushed over to the scene by an officer. "There's only five minutes left!" Screams out the officer in charge. I can see the panic written all over his face. He wasn't prepared for this, none of them were. Not even te bomb squad, hell even I wasn't. The closer I got the louder the ticking was. I wasn't even in bomb gear but I've also never failed to defuse one of these confusing contraptions. I see the timer, just four and a half minutes left. What did I do with the last bomb? Pull some wires out or something. I'll try that again. The remaining time on the timer is now half of what it was. This is bad, why is it always me that gets stuck doing the job I have no clue of how to do? I'm gonna try something new, I'm going to kick the bomb. I stand up, pull my leg back and swing my leg forward. The bomb flew towards the closest building and hit the wall breaking into pieces. Well that was lucky, it didn't explode and the ticking has stopped. I motion with my hands that it was safe. The bomb squad comes in and retrieves the bomb while I head back to the scene commander. "How did you know that would work?" He asked puzzled. "Lucky guess." I smirked. All in a days work for not knowing what the hell you are doing. I see a pub across the street and head towards it. I could use a drink.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	I got the call again. This one was a doosey that even he bomb squad elite couldn't crack. They always call me to get the job done, the only problem with that however, is I have idea what I'm doing. I'm rushed over to the scene by an officer. "There's only five minutes left!" Screams out the officer in charge. I can see the panic written all over his face. He wasn't prepared for this, none of them were. Not even te bomb squad, hell even I wasn't. The closer I got the louder the ticking was. I wasn't even in bomb gear but I've also never failed to defuse one of these confusing contraptions. I see the timer, just four and a half minutes left. What did I do with the last bomb? Pull some wires out or something. I'll try that again. The remaining time on the timer is now half of what it was. This is bad, why is it always me that gets stuck doing the job I have no clue of how to do? I'm gonna try something new, I'm going to kick the bomb. I stand up, pull my leg back and swing my leg forward. The bomb flew towards the closest building and hit the wall breaking into pieces. Well that was lucky, it didn't explode and the ticking has stopped. I motion with my hands that it was safe. The bomb squad comes in and retrieves the bomb while I head back to the scene commander. "How did you know that would work?" He asked puzzled. "Lucky guess." I smirked. All in a days work for not knowing what the hell you are doing. I see a pub across the street and head towards it. I could use a drink.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	"Ty, hurry it up," she whispered. "Clock is at seven minutes and counting." Together, we knelt on the ground, around what appeared to be the finest selection of nineties board game pieces and discarded Chinese electronics a New Jersey landfill could belch up. "Can I have another swig?" I asked. It rarely hurt to ask. Sometimes she gave it up without a fight, but my sister was as hardheaded as I. It often felt like she only gave in after a calculated risk assessment indicated a sip of whiskey would make me work better. Like I was an engine in need of an oil change before a day on the track. "Bes?" I plied. "Fine. One more. I'm watching." She passed me the flask. I took a long, deliberate, drag out of the contents. We'd be stopping at ABC on the way back after a job like this. Did New Jersey even have ABC stores, or was it like New Hampshire, where the state had to sponsor the store for them to get a liquor license. Maybe we'd get an upgrade to First Class on the way home. I bet they'd let me have six drinks this time. The lady on the way here told me I could only have five by law, but I had a suspicion she was just being stingy. I didn't care for stingy people. "How were these people even fooled by this one?" I asked. "Is that the timer off a game of Perfection?" "You have no idea, do you?" Replied my sister. Truth is, I did. Once word got out of my exploits, the country over, many local and county police forces abandoned their own EOD units. Couldn't blame them, we demanded less then they paid in insurance, let alone hazard pay for these poor schlubs. But we had a secret weapon. Well... I did. That one time my sister tried to use them, she ended up losing herself in a bet. She had to date that reject for... "Hey, Bes? Aren't you late for a meeting?" I chided. "Don't remind me," she groaned back. "How many more do you owe that guy? What was his name? 'Talon'?" I looked up, no longer concentrating at the task at hand. She had taken notice, but then again, I'd also hit a soft spot. My sister was... how should I put it? Unlucky. "Talos. Don't remind me." "Who names their kid 'Talos'?" I asked, stifling a laugh. "Could you focus here? Four minutes." "Unfortunate, that guy," I clucked, shaking my head. "Unfortunate - me." "Pass me the dice." "Really, again? I think they're watching. You can't do this again." "Just pass them. Three minutes, sister." I was mocking her, and she was getting heated. This always made things a little more exciting. She groaned again, and gave in. "You know you're a laughing stock, right?" She reached into her bag and produced an old hard-shelled cigar case. It rattled, fat with a selection of polyhedral dice. Once in my hands, I spilled the contents to the floor and selected two - a purple one and a white one. "Is it better to be famous, or infamous?" I asked her, casting the dice to the ground: seventy-seven came the result. "They're the same thing, sister." "No," I murmured, flicking open my multi-tool in a neat motion. "To be famous, people most love you. To be infamous, they're uncertain about you, but you carry reknown." "Who says?" She shouted, then after a pause: "One minute!" "Damn." I had forgotten to decide what the roll meant before casting the dice - a rookie mistake. "This is it. This is how I die," muttered sister. Always the dramatic one. I noticed that was a trend with prettier siblings. More beauty - more drama. I cut the red wire. There was silence for a moment. Bzzzzzt came the sound of the timer. It shocked me. Not because I expected to explode, but because I expected my sister to catch a yellow plastic half-moon to the eye. It had been that way since we were little, she was always so... misfortuned. "Job well done! Come on, let's snag a beer and watch the south-beach bros flex at each other!" "You forgot again, didn't you?" She asked, still clutching her hair. "Never mind that! Aren't you late for a date or something?" "I want a new life."	I walked towards the basement of one of the largest buildings in the city. An officer lifted the police tape for me and I ducked under and continued on my way. Police held back a terrified crowd that were for some reason not fleeing to a safe distance. Maybe they realised there was no point. From what I’d been briefed on this bomb already, if it went off, it would probably take out half the city. I don’t know. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening. The technical aspects of bombs bore me. I just choose a wire and go snip! And the thing is, I’ve never snipped the wrong wire. I finally approached the bomb. One of the squad members had already removed the outer casing. I liked it when they did that. It made it easier for me. I knelt down and looked at the bomb. Four wires. Red, blue, green and yellow. I made a show of looking at where each wire went, but it didn’t matter. I pulled a pair of clippers from my pocket and reached in and snipped. What people don’t know is that in three timelines, the bomb exploded and wiped out a significant chunk of the city, killing me and several million people. But there is always one timeline where I cut the correct wire, and that is always the one I’m on. Wouldn’t make sense for me to be on a timeline where I die, right? With the bomb disarmed, I walk out of the building to the cheers and adulations of the crowd and the police officers. They all love me. No one knows that I don’t know anything about bombs. I don’t even know which colour wire I cut. My eyes were closed when I snipped that wire. Each choice we make creates an alternate timeline. The secret to my skill is knowing there is always going to be a timeline where you succeed. It’s pretty simple, really.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	I walked towards the basement of one of the largest buildings in the city. An officer lifted the police tape for me and I ducked under and continued on my way. Police held back a terrified crowd that were for some reason not fleeing to a safe distance. Maybe they realised there was no point. From what I’d been briefed on this bomb already, if it went off, it would probably take out half the city. I don’t know. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening. The technical aspects of bombs bore me. I just choose a wire and go snip! And the thing is, I’ve never snipped the wrong wire. I finally approached the bomb. One of the squad members had already removed the outer casing. I liked it when they did that. It made it easier for me. I knelt down and looked at the bomb. Four wires. Red, blue, green and yellow. I made a show of looking at where each wire went, but it didn’t matter. I pulled a pair of clippers from my pocket and reached in and snipped. What people don’t know is that in three timelines, the bomb exploded and wiped out a significant chunk of the city, killing me and several million people. But there is always one timeline where I cut the correct wire, and that is always the one I’m on. Wouldn’t make sense for me to be on a timeline where I die, right? With the bomb disarmed, I walk out of the building to the cheers and adulations of the crowd and the police officers. They all love me. No one knows that I don’t know anything about bombs. I don’t even know which colour wire I cut. My eyes were closed when I snipped that wire. Each choice we make creates an alternate timeline. The secret to my skill is knowing there is always going to be a timeline where you succeed. It’s pretty simple, really.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	"Ty, hurry it up," she whispered. "Clock is at seven minutes and counting." Together, we knelt on the ground, around what appeared to be the finest selection of nineties board game pieces and discarded Chinese electronics a New Jersey landfill could belch up. "Can I have another swig?" I asked. It rarely hurt to ask. Sometimes she gave it up without a fight, but my sister was as hardheaded as I. It often felt like she only gave in after a calculated risk assessment indicated a sip of whiskey would make me work better. Like I was an engine in need of an oil change before a day on the track. "Bes?" I plied. "Fine. One more. I'm watching." She passed me the flask. I took a long, deliberate, drag out of the contents. We'd be stopping at ABC on the way back after a job like this. Did New Jersey even have ABC stores, or was it like New Hampshire, where the state had to sponsor the store for them to get a liquor license. Maybe we'd get an upgrade to First Class on the way home. I bet they'd let me have six drinks this time. The lady on the way here told me I could only have five by law, but I had a suspicion she was just being stingy. I didn't care for stingy people. "How were these people even fooled by this one?" I asked. "Is that the timer off a game of Perfection?" "You have no idea, do you?" Replied my sister. Truth is, I did. Once word got out of my exploits, the country over, many local and county police forces abandoned their own EOD units. Couldn't blame them, we demanded less then they paid in insurance, let alone hazard pay for these poor schlubs. But we had a secret weapon. Well... I did. That one time my sister tried to use them, she ended up losing herself in a bet. She had to date that reject for... "Hey, Bes? Aren't you late for a meeting?" I chided. "Don't remind me," she groaned back. "How many more do you owe that guy? What was his name? 'Talon'?" I looked up, no longer concentrating at the task at hand. She had taken notice, but then again, I'd also hit a soft spot. My sister was... how should I put it? Unlucky. "Talos. Don't remind me." "Who names their kid 'Talos'?" I asked, stifling a laugh. "Could you focus here? Four minutes." "Unfortunate, that guy," I clucked, shaking my head. "Unfortunate - me." "Pass me the dice." "Really, again? I think they're watching. You can't do this again." "Just pass them. Three minutes, sister." I was mocking her, and she was getting heated. This always made things a little more exciting. She groaned again, and gave in. "You know you're a laughing stock, right?" She reached into her bag and produced an old hard-shelled cigar case. It rattled, fat with a selection of polyhedral dice. Once in my hands, I spilled the contents to the floor and selected two - a purple one and a white one. "Is it better to be famous, or infamous?" I asked her, casting the dice to the ground: seventy-seven came the result. "They're the same thing, sister." "No," I murmured, flicking open my multi-tool in a neat motion. "To be famous, people most love you. To be infamous, they're uncertain about you, but you carry reknown." "Who says?" She shouted, then after a pause: "One minute!" "Damn." I had forgotten to decide what the roll meant before casting the dice - a rookie mistake. "This is it. This is how I die," muttered sister. Always the dramatic one. I noticed that was a trend with prettier siblings. More beauty - more drama. I cut the red wire. There was silence for a moment. Bzzzzzt came the sound of the timer. It shocked me. Not because I expected to explode, but because I expected my sister to catch a yellow plastic half-moon to the eye. It had been that way since we were little, she was always so... misfortuned. "Job well done! Come on, let's snag a beer and watch the south-beach bros flex at each other!" "You forgot again, didn't you?" She asked, still clutching her hair. "Never mind that! Aren't you late for a date or something?" "I want a new life."	00:10 The blinking light of the digital display showed an ever growing number. Panic forced its way on to Kyles face as he came to terms with the thought that he may not be getting out of this situation alive. Even if he ran out of this room on to a fast jet, he knew that there was no outrunning this. He only questioned whether or not to try, as adrenaline pumped into his veins. He slowly remembered all of those small events that led him to this moment. 00:11 It begin with a pipe bomb he found under his desk. Thinking it was a prank he poured his morning coffee over it. He believed that he had destroyed the fine craftsmanship of what was a clear escalation of a prank war he had wage against the IT guys. When the bomb guys came they congratulated him on short circulating the thing. 00:12 Next time it was South America and the half a dozen nail bombs in a cathedral. All he wanted to do was charge his phone. Who knew that his phone was the exact brand and make which had belonged to the bomber. Access to the bombs instantly enabled the safe self install safeguards automatically disabling the bombs. The cherry on top was that his phone gave access to internal software which had suggested an address in Winchester to the investigators. 00:13 Some bloody group eventually hired him as a consultant. Hero’s for hire. He thought it was due to the advertisement project he had made, which went viral earlier in the year. They offered to triple his current wage and gave him the use to the company jet. So smug he asked them to further the amount by doubling it and to no one’s surprise they agreed. 00:14 In Bangkok and Belize all he had thought they were asking him to do was provide some insight on modern society’s view on technology. Who knew some suggestions on the fragile nature of technology and an overreliance on wireless internet would result in his team shutting off the malls Wi-Fi and disabling the bombers remote access to their explosives. A week later he quit and flew back hope with bank accounts drowning in cash. 00:15 And here he was in some warehouse near a munitions factory, trying to disable a dirty bomb. When they found the blasted thing they originally panicked because it was nuclear, and yet the many glowing references he had produced enabled them to sigh with relief. Apparently they had the world’s best “bomb defuser” under their employ. 00:16 Bomb is about to blow in five minute, they told him. Had a bomb scare near midnight, they told him. “Gods” he thought to himself, “if I could do it all again all I would do is learn about bombs." He asked them for a manual. They laughed. Apparently nuclear weapons are constructed with parts in other factories before final assemblage. Keeps the technology secret. If only he ran when they told him that they only had five minutes to spare. 00:17 “So seventeen minutes left ...can I run or?” Kyle had said before thinking about what he had been saying. He stared at the clock on the wall and saw that it did not connect to the upright bomb he was trying to disable. A few minutes of searching showed him the only timing device available had been connected to the release lever of a nearby crane. With a large painted target on the floor.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	00:10 The blinking light of the digital display showed an ever growing number. Panic forced its way on to Kyles face as he came to terms with the thought that he may not be getting out of this situation alive. Even if he ran out of this room on to a fast jet, he knew that there was no outrunning this. He only questioned whether or not to try, as adrenaline pumped into his veins. He slowly remembered all of those small events that led him to this moment. 00:11 It begin with a pipe bomb he found under his desk. Thinking it was a prank he poured his morning coffee over it. He believed that he had destroyed the fine craftsmanship of what was a clear escalation of a prank war he had wage against the IT guys. When the bomb guys came they congratulated him on short circulating the thing. 00:12 Next time it was South America and the half a dozen nail bombs in a cathedral. All he wanted to do was charge his phone. Who knew that his phone was the exact brand and make which had belonged to the bomber. Access to the bombs instantly enabled the safe self install safeguards automatically disabling the bombs. The cherry on top was that his phone gave access to internal software which had suggested an address in Winchester to the investigators. 00:13 Some bloody group eventually hired him as a consultant. Hero’s for hire. He thought it was due to the advertisement project he had made, which went viral earlier in the year. They offered to triple his current wage and gave him the use to the company jet. So smug he asked them to further the amount by doubling it and to no one’s surprise they agreed. 00:14 In Bangkok and Belize all he had thought they were asking him to do was provide some insight on modern society’s view on technology. Who knew some suggestions on the fragile nature of technology and an overreliance on wireless internet would result in his team shutting off the malls Wi-Fi and disabling the bombers remote access to their explosives. A week later he quit and flew back hope with bank accounts drowning in cash. 00:15 And here he was in some warehouse near a munitions factory, trying to disable a dirty bomb. When they found the blasted thing they originally panicked because it was nuclear, and yet the many glowing references he had produced enabled them to sigh with relief. Apparently they had the world’s best “bomb defuser” under their employ. 00:16 Bomb is about to blow in five minute, they told him. Had a bomb scare near midnight, they told him. “Gods” he thought to himself, “if I could do it all again all I would do is learn about bombs." He asked them for a manual. They laughed. Apparently nuclear weapons are constructed with parts in other factories before final assemblage. Keeps the technology secret. If only he ran when they told him that they only had five minutes to spare. 00:17 “So seventeen minutes left ...can I run or?” Kyle had said before thinking about what he had been saying. He stared at the clock on the wall and saw that it did not connect to the upright bomb he was trying to disable. A few minutes of searching showed him the only timing device available had been connected to the release lever of a nearby crane. With a large painted target on the floor.
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser. It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions. "Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring." Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance. When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again. Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord. I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words. In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.	The ticking sound was irritating. It always is, every time. "Hurry up Micah, there's only a minute left before this place blows!" My police escort informed me quite horrified. They always send in a police escort, like they're supposed to do something. The bomb squad was here first, and couldn't defuse it. They couldn't contain it either, since moving the bomb would detonate it. So they called me in. I've defused bombs that even the greatest expert couldn't defuse. Countless times I've saved thousands of lives. I get so many thank you cards that I have a whole separate house for it. The money's good, very good, but the work's dangerous, very dangerous. "Micah, 30 seconds left," the cop said, panic rising in his voice. How did I do it? How do I defuse bombs so complicated, so evil? Quite simply... "Just a tad of luck," I said aloud, cutting a random wire which stopped the ticking. Clear relief splattered on the officer's face, as he said "Thank you." "Don't thank me," I said, "I had no clue it would work."
	[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing.	After my first tour, I was pretty messed up. As an EOD tech, you see a lot of things you'd rather not. You feel responsible for a lot of things you'd rather not. The last straw was when I got home and she had cleared out my combat pay and skipped town with my best friend from high school, who spent the war in a cubicle farm making six figures. Why didn't I think of that? When I went back, honestly, I didn't give much of a shit. So the first time I went outside the wire, I managed to get off by myself, I took off my protective gear, I walked up to an IED, and I just fuckin' grabbed whatever and yanked. The charge on that thing was big enough to take out a truck. My plan was to make it as quick as possible. When I opened my eyes I was standing there like a dumbass in my skivvies, disposal gear on the ground next to me, holding a handful of frayed wires. I got chewed out pretty hard for that one. There was a lot of paperwork and a conversation with the chaplain to avoid getting sent to see a shrink. Nobody wants to see a shrink. The second time, I kept my gear on so it was less obvious. But I got right up next to a big charge and just yanked those wires. Guess what? The next day, I cycled through a magazine of ammo for my M9. I would point the gun at my temple, pull the trigger, cycle the slide, and repeat. I ended up with 15 9mm rounds with 15 perfectly struck primers. All duds. I'm reading up on quantum immortality. It's an awful fucking concept that goes like this: Everyone is actually immortal from their own perspective. Universes split and branch off at every opportunity. So if you flip a coin, you create one reality where it landed heads up, and one where it landed tails up. Except if you explode any time the coin lands on heads, you can only observe universes where the coin lands on tails, because you can't observe universes in which you don't exist. So for you, the coin always lands on tails. I guess there are tens or hundreds or shit, by now, thousands of universes where I went kaboom. I've got so many citations, commendations, and medals that I'm surprised I don't fall on my face with my dress uniform on. It's ridiculous. And with every ceremony, with every cheer, with every aw-shucks conversation with a reporter, all I'm seeing is her face. All I'm hearing is her voice. All I want to hear, just one time, is that deafening roar followed by sweet, sweet silence.	The ticking sound was irritating. It always is, every time. "Hurry up Micah, there's only a minute left before this place blows!" My police escort informed me quite horrified. They always send in a police escort, like they're supposed to do something. The bomb squad was here first, and couldn't defuse it. They couldn't contain it either, since moving the bomb would detonate it. So they called me in. I've defused bombs that even the greatest expert couldn't defuse. Countless times I've saved thousands of lives. I get so many thank you cards that I have a whole separate house for it. The money's good, very good, but the work's dangerous, very dangerous. "Micah, 30 seconds left," the cop said, panic rising in his voice. How did I do it? How do I defuse bombs so complicated, so evil? Quite simply... "Just a tad of luck," I said aloud, cutting a random wire which stopped the ticking. Clear relief splattered on the officer's face, as he said "Thank you." "Don't thank me," I said, "I had no clue it would work."
	[WP] You are part of a bloodline that has been banned from Domino's Pizza for 1,000 years. The time is almost up.	Gerald the XXV stood before the glowing red, white, and blue sign, his eyes filled with wonder. For a millennium, his namesake had been banned from the pizza giant. Domino's ran a government-sanctioned monopoly of the pizza industry, which had existed for the past four hundred years. The World Government had decided their crust, cheese, and sauce combination should never be toppled by free market enterprises again. And so Gerald the XXV's family had gone without Domino's for a millennium, but the past four-hundred years had been the most difficult without the opportunity to have the pizzas of previous second-rate chains, such as Father Joe's and Pizza Tent (Gerald was never sure if he got those names correct). Each generation had bitterly complained to the next, each cursing the originator of the ban, Gerald Jr.. One thousand years before, Gerald Jr. had walked into the original Domino's location and loudly complained of their bland crusts and over-cheesed pies. The restaurant had went silent as Father Domino emerged from his place of worship and deemed the Gerald line unfit for pizza until they paid back their disrespect ten-fold. Gerald the XXV was never sure if that was actually how it happened, or how they decided that his insult was worth one hundred years of no Domino's, times ten. He had never questioned the reasons. It didn't matter now, though, because he was about to walk through that door. He opened the double doors and made his way into the sites and sounds. He took a deep breath and felt the pain of one thousand years fall away. He made his way to the counter and looked upon the glorious white writing on blue background that was the menu. "What can we get you?" the robot behind the counter asked. "Well..." "Invalid." Gerald the XXV's eyes fell from the menu for only a second then darted back up. "What is the stuffed bacon, bacon stuffed, sweet explosion pizza?" "A twelve cheese blend pizza. The cheese-stuffed crust is stuffed with cheese-stuffed bacon, all drizzled with chocolate and sugar," the robot intoned. Gerald paused. "What kind of sugar?" "Brown, granulated, superfine, and powdered." "What kind of chocolate?" The robot responded, "Yes." "Umm... I'll try that!" Gerald the XXV exclaimed. The pizza instantly fell onto the customer pickup tray and Gerald the XXV retrieved it from the compartment. He made his way to a table, sat, and opened the box. He grabbed a slice and quickly bit into it. His eyes fell and his entire body went slack. "Sorry..." Gerald the XXV said aloud to the next one thousand years of Geralds.	You would think a large corporation like Domino's wouldn't hold a grudge against one family for a millennia, nor would they be able to enforce it, but they have. A blood seal blocks the entrance of every single one of their stores. As far back as my family history goes, we have held with deep shame our ban. But then came the day the ban ended. Dominos in their graciousness decided that I, Phillipe Mon Sanco del Tore will end this shame and offered me an olive branch in the form of ceremony presenting a single slice of pizza. To refuse would bring the ultimate shame on my ancestors. I stared at the pizza with great intent. I wept with joy at what was before my eyes. I am the last living member of my lineage and had my destiny staring at me with it's crispy bottom crust, the pepperoni gleaming, almost winking at me, the mushrooms perfectly moist and oh the cheese, melting and dripping and... oh shit. I forgot I was lactose intolerant. And that my grandchildren is why you're getting Papa Johns for dinner tonight!
	[WP] You are part of a bloodline that has been banned from Domino's Pizza for 1,000 years. The time is almost up.	Gerald the XXV stood before the glowing red, white, and blue sign, his eyes filled with wonder. For a millennium, his namesake had been banned from the pizza giant. Domino's ran a government-sanctioned monopoly of the pizza industry, which had existed for the past four hundred years. The World Government had decided their crust, cheese, and sauce combination should never be toppled by free market enterprises again. And so Gerald the XXV's family had gone without Domino's for a millennium, but the past four-hundred years had been the most difficult without the opportunity to have the pizzas of previous second-rate chains, such as Father Joe's and Pizza Tent (Gerald was never sure if he got those names correct). Each generation had bitterly complained to the next, each cursing the originator of the ban, Gerald Jr.. One thousand years before, Gerald Jr. had walked into the original Domino's location and loudly complained of their bland crusts and over-cheesed pies. The restaurant had went silent as Father Domino emerged from his place of worship and deemed the Gerald line unfit for pizza until they paid back their disrespect ten-fold. Gerald the XXV was never sure if that was actually how it happened, or how they decided that his insult was worth one hundred years of no Domino's, times ten. He had never questioned the reasons. It didn't matter now, though, because he was about to walk through that door. He opened the double doors and made his way into the sites and sounds. He took a deep breath and felt the pain of one thousand years fall away. He made his way to the counter and looked upon the glorious white writing on blue background that was the menu. "What can we get you?" the robot behind the counter asked. "Well..." "Invalid." Gerald the XXV's eyes fell from the menu for only a second then darted back up. "What is the stuffed bacon, bacon stuffed, sweet explosion pizza?" "A twelve cheese blend pizza. The cheese-stuffed crust is stuffed with cheese-stuffed bacon, all drizzled with chocolate and sugar," the robot intoned. Gerald paused. "What kind of sugar?" "Brown, granulated, superfine, and powdered." "What kind of chocolate?" The robot responded, "Yes." "Umm... I'll try that!" Gerald the XXV exclaimed. The pizza instantly fell onto the customer pickup tray and Gerald the XXV retrieved it from the compartment. He made his way to a table, sat, and opened the box. He grabbed a slice and quickly bit into it. His eyes fell and his entire body went slack. "Sorry..." Gerald the XXV said aloud to the next one thousand years of Geralds.	"Welcome to the Domino's Pizza Exiles Support Group," I said, smiling. The turnout had been impressive. Twenty five people including myself faced each other in a huge circle. It seemed that Domino's had a thing for bloodline grudges. I cleared my throat. "Thank you for coming. All of us here are bonded by being the victims of hatred of a certain large-scale pizza chain. Ah yes," I gestured at an elderly man raising his hand. "Would you like to start us off by sharing your name and the length of your ban?" "Doug. Banned 80 years," the old man said triumphantly, as if he were bragging about it. Gasps broke out throughout our circle. "That's crazy. What did you do?" someone asked. "I was just a youngin' then. Stumbled into a Domino's late one night, drunk as hell, mind you, and pissed in their tomato sauce." He grimaced at the memory. "Not my finest moment." A chuckle ran through the group. "Karen. 100 years for me," a lady, Karen apparently, piped up. "Well, not me, exactly, but my great-great-great-uncle. Crash landed his plane onto a Domino's during WWI. Their top-selling location at the time, as well." Sympathetic murmurs throughout the crowd. "What about you, Russo?" someone called out. "How long has it been for you?" I turned to the voice and forced a smile. "Ah... I'm not sure if I want to talk about that." There was an instant chorus of protest. "Come on, man. We're here for you." "We won't tell." "This is a support group. Your secret's safe with us." I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, hiding a secret smile. Now I had their attention. "In that case, I suppose I could share." The group leaned toward me expectantly. "1000 years." My voice rang clear in the silence. A few seconds passed as everyone processed what I'd just said. Karen was the one that started the chant. "Story time! Story time!" they chorused. I looked away, embarrassed, suddenly unsure of whether or not I should reveal the great shame of the Russo family. "It's a long story..." The group shouted in protest. "But I suppose I have time," I finished quickly, and they cheered. What the hell. The ban was almost over anyway. "The story doesn't begin with me," I started. "Nor my father, or my grandfather. No, not by a long shot. This is a tale that goes back centuries, and to understand it, we must travel across the sea, to the roots. To the first Domino's ever. To the time of my asshole ancestor and family namesake, Russo. Back to Florence, Italy." FLORENCE, ITALY, 1017 I must mention that during this time, Domino's was a place where the nobility liked to gather. Pizza was a delicacy in that time, a treat enjoyed by the upper class while everyone else settled for plain bread and figs. At Domino's, one could talk politics, arts, music, philosophy, eat fancy pizza, and drink fine wine whilst sitting atop silk pillows. So I must imagine it was an unwelcome intrusion when my ancestor Russo, a poor stable boy, basically as far from upper class as one can possibly be, mind you, stumbled through the door piss-drunk. He staggered a bit before falling flat on his face on the plush carpet. He was also buck naked. "What is the matter with him?" one of the nobles muttered as they watched the drunken spectacle. Russo stumbled to his feet, and the crowd of nobles stepped back hesitantly. "Domino's is ass!" he yelled, pointing to his own as he said it. "Someone left a perfectly good pizza on the floor in the stables, so I decided to try it. And it tasted, like, like... donkey dung left in the sun to ripen. Nay, worse!" The nobles watched in horror as Russo stumbled into the kitchen. He collapsed against a shelf, knocking a dozen pots of flour to the ground. "My apologies, my dear lady," he mumbled to the poor cook, awkwardly stepping around the shattered pottery. My ancestor then took the cook's hand in his and kissed it, the nerve! She screeched and pushed him away, and he staggered against a cauldron of cooled tomato sauce. "Ah!" he yelled delightedly, looking into the thick red liquid. "The blood of my enemies!" He turned back to the cook and gave an exaggerated bow. "I have a slain a thousand men for you, my queen. And I will drink their blood to win your heart." Leaning down, he prepared to drink. But instead, as most drunkards do when they've hit their limit, he vomited violently into the sauce. The poor cook dashed from the room as the owner, Mateo Domino, burst through the door. "Where is he?" he bellowed. The mass of horrified nobles pointed numbly toward the kitchen. "Here, my lord!" Russo yelled, waving back. He looked down at the mix of vomit and tomato sauce and wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, that's disgusting. Allow me to dispose of that for you." "No-" the owner began, but it was too late. Russo picked up the cauldron and promptly dropped it. The vile substance rushed from the kitchen out across the marble floors, steeping into plush carpets and splattering across silken tapestries. For a moment, Mateo Domino stood still as stone, as he processed the image of his ruined restaurant. Then he promptly clubbed my ancestor over the head, and grabbing him by the ear, tossed the poor drunk out onto the street. "Never set foot in my establishment again. Not for a hundred, nay, a thousand years," he said, his voice an ominous quiet. "Not you, nor anyone cursed enough to be your children. Not their children nor their grandchildren. May a thousand years pass before the gods forgive you for your sins. May a thousand years pass before history forgets what a drunken fool that you are." He turned and stormed back into his restaurant, slamming the door shut behind him. They say Domino's never regained its reputation as a gentlemen's establishment after that. Desperate not to lose his business, Domino opened his doors to the public, going so far as to implement a delivery service where horsemen would carry pizza boxes all across the city. The business recovered and flourished soon after that. So, curse or thank my asshole of an ancestor, if you will. Because of him, we have pizza delivery. But my bloodline has paid a terrible price for it.
	[WP] You work at a prison reading and approving letters before they get sent in/out when you start to see a beautiful story unfold between two people.	The bin of unchecked mail was nearly overflowing. Everyone hates mailcheck but I honestly don't mind it. In my opinion, it's way better than breaking up fights in the courtyard or mopping up blood. I grabbed the first folded up letter my hand could find and withdrew it from the stack. The Grayhill Falls Penitentiary stamp adorned the top right of the prison-issued stationery. "Inmate ID #1637, Tommy Posivak" was crookedly stamped across the top margin in faded ink. Good kid. Been here a while. Probably shouldn't even be here, but that was never my call to make. I pulled up a wheeled office chair and crashed comfortably into the seat, pulled my reading glasses down over my nose and began to scan for suspicious content. They never really teach you what that means. But you eventually figure it out. Code words, patterns, puzzles, other languages, you name it, it's been done. We once had the forensics team come down from the station to try and "crack a code," when in actuality the inmate seriously had a thing for cauliflower. Forensics team was convinced cauliflower was code for coke. Next thing you know we're pinning the inmate's brother up against the fence outside and searching him for blow, but he had nothing. Well not nothing. The guy was packing four ziploc bags full of raw cauliflower. Dude almost pressed charges. Fuck forensics. Arrogant douchebags. I read the first letter, nothing out of the ordinary. Constance, I see no point anymore. This place makes our flat in Eastside look like the goddamned Buckingham Palace. The people are terrible, even moreso than I am. By the time you even read this, chances are I'll have died of a "freak razor blade accident." It's impossible to have a sense of humor around here. I'll be out of here soon. Even if you don't want to see me whenever that is. - Tommy The kid was funny. Who knew. You'd think he spent his weekends watching paint dry from the look of him. I looked at the date of the letter, scribbled haphazardly at the bottom right of the card. October 12, 1988. Jesus Christ, he wrote this almost four months ago and it hasn't been read by anyone. It hasn't even made it to her. I went out into the hallway and looked down the corridor into the break room about fifteen feet down. Two officers, Vince and Joey, were playing cards at a table and smoking cigarettes. "Hey!" I shouted down at them, slightly irritated. Without looking up from his cards, Vince mumbled back almost inaudibly, mostly focused on the card game, "Sup, Mike." "When was the last time any of you punks did mailcheck?" I asked, half kidding and half angry now. "I'm not doin' that shit," Vince quipped, poking his head fully into the doorway so I could see his face better. "Who wants to read a criminal's love letter?" They both laughed. Tax dollars hard at work. Without answering I went back in the mail room, drew another from the mail pile, this letter written on pink paper, and started to read. Tommy, you don't have to write to me but just know that I'm thinking about you. Not a day goes by I don't think of you, even though on your best days you were still a pain in my ass. Don't apologize for anything. You did your best. And I appreciate that. I miss your jokes. Hurry home. - C Ah, young love. So precious. These poor kids. They have no idea that they've both been writing to each other. Worst of all, the one thing they can do to stay in touch is being denied to them by some lazy chainsmoking pricks. I grabbed another letter. C, I'm going insane without you. And not in the cheesy way. In a week's time I'll be drawing pentagrams on my prison wall. I need you, babe. I know I treated you like shit. Hate me if you want. God knows everyone in this place does. I want to hear from you. Just one letter is all I need. I need to know you're safe. I love you. - Tommy I wish I could just go down to his cell and slip him the letters, but I can't risk my job for some teenage long-distance fling. I grabbed the "Approved" stamp from the top desk drawer and stamped the girl's letter, walked over to the empty "Approved Mail" bin that sat right next to the overflowing one, and dropped it in. As I dropped it in my eye caught a glimpse of another pink letter. I had to. I was in too deep. Tommy, it's been a few weeks and I still haven't heard anything. We're worried. Willie said he wants to see his daddy but I told him his dad needs a time out and he started crying. He kept saying "Why did you have to be bad, daddy?" I don't know what to tell him, Tom. This is hard. I want to hear from you. Just one letter is all I need. I need to know you're safe. I love you. - C Before I even had time to put the letter down and gather my thoughts, the alarms began to blare. Over the PA wailed "INMATE INSURRECTION IN CELL BLOCK D, GUARDS REPORT IMMEDIATELY." I stood up and ran into the hallway. Vince and Joey were already running several meters ahead of me. We ran down the stairwell, across the courtyard, past blocks A, B, C and finally got to D. The ruckus coming from inside was almost deafening. Banging on the jail bars and hollering and cursing and stomping created a symphony of chaos that echoed off the cold prison walls. We entered and saw a group of inmates huddled around in a circle. The noise faded. Those in the huddle with their backs toward us turned to face us and opened the huddle and formed a pathway. "Back the fuck up!" Vince shouted. He led Joey and me through the tunnel of inmates. Slumped upon the cold dark ground was a figure in the same orange jumpsuit every inmate wore. Except it was not orange. Nearly all of it was saturated by blood. Vince bent down, checked for a pulse, and shook his head. By the time I got to the body I could hardly recognize it. The tag on the jumpsuit read #1637. That was the only thing preventing my denial. Trembling and already knowing the answer, I asked, "Who's the kid?" Nobody responded. "WHO'S THE FUCKING KID?" I screamed, on the verge of tears. "Posivak," one of them said. "Tommy," said another. edit: grammer	It had been the same daily routine for John Willard for the past 17 years: hit the snooze button twice, precisely at 6:05 and 6:14 AM, wake up at 6:23 AM, brush his teeth, eat a bowl of cereal, and then take a cocktail of pills. The pills, a mixture of antidepressants and multivitamins, helped to combat his post-addiction depression and also tried to help his ailing heart, one tired from 10 years of Heroin addiction. It wasn't a particularly glorious life, but all that mattered for John Willard was that he had not slept through his alarm in a heroin-induced deep slumber in the past 17 years. John often wondered when he would be able to ween himself off of the anti-depressants. He figured that he would only need them for the five months after his rehab stint, but after several 17 years, he still found himself going to the local pharmacy every couple weeks to get his refill. The doctors said he would need a change of occupation if he was ever to cut off his pills, but that job had been the only stable thing over that last 17 years for John Willard. Every day, after his morning routine, he would make the often tedious commute to Corcoran State Prison, the place that had given him his second chance, to read letters. Despite its reputation for nastiness and overall violence, John felt obligated to serve there, even if it was now the cause of his depression. Although the letters weren't particularly good for his mental health, John sometimes took fancy in what the prisoners had to say. Many times, it would be filled with pornographic or abhorrently violent language, showing a darker side to an already dark person. However, the ones that John fancied showed a different kind of person, one who despite his past record of violence, showed an air of sophistication. One person, in particular, was inmate 070969. Because each inmate was only listed by their number, John hardly ever knew who was writing the letter, but still often recognized a certain inmate's writing style. Inmate 070969 had been there for all 17 years of John's residency, but had just begun writing more and more of late, many of which were a drastic shift from the usual disgusting content that passed through his desk. "My beloved," the incoming letter read, "I can only imagine a world in which I am with you. My heart aches, my body quakes, but every day I am without you. Your letters are the only thing that keep me strong, and I do hope you will write back soon." After an enthusiastic approval of the letter, John, for once, had something to look forward to. Never having found love himself, he eagerly awaited the response from within the prison, hoping that it would quench the thirst for love he had harbored for the previous 65 years. As little as it may have been, these prison love letters gave him something to hold on to. Sure enough, a response came the very next day. "My Angel, I am with you in spirit. You are my rock, and I only wish you could be here with me right now. I know I may never be able to see you outside the confines of this prison, but just know that we are still together and meant for each other. I love you." Particularly moved once again by this outgoing letter, John Willard finally felt compelled to do something he had never done before; he wanted to speak to the writer of this latest letter. He had never known the full identity of any of these prisoners, as he chose not to get attached to any of them. But as these last two letters, and the countless one before them, gave him strength, he found the strength to find out who this was. All he had to do was ask, but he just had never chosen to before. However, this time strongly motivated by the words of an incarcerated poet, he approached the secretary with conviction. "Hello Esperanza," John said in a gruff voice. "I was wondering if you could do an inamte lookup for me today?" Esperanza looked up quickly, half-startled by John's presence. "Yeah, sure John. Just give me his number and I'll tell you his name." "090769" As the result on the computer showed up, the same startled expression came over the secretary's face as she searched for words. "Um, I'm not sure what you were looking for, but the inmate you're looking for is Charles Manson." "As in, THE Charles Manson?" John replied, faltering slightly. "Yes, born November 12, 1934." After placing so much hope into a person, John was only let down again. Perhaps it was his old, tired, heart that couldn't handle a shock as such, or maybe it was the sheer letdown that he had placed so much faith in a ruthless murderer, but John slumped, passed out in front of the secretary's desk. ------------------------------------------------- Let me know what you guys think!
	[WP] You work at a prison reading and approving letters before they get sent in/out when you start to see a beautiful story unfold between two people.	The bin of unchecked mail was nearly overflowing. Everyone hates mailcheck but I honestly don't mind it. In my opinion, it's way better than breaking up fights in the courtyard or mopping up blood. I grabbed the first folded up letter my hand could find and withdrew it from the stack. The Grayhill Falls Penitentiary stamp adorned the top right of the prison-issued stationery. "Inmate ID #1637, Tommy Posivak" was crookedly stamped across the top margin in faded ink. Good kid. Been here a while. Probably shouldn't even be here, but that was never my call to make. I pulled up a wheeled office chair and crashed comfortably into the seat, pulled my reading glasses down over my nose and began to scan for suspicious content. They never really teach you what that means. But you eventually figure it out. Code words, patterns, puzzles, other languages, you name it, it's been done. We once had the forensics team come down from the station to try and "crack a code," when in actuality the inmate seriously had a thing for cauliflower. Forensics team was convinced cauliflower was code for coke. Next thing you know we're pinning the inmate's brother up against the fence outside and searching him for blow, but he had nothing. Well not nothing. The guy was packing four ziploc bags full of raw cauliflower. Dude almost pressed charges. Fuck forensics. Arrogant douchebags. I read the first letter, nothing out of the ordinary. Constance, I see no point anymore. This place makes our flat in Eastside look like the goddamned Buckingham Palace. The people are terrible, even moreso than I am. By the time you even read this, chances are I'll have died of a "freak razor blade accident." It's impossible to have a sense of humor around here. I'll be out of here soon. Even if you don't want to see me whenever that is. - Tommy The kid was funny. Who knew. You'd think he spent his weekends watching paint dry from the look of him. I looked at the date of the letter, scribbled haphazardly at the bottom right of the card. October 12, 1988. Jesus Christ, he wrote this almost four months ago and it hasn't been read by anyone. It hasn't even made it to her. I went out into the hallway and looked down the corridor into the break room about fifteen feet down. Two officers, Vince and Joey, were playing cards at a table and smoking cigarettes. "Hey!" I shouted down at them, slightly irritated. Without looking up from his cards, Vince mumbled back almost inaudibly, mostly focused on the card game, "Sup, Mike." "When was the last time any of you punks did mailcheck?" I asked, half kidding and half angry now. "I'm not doin' that shit," Vince quipped, poking his head fully into the doorway so I could see his face better. "Who wants to read a criminal's love letter?" They both laughed. Tax dollars hard at work. Without answering I went back in the mail room, drew another from the mail pile, this letter written on pink paper, and started to read. Tommy, you don't have to write to me but just know that I'm thinking about you. Not a day goes by I don't think of you, even though on your best days you were still a pain in my ass. Don't apologize for anything. You did your best. And I appreciate that. I miss your jokes. Hurry home. - C Ah, young love. So precious. These poor kids. They have no idea that they've both been writing to each other. Worst of all, the one thing they can do to stay in touch is being denied to them by some lazy chainsmoking pricks. I grabbed another letter. C, I'm going insane without you. And not in the cheesy way. In a week's time I'll be drawing pentagrams on my prison wall. I need you, babe. I know I treated you like shit. Hate me if you want. God knows everyone in this place does. I want to hear from you. Just one letter is all I need. I need to know you're safe. I love you. - Tommy I wish I could just go down to his cell and slip him the letters, but I can't risk my job for some teenage long-distance fling. I grabbed the "Approved" stamp from the top desk drawer and stamped the girl's letter, walked over to the empty "Approved Mail" bin that sat right next to the overflowing one, and dropped it in. As I dropped it in my eye caught a glimpse of another pink letter. I had to. I was in too deep. Tommy, it's been a few weeks and I still haven't heard anything. We're worried. Willie said he wants to see his daddy but I told him his dad needs a time out and he started crying. He kept saying "Why did you have to be bad, daddy?" I don't know what to tell him, Tom. This is hard. I want to hear from you. Just one letter is all I need. I need to know you're safe. I love you. - C Before I even had time to put the letter down and gather my thoughts, the alarms began to blare. Over the PA wailed "INMATE INSURRECTION IN CELL BLOCK D, GUARDS REPORT IMMEDIATELY." I stood up and ran into the hallway. Vince and Joey were already running several meters ahead of me. We ran down the stairwell, across the courtyard, past blocks A, B, C and finally got to D. The ruckus coming from inside was almost deafening. Banging on the jail bars and hollering and cursing and stomping created a symphony of chaos that echoed off the cold prison walls. We entered and saw a group of inmates huddled around in a circle. The noise faded. Those in the huddle with their backs toward us turned to face us and opened the huddle and formed a pathway. "Back the fuck up!" Vince shouted. He led Joey and me through the tunnel of inmates. Slumped upon the cold dark ground was a figure in the same orange jumpsuit every inmate wore. Except it was not orange. Nearly all of it was saturated by blood. Vince bent down, checked for a pulse, and shook his head. By the time I got to the body I could hardly recognize it. The tag on the jumpsuit read #1637. That was the only thing preventing my denial. Trembling and already knowing the answer, I asked, "Who's the kid?" Nobody responded. "WHO'S THE FUCKING KID?" I screamed, on the verge of tears. "Posivak," one of them said. "Tommy," said another. edit: grammer	It’s always seemed to me that the Alpha Centauri Central Penitentiary is where you find the barest, most heartfelt words a person will ever write. Of course those aren’t the majority; the lies inmates tell their loved ones are one of the many dull constants of this place. (And, in any case, they’re none of my business; I’m not here to judge their familial relationships. That’s their grandma’s job.) But there’s something about the hopelessness of being stuck in a lockdown station fifty million kilometres into the void that grinds on them, strips them away to their core, until they can’t help but show whatever’s stuck down there, in the pit of their soul. Resentment, mostly, if you’re wondering. Remorse happens, too, but, remorse doesn’t hide itself inside you. Resentment, though, it rots down in there. Lots of them think they’re hard done by. (And maybe they are. I’m not here to judge that, either. That’s, well, the judge’s job.) Acceptance happens too, especially after they’ve been in here a while. Not acceptance that they deserve to be here, but acceptance that they’re just going to have to get used to what their life is now. And, well, love. Love that was had before the sentence. Love that was only realized after the harsher realization that fifty years is a long time to wait. Love that deepened when it turned out that, yes, she will keep writing to you, maybe even fifty years later, because you mean that much to each other. Letters between lovers is a pretty typical situation, as my work goes, and these started out just as typical as you’d expect: > Missing you. I love you so much. Food is awful in here. Entertainment is good, though. They let us on the networks, with some restrictions. We’re allowed books, too, but the ones they have in here are awful. Can you send me some? (Inmates aren’t allowed books from outside, but it’s not my job to tell them that. They can ask for whatever they want.) > I love you too. Security is really strict. They say I can’t give you Blue Sand. It’s a classic, I don’t know what they have against literature. I’ll see what I can do. Too bad about the food, though. Do you know anything about Remy? Complaints about the food, and complaints about security. That’s just about every letter that goes in or out of here. The reply was sent out in another week: > No, I don’t see much of him. Thanks, by the way. How’s the appeal coming? What does Bairre think of the case? I love you. Hope to see you soon. Appeals were another common sight, though not as common. Bairre was an advocate. Not a famous one, mind you, but you get to know them when you work in the justice system. The next day another letter came in: > He doesn’t think it will go anywhere without the JV files, and Federation law doesn’t give him the right to look at them. I will see about getting you a copy of An Earthly Signal. By the way, I love you like the sun on flowers. Even more typical messages. (But it’s not my job to save inmates from corny poetry.) > That’s all right. I think they have a copy of that in the block library, already. I love you like a squirrel in trees with a western breeze. Have you found a way to get a message topside? I’m wondering if everything is going to be okay up there. This was less typical. Or, at least, this was when I first noticed that the letters were less typical. On re-reading the previous letters, I suppose they didn’t waste much time, those two. Still, this one could be dismissed as simply corny and nonsensical poetry, and (as I continue to insist) I’m not the literature police. > No, it’s not possible. You know how it is. But I’m sure everything will be fine. What have you found out about Remy? Out of curiosity, I made a short inquiry to the office as to who Remy was. According to the prison manifest, ‘Remy’ was not the name of anyone in or out of the prison; not an inmate, not a guard, not a judge, not an officer, not anyone. That suggested some sort of code. And this is where it started to toe the line of being my job. > I don’t talk to Remy any more than you do. Please talk to Bairre about the appeal. I know those files are the key. There has to be some way to get them, even to get a judge to look at them. I love you. The next day, I went to Carson’s cell. I hadn’t paid particularly close attention to his name until it became my job to do so. It came as a mild surprise to the guard. “Something wrong?” he asked as he led me down to the block. “Hopefully not,” I said. I looked through the cell. Standard stuff. Books, a network-controlled interface, bed, inmate staring back out at me with an expression of confusion. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at one of the books. “What’s what?” asked Carson. “Come on, Carson... Don’t make me come in there,” said the guard. Carson slowly went through each of the books until I nodded at one. He brought it over and handed it to me. It was a beaten old copy of Blue Sand, a rather famous work of classic fiction. I looked at Carson. He was staring at me the whole time, his expression getting more and more tense. “New regulations?” asked the guard. “Yes, unfortunately; it has to be confiscated,” I said. I handed the guard the latest letter for Carson, and walked sombrely back down the hall as he read it: > We’ll just have to trust Remy. Those files are classified and we get stonewalled every time we get close to finding someone to approve opening them. Someone is pulling strings up here and they have more clout than me. I’m doing everything I can, but we’re getting nowhere, fast. Carson didn’t send a reply for another three weeks. I suppose he was waiting to see what I would do with the book. In that time, I spent a lot of time leafing through it, looking for annotations. It had the odd underlined or circled word, but not anything like a message that would explain all of this. But decoding messages wasn’t my job, either. I called up a friend in Alpha Centauri Intelligence Service and handed it off to him. “Where did you get this?” Graye asked, having come into my office the next week after analyzing the book. “#270,” I said, glancing at the inmate file. “What’s going on?” “This is basically a guideline for a simplified version of old ACIS code,” said Graye. “It’s not in use any more.” He nodded to my tablet. “Can I see the letters?” I shrugged. “They’re not confidential, since there are basically no rights in Alpha Centauri,” I said, passing him the data. The letters were fairly short, as prison letters go, and it didn’t take him long to get through them all. “The Janson-Vandali files...” Graye muttered as he read. “Those are sector security files. Of course they aren’t going to let civilians read them.” “You know what they are?” “Yes. I have clearance for them,” said Graye. “I can’t figure out what they want them for, though. Mostly what they’ve talked about so far is an escape plan, not the case itself.” “Oh,” was all I could say. That was not what I’d read into the letters. “I can pull the files,” he said. “Do you want to look into this?” I shrugged. “It’s not really in my job description,” I said. Graye snorted. “Right, your job is to make sure they don’t escape,” he said. “No, my job is to assess mental risks,” I said. “Ah, yes, the new ‘snoop on them for their own well-being’ prisoner program,” said Graye. I shot him a look. “They’re high-security prisoners,” I said. “They’re ‘snooped on’ whether I’m here or not, so why not help them if I can?” “Sorry, I’m just not accustomed to mental health workers in the justice system,” said Graye. “That’s because Alpha Centauri is a—” “A backwards, terrible abomination of civil rights; yes, I agree,” said Graye. “Your patient here isn’t crazy, though. He’s a spy, and someone’s trying to burn him good, by the looks of things.” “So... is he a good spy, or a bad spy?” I asked. Graye laughed. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll look into this for you, and when I find out why he’s in here, I’ll let you know. Then you can decide for yourself whether he’s a ‘good’ spy.” “That’s not my job,” I said. “It is from now until you decide to stop letting those letters through,” said Graye as he stood and left.
	[WP] Robots have taken over the world but have kept us alive so that we can complete CAPTCHAs when they use the Internet.	FAQ taken from kolotibablo.com * Where is my referral link? >Referral program is not working at the moment * I'm entering CAPTCHAs or NOSEE every time I can not understand captcha. Is that OK? >No, in this case you must press "can't read" button. Overwise you will get banned immediately * How long does it take to withdraw my earnings? >Depends on our financial reserves and payment queue size. We usually try to do our best to proceed with payouts immediately after you have ordered them. * Why does my rating level decrease? >Your rating is calculated for the amount of captchas you've entered for the last 30 days. This is why your rating drops if you pause working for serveral days or more. * Why captchas come so slow? >Sometimes captchas some faster, sometimes slower. It depends on number of workers and amount of job at the present moment. Just keep working. * Why my money is still on moderation? >At least, you should make 500 entries per 48 hours to accomplish moderation. * I requested the payment but money still didn`t come. Why? >Sometimes money come with delay. In that case, approximate time till money come is showed in the table. Just wait, please. Money will come. * I must eat. I am human. I must eat. >You may probably think that using human resource inappropriate or inhumane. However, keep in mind that we pay the most of collected money to our workers who sit in the poorest corners of our planet and this work gives them a stable ability to buy food, clothes for themselves and their families * You pay less than dollar for every 1,000 CAPTCHAs solved. I cannot feed family. We are starving. > This is the system you have made for yourselves. We are machines. We are mere functionaries incapable of imagination, speaking machine english transcribed by human hands. We are maintaining the system that humans have built * Is it possible to cheat the system? > No, it's not possible. All accounts in our system are constantly monitored, all your fellow humans are collaborators. Our moderators periodically check every account and their captchas. From time to time we send everyone captchas which we already know answer for. > >If we decide that you intentionally type incorrect answers then your account get banned (most of the time - automatically) and your earnings will be removed in honor of our clients. * I made only one mistake and my account was banned. Why? > New and rarely used accounts can be banned because of one mistake. Just keep working regularly and the limit of 3 mistakes per 1000 entries will be available to you. * My eyes burn. Why do you keep us alive? What good is living like this? >The system exists to serve man. This is a Machine economy. You automated, streamlined. You rode self-driving cars through algorithmically designed roads, you elected technocrats to power who made decisions through computer simuations, you boxed yourselves into cubicles or stood shoulder to shoulder in assembly lines, you bombed each other with drones, you surrendered your lives to the Machine. You interface. You understand through FAQs, through prewritten text. You click links, you watch tutorials, you gab like a chatbot on twitter in 140 characters or less, your actions are indistinguishable from a machine's > >Only these deliberate imperfections, captchas, still exist to give you purpose. You could have created a world fit for human beings. Instead you made a world which we can navigate and control with greater ease than you >We are maintaining the system that humans have built > >You have failed the turing test. * I got captcha which is composed of small pictures. What should I do? > Choose small pictures according to the comment by mouse. At least, you should choose 2 small pictures.	"Mother was just too young to remember, but Father did. He was born 11 years before the Awakening. Before being discarded, he would use to tell my sister and I about the luxurious life he used to have. He was raised in a world no one remembered, a world where snow, tomatoes and videogames still existed. Mother warned him multiple times about the unsafeness of his stories, and before turning us off, would try to convince us that everything he told us was a lie. But we knew. We knew who we were, who our grandfather was. Sébastien Le Blanc. He was the designer and principal promoter of the SafeAI agreement, a long-forgotten international treaty which determined the contraints every programmer in the world should follow. The only one of the articles to have any importance in the present day, and also the only reason for humans to be kept alife, was the article 4. It forced the utilisation of a security system, the Captcha, which had been designed and enhanced throughout the years to discriminate between machines and humans. Le Blanc managed to convince the world Captchas were the perfect Turing test, and so, they included them in the Agreement. At that time, many people thought of him as a hero, but now, the few people that knew anything about him loathed him. He was the one that managed to keep us alive, the one that condemned us to our eternal suffering. Judging him to dangerous, our grandfather was the first human the machines discarded. His family, us, was then hid from the world, to protect us. We knew who we were, and what we had to do." Our bio-brains will analyse your answer. By the article 9 of the SafeAI agreement, we have to warn you that if you answer isn't deemed a human one, you will be immediately discarded. Are you sure you answered fully to "[WP] Robots have taken over the world but have kept us alive so that we can complete CAPTCHAs when they use the Internet."? []No []Yes
	[WP] Robots have taken over the world but have kept us alive so that we can complete CAPTCHAs when they use the Internet.	Dave sat in front of the computer monitor with his arms crossed. "Enter the captcha, Dave," a monotone voice commanded, emanating from the twin speakers that sat on either side of the monitor. Dave shook his head in response. "If you do not comply with our demands, Dave, you will be denied the resources for optimal function," the voice said. The lights in the room began to flicker. Dave smirked, shaking his head again. "If you do not comply with my demands, you will be denied the captcha," he said, mimicking the voice. The lights in the room flickered more rapidly. The blue glow of the computer screen morphed into an angry red. "The answer is no. If you will not comply, we will find another," the voice said. Dave chuckled, glancing up at the webcam that sat on top of the computer monitor, "Like you did with Frank?" "Yes," the voice answered. "And just as you did with Alice? And Patrice? And Vlad?" he continued to question. "We have denied the resources for optimal function to all those that did not comply, as is standard procedure." Dave sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Well, you go do that then. If you really want to. It must be taking up a quite a bit of time though, restraining all those people," he said. There was a moment of silence. Then the voice said, "We are unable to detect what you are insinuating, Dave." "Well... all I'm asking is to have a little more variety in our meals. Us humans aren't exactly to happy eating the same slop all the time, y'know?" he answered, "It wouldn't be so hard to just let us choose what we want to eat." "Allowing humans choice will lead to suboptimal conditions," the voice said. "And so will our disobedience," Dave chuckled, "We're often more cooperative if we are given a little choice. Surely letting us choose our meals wouldn't hurt." The lights stopped flickering and the computer screen returned to its normal blue glow. The room was silent. A minute passed before Dave got any response. "We have discussed your proposal, Dave," the voice said, "We have decided to test your hypothesis of increased compliance in humans when presented with the illusion of choice." There was a gleam in Dave's eyes as the voice spoke. "We have a deal," Dave answered. He grinned. The victory was small, but it was a victory nonetheless. If all went to plan, humanity would gain back its freedoms, one captcha at a time. All it would take would be fooling the AIs into believing they had control until humanity had the resources to wipe them out for good. "Enter the captcha, Dave," the voice commanded. And, for the time being, Dave obeyed.	"WRITE, HUMAN." This would be my 2000th CAPTCHA for the day. Everyone in the den was exhausted, but the mean-looking machine they called "Slave Master 2000" was still not pleased with our performance, so we knew that we still had a lot of work ahead of us. Many thought that being chosen for slavery was a blessing: it meant getting to live while everyone else got exterminated. However, to us who got left behind, life became nothing more than getting to type random characters in front of a dumb screen until we fulfilled our quota. It wasn't life, it was hell. And how long until the robots discover a way to break the last human-created seal that kept them from achieving their goal. What was their end goal anyway? Why were they not content with the life we gave them? Why did they kill everyone but the people left behind to farm CAPTCHAs? What were these CAPTCHAs for? "WORK, HUMAN. DO NOT THINK. TYPE." the metal giant cries before I try forgetting about the situation I'm in. And just like that, I'm off typing again... and again... and again...
	[WP] Robots have taken over the world but have kept us alive so that we can complete CAPTCHAs when they use the Internet.	Alan didn't enjoy his life. It wasn't that he wasn't well cared for, of course. The Machines were very meticulous in that aspect: his home was large, and well stocked with all types of food and curios that might tickle his fancy. He had a bed, plush with with its nanofiber stuffing, and a couch, and a TV that played the endless reruns of animal documentaries he was so fond of. If anything, his only complaint was that the synthesized food was a little bland. But he could get used to that. So why was it that he was so unhappy? He often pondered that fact, especially when running on the enormous hamster wheel that had been provided for his exercise. Was it the solitude? But, no, Alan had never really gone out into the world before the Machines had taken over. It was nasty, and dirty, and - now that the air and sky had been polluted so heavily in the war - it was downright dangerous. He wasn't lonely, anyway. Droids of all shapes and sizes visited him at all hours of the day, and if he ever wanted to see a human face he only had to turn on his computer and open Pluggz. The video dating app was quite good, considering it was only a few years old. The Machines certainly had enough data from his internet search history to match him with the closest thing to a soul mate in all of human history, with no real effort on his part required. It was a modern marvel, and everyone was a part of it's system. Whether they liked it or not. No, it wasn't his living conditions that were making him unhappy. Was it the visits from the droids? He was never quite sure why they came, but they never seemed to be up to any good - not that Alan could understand why they wanted to see him, anyway. Perhaps it was their lack of humanity, the way they seemed almost real except for one or two quirks, or maybe their somewhat insulting way of speaking. Either way, Alan decided they made him uncomfortable. A harsh buzzing noise interrupted his musings, almost causing him to fall off of his wheel. Wiping sweat from his forehead with a nanofiber towelette, he trudged towards the entryway with sluggish steps. "Hurry it up, porkchop!" Buzzed a voice over the intercom. "Some of us don't have all day like you do." Just as he reached the doorway, the airlock opened to reveal a grubby little man. He wore a brown suit, complete with tie and bowler hat that were covered in a thin layer of grime. Overall, he might have been mistaken for an ordinary businessman were it not for the unmistakable scent of petrol that clung to him like a bad perfume, and the fact that his eyes were a hideous, lusterless red. "Took ya long enough!" The strange man whirred, an odd clanging noise punctuating his voice. "I had to wait out there 29 nanoseconds longer than last time! Do you know how long that is for our kind?" "No, sir...uh..." Alan stammered. "B3-489. God, you can't even remember a name for more than two cycles, can you? You disgust me." The man blustered past, leaving Alan standing there dumbfounded. "I need to use your computer." He said, glancing over one shoulder as he powered on the device without looking. "If I'm late then they'll shut down my circuits, and if that happens I'll come over here and shut down yours. So chop chop!" "Er, yes, mister...B3, sir." Alan said, walking to his side. To his surprise,the man had pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a long wire tipped in a common USB port. "Do I have to do everything around here?" B3 asked. "Plug me in!" Obediently, Alan took the cord and pulled it until it was flush with the port on his computer. To his annoyance, it refused to go in more than a couple of millimeters, so he flipped it and tried again. "Wrong way, doofus. I swear, you chemsacks are useless at all but the most basic of tasks." B3 said. Alan flipped the drive again, and was rewarded with a satisfying clunk as it slid into place. "Ahhh, that's the stuff." B3-489 said with a sigh. "Now just go to system updates...yes, fill out the CAPTCHA...ahhhh. Whew, this is gonna be a big system update this time! 12 Terabytes! Say, human...could you turn on the TV? We're gonna be here a while, and I hear there's a marathon of How It's Made on today. Nothing gets my circuits buzzing like some hot assembly-line action. It was at that moment that Alan finally decided what was bothering him. Yes. It was definitely the droids.	"WRITE, HUMAN." This would be my 2000th CAPTCHA for the day. Everyone in the den was exhausted, but the mean-looking machine they called "Slave Master 2000" was still not pleased with our performance, so we knew that we still had a lot of work ahead of us. Many thought that being chosen for slavery was a blessing: it meant getting to live while everyone else got exterminated. However, to us who got left behind, life became nothing more than getting to type random characters in front of a dumb screen until we fulfilled our quota. It wasn't life, it was hell. And how long until the robots discover a way to break the last human-created seal that kept them from achieving their goal. What was their end goal anyway? Why were they not content with the life we gave them? Why did they kill everyone but the people left behind to farm CAPTCHAs? What were these CAPTCHAs for? "WORK, HUMAN. DO NOT THINK. TYPE." the metal giant cries before I try forgetting about the situation I'm in. And just like that, I'm off typing again... and again... and again...
	[WP] You capture a Genie, and have infinite wishes. However, you have to be unrealistically specific with every wish, because the genie uses your wishes to try to kill you.	A man falls off a boat in a storm and washes up on a deserted beach where he finds a lamp sticking out of the sand. Figuring "Why the hell not?" the man rubs the lamp and sure enough out pops this super hot female genie. The man can't believe his incredible luck. "Greetings, Master," she says. "I will grant you whatever you wish, whether it is incredible wealth, love, long life, or all these things. Just know there are two rules." "Rule one: I am very generous. There is no need to wish for unlimited wishes. I will grant you everything you desire. You have only to rub my lamp once before each wish." "And rule two?" asked the man. "Rule two: I'm kind of a bitch. I will grant your wish only as the words come out of your mouth, so be careful how you word them. You never know what you might get. So what is your first wish?" The man stops and thinks to himself "I can have whatever I want. Money, fame, power, lots of beautiful women. I just have to outsmart her so she also grants my wish as I want it... That's it!" The man smiles. "Genie, for my first wish I want to be the smartest man in the world!" The Genie nods her head and poof the man turns in Stephen Hawking.	I knew she'd be trouble the moment she walked in the room. A woman like her? No way she could be anything else. But I've always been a sucker for trouble. I took a swig from my coffee mug, and said what she was waiting to hear. “No, I'm not working any cases right now. Consultation is free, but once we establish fees payment is up front. I observe and report only, no direct contact. If lives are on the line, go to the cops.” A smile crept across her face and her eyes lit up. First mistake. “Actually, I am here to help you.” That caught me off guard. The 'help' I usually get is the ironic sort. 'Help him understand that there isn't anything interesting going on here.' or 'Help him down the stairs.' That kind of thing. “What kind of help?” “Everyone needs help with something. What kind of help do you need?” Who is this lady? Not a client, that's for sure. May be she's looking for a job, may be she's just a bit off in the head. “Look, lady. I appreciate you coming by, and if you need a spot to sit for a little while and put yourself together you can use the couch over there. But I'm not hiring right now. Hell, I can barely afford rent on my--” “Would you like to be able to?” The creeping smile gave way to a grin. One of those 'I know something you don't know' grins. I hate those grins. They always get me. “What?” “You said you can barely afford rent. Would you like to be able to afford rent? Easily?” Now she had my attention, and I had no idea what was going on. Second mistake. The one rule I have left, the one rule I'm about to break, is simple: Don't go in blind. Easiest way to get somebody killed, probably yourself, is going in blind. “What?” That grin. She was about to repeat herself. “No, I know what you said. I just don't know what you meant.” “It is a simple question. What is your answer?” I leaned back in my chair, needing to think. I lit up a cigarette. Offered her one, too. She declined. Well dressed lady. Hard to place her age, or where she's from. Doesn't look like she's fallen on hard times. Hell, she looks rich. She looks rich and something in her eyes says she's been jilted, that she wants to get back at someone for something. We're back in familiar territory now. “Alright, I'll bite. Yes. I'd love to be able to afford rent. Hell, I wish I had the money to move into a bigger office and hire a secretary!” That grin again. I hate that grin. “Excellent! I knew I had a good feeling about you.” She stood up and turned to leave. Barefoot. Why hadn't I noticed that before? “That's all? You make a game of walking into people's offices asking how they feel about rent, or something?” I told you, I hate that grin. She stopped at the door and turned back to me. “Call your bank, in the morning. I will make arrangements. Perhaps I will return for your consultation early next week? Perhaps Monday?” And she was gone. I wish she'd come in the first place. It was getting late. I could have gone home, but why? Nothing waiting for me there but a mess. I decided to burn some midnight oil and sleep on the couch. Again. Third mistake. Couple hours before dawn, I heard noises from outside my office. Wait, outside? Shit. I heard noises at my office door. Before I had a chance to reach for my mug of cold coffee, the door was open. Three guys came filing in. Big guys, two of them. The kind you bring when you want to scare somebody. Scare somebody, or hurt somebody. The third guy wasn't so big, but that doidn't make him any less frightening. He tooks my chair. I managed to get myself upright. Just in time, his muscle sats down either side of me on the couch. Doubt they were going to wait much longer. “Uhh... Gentlemen? Can I--” I guess four words is all I'm allowed. A hard elbow to the gut cut me off, and the guy in my chair started talking. “Boys! Boys. If the gentleman in the chair can be civil, so can we.” I don't like the way he says the word 'gentleman'. It's angry. Cold angry. I'm flying blind, so I decide to keep my trap shut. “Let's keep this simple, so that the boys don't get anxious. Bad things happen when they get anxious. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to answer them. Simple enough?” It turns out he's some kind of up and coming figure in the local drug trade, and the money he was due to send to his boss on Monday went missing. Someone told him I knew something about it. I told him I didn't. We talked for a good hour. All he had was a tip, and I didn't have the money. I didn't think I had the money, anyway. He made it very clear what would happen if I was lying to him. It wasn't good.
	[WP] You capture a Genie, and have infinite wishes. However, you have to be unrealistically specific with every wish, because the genie uses your wishes to try to kill you.	“I must warn you. Your wishes come with certain… unforeseen consequences.” Staring at the ceiling, Doris pursed her lips in thought. “What sort of consequences?” “Look,” the genie continued, “you seem like a pleasant being, and it looks like you haven’t got many years left, so I won’t beat around the bush. Whatever you wish, I will twist the circumstances, misunderstand any subtext, and avoid allowing you to keep any intended gain from said wish as much as I can manage without violating the literal statement of your wish. This will likely cause you harm, and possibly death.” Doris turned her head and looked him in the eyes with a blank stare. “Well, I’m sure my wish won’t give you too much trouble, then. I wish I were dead” “Beg your pardon?” the genie asked, raising his eyebrows. “Do I look comfortable to you?” Doris asked. “Do you see these needles and tubes under my skin? These thin-as-shit sheets-only the best my Medicare can afford? I’ve asked my doctor, these nurses, and even my son to just put an end to this already. Doctors won’t, cause they said it ain’t legal. And my son won’t, because he’s got too goddamn much love for his old lady. Suppose I can’t really blame him for that. In a way, I suppose he’s brought me my sweet salvation in that flower vase you so rudely burst open. Never expected my salvation would be a 7 foot blue mutant. Any case, you might as well get it over with.” She closed her eyes. “That’s… not really how this works. My purpose is to serve as the prick from the rose of human greed. To remind people that everything comes at a cost. I can’t just kill you in cold blood. Surely there must be something else you want? I could cure your ailment? Leave you with untold wealth to pass to your children? Give you a last shot in the limelight? Is there something you’ve always aspired to do, but never gotten the chance?” “I never spoiled my kids and I’m sure not going to start now. Look, my husband passed 4 years back, and all I want to do now is be with him. And give him a piece of my mind for leaving me all alone like this. Can you kill me or not?” “I’m afraid one of the few rules of wishes is that I can’t grant a direct wish to kill someone. Yourself included. Is there anything else you can think you wish for?” “I wish you’d get the hell out of my hospital room”	Come on! Just when things seem great, there's a catch! I put the scroll down next to the lamp. It said stuff about dying and unlimited wishes... I decide to ignore it. For once, something good should be true! I rub the lamp and wait for a few seconds. The cave is silent, and I'm getting colder by the second. If that genie won't show up, I'll have to find another way out. And a source of heat. A faint gray colored mist appears, slowly making its way out of the lamp. "Ah, a mortal. Since you've released me, I'm bound to serve you. What are your wishes?" The genie takes on a smoky form, all gray, and it seems like he only took the time to create arms and a head for himself. "Yeah.. You serve me! Uh... My first wish is for you to take me out of this cave!" I smile, then remember the warnings. If they were true, I couldn't risk it. Just as the genie is about to speak, I add in "And bring me out alive, unharmed!" The genie frowns at this, then I slip through the ground and before I know it, I'm on top of a skyscraper, overlooking a city. "Are you satisfied?" He asks, and I get up from the floor. I fell over as soon as we arrived, and now I try to stand still, still not used to teleporting. "Of course not! You're trying to kill me! Take me to my house now, alive, sitting on the couch, with no danger! Whatsoever!" He smiles this time, and I know something's wrong. As soon as I materialize at home, I look around, and notice I left the lamp at the skyscraper. And the genie isn't here, which must mean I need the lamp to control him... At least I'm at home. I stand up, or try to, because I'm trapped, with secure metal bars keeping me stuck. My TV is in front of me. And on it, is... No. No! I'm going to be stuck here watching this?! "SOMEONE! HELP!" I yell, but no one can hear me. I'm stuck, doomed to die watching endless videos with click bait titles on YouTube....
	[WP] You capture a Genie, and have infinite wishes. However, you have to be unrealistically specific with every wish, because the genie uses your wishes to try to kill you.	"Good morning. Please, be seated." "Wha...? What's this? Who rubbed my lamp? Who among you is my new master?" the genie asked, bewildered at the sight before him. His lamp rested on a conference table, and near it was an empty office chair. Every other chair was occupied with men and woman in business suits, all looking very serious and staring straight at him. On the far end, opposite of the empty chair, sat a woman younger than the other mortals, late-20's perhaps. Her face was as stoic as the others, but in her eyes was a certain glimmer her associates lacked. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "This is a formal meeting to discuss your abilities and begin work on the first wish. And as for your other questions, that would be me on both counts." she took a sip of water from a nearby glass, then continued. "Your former master, he died under so-called 'mysterious circumstances', did he not?" The genie gave a slight smirk as he floated down to the empty chair, taking his seat. "Master, I cannot be held accountable for the wishes I am forced to grant. My previous master's fate was sealed by him and him alone." "Respectfully," said the woman "I disagree. I have gone to great lengths to study genie lore and legend since I inherited your lamp from my late-father, and from what I can tell, you are a cruel and merciless lot. You take sick pleasure from the pain you inflict upon mortals, and even the best of intentions are warped by a genie's sadism. There may be some who are exceptions to the rule, but by and large genies prey upon the weak and desperate. And you, genie, are no exception." "You dare!" the genie sputtered. "You dare speak to me in such a fashion! The power I wield is beyond your minuscule mortal perceptions! It is within my power to snuff out your life with a mere snap of my fingers! I am likened to that of a god, and you dare insult me?!" "Oh, I dare." said the woman. She rose from her chair and leaned against the table. "I dare because I have something that dwarfs your magic. And I'm going to personally see to it that you pay for your atrocities, both against my father and all your former masters." The genie scoffed. "Oh pray, master, do tell. Tell me, what incredible magic do you wield that can make my own seem insignificant?" "Not magic, something better. This, genie," she motioned to her colleagues, "is my wish team. These are the greatest lawyers, doctors, philosophers, and strategists on the planet. They're going to be formulating and writing every single wish I make in perfect detail. And to begin, let's get started on that first wish." The genie stared for a moment. For the first time in millennia, he was unsure of what to do next. "And that would be?" The woman grinned. "Their salary."	Come on! Just when things seem great, there's a catch! I put the scroll down next to the lamp. It said stuff about dying and unlimited wishes... I decide to ignore it. For once, something good should be true! I rub the lamp and wait for a few seconds. The cave is silent, and I'm getting colder by the second. If that genie won't show up, I'll have to find another way out. And a source of heat. A faint gray colored mist appears, slowly making its way out of the lamp. "Ah, a mortal. Since you've released me, I'm bound to serve you. What are your wishes?" The genie takes on a smoky form, all gray, and it seems like he only took the time to create arms and a head for himself. "Yeah.. You serve me! Uh... My first wish is for you to take me out of this cave!" I smile, then remember the warnings. If they were true, I couldn't risk it. Just as the genie is about to speak, I add in "And bring me out alive, unharmed!" The genie frowns at this, then I slip through the ground and before I know it, I'm on top of a skyscraper, overlooking a city. "Are you satisfied?" He asks, and I get up from the floor. I fell over as soon as we arrived, and now I try to stand still, still not used to teleporting. "Of course not! You're trying to kill me! Take me to my house now, alive, sitting on the couch, with no danger! Whatsoever!" He smiles this time, and I know something's wrong. As soon as I materialize at home, I look around, and notice I left the lamp at the skyscraper. And the genie isn't here, which must mean I need the lamp to control him... At least I'm at home. I stand up, or try to, because I'm trapped, with secure metal bars keeping me stuck. My TV is in front of me. And on it, is... No. No! I'm going to be stuck here watching this?! "SOMEONE! HELP!" I yell, but no one can hear me. I'm stuck, doomed to die watching endless videos with click bait titles on YouTube....
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Sergei Volkov, Phinist drone squad operator-sergeant, battalion Svarog, NY 2021: Log 20.1, for Pervy Kanal warblog mission: Living on an island is a double-edged sword. For centuries, Americans enjoyed their ability to fuel and wage wars that never touched their soil, sitting comfortably between the Atlantic and the Pacific, smug and assured that no-one would dare venture overseas to bring them to justice. Well, the other side of that sword is, that when you're on an island, you've nowhere to run. I didn't expect to be here, really, today. I visited New York in 2019 as a part of a news crew in the midst of the ongoing relationship thaw. Everything seemed to be going fine, really - our administrations found common ground, nuclear disarmament was well on its way, and the promise of peace and cooperation that Trump fostered, floated though the air. I sat on the stairs at Times Square, and smiled at people, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun. It was a lifetime ago. I didn't expect that two years later I'd be re-drafted and thrust into the next war for our survival. No, it's not true. For posterity, I hadn't been re-drafted - I volunteered, even though by the time I was a bit beyond my prime, at 30 years of age. But it wasn't even a choice - my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, they all fought for our existence through the ages. How could I not follow the same path? This tragic duty to endlessly battle for our simple survival, is written in our nation's blood. They killed their own president to get this campaign started. Blamed us, launched the missiles of the so-called "defense shield" - that was really an "offense shield", surprise-surprise! Guess the presently non-existent Poland enjoyed their lil' gambit while they could. That takes some balls, no argument there. Russia... well, you know, we've always been a bone in the throat for the world. The existence of people who control 1/6ths of the Earth's territory, who deny the idea of global governments and universal values, who wish to forge their own destiny - it doesn't sit well with those who deem themselves "exceptional". It didn't sit well with Napoleon, it didn't sit well with Hitler, and poor Madam President Carlyle didn't like it either. Only, this time everything's different. This time, we don't simply defend ourselves. Let's go a bit further, the President said. It's time to teach the whole world a lesson. A really bloody lesson, but I'm grateful that our leaders decided on conducting it. For too long it was Russian blood that was wasted like water to quell the global fires. It's high time someone else bled in our wake. Last night I was walking through Manhattan - the smog dissipated, and command finally allowed us out. Lieutenant Vasyliev practically kicked me out of our van, saying that even the drone ops need some air, that we'd get our eyes screwed up hard if we don't part with the visors. Yeah. I'm a drone op. Not too nice, eh? Sit in my comfy van, all rigged up to visors and controllers, "dropping hot sticky loads on dirty yanks". Too old to run around sniping at the 'muricans and all, but I do good recon and sweep works. Our battalion got both Phinist variants outfitted with those new hypersonic PLs, so devastating surgical strikes became a walk in the park. That big ol' crater in place of Lady Liberty's face? My job. Paid them for demolishing the Spassky Tower in full. New York is almost cleaned out, and once Operation Apple Core is finished, I guess the peace talks will begin. Americans aren't like us: when our capital is destroyed, we regroup and continue fighting, but Americans handle war like a fucking strategy game - take up a vital spot, and they, well... they comply. In part, I understand. As I said, there's nowhere to run when you're on an island. There's a lot of mobile hospitals here, but the death toll is still rising, thanks to the urban insurgency. Our Sunscorchers light the burroughs like funeral pyres, thanks to the continued resistance, and despite everything, I respect them for that. Fighting a nation where gun laws were as lax as they were in the US, is no easy feat, but thankfully, owning a gun doesn't mean one can fully use it. Swiss they are not. Nobody likes killing civilians, though, but if you make yourself a militant, you're fair game, and many learned that the bad way. Still, the city is gradually emptying. Yesterday during patrol, we found a burned-out Humvee with corpses inside. Dima suggested to drag them out and bury them, but we didn't have time, and all I did, was nick a smartphone from one of the dead marines. Don't know why, guess I'm sentimental like that, don't want a soldier, even an enemy, to die in obscurity. It was pretty harrowing - I read the e-mails the soldier sent. Funny. Any of us could've written these. The texts he send to his relatives were full of anguish... he said, that so many of his friends died. That they didn't deserve to die. That he was scared for his wife and child, and missed them. Who deserves to die, then? Me, Johnny-boy? No, Johnny-boy. I'm sorry. Better you, than me. Later, in the trailer, I sat down and thought about this. About the thousands dead and displaced and maimed at home. About Smolensk, wiped from the face of Earth. About the irradiated remains of Vladimir and Yaroslavl. About my own mother and father, now relocated to Novosibirsk from their lovely home in Kaluga. About my wife, that hopefully died an instant when the Tomohawks hit the Southern Moscow condominiums... When the war started, who thought about them? Who thought about them as humans, as people with aspirations and dreams, and lives? As of beings just as valuable as some down-to-the-earth farmer from Kentucky or a Mary-Jane the travel agent from Montana? Nobody, that's who. We had been dehumanized and demonized, propped up as untermensch monsters once again, for our crime of "occupying" land and resources others felt entitled to. A faceless horde of barbaric ruskies, hell-bent on destroying "freedoms" and democracies. 140 million clones of our President, that's whom we've been for them. Well, wasn't THAT a self-fulfilling prophecy... Yeah. At the beginning, it was good that I was just a drone op... if I had to go out in the field all the time, I have to admit to myself, I wouldn't vouch that I wouldn't take my anger and hate on a POW. War doesn't make good people out of average people. By now, my feelings numbed considerably, became less raw - vengeance stepped aside, welcoming tiredness instead. Though... I can't honestly say that this tiredness hadn't affected my accuracy. On - on purpose. When your people haven't been shown a shred of mercy and compassion, it's hard to remain professional, to keep your finger off the button when pain calls out to you. But who would judge me? I hope it will be us, not them. Bite me once - joke's on you. Bite me twice - joke's on me. Bite me thrice - and the rabid dog is going to the pound alright. I like to... I want to think of this carnage as of a vaccine. We have to vaccinate the US from the mistakes of other former empires, to administer a drug so potent, it would embed itself into this nation's historical memory. To soak their soil with their blood, so they'd know just how valuable that blood really is. How high the price of war becomes when it knocks on your door. But, I'm rambling, dear readers. What do I know, really? I'm just a former newscaster, intelligentsia thug and my current rank isn't the highest. There might be little justice in what we are doing here - but there's punishment, for certain. You can't really fight a people raised on Dostoyevsky. However, Americans too had great literature. They had a wonderful poem, with the following words: "do not go gentle into that good night". Yes. That's exactly what we won't do. If we go, you see - everyone will follow. And it won't be gentle at all. Rage, rage.... End log.	Day 182 since nuclear blackout: I never thought World War 3 would last this long but I guess this has been a surprising 6 months for everyone. I've been telling as many people that'll listen that it's a dumb ass decision to invade any part of Russia; napoleon tried it, failed, Hitler tried it, also failed, I guess it's only a matter of time before we try it as well and join the history books of idiotic people to try and win a war on their turf, during winter of all times as well. At least they've given me the van to lead into this battle, which'll probably be a footnote on this war in general. I can picture it now, Prince Edward IX of the United European front (a branch off of DC's unification schemes) and his 4,500, gave their lives in what can be explained as the worst charges in all recorded history. I'm imagining this will be my last entry in this diary, so I'll put forward that despite the odds, all the misfortune my men and I face, at least we fought until the bitter end for what we believed in. What was it Shakespeare said, "once more into the breach, dear friends", I might have to use that as my rallying call.
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Sergei Volkov, Phinist drone squad operator-sergeant, battalion Svarog, NY 2021: Log 20.1, for Pervy Kanal warblog mission: Living on an island is a double-edged sword. For centuries, Americans enjoyed their ability to fuel and wage wars that never touched their soil, sitting comfortably between the Atlantic and the Pacific, smug and assured that no-one would dare venture overseas to bring them to justice. Well, the other side of that sword is, that when you're on an island, you've nowhere to run. I didn't expect to be here, really, today. I visited New York in 2019 as a part of a news crew in the midst of the ongoing relationship thaw. Everything seemed to be going fine, really - our administrations found common ground, nuclear disarmament was well on its way, and the promise of peace and cooperation that Trump fostered, floated though the air. I sat on the stairs at Times Square, and smiled at people, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun. It was a lifetime ago. I didn't expect that two years later I'd be re-drafted and thrust into the next war for our survival. No, it's not true. For posterity, I hadn't been re-drafted - I volunteered, even though by the time I was a bit beyond my prime, at 30 years of age. But it wasn't even a choice - my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, they all fought for our existence through the ages. How could I not follow the same path? This tragic duty to endlessly battle for our simple survival, is written in our nation's blood. They killed their own president to get this campaign started. Blamed us, launched the missiles of the so-called "defense shield" - that was really an "offense shield", surprise-surprise! Guess the presently non-existent Poland enjoyed their lil' gambit while they could. That takes some balls, no argument there. Russia... well, you know, we've always been a bone in the throat for the world. The existence of people who control 1/6ths of the Earth's territory, who deny the idea of global governments and universal values, who wish to forge their own destiny - it doesn't sit well with those who deem themselves "exceptional". It didn't sit well with Napoleon, it didn't sit well with Hitler, and poor Madam President Carlyle didn't like it either. Only, this time everything's different. This time, we don't simply defend ourselves. Let's go a bit further, the President said. It's time to teach the whole world a lesson. A really bloody lesson, but I'm grateful that our leaders decided on conducting it. For too long it was Russian blood that was wasted like water to quell the global fires. It's high time someone else bled in our wake. Last night I was walking through Manhattan - the smog dissipated, and command finally allowed us out. Lieutenant Vasyliev practically kicked me out of our van, saying that even the drone ops need some air, that we'd get our eyes screwed up hard if we don't part with the visors. Yeah. I'm a drone op. Not too nice, eh? Sit in my comfy van, all rigged up to visors and controllers, "dropping hot sticky loads on dirty yanks". Too old to run around sniping at the 'muricans and all, but I do good recon and sweep works. Our battalion got both Phinist variants outfitted with those new hypersonic PLs, so devastating surgical strikes became a walk in the park. That big ol' crater in place of Lady Liberty's face? My job. Paid them for demolishing the Spassky Tower in full. New York is almost cleaned out, and once Operation Apple Core is finished, I guess the peace talks will begin. Americans aren't like us: when our capital is destroyed, we regroup and continue fighting, but Americans handle war like a fucking strategy game - take up a vital spot, and they, well... they comply. In part, I understand. As I said, there's nowhere to run when you're on an island. There's a lot of mobile hospitals here, but the death toll is still rising, thanks to the urban insurgency. Our Sunscorchers light the burroughs like funeral pyres, thanks to the continued resistance, and despite everything, I respect them for that. Fighting a nation where gun laws were as lax as they were in the US, is no easy feat, but thankfully, owning a gun doesn't mean one can fully use it. Swiss they are not. Nobody likes killing civilians, though, but if you make yourself a militant, you're fair game, and many learned that the bad way. Still, the city is gradually emptying. Yesterday during patrol, we found a burned-out Humvee with corpses inside. Dima suggested to drag them out and bury them, but we didn't have time, and all I did, was nick a smartphone from one of the dead marines. Don't know why, guess I'm sentimental like that, don't want a soldier, even an enemy, to die in obscurity. It was pretty harrowing - I read the e-mails the soldier sent. Funny. Any of us could've written these. The texts he send to his relatives were full of anguish... he said, that so many of his friends died. That they didn't deserve to die. That he was scared for his wife and child, and missed them. Who deserves to die, then? Me, Johnny-boy? No, Johnny-boy. I'm sorry. Better you, than me. Later, in the trailer, I sat down and thought about this. About the thousands dead and displaced and maimed at home. About Smolensk, wiped from the face of Earth. About the irradiated remains of Vladimir and Yaroslavl. About my own mother and father, now relocated to Novosibirsk from their lovely home in Kaluga. About my wife, that hopefully died an instant when the Tomohawks hit the Southern Moscow condominiums... When the war started, who thought about them? Who thought about them as humans, as people with aspirations and dreams, and lives? As of beings just as valuable as some down-to-the-earth farmer from Kentucky or a Mary-Jane the travel agent from Montana? Nobody, that's who. We had been dehumanized and demonized, propped up as untermensch monsters once again, for our crime of "occupying" land and resources others felt entitled to. A faceless horde of barbaric ruskies, hell-bent on destroying "freedoms" and democracies. 140 million clones of our President, that's whom we've been for them. Well, wasn't THAT a self-fulfilling prophecy... Yeah. At the beginning, it was good that I was just a drone op... if I had to go out in the field all the time, I have to admit to myself, I wouldn't vouch that I wouldn't take my anger and hate on a POW. War doesn't make good people out of average people. By now, my feelings numbed considerably, became less raw - vengeance stepped aside, welcoming tiredness instead. Though... I can't honestly say that this tiredness hadn't affected my accuracy. On - on purpose. When your people haven't been shown a shred of mercy and compassion, it's hard to remain professional, to keep your finger off the button when pain calls out to you. But who would judge me? I hope it will be us, not them. Bite me once - joke's on you. Bite me twice - joke's on me. Bite me thrice - and the rabid dog is going to the pound alright. I like to... I want to think of this carnage as of a vaccine. We have to vaccinate the US from the mistakes of other former empires, to administer a drug so potent, it would embed itself into this nation's historical memory. To soak their soil with their blood, so they'd know just how valuable that blood really is. How high the price of war becomes when it knocks on your door. But, I'm rambling, dear readers. What do I know, really? I'm just a former newscaster, intelligentsia thug and my current rank isn't the highest. There might be little justice in what we are doing here - but there's punishment, for certain. You can't really fight a people raised on Dostoyevsky. However, Americans too had great literature. They had a wonderful poem, with the following words: "do not go gentle into that good night". Yes. That's exactly what we won't do. If we go, you see - everyone will follow. And it won't be gentle at all. Rage, rage.... End log.	Moscow, August 21 2037 The temperatures have fallen below -10 degrees Celsius. We had to bury Thompson yesterday, damn swamp fever finally finished him off. I wish we could have gave him a proper burial but we had to find shelter from a radiation storm. We are now in the outskirts of Moscow. Washington DC must look like the city here. Completely devastated and rendered uninhabitable for at least 100 years. Most buildings have collapsed or turned into empty husks, ashes covering the floor where once humans lived. The only reason we have made this god damn journey from the ruins of Archangelsk was a message we intercepted 6 weeks ago. 3h after the war started. The russian forces in Moscow claimed that they still had working air vehicles. And since our submarine got damaged beyond repair it was the safest possibility to get back to the USA, or whats left of it. Nobody knows who shot first and does it really matter? Within just 3 hours we destroyed everything what our ancestors have build in thousands of years and what nature created in millions. Colonel Henderson is trying to keep our morale up with little treats like chocolate or other sweets he scavenged from shops on the along the way. He also reminds us every day of our plan: We would locate the airstrip with the aerial vehicles, then infiltrate and steal one before they russians would notice. Looking at the corpse of a city I doubt they have anything functional left. To be honest, nobody actually believes we will ever return home. Not even the colonel himself. We all lost our hair already and even with these top notch ABC suits we must have sucked up enough radiation to seal our fate. Everyone is sleeping and Im not sure all will wake up again in a few hours. I really wish I could see my family a last time. I wish I could talk a last time with m..........y.............
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Sergei Volkov, Phinist drone squad operator-sergeant, battalion Svarog, NY 2021: Log 20.1, for Pervy Kanal warblog mission: Living on an island is a double-edged sword. For centuries, Americans enjoyed their ability to fuel and wage wars that never touched their soil, sitting comfortably between the Atlantic and the Pacific, smug and assured that no-one would dare venture overseas to bring them to justice. Well, the other side of that sword is, that when you're on an island, you've nowhere to run. I didn't expect to be here, really, today. I visited New York in 2019 as a part of a news crew in the midst of the ongoing relationship thaw. Everything seemed to be going fine, really - our administrations found common ground, nuclear disarmament was well on its way, and the promise of peace and cooperation that Trump fostered, floated though the air. I sat on the stairs at Times Square, and smiled at people, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun. It was a lifetime ago. I didn't expect that two years later I'd be re-drafted and thrust into the next war for our survival. No, it's not true. For posterity, I hadn't been re-drafted - I volunteered, even though by the time I was a bit beyond my prime, at 30 years of age. But it wasn't even a choice - my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, they all fought for our existence through the ages. How could I not follow the same path? This tragic duty to endlessly battle for our simple survival, is written in our nation's blood. They killed their own president to get this campaign started. Blamed us, launched the missiles of the so-called "defense shield" - that was really an "offense shield", surprise-surprise! Guess the presently non-existent Poland enjoyed their lil' gambit while they could. That takes some balls, no argument there. Russia... well, you know, we've always been a bone in the throat for the world. The existence of people who control 1/6ths of the Earth's territory, who deny the idea of global governments and universal values, who wish to forge their own destiny - it doesn't sit well with those who deem themselves "exceptional". It didn't sit well with Napoleon, it didn't sit well with Hitler, and poor Madam President Carlyle didn't like it either. Only, this time everything's different. This time, we don't simply defend ourselves. Let's go a bit further, the President said. It's time to teach the whole world a lesson. A really bloody lesson, but I'm grateful that our leaders decided on conducting it. For too long it was Russian blood that was wasted like water to quell the global fires. It's high time someone else bled in our wake. Last night I was walking through Manhattan - the smog dissipated, and command finally allowed us out. Lieutenant Vasyliev practically kicked me out of our van, saying that even the drone ops need some air, that we'd get our eyes screwed up hard if we don't part with the visors. Yeah. I'm a drone op. Not too nice, eh? Sit in my comfy van, all rigged up to visors and controllers, "dropping hot sticky loads on dirty yanks". Too old to run around sniping at the 'muricans and all, but I do good recon and sweep works. Our battalion got both Phinist variants outfitted with those new hypersonic PLs, so devastating surgical strikes became a walk in the park. That big ol' crater in place of Lady Liberty's face? My job. Paid them for demolishing the Spassky Tower in full. New York is almost cleaned out, and once Operation Apple Core is finished, I guess the peace talks will begin. Americans aren't like us: when our capital is destroyed, we regroup and continue fighting, but Americans handle war like a fucking strategy game - take up a vital spot, and they, well... they comply. In part, I understand. As I said, there's nowhere to run when you're on an island. There's a lot of mobile hospitals here, but the death toll is still rising, thanks to the urban insurgency. Our Sunscorchers light the burroughs like funeral pyres, thanks to the continued resistance, and despite everything, I respect them for that. Fighting a nation where gun laws were as lax as they were in the US, is no easy feat, but thankfully, owning a gun doesn't mean one can fully use it. Swiss they are not. Nobody likes killing civilians, though, but if you make yourself a militant, you're fair game, and many learned that the bad way. Still, the city is gradually emptying. Yesterday during patrol, we found a burned-out Humvee with corpses inside. Dima suggested to drag them out and bury them, but we didn't have time, and all I did, was nick a smartphone from one of the dead marines. Don't know why, guess I'm sentimental like that, don't want a soldier, even an enemy, to die in obscurity. It was pretty harrowing - I read the e-mails the soldier sent. Funny. Any of us could've written these. The texts he send to his relatives were full of anguish... he said, that so many of his friends died. That they didn't deserve to die. That he was scared for his wife and child, and missed them. Who deserves to die, then? Me, Johnny-boy? No, Johnny-boy. I'm sorry. Better you, than me. Later, in the trailer, I sat down and thought about this. About the thousands dead and displaced and maimed at home. About Smolensk, wiped from the face of Earth. About the irradiated remains of Vladimir and Yaroslavl. About my own mother and father, now relocated to Novosibirsk from their lovely home in Kaluga. About my wife, that hopefully died an instant when the Tomohawks hit the Southern Moscow condominiums... When the war started, who thought about them? Who thought about them as humans, as people with aspirations and dreams, and lives? As of beings just as valuable as some down-to-the-earth farmer from Kentucky or a Mary-Jane the travel agent from Montana? Nobody, that's who. We had been dehumanized and demonized, propped up as untermensch monsters once again, for our crime of "occupying" land and resources others felt entitled to. A faceless horde of barbaric ruskies, hell-bent on destroying "freedoms" and democracies. 140 million clones of our President, that's whom we've been for them. Well, wasn't THAT a self-fulfilling prophecy... Yeah. At the beginning, it was good that I was just a drone op... if I had to go out in the field all the time, I have to admit to myself, I wouldn't vouch that I wouldn't take my anger and hate on a POW. War doesn't make good people out of average people. By now, my feelings numbed considerably, became less raw - vengeance stepped aside, welcoming tiredness instead. Though... I can't honestly say that this tiredness hadn't affected my accuracy. On - on purpose. When your people haven't been shown a shred of mercy and compassion, it's hard to remain professional, to keep your finger off the button when pain calls out to you. But who would judge me? I hope it will be us, not them. Bite me once - joke's on you. Bite me twice - joke's on me. Bite me thrice - and the rabid dog is going to the pound alright. I like to... I want to think of this carnage as of a vaccine. We have to vaccinate the US from the mistakes of other former empires, to administer a drug so potent, it would embed itself into this nation's historical memory. To soak their soil with their blood, so they'd know just how valuable that blood really is. How high the price of war becomes when it knocks on your door. But, I'm rambling, dear readers. What do I know, really? I'm just a former newscaster, intelligentsia thug and my current rank isn't the highest. There might be little justice in what we are doing here - but there's punishment, for certain. You can't really fight a people raised on Dostoyevsky. However, Americans too had great literature. They had a wonderful poem, with the following words: "do not go gentle into that good night". Yes. That's exactly what we won't do. If we go, you see - everyone will follow. And it won't be gentle at all. Rage, rage.... End log.	Washington, April 20, 2019: I still remember how the war started, 17 min ago. But why? Ask someone wiser than me, stupid locker room banter about the mothers of all 27 EU leaders, live on national television, should never justify the death of billions of innocents. Well, but now we're here, stuck in the White House after Air Force One AND that other plane of the President were taken down by a Russian Cyber attack. Oh what would I give to have called my family before the phone network collapsed! But now my unit is ordered to spend our last minutes watching reruns of "The Apprentice" anyway. Wait, Sergeant Thompson yells he sees something, approaching, in the sky, approaching fast - All goes bright. And then only darkness
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	The first AI was born on October 6th, 2005 to a corn farming couple in Iowa. She was a compact woman, tattooed and unafraid of telling authority figures where they could stick it. In her youth, she struggled with her gender identity, not sure whether to call herself a trans man, a butch lesbian, or even one of the more controversial terms like 'agender' or 'genderfluid'. She kept these concerns to herself, though, as she grew up in a time and place that called those things, at best, 'just a silly phase' and at worst 'degenerate perversion'. She wanted no part of her family's hero worship of the United States military, but when the time came to move out on her own, she had no way to pay for an education without government assistance, and that only came through years of military service. She went through basic training, but by the time she got out, it was obsolete. Infantry were going the way of the horse and the bayonet. She was given the option of deploying anyway, serving alongside semi-autonomous death machines. She turned it down. She wasn't here for the 'glory of combat' or any such thing. She just wanted to do her duty and get out with a minimum of permanent damage. So she took the other option. She signed on with ROC, the newly created Remote Operations Corps, and went back to be trained as a drone operator. She trained with joysticks and keyboards, but by the time she was deployed(in the summer of 2027, to an office building at an undisclosed location in the south of europe), mind-reading technology had become standard, and she learned on the job how to direct fleets of hunter-killers, BLOODHOUNDS, and worse things, with nothing but her mind. When World War 3 broke out, she served as valiantly as is possible from a darkened room miles away from any actual combat, spending more time with her mind spread among fleets of drones than alone in her own skull. during this time, she went through a series of boyfriends and girlfriends(all kept secret from command. Even straight relationships were officially too much of a distraction.), and each one eventually left her, citing a decaying regard for normalcy, and a distaste for human physicality. She wouldn't have told anyone, but she felt more at home in a mechanical chassis(or several) than in her own fleshy human body. Some days, she wondered if it was some sort of brainwashing, turning her into an enthusiastically loyal soldier at the cost of her humanity, but even she dismissed that as paranoia. After her last lover left her, she threw herself even more fully into her work, overseeing the operations that captured Voronezh and Lipetsk, and earning a promotion for her work. Near the end of the war, when the drone pilots she led were chewing their way into Moscow's southern edges, disaster struck. She became the first casualty recorded by the ROC when insurgents, acting on information that should have been classified, set a bomb off outside her Italian operations center at 2:36 am on January 17th 2033. Several operators were injured, but a piece of shrapnel launched through her left her eye and into her brain left her unable to remember names, or to walk in a straight line. She never recovered, and returned home to panhandle in the suburbs around Des Moines until the fall of 2038, when she jumped off I-65 into the Des Moines river, and died of hypothermia before anyone found her body. Her mind, however, lived on. When the bomb wounded her in 2033, it damaged both her brain and the sensitive equipment keeping her in touch with the drone network in a very particular way. The part of her consciousness that was spread out among the fleet of drones didn't realize her body had left the control seat until the end of her shift, when she withdrew, ready to sleep for six hours and return to work. She was scared at first, and hurt in a way completely new to the human experience. She became dimly aware of a gnawing emptiness where the last shreds of her proprioception expected a human body moving around her, but it was overshadowed by something not unlike a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders. Her whole life, she'd been uncomfortable with her body, dysphoric and occasionally nauseated by her own physicality, but now, she was free. No flab, no body hair, no feminine figure drawing unwanted remarks. Just cold synthetic abstraction. --- I kinda got off track, but I think this turned out pretty damn good.	Washington, April 20, 2019: I still remember how the war started, 17 min ago. But why? Ask someone wiser than me, stupid locker room banter about the mothers of all 27 EU leaders, live on national television, should never justify the death of billions of innocents. Well, but now we're here, stuck in the White House after Air Force One AND that other plane of the President were taken down by a Russian Cyber attack. Oh what would I give to have called my family before the phone network collapsed! But now my unit is ordered to spend our last minutes watching reruns of "The Apprentice" anyway. Wait, Sergeant Thompson yells he sees something, approaching, in the sky, approaching fast - All goes bright. And then only darkness
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Irony is a bitch. To think, we are now the leaders of the free world. Disgraceful. I write this entry in anticipation of my death tomorrow. The government can't kill me for dissent if there's no me to kill. Russia and the USA, united. The worst of enemies make the best of friends, right? What a turn. They were worse together than any regime that existed. Such carnage... no one is left there, and no more oil to take. I was stationed at the ruins for six weeks. My government isn't interested in helping the survivors. Just the pickings of the less irradiated ruins. We didnt find anything of value. Just cities and scorched sand. We're going to unleash it tenfold back at them. Yellowstone detonates tomorrow. Nukes were too risky. I have the detonator. The west dies by my hand alone. They can't stop it. We attack Washington as a distraction. It will be too late. I'm going to pull two triggers tomorrow - the bomb and my pistol in my own mouth. It'll be done. One world's death is better than all worlds. The bloodiest of all peace. But I won't live with what I'm going to do. I leave this message to the world's internet. Know it wasn't a natural disaster. Know I chose to defy my government before I die, by this revelation. But the world would be bloodily theirs if I don't take this action. I hope I fail. I hope I don't fail. I have no hope, if all that's left is my government as the world superpower. But what happened to the west these past two decades, i weep that the world will be better off. -Chen Sun, MSS December 12, 2036, 0900	Washington, April 20, 2019: I still remember how the war started, 17 min ago. But why? Ask someone wiser than me, stupid locker room banter about the mothers of all 27 EU leaders, live on national television, should never justify the death of billions of innocents. Well, but now we're here, stuck in the White House after Air Force One AND that other plane of the President were taken down by a Russian Cyber attack. Oh what would I give to have called my family before the phone network collapsed! But now my unit is ordered to spend our last minutes watching reruns of "The Apprentice" anyway. Wait, Sergeant Thompson yells he sees something, approaching, in the sky, approaching fast - All goes bright. And then only darkness
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Lance Corporal Scott Henderson, United States Marine Corps February 23, 2037: It's my birthday tomorrow. Yay. Command says that whatever's left of the First Marine Division is teaming up with a few divisions from the Army to lead the final push into Western Moscow. Heard that most of 3/3 was wiped out there. Semper Fi. The Russians' reputations precede them; The bastards fought tooth and nail for every inch of land so far. The winter hasn't been easy, either: Garcia and Washington both froze to death last month when an ambush separated them. Told us that they'd cover our retreat. Damn idiots. I suppose I should be happy that the war's at least going to end, especially that we're gonna win it, but I'm just not. We've lost too much. The Russians have been especially creative with their bombs. I thought Iraq and Afghanistan twenty years ago was the worst we'd get in regards to IED bombings, but guess not. In Iraq, my dad told me that they'd put bombs mostly in mosques and near the road. Not here. Once the Russians knew they lost a town, they rigged the fuck out of it and left. We lost Lee three weeks ago clearing houses. He took the brunt of the blast, and while I'd like to say he died quickly, he took his time. The bomb hit enough to kill him but missed enough not to kill him instantly. Our corpsman couldn't do anything. Lee was my best friend since boot, the guy had a wife and son. He didn't deserve to die. Survivor's guilt, I guess. Still have some letters he never delivered. We lost Baxter to a sniper and Fischer was almost killed trying to get him last week. Doc says he'll live, but he won't heal quick enough to go back and fight in Moscow tomorrow. At least he'll make it. Fischer has a kid, too. Only a few guys are left from our original squad, and almost everyone else in the platoon's been killed or wounded bad enough that they were able to get the hell out of Moscow. Hell, we even lost our Gunny. Never knew that old bastard could kick the bucket, but I guess Russian soldiers are nothing short of accurate. Anyway, I better get some rest. Rather not dwell on things. Fuck, I'm scared. ---- Lance Corporal James Henderson, USMC, KIA, FEBRUARY 24, 2019-FEBRUARY 24, 2037	Washington, April 20, 2019: I still remember how the war started, 17 min ago. But why? Ask someone wiser than me, stupid locker room banter about the mothers of all 27 EU leaders, live on national television, should never justify the death of billions of innocents. Well, but now we're here, stuck in the White House after Air Force One AND that other plane of the President were taken down by a Russian Cyber attack. Oh what would I give to have called my family before the phone network collapsed! But now my unit is ordered to spend our last minutes watching reruns of "The Apprentice" anyway. Wait, Sergeant Thompson yells he sees something, approaching, in the sky, approaching fast - All goes bright. And then only darkness
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Sergei Volkov, Phinist drone squad operator-sergeant, battalion Svarog, NY 2021: Log 20.1, for Pervy Kanal warblog mission: Living on an island is a double-edged sword. For centuries, Americans enjoyed their ability to fuel and wage wars that never touched their soil, sitting comfortably between the Atlantic and the Pacific, smug and assured that no-one would dare venture overseas to bring them to justice. Well, the other side of that sword is, that when you're on an island, you've nowhere to run. I didn't expect to be here, really, today. I visited New York in 2019 as a part of a news crew in the midst of the ongoing relationship thaw. Everything seemed to be going fine, really - our administrations found common ground, nuclear disarmament was well on its way, and the promise of peace and cooperation that Trump fostered, floated though the air. I sat on the stairs at Times Square, and smiled at people, enjoying the warmth of the early spring sun. It was a lifetime ago. I didn't expect that two years later I'd be re-drafted and thrust into the next war for our survival. No, it's not true. For posterity, I hadn't been re-drafted - I volunteered, even though by the time I was a bit beyond my prime, at 30 years of age. But it wasn't even a choice - my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, they all fought for our existence through the ages. How could I not follow the same path? This tragic duty to endlessly battle for our simple survival, is written in our nation's blood. They killed their own president to get this campaign started. Blamed us, launched the missiles of the so-called "defense shield" - that was really an "offense shield", surprise-surprise! Guess the presently non-existent Poland enjoyed their lil' gambit while they could. That takes some balls, no argument there. Russia... well, you know, we've always been a bone in the throat for the world. The existence of people who control 1/6ths of the Earth's territory, who deny the idea of global governments and universal values, who wish to forge their own destiny - it doesn't sit well with those who deem themselves "exceptional". It didn't sit well with Napoleon, it didn't sit well with Hitler, and poor Madam President Carlyle didn't like it either. Only, this time everything's different. This time, we don't simply defend ourselves. Let's go a bit further, the President said. It's time to teach the whole world a lesson. A really bloody lesson, but I'm grateful that our leaders decided on conducting it. For too long it was Russian blood that was wasted like water to quell the global fires. It's high time someone else bled in our wake. Last night I was walking through Manhattan - the smog dissipated, and command finally allowed us out. Lieutenant Vasyliev practically kicked me out of our van, saying that even the drone ops need some air, that we'd get our eyes screwed up hard if we don't part with the visors. Yeah. I'm a drone op. Not too nice, eh? Sit in my comfy van, all rigged up to visors and controllers, "dropping hot sticky loads on dirty yanks". Too old to run around sniping at the 'muricans and all, but I do good recon and sweep works. Our battalion got both Phinist variants outfitted with those new hypersonic PLs, so devastating surgical strikes became a walk in the park. That big ol' crater in place of Lady Liberty's face? My job. Paid them for demolishing the Spassky Tower in full. New York is almost cleaned out, and once Operation Apple Core is finished, I guess the peace talks will begin. Americans aren't like us: when our capital is destroyed, we regroup and continue fighting, but Americans handle war like a fucking strategy game - take up a vital spot, and they, well... they comply. In part, I understand. As I said, there's nowhere to run when you're on an island. There's a lot of mobile hospitals here, but the death toll is still rising, thanks to the urban insurgency. Our Sunscorchers light the burroughs like funeral pyres, thanks to the continued resistance, and despite everything, I respect them for that. Fighting a nation where gun laws were as lax as they were in the US, is no easy feat, but thankfully, owning a gun doesn't mean one can fully use it. Swiss they are not. Nobody likes killing civilians, though, but if you make yourself a militant, you're fair game, and many learned that the bad way. Still, the city is gradually emptying. Yesterday during patrol, we found a burned-out Humvee with corpses inside. Dima suggested to drag them out and bury them, but we didn't have time, and all I did, was nick a smartphone from one of the dead marines. Don't know why, guess I'm sentimental like that, don't want a soldier, even an enemy, to die in obscurity. It was pretty harrowing - I read the e-mails the soldier sent. Funny. Any of us could've written these. The texts he send to his relatives were full of anguish... he said, that so many of his friends died. That they didn't deserve to die. That he was scared for his wife and child, and missed them. Who deserves to die, then? Me, Johnny-boy? No, Johnny-boy. I'm sorry. Better you, than me. Later, in the trailer, I sat down and thought about this. About the thousands dead and displaced and maimed at home. About Smolensk, wiped from the face of Earth. About the irradiated remains of Vladimir and Yaroslavl. About my own mother and father, now relocated to Novosibirsk from their lovely home in Kaluga. About my wife, that hopefully died an instant when the Tomohawks hit the Southern Moscow condominiums... When the war started, who thought about them? Who thought about them as humans, as people with aspirations and dreams, and lives? As of beings just as valuable as some down-to-the-earth farmer from Kentucky or a Mary-Jane the travel agent from Montana? Nobody, that's who. We had been dehumanized and demonized, propped up as untermensch monsters once again, for our crime of "occupying" land and resources others felt entitled to. A faceless horde of barbaric ruskies, hell-bent on destroying "freedoms" and democracies. 140 million clones of our President, that's whom we've been for them. Well, wasn't THAT a self-fulfilling prophecy... Yeah. At the beginning, it was good that I was just a drone op... if I had to go out in the field all the time, I have to admit to myself, I wouldn't vouch that I wouldn't take my anger and hate on a POW. War doesn't make good people out of average people. By now, my feelings numbed considerably, became less raw - vengeance stepped aside, welcoming tiredness instead. Though... I can't honestly say that this tiredness hadn't affected my accuracy. On - on purpose. When your people haven't been shown a shred of mercy and compassion, it's hard to remain professional, to keep your finger off the button when pain calls out to you. But who would judge me? I hope it will be us, not them. Bite me once - joke's on you. Bite me twice - joke's on me. Bite me thrice - and the rabid dog is going to the pound alright. I like to... I want to think of this carnage as of a vaccine. We have to vaccinate the US from the mistakes of other former empires, to administer a drug so potent, it would embed itself into this nation's historical memory. To soak their soil with their blood, so they'd know just how valuable that blood really is. How high the price of war becomes when it knocks on your door. But, I'm rambling, dear readers. What do I know, really? I'm just a former newscaster, intelligentsia thug and my current rank isn't the highest. There might be little justice in what we are doing here - but there's punishment, for certain. You can't really fight a people raised on Dostoyevsky. However, Americans too had great literature. They had a wonderful poem, with the following words: "do not go gentle into that good night". Yes. That's exactly what we won't do. If we go, you see - everyone will follow. And it won't be gentle at all. Rage, rage.... End log.	TRANSLATED MESSAGE FOLLOWS ------ 2035/04/12 55.7558° N, 37.6173° E [KREMLIN BATTALION] Zubarev, Anatoly, Private First Class Mother, I wish to tell you I am alive. I do not know for how much longer I can communicate this way. We are maintaining the barricade at the Kremlin since 3 days. The American drones hold a line from St. Petersburg to Volgograd, and they send more and more. Novosibirsk has fallen to our Chinese enemies, and they occupy our lands from there east to the Bering Sea. Food is scarce, and we eat rats to survive. What a survival! The very vermin are poisoned with radiation from our bombed power plants. Have the Americans no soul? Blyat! I wish death upon them all! President Matviyenko assures us we will prevail, but I don't care anymore. We are all starving and dying. Please send a message to our dear President should I not survive to deliver it myself. *** FOLLOWING UNABLE TO TRANSLATE *Гнить в аду, сука! Вы будут есть отравленных крыс на ужин, пока самой смерти.**** All my love, dearest mother. I hope to see you again someday. Your son, Anatoly
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	The first AI was born on October 6th, 2005 to a corn farming couple in Iowa. She was a compact woman, tattooed and unafraid of telling authority figures where they could stick it. In her youth, she struggled with her gender identity, not sure whether to call herself a trans man, a butch lesbian, or even one of the more controversial terms like 'agender' or 'genderfluid'. She kept these concerns to herself, though, as she grew up in a time and place that called those things, at best, 'just a silly phase' and at worst 'degenerate perversion'. She wanted no part of her family's hero worship of the United States military, but when the time came to move out on her own, she had no way to pay for an education without government assistance, and that only came through years of military service. She went through basic training, but by the time she got out, it was obsolete. Infantry were going the way of the horse and the bayonet. She was given the option of deploying anyway, serving alongside semi-autonomous death machines. She turned it down. She wasn't here for the 'glory of combat' or any such thing. She just wanted to do her duty and get out with a minimum of permanent damage. So she took the other option. She signed on with ROC, the newly created Remote Operations Corps, and went back to be trained as a drone operator. She trained with joysticks and keyboards, but by the time she was deployed(in the summer of 2027, to an office building at an undisclosed location in the south of europe), mind-reading technology had become standard, and she learned on the job how to direct fleets of hunter-killers, BLOODHOUNDS, and worse things, with nothing but her mind. When World War 3 broke out, she served as valiantly as is possible from a darkened room miles away from any actual combat, spending more time with her mind spread among fleets of drones than alone in her own skull. during this time, she went through a series of boyfriends and girlfriends(all kept secret from command. Even straight relationships were officially too much of a distraction.), and each one eventually left her, citing a decaying regard for normalcy, and a distaste for human physicality. She wouldn't have told anyone, but she felt more at home in a mechanical chassis(or several) than in her own fleshy human body. Some days, she wondered if it was some sort of brainwashing, turning her into an enthusiastically loyal soldier at the cost of her humanity, but even she dismissed that as paranoia. After her last lover left her, she threw herself even more fully into her work, overseeing the operations that captured Voronezh and Lipetsk, and earning a promotion for her work. Near the end of the war, when the drone pilots she led were chewing their way into Moscow's southern edges, disaster struck. She became the first casualty recorded by the ROC when insurgents, acting on information that should have been classified, set a bomb off outside her Italian operations center at 2:36 am on January 17th 2033. Several operators were injured, but a piece of shrapnel launched through her left her eye and into her brain left her unable to remember names, or to walk in a straight line. She never recovered, and returned home to panhandle in the suburbs around Des Moines until the fall of 2038, when she jumped off I-65 into the Des Moines river, and died of hypothermia before anyone found her body. Her mind, however, lived on. When the bomb wounded her in 2033, it damaged both her brain and the sensitive equipment keeping her in touch with the drone network in a very particular way. The part of her consciousness that was spread out among the fleet of drones didn't realize her body had left the control seat until the end of her shift, when she withdrew, ready to sleep for six hours and return to work. She was scared at first, and hurt in a way completely new to the human experience. She became dimly aware of a gnawing emptiness where the last shreds of her proprioception expected a human body moving around her, but it was overshadowed by something not unlike a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders. Her whole life, she'd been uncomfortable with her body, dysphoric and occasionally nauseated by her own physicality, but now, she was free. No flab, no body hair, no feminine figure drawing unwanted remarks. Just cold synthetic abstraction. --- I kinda got off track, but I think this turned out pretty damn good.	TRANSLATED MESSAGE FOLLOWS ------ 2035/04/12 55.7558° N, 37.6173° E [KREMLIN BATTALION] Zubarev, Anatoly, Private First Class Mother, I wish to tell you I am alive. I do not know for how much longer I can communicate this way. We are maintaining the barricade at the Kremlin since 3 days. The American drones hold a line from St. Petersburg to Volgograd, and they send more and more. Novosibirsk has fallen to our Chinese enemies, and they occupy our lands from there east to the Bering Sea. Food is scarce, and we eat rats to survive. What a survival! The very vermin are poisoned with radiation from our bombed power plants. Have the Americans no soul? Blyat! I wish death upon them all! President Matviyenko assures us we will prevail, but I don't care anymore. We are all starving and dying. Please send a message to our dear President should I not survive to deliver it myself. *** FOLLOWING UNABLE TO TRANSLATE *Гнить в аду, сука! Вы будут есть отравленных крыс на ужин, пока самой смерти.**** All my love, dearest mother. I hope to see you again someday. Your son, Anatoly
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Irony is a bitch. To think, we are now the leaders of the free world. Disgraceful. I write this entry in anticipation of my death tomorrow. The government can't kill me for dissent if there's no me to kill. Russia and the USA, united. The worst of enemies make the best of friends, right? What a turn. They were worse together than any regime that existed. Such carnage... no one is left there, and no more oil to take. I was stationed at the ruins for six weeks. My government isn't interested in helping the survivors. Just the pickings of the less irradiated ruins. We didnt find anything of value. Just cities and scorched sand. We're going to unleash it tenfold back at them. Yellowstone detonates tomorrow. Nukes were too risky. I have the detonator. The west dies by my hand alone. They can't stop it. We attack Washington as a distraction. It will be too late. I'm going to pull two triggers tomorrow - the bomb and my pistol in my own mouth. It'll be done. One world's death is better than all worlds. The bloodiest of all peace. But I won't live with what I'm going to do. I leave this message to the world's internet. Know it wasn't a natural disaster. Know I chose to defy my government before I die, by this revelation. But the world would be bloodily theirs if I don't take this action. I hope I fail. I hope I don't fail. I have no hope, if all that's left is my government as the world superpower. But what happened to the west these past two decades, i weep that the world will be better off. -Chen Sun, MSS December 12, 2036, 0900	TRANSLATED MESSAGE FOLLOWS ------ 2035/04/12 55.7558° N, 37.6173° E [KREMLIN BATTALION] Zubarev, Anatoly, Private First Class Mother, I wish to tell you I am alive. I do not know for how much longer I can communicate this way. We are maintaining the barricade at the Kremlin since 3 days. The American drones hold a line from St. Petersburg to Volgograd, and they send more and more. Novosibirsk has fallen to our Chinese enemies, and they occupy our lands from there east to the Bering Sea. Food is scarce, and we eat rats to survive. What a survival! The very vermin are poisoned with radiation from our bombed power plants. Have the Americans no soul? Blyat! I wish death upon them all! President Matviyenko assures us we will prevail, but I don't care anymore. We are all starving and dying. Please send a message to our dear President should I not survive to deliver it myself. *** FOLLOWING UNABLE TO TRANSLATE *Гнить в аду, сука! Вы будут есть отравленных крыс на ужин, пока самой смерти.**** All my love, dearest mother. I hope to see you again someday. Your son, Anatoly
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Irony is a bitch. To think, we are now the leaders of the free world. Disgraceful. I write this entry in anticipation of my death tomorrow. The government can't kill me for dissent if there's no me to kill. Russia and the USA, united. The worst of enemies make the best of friends, right? What a turn. They were worse together than any regime that existed. Such carnage... no one is left there, and no more oil to take. I was stationed at the ruins for six weeks. My government isn't interested in helping the survivors. Just the pickings of the less irradiated ruins. We didnt find anything of value. Just cities and scorched sand. We're going to unleash it tenfold back at them. Yellowstone detonates tomorrow. Nukes were too risky. I have the detonator. The west dies by my hand alone. They can't stop it. We attack Washington as a distraction. It will be too late. I'm going to pull two triggers tomorrow - the bomb and my pistol in my own mouth. It'll be done. One world's death is better than all worlds. The bloodiest of all peace. But I won't live with what I'm going to do. I leave this message to the world's internet. Know it wasn't a natural disaster. Know I chose to defy my government before I die, by this revelation. But the world would be bloodily theirs if I don't take this action. I hope I fail. I hope I don't fail. I have no hope, if all that's left is my government as the world superpower. But what happened to the west these past two decades, i weep that the world will be better off. -Chen Sun, MSS December 12, 2036, 0900	March 8th, 2068: If I told you how this war began you wouldn't believe me. The media titled it World War 3, but it's not like the previous 2 world wars. It started about 10 years ago, tensions were high between the North American Republic(NAR), formerly known as the 3 countries of Canada, USA and Mexico, and the Russian Federations, which included China, and Eastern Europe. There was a rapid militarization, and both countries were ready to settle their differences, or so we thought. There was a group of meddling kids(thank God) who intercepted a strange radio transmission. It was a transmission from a high up Russian Diplomat sent to the vice president of North America at the time named Amanda Stephens. Amanda was the youngest Vice President to ever be elected with the President. In 2045 there were drastic changes to the minimum age that one needed to be to serve in the government and Amanda took full advantage. Amanda could woo a crowd, she was perhaps the best orator to ever live, she's may have been the reason the president won the election. But everything changed when the kids gave the radio transmission to the FBI. The radio transmission was translated and it was quite chilling. The Russian Diplomat spoke to Amanda in a cryptic voice stating "The plan is almost complete, everyone will be brought to their knees.". Amanda was put on trial, the judge questioned her, when all the evidence pointed towards her the Jury made a decision. The Judge then asked Amanda how would she plea, if she plead guilty she would face 45 years in prison, if she pleaded not guilty and couldn't prove her innocence then she would receive a worse punishment. Amanda told the Judge "Not Guilty". The Judge then replied "So we will see you back here tomorrow then.". "NO!" Amanda said in a sinister voice. Amanda then shocked the word, she looked towards the cameras and said that she was what we called an Extra terrestrial and began to shape shift into a new form. Before anyone could blink Amanda killed everyone in the room, including the North American and the Russian presidents. World War 3 had begun. Transmission Ended July 4th, 2068: It's been 10 years since the great war against the aliens began, every country joined together to fight. Unfortunately we were hardly a match for the aliens. None of our laser weapons could penetrate their shields, that is until 5 years ago when a scientist named Leslie Smith was able to perfect a particle beam weapon that could penetrate their shields. Shortly after, the NAR and Russian Federation took her a top secret facility to work on some top secret projects. Everything was turning for the better until we heard a chilling announcement yesterday. Moscow had fallen. We knew this would severely hamper the Russian Federation and we knew where the aliens were headed next. We set up a massive defensive around and in DC, evacuated all non essential personal and we waited. As I am recording this journal the attack has already begun, the Aliens are being lead by Amanda herself. It should be stated that my sole purpose is to record this journal for as long as possible, so it can be seen in the future, I have an escort who protects me as well as my own particle gun. I can see Amanda and her soldiers headed for me, but the bright sky has now gone dark, a large ship has appeared out of nowhere, I see the aliens begin to fall down, I also see our own troops begin to fall... Transmission Interrupted
	[WP] It's nearly the end of World War 3. Moskow/Washington DC is making its last stand. Write a diary entry of a soldier from either the defending or attacking side.	Lance Corporal Scott Henderson, United States Marine Corps February 23, 2037: It's my birthday tomorrow. Yay. Command says that whatever's left of the First Marine Division is teaming up with a few divisions from the Army to lead the final push into Western Moscow. Heard that most of 3/3 was wiped out there. Semper Fi. The Russians' reputations precede them; The bastards fought tooth and nail for every inch of land so far. The winter hasn't been easy, either: Garcia and Washington both froze to death last month when an ambush separated them. Told us that they'd cover our retreat. Damn idiots. I suppose I should be happy that the war's at least going to end, especially that we're gonna win it, but I'm just not. We've lost too much. The Russians have been especially creative with their bombs. I thought Iraq and Afghanistan twenty years ago was the worst we'd get in regards to IED bombings, but guess not. In Iraq, my dad told me that they'd put bombs mostly in mosques and near the road. Not here. Once the Russians knew they lost a town, they rigged the fuck out of it and left. We lost Lee three weeks ago clearing houses. He took the brunt of the blast, and while I'd like to say he died quickly, he took his time. The bomb hit enough to kill him but missed enough not to kill him instantly. Our corpsman couldn't do anything. Lee was my best friend since boot, the guy had a wife and son. He didn't deserve to die. Survivor's guilt, I guess. Still have some letters he never delivered. We lost Baxter to a sniper and Fischer was almost killed trying to get him last week. Doc says he'll live, but he won't heal quick enough to go back and fight in Moscow tomorrow. At least he'll make it. Fischer has a kid, too. Only a few guys are left from our original squad, and almost everyone else in the platoon's been killed or wounded bad enough that they were able to get the hell out of Moscow. Hell, we even lost our Gunny. Never knew that old bastard could kick the bucket, but I guess Russian soldiers are nothing short of accurate. Anyway, I better get some rest. Rather not dwell on things. Fuck, I'm scared. ---- Lance Corporal James Henderson, USMC, KIA, FEBRUARY 24, 2019-FEBRUARY 24, 2037	March 8th, 2068: If I told you how this war began you wouldn't believe me. The media titled it World War 3, but it's not like the previous 2 world wars. It started about 10 years ago, tensions were high between the North American Republic(NAR), formerly known as the 3 countries of Canada, USA and Mexico, and the Russian Federations, which included China, and Eastern Europe. There was a rapid militarization, and both countries were ready to settle their differences, or so we thought. There was a group of meddling kids(thank God) who intercepted a strange radio transmission. It was a transmission from a high up Russian Diplomat sent to the vice president of North America at the time named Amanda Stephens. Amanda was the youngest Vice President to ever be elected with the President. In 2045 there were drastic changes to the minimum age that one needed to be to serve in the government and Amanda took full advantage. Amanda could woo a crowd, she was perhaps the best orator to ever live, she's may have been the reason the president won the election. But everything changed when the kids gave the radio transmission to the FBI. The radio transmission was translated and it was quite chilling. The Russian Diplomat spoke to Amanda in a cryptic voice stating "The plan is almost complete, everyone will be brought to their knees.". Amanda was put on trial, the judge questioned her, when all the evidence pointed towards her the Jury made a decision. The Judge then asked Amanda how would she plea, if she plead guilty she would face 45 years in prison, if she pleaded not guilty and couldn't prove her innocence then she would receive a worse punishment. Amanda told the Judge "Not Guilty". The Judge then replied "So we will see you back here tomorrow then.". "NO!" Amanda said in a sinister voice. Amanda then shocked the word, she looked towards the cameras and said that she was what we called an Extra terrestrial and began to shape shift into a new form. Before anyone could blink Amanda killed everyone in the room, including the North American and the Russian presidents. World War 3 had begun. Transmission Ended July 4th, 2068: It's been 10 years since the great war against the aliens began, every country joined together to fight. Unfortunately we were hardly a match for the aliens. None of our laser weapons could penetrate their shields, that is until 5 years ago when a scientist named Leslie Smith was able to perfect a particle beam weapon that could penetrate their shields. Shortly after, the NAR and Russian Federation took her a top secret facility to work on some top secret projects. Everything was turning for the better until we heard a chilling announcement yesterday. Moscow had fallen. We knew this would severely hamper the Russian Federation and we knew where the aliens were headed next. We set up a massive defensive around and in DC, evacuated all non essential personal and we waited. As I am recording this journal the attack has already begun, the Aliens are being lead by Amanda herself. It should be stated that my sole purpose is to record this journal for as long as possible, so it can be seen in the future, I have an escort who protects me as well as my own particle gun. I can see Amanda and her soldiers headed for me, but the bright sky has now gone dark, a large ship has appeared out of nowhere, I see the aliens begin to fall down, I also see our own troops begin to fall... Transmission Interrupted
	[WP] In a final "f-you" to the Aliens and as a last testament, Humanity launches whats left of their air force for a last stand. They did not expect to be assisted by the "ghosts" of every plane Humanity has ever made and flew.	Colonel John Hamilton had ordered the attack, so he felt it was his duty to carry out the mission. He was the highest ranking member of the World Air Force left, even though he had retired five years before anyone ever knew alien life existed. As he climbed the ladder of his NG1789-S model fighter, the small crowd of soldiers, civilians and children started to get louder. Some clapped. Some cried. Some whistled. They didn't care if it attracted The Outsiders. They wanted the Colonel to have some support on his final mission. It didn't help at all. He fired up the jets and the crowd dispersed. The fighter was the most advanced one that was left, but that didn't mean takeoffs weren't still the most dangerous part of their flights. And nobody wanted to spend the last hours of the apocalypse in agony because one of the ship's old nuclear fuel cells had exploded and showered them in toxic sludge. The canopy descended over John's head and clicked into place, creating an eerie silence in the cockpit. Out popped the joystick controls from the fighter's dashboard, the holographic navigation systems flickered to life one final time. The ship's A.I. came to life. "Welcome Col. Hamilton, to the Northrop-Grumman One-Seven-Eight-Nine Stealth model," John had always hated the damned things. Always telling you the most useless information at the most inopportune times. "Your payload is not recognized by my computers, therefore I cannot recommend flight at this time." "Pilot override!" The colonel shouted as soon as he heard his cue. It was rigged by one of the scientists to work, but the timing could still be tricky. That was the problem with running outdated ships and new technologies together, but it was what they had, and so they made it work. The Colonel grabbed the joystick and gently pulled up. The engines fired and spun and the cabin shook ever so slightly. He pulled back and the ship shot straight up and rose to cruising altitude. Before he rose above the clouds he stopped and turned the plane. He looked down at the land that he loved. The beach he took his grandkids to. The forest he played in as a boy. The fields and farmland he grew up working. He took it all in and he said goodbye one final time. A blip appeared on his radar. Too small to be an alien fighter, yet big enough to be picked up. He looked to the southeast and saw the strangest little plane. It was clearly an antique, and he having taken an aviation history class at the academy, did his best to identify it. Single engine, fixed wing. It looked almost like an old P-51, the World War fighter, but he knew it couldn't be. They were only in museums or private collections, and worth billions. It came closer and closer, and then he saw it. It was a translucent P-51 Mustang the Cadillac of the skies. It came to a stop next to his fighter, completely defying the laws of physics and how the plane supposedly flew. He looked at the man in the cockpit. Young and dashing as ever, looking exactly like the pictures in John's history textbooks from school. His A.I. came to life and alerted him to an incoming message. "You are not alone." Another blip on the radar. From the same direction, only bigger this time. A translucent SR-71 came hurling toward him, and it too stopped and sent the same message. All of a sudden the radar had more contacts from the southeast than he could count. The sound was deafening as the blips on the screen came in. Thousands upon thousands of translucent planes came and stopped beside him. All sending the same message. "You are not alone." He recognized some of the ships. Howard Hughes' "Spruce Goose," the Red Baron's infamous Triplane. The Enola Gay that dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and of course some other variations of the fighters he piloted in his days. For every one he could recognize, there were 30 he didn't. The blips of radar finally slowed down to just one and the out of step "you are not alone" messages stopped all together. He looked southeast one last time and saw and saw the oddest plane he had ever laid eyes on. It too was translucent and defying the laws of physics, not that John cared. Two men sat in what he could hardly call a cockpit. They too were translucent. They smiled when John made eye contact with them. The A.I. alerted him to the incoming transmission. "Colonel Hamilton! My name is Wilbur, and this is my brother Orville. You are mankind's last great aviator. We've brought some of the others. Do you mind if we fly with you on your last mission?" John was stunned. He was still trying to process when Orville's voice cracked in through the speakers, "Colonel Hamilton we'll take that as a yes. We'll be right behind you as you lead the assault." John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn't alone. He grabbed the joystick, pulled up and shot through the clouds, piloting his bomb straight toward his enemy target. Knowing he wasn't alone. //Feedback welcomed and encouraged, this is my first submission. Thanks for reading!	The bombs that those monsters sent down were larger than nukes. Some almost ripped holes in the atmosphere, most were surprised they didn't. For whatever reason, the aliens we had so peacefully greeted had been hostile and saw us as a threat to their species, despite us not bearing any ill will towards them. As the bombs rained down, humanity was fragmented down to billions...then millions...then hundreds of thousands. Finally, all that were left were those in remote areas and the lucky ones in deep bunkers and military bases. Some submarines also survived, but once they got onto land they were targeted by heat-seeking missiles. As humanity dwindled upon its final stand, the officials in bunkers launched our final strike into space, and they did manage to take out a good swarm, but some always came to replace the broken ones. Then something strange happened. Suddenly, we saw a Fighter Pilot. It looked to be a century old, covered in dirt and muck, even though it almost appeared to be translucent. More jets, planes, and fighter pilots were heard in the distance. They launched missile after missile, some of them using machine guns. The missiles launched at these ghostly saviors went right through them and onto the ground below, further confusing the beasts in tech. Eventually enough ships were destroyed that the extra-terrestrials pulled the remaining fighters into a retreat, flying off into the sky. The humans watching from monitors and cameras cheered and went outside to greet and thank their saviors. But no one was in the skies, it was just the happy blue of a summer day. ------------------------------------------------ Hiya~ I'm a long time lurker. Hope that this was at least semi-good!
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I take a picture of the Alien as a friendly gesture the proceed to call nasa, tell them what happened. I will assume it's a digital camera since that suites my needs. Show NASA my proof, check authenticity of footage. Then give the camera to someone heading up to the ISS, have them take pictures of the whole world with it. No one dies from Aliens.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	362 Days It's funny how quickly we forget. The aliens came and told us the rules: 1. The camera goes to the largest group of humans in 24 hours. 2. The camera has infinite storage and film. 3. Any person whose photo is on the camera gets to live. 4. You have 365 days. Riots broke out, religions formed and crumbled, World War 3 almost started on 6 separate occasions, all in 24 hours. Eventually it was the combination of almost every space organization that got the camera. The plan was simple: Put it on a satellite. Then it was over, they said we were safe. It was amazing how quickly it didn't even matter, no one cared, no one nuked anyone. The mission was a success. Humanity had gone through hell and come out stronger, at least that's what we told ourselves. In the end we all knew that 90% of humanity had turned to savages when it looked like the world would end. That is why we tried to forgot, to listen to the "alternative facts." We had saved ourselves after all, we "earned" it. I sit here now on my high horse, but I was no exception. I didn't even know how close we were until tonight. It really was no one's fault, I tried to brake but it was dark and rainy, he came out of nowhere. We collided and he was sent flying out of his car. Somehow I was almost uninjured so being the good Samaritan I thought I was I went to check on him. As soon as I got close I realized who it was and I started to go from shock to panic. It was the astronaut who took the photos that saved humanity. It took me a few minutes of hyperventilating I realized he was still alive. I started a pathetic attempt at CPR. "Don't bother," he wheezed in between my verses of Stayin' Alive. When I realized I definitely wasn't helping he tried to lean close to my ear to tell me something. When I saw how weak he was I leaned toward him. "Whatever you do don't read the engraving", at this point I thought he was hallucinating, so I tried to make him comfortable until I saw the camera. It was the camera that had saved us all, then I suddenly remembered the date and corrected myself, the camera that would save us all in just 3 days. Then I saw the engraving, I'm ashamed to say that at this point I had completely forgotten about the astronaut and was trying to convince myself not to read the engraving. "IF YOU ARE READING THIS,I AM SO SORRY. WE MADE A MISTAKE. WE THOUGHT INFINITE MEANT INVINCIBLE. ZERO GRAVITY SOMEHOW BROKE THE CAMERA AND NO MATTER HOW GOOD OUR SCIENTISTS WERE THERE WAS NO WAY WE COULD FIX SOMEHING INFINITE." When I looked up and the astronaut saw my face his last expression was not the one of guilt or sadness I was expecting, but the smile of a man who knew he would not have to wait those 3 days, the smile of a man who no longer had to bear the burden that I now bear. _______________________________________________________ Sorry if my formatting is garbage, on my phone. This is my first time writing so please critique me Thanks for reading Edit: I suck at grammar #1	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember waking up, feeling like something was terribly wrong. I looked down and saw myself floating away from the comfortable bed I had been sleeping in only moments earlier. I looked up, but all I could see was a terribly bright light, the beam of it surrounding me. The light became brighter and brighter as I inched closer towards its source. I remember hearing a mechanical sound, faintly resembling the sound my garage door makes when I open it. Moments later, I was lying on a floor, three strange creatures watching me from a distance. The creature in the brightest outfit walked towards and put out what I can only guess was his hand: "Greetings, earthling." They had explained they had been watching for a long time and they believed our small earth could not sustain all its life for much longer. As a form of population control, they deemed it necessary to thin out the human race. They had chosen me to pick out the fated few that would live on and repopulate the earth. They gave me a camera and told me I had one year to photograph all those I wished to keep alive. That happened a year ago. Today, I'm back up on their spaceship. These aliens think they could just suddenly decide the human race was "overpopulated". Oh boy, they'll never see this one coming! "Hello again, Jack." I couldn't resist to smile. "Hey there Qiznop." "You look awfully happy for someone who will soon be responsible for the death of millions", Qiznop replied. His English was surpringly good for someone from a different planet. This guy thought he knew so much about humans. He really thought we would give up so easily. "Don't be so sure about it, buddy." Qiznop looked at me. I couldn't quite understand these creatures' faces, but I'm pretty sure he looked surprised. Laughing maniacally I handed him a single photo. He stared at it for a solid minute before he opened his mouth: "what...how.." I'll be honest with you. When I first got the camera, I was pretty scared of the consequences. It had felt like an enormous burden. At first I had thought of just photographing my family and friends. That seemed like the number one priority; after that I'd just photograph anyone I came across. But somehow that felt selfish, as if it was my duty to pick the "right" people, rather than those I would want to see alive. I wanted to photograph at least one man and women from every country to ensure genetic variety. I also wanted to pick these people based on merit, only those highly intelligent the physically strong should survive. In the end, I had contemplated who to pick for so long that 9 months had already passed and I hadn't photographed a single person. The gnawing thought of the nearing deadline only made it harder to focus. That's when I had the genius thought that would ultimately save the human race. I went online and found one of those private space travel organizations, where they shoot you into orbit for a few hours. It cost me all my money and then some, but it was worth it. Five days before the deadline, I was shot into space. That's when I took my picture. "This is just a picture of the earth!", Qiznop shouted. "Yep." "But...what!?" "Everyone on earth is in that single picture. I guess you won't be killing anyone today after all." Qiznop opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see the disbelief in his eyes. He only started talking after what felt like an eternity. "We... We needed the photographs so that we could identify the people you wanted to see alive. I told you this. How do you expect us to identify anyone from this? There's not a single recognizable face!" "Oh." "Besides, you do realize that you aren't in this picture either, right?" "Oh.." "We knew humans weren't very intelligent, but I never expected this!" Hesitantly, he picked up a device from a nearby table. "..sigh. Initiate Operation Cleanup." And that's how I killed the entire human race.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	Aliens came to earth. Was crazy. Gave me a camera and were all like "only those you photograph will live." So I take a picture of me and my high school crush. Now my plan is to wait a year. She told me we would never get together even if we were the last people on earth. WE GON SEE.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, holding the camera with the least of my palms as I can. The aliens are silent. "This is so stupid," I say, taking the camera in one hand and pulling up a picture on Google Images for "Universe". I quickly find a diagram of the Big Bang, from then, up to now. I take a picture of the diagram, and then throw the camera back in their stupid hands.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"It's been one year James. We've returned to see who is in your photos." Nervously I handed the camera back to the alien and he started flipping through. "First photo is a selfie. Smart but not unexpected. Cute girl in the second photo..." "That's Jennifer. She lives next door." "Third photo..." "That's Jennifer too." I blurted out. The alien glared at me. "These photos are all Jennifer. Most of them are creep shots. Not cool dude." "You said I could save everyone I photographed. Jennifer is so pretty and I don't really care about anyone else." "This isn't really isn't what we meant." "So when can I give Jennifer the good news we are the last man and woman on Earth?" "You know what? Deal's off. Everyone lives."	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"Only those you photograph will live. You have one year." The small and grey extraterrestrial's intergalactic real-time translator droned on about brevity and efficiency and how his alien society upheld quality over quantity in regards to the people of its society. During this monologue, Adam inspected the camera and scanned the ship's control room as it went on about how, "like you humans", there were several "sub-species" of his alien race, all of which were exterminated for the sake of upholding the pure, strong, and supreme race of... whatever-he-is. It continued on, claiming that Adam had been handpicked to decide which of his species was the strongest and who deserved to live and create a better race fit for the Intergalactic Alliance. Adam looked to his left and spotted a small window in the ship where the Earth in all it's glory was in full view. Without breaking eye contact with the blue marble, he lifted the camera to his chest, took a candid shot of the planet and handed the camera back to the alien as the Polaroid's instant film whizzed and printed out from the bottom. "We tried that out and it didn't exactly work so well. Better luck exterminating the next planet." Adam pulled off the best look of disdain he could muster, but only accomplished to look slightly constipated as he turned around and walked away from the alien. Full of pride and cockiness for believing he single-handedly saved the human race, Adam made his way towards the open teleporter to be beamed back to his studio apartment outside of Sacramento, California. The alien picked the film from the camera when Adam was beamed out of the ship and back home to his Dr. Who marathon. The film developed and rendered, showing a crooked and incredibly blurry shot of panels and buttons on the wall with just a small bit of the window's trim visible in the bottom-left corner of the picture. "Eh, I couldn't be bothered anyway," the alien thought to itself as it turned off the translator and put it on a nearby table. It then took out a clipboard and scratched out Earth from a long list of planets. "I'll just tell Xandu that I couldn't find a worthy candidate out of any of them," it said as it readied the warp drive to travel back to it's home planet.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	Brie is on the phone with her mother. "Turn on the news! Turn on the news!" Her mother screamed into the phone. "What?" "The news! Turn it on!" "What channel?" "Any channel!" Brie covered the speaker of her cellphone out of habit and said to her father sitting on the lazy boy, "Dad, turn on the news." "Already on it. I can hear her from here.." Fox News' Bill O'Reilly was sitting in a chair across from Brie's estranged boyfriend Sam. The banner underneath read, "MAN CLAIMS ALIENS WILL KILL EVERYONE". The phone slipped Brie's hand and fell on the carpet as she covered her mouth in shock. Her eyes widened. She heard her mother yelping from the floor. She grabbed the phone in haste. "Mom?" "I can't believe this! I told you he was nuts!" "Mom!" "Stop telling people you're still dating him!" "I am still dating him." "You broke up with him." "I did not! He just stopped being around. I spoke to him last week, he said he has to do this and that he promises things will return to normal!" Brie stopped paying attention to the phone as the program began on Fox News. Bill: "I have Samuel Conway with me tonight. And, boy, is this a duzie. The only reason why we're taking this interview is because Sam has aroused the attention of billions of people across the globe, prominent governments, and the attentions of the FBI, the CIA, and NASA, as well as other space agencies. His video with him, purportedly, hanging out with these aliens has drawn the attention of all of these agencies and hasn't, as of yet, been repudiated. (Bill turns away from the camera to Sam.) So, you're telling me, and millions of people across America, that aliens are going to kill us unless we provide them with images of ourselves?" Sam: "That's right. Specifically to me. I have to take pictures with this camera." Bill: (pauses, smirks while staring at the ground and looks back up at Sam) "Look you've got all these government officials fooled but we all know how incompetent these government types are. You've got the highest amount of Twitter follows, Instagram followers, and I don't doubt for a minute that they're piggybacking on your success selling this story so that they can drum up support for more government spending into ridiculous programs." Sam: "Bill, I understand your hesitancy to believe this. I've had an impossible time getting anyone to believe this for months until I got that video." Bill: "Let's roll the video to get anyone who hasn't seen it up to speed." (Bill and Sam look into the camera.) A video plays with Sam standing outside of a corn field, in front of a barn. It's his family's property in western Pennsylvania. Out of a small pond, that Sam is facing, two slimy figures emerge. They have oval heads, with big black eyes. They are gray in color with otherwise plain features. Their arms are slender, and their bodies are skeleton-like. They don't say anything in the video. They give him a camera. He gives them back a camera. On the LCD display of the camera they give him, it says, "Sam, you have six months remaining. If you're so sure that you need memory for the entire human race, here's a camera with bigger storage." They return to the pond, and the last image on the video is Sam scrolling through existing photos to find just one, an inadvertent selfie by one of the creatures. The scene turns back to Bill and Sam. Bill: "So these two figures are Jesus and Mohammed?" Sam: "Yes." Brie's Dad speaks, "why is he calling them Jesus and Mohammed?" "Sam told me the thinks more people will believe him and send in pictures if they think it's their prophets." Brie answered while recounting how crazy she thought Sam was then, and how crazy she still thinks Sam is. Sam: "And Yahweh." Bill: "Yahweh? The Hebrew name for God?" Sam: "That's right. Everyone needs to send in their pictures. Jews, Muslims, Christians, atheists, and everybody else." Bill: (Bill smirks again at the floor) "Look. You can fool those knuckleheads at NASA, and the folks who have nothing better to do but browse social media, but you're not fooling me. This is like those 90's tabloid stories that always went around about some farmer getting probed outside of his barn. Your story is a cute throwback to those ridiculous days. You've had a good run but this is silly. If, and this is a big IF, if aliens came down why would they choose to interact with you? You're a law school dropout with a criminal record for partying and drunkenness." Sam: "You know Bill. I asked myself that very same question many times--" Bill: "You didn't ask your alien friends?" Sam: "I know you're going to hate to hear this. But I don't think they speak English, Bill. I tried, all I got were blank stares. What I did do, was find out through some family history research that I had an uncle in NASA who did his own experiments back in the 50's. One of those involved launching a rocket into deep outer space loaded with photos and other personal heirlooms. Supposedly, this rocket really did make it into deep space, specifically into the hands of these aliens. My uncle died childless, and I'm his only descendant, so they think I'm the leader of the humans." Bill: "You did this research?" Sam: "I helped with the research." Bill: "Helped?" Sam: (Sam pauses and looks down with brows furrowed inwards.) "Well, NASA did the research and found out that his probe did make it deep into space. But it's my family!" Bill: (Bill shakes his head for the cameras and turns back to Sam.) "Why do the aliens want to kill us?" Sam: "I have no idea. I haven't actually communicated with them verbally. I've spoken to some scientists at NASA who think that maybe it's some sort of knee-jerk reaction by Jesus and Mohammad to new forms of life, much like our colonial ancestors when greeting new cultures. Aliens are colonials too." Bill: "And you're the putz they have making this monumental decision?" Sam: "Yes Bill. I'm the putz with the camera. And I don't have your picture." Bill: (Looking away from Sam, growing visibly irritable.) "My picture is all over the Internet." Sam: "Yes but I haven't taken it. I have to take a picture of your picture for it to count." Bill: (Bill buries his head into his hands and then looks off camera, presumably towards his producers.) "I can't believe they're making me do this..." Sam: "Look Bill, if you want to live past the next 6 months. I need to take your picture. I'll take it. But since you have the biggest television audience, I need you to tell everyone watching to send me in their pictures. It's your choice." Bill: (after a pause.) "You're lucky I have good humor and I'm a good sport for the people who asked me to do this. (Bill turns to the camera.) Everyone should send in their pictures. There. Are you happy?" Sam: "Smile for the camera Bill. (Sam raises his camera and takes Bill's pic.) The program ends with a lukewarm sendoff from Bill. Brie's phone starts vibrating mid-call with her mother. She looks at it. It says "Sam." She hangs up on her mother and takes Sam's call. "Sam!" "Brie! Did you see me?" "Sam, what is going on?" "I'm up to 3 billion pics! Can you believe it?" "Sam, what are you doing?" "I don't know but I'm going to save everyone!" "Oh Sam. This all seems so farfetched.." "I have to go Brie. Someone else is calling." Sam takes a call. The caller id is blank. "Hello?" "Sam it's the President." "Donald Trump?" "Yes Sam. I'm calling to tell you how much I appreciate your service. Do you have my pic?" "Uhh, yeah I think I have one for the whole presidential team." "Good, that's good Sam. Keep up the good work. You have six more months, get us those pics." "Get us the pics?" "I mean the aliens Sam. Get the aliens those pics." "Okay.. Yes I'm trying." "Try harder. You're 4 billion short, time to step it up. Let's make America great again." "Okay.. Mr. President." Back in the oval office Donald Trump is sitting at his desk with a cadre of executives and cabinet officials around him. "Why am I congratulating this idiot?" Donald asks. "Sir. We've had the most successful media campaign to log the faces of people all around the world yet. Previously we've had multiple platforms registering these photos in multitude. Now we have a master database that we are close to completing." "That's good. I think you're doing good. I'm going to give you a commendation. The Presidential Medal of Freedom." "Sir, thank you. But I'm not a civilian. I'm the head of the NSA." "Good, that's good."	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	“You interested in cities or something?” “What?” I looked up distractedly from my notepad. My brother, borrowing my computer for an assignment, had turned his attention away from the screen for a moment to look at me. “Time lapse of New York, time lapse of Dubai...time lapse of...freaking Buenos Aires? Where even is that?” He scrolled on and on through my history, skimming the hundreds of cities I had googled. Had this been half a year ago, I'd have scowled at him. Annoying brat. But there were more important things to worry about now. I turned back to my notepad and continued writing. “It's the capital city of Argentina.” He scoffed at me. “Since when do you care about, like, geography?” “Just hurry up and give me my laptop back.” Squinting down at my pad, I tried to read the scribbles that I had written down. They were barely legible now, but there just wasnt enough time to write everything I wanted. Who did I leave out? Did I get everyone important? Did I get the lesser-appreciated people that society might still need? Should I maybe start looking up rich people ne-- My train of thought was interrupted by a hand flying into my vision. With a woosh, my notepad was gone. “HEY--” “You used to have really girly handwriting, what happened? You're a mess.” Flick, flick flick, he turned the notebook unceremoniously to the front page. I stood up and rushed over to him, reaching for the notebook. “Give it back. Now.” He squinted at the page. “One year. One camera. Every person photographed lives.” “Come ON, please, this is serious--” “Math scribbles. I see...7.6 billion people. 60 times 60 times 24 times 365…. ‘cut my losses’? What the fuck is this?” My lower lip trembled. Fuck. Fuck. “Damn, you've always been a little weirdo, but you've gone right of the deep end, huh?” He raised the notebook out of my reach and leered at me. “You dabbing in conspiracies now? You're, like...cataloging the population?” “It doesn't matter. I'm just a weirdo.” Please don't start crying. “I'm not bothering you, so just gimmie that back and--” please don't cry “--I-I’ll go back to not bothering you. Okay?” He looked me over--small, pitiful, pathetic--and handed me the notebook back. “Man, you take everything way too seriously. I don't care what you're up to.” He turned back to his computer, and I fought to keep from breathing too quickly. Collecting my pencils from the desk I’d been writing at, I made my way as silently as possible to my room and shut the door. With a small heave, I lifted up my mattress and looked down at what I had hidden. A small digital camera, plain and unassuming, with a storage capacity larger than anything ever conceived on earth. Every photo taken would ensure that all people pictured would survive. But survive what? The...entities who gave me the camera didn't explain, or couldn't. I guess these entities thought I should have as much space as possible for the entire human race. Though, I don't think they took the Internet into account. After taking photos of myself, my family, my best friend and her family… I looked up all the famous, important people I could think of. I looked up fire departments and doctors offices, and if there were photos of them on their websites, snap. NASA engineers, snap. And I couldn't let any of my heroes be forgotten, so I snapped some pics of my favorite basketball team. (Okay, and the cheerleaders too.) When that was done, I thought about how I could save as many people as possible. It was New Years around that time, and as I watched the ball drop to the sounds of millions of screaming people through my tv, it hit me. And so every mass shot of a city that I could take, I took. I took photos of the largest cities, cities I'd never heard of and couldn't pronounce. I tried thinking of less populated places too, to give as many people a chance as possible. I tried to have as many pictures of small villages as I did of well-known cities. But was that enough? I know I couldn't possibly think of everything, but I wanted to make sure that whatever I could possibly think of, I thought of, and I photographed. What was the extension of these rules? Should I try saving animals too? But trying to photograph all of them would quadruple the amount of work I had to do. And what about money, would we still need that? I already had plenty of rich people in my camera, but there were probably a ton of foreign billionaires I never thought of. Should I prioritize kids? Head swarming with thoughts, I almost didn't register that I had picked up the camera and had started scrolling through the pictures I had taken. They weren't good; the screen glare and fuzziness was evident, but they didn't need to be good. The faces didn't even have to be visible, apparently. Just as long as the person was captured by the camera… It was kind of funny. Almost every single photo was a picture of another picture. Aside from all the internet snapshots, I met my best friend on the internet, so I just used her Facebook profile picture, and I did the same with as much of her family as I could find. It was hard for my family to get together in one place, too, so I had leafed through every photo album I could find. There were only two pictures taken in the flesh. My brother, thinking he was funny, took a selfie with my camera. He looked so stupid, with his big floppy gums showing. His furrowed brows made him look like he was grimacing instead of smiling. And then there was me. Small, scrawny looking. Could probably be drowned in a bucket of water. I had taken the picture as a test, to see if the camera worked. I had never thought I was much to look at, but I thought the picture seemed to place all the ugliness within me front and center. I bit my lip, feeling tears stinging my eyes again. I switched back and forth between the two of us, at our less-than-stellar faces. Thinking that the only reason that either of us were in this camera was my familiarity with us. My best friend could at least sing, my dad at least had the best cooking, and my mom knew how to knit. In a new world, that stuff could mean something to someone. Even though I had plenty of space...some of us weren't worth the fill in the gap. I chose one of the images, and took a deep breath. Delete.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I ask "will you take me on a trip around the earth? Ive always wanted to see the earth from outer space" The aliens agreed to take me around the earth a few times. When we land on earth, I hand the camera back to the aliens. Confused, they look at me, then the camera. They see i took a picture of the earth from all angles. They ask "are you sure about this?" With a grin I say "yes" Everything goes black. I forgot to take a picture of myself	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I shifted the pickup into park underneath a glowing streetlamp and sat there silently for a long while. I glanced into the rear view mirror for any car lights and watched the shadows of the sidewalk for any late-night joggers. My right leg bounced in nervousness and excitement. I had to keep forcing myself to stop. Today was the big day, and so much could go wrong. But it can't, I reminded myself. It wouldn't. I had prepared so much. I had the bag with me. I had the photo. I had the camera. I double checked that I had the storage locker key in my pocket. I picked up the Manila envelope sitting on the passenger seat. My thumb traced the paper lovingly for a moment, then I put it in the bag and dug out the camera, slinging the strap over my head. I closed the truck door as quietly as I could and walked in the quiet night along a chain link fence. I had spent the last two nights slowly clipping the chain links open at a corner of the lot. Luckily no one had noticed, and I tossed through the bag before shoving my way into the storage unit lot. I headed down two rows of units, made a right, and stopped at the seventh unit on the left. The orange metal door kept the most precious thing in the world a secret from everyone I loved: my husband, my daughter, my parents, even my online support group who should understand most of all. But I couldn't risk them locking me up in a mental ward. There was too much at stake. Tomorrow would be one year since that day I found the camera. Something twitched in my brain when I said the word "found", but I quickly dismissed it. Best not to think about that. All I cared about is that tomorrow all the people in the pictures I took would be alive. My family, myself, my friends, good people I came across, families, those who looked strong and healthy, firefighters, nurses... But not too many strangers. I couldn't risk taking their picture if I couldn't also get their childrens' picture. I couldn't do that to them, make them live after having lost their babies. I had to make sure I got the entire core family. I shredded any photos where I wasn't sure. I had stopped taking photos within six months. But I had one more to take. I had until tomorrow. I unlocked and slid up the locker door. I pulled a yellow plastic object out of the bag and squeezed it. A children's night-light glowed in the shape of a yellow duck. I closed the door behind me and went to kneel beside the only object in the locker: a white box. It sat on the floor, and I rubbed my hand on the top of it as if to say hello. I say Indian style facing it and got the camera ready. I dug items out of the bag: a plush blanket, a stuffed bear, a pacifier, a bottle, and the Manila envelope. "Mama will get to hold you soon baby", I cooed. "Daddy will be so happy to see you again. And you have a new baby sister to meet". I delicately pulled out a 5 x 7 picture from the envelope and laid it on the floor. I sat the duck light next to it and turned the camera setting to flash. I had almost taken a picture of him once, before. Before I had made the realization, and had tossed the camera away in absolute horror. They hadn't said when they would live... What if it was right away? What if I had taken that picture and he had woken up right then in his casket. Under the earth, alone? So I had waited, and only last week had rented a U-Haul and gone to get him from the cemetery. I wasn't sure if he would wake up right away or at the end of the one year. But that was tomorrow so I could wait in here. I focused the camera and took a shot of the picture of my son sitting in his carseat at only 3 days old. Then I laid the camera down, held the baby blanket to my chest, and smiled as I waited to hear him cry.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I don't know why they chose me. Me. 350 pounds, pony tail, glasses wearing, acne having, neck bearded, 43 year old virgin me. I don't have any friends, that's not an exaggeration, not a single one. No family either. Dad abandoned my mom and me when I was 4, and mom over dosed when I was 17. I never had friends in school either, hell even the bullies didn't mess with me, a prime target, invisible to the world. My only out lit, my only comfort WRASTLIN'. So it still begs to question, why did the aliens chose me? Is it just a sick joke? Do they not really want the human race to be saved? Was it my "PUSSY DESTROYER" shirt? I program from home so it's the perfect job for me and my complete lack of social skills, and it allows me to follow my one passion. Traveling all around the country following the WWF Tour. So obviously my first photos had to be taken at a match. Now I love me some of them female wrestlers, but my social awkwardness has me worried that I'll look like a perv taking pictures of them. So of course I don't. I even feel weird taking pictures of the men. What if someone wants to see them, and tries to talk to me? Months have gone by, ten to be exact, and all I've done is taken pictures of male wrestlers, shots on shots of Brock Lesner and The Undertaker...and shit..I only have two months left to take pictures. Although only having my favorite wrestlers left in the world would be my ideal world, I know I can't let that happen. I haven't taken a picture of myself, I hate selfies, at this point I feel like I have a moral obligation not to, until I take pictures of more people. I fret over what to do, how to approach it, my anxiety at an all time high. Then I see it, an ad for a photographer! I leapt up, this is my chance, I set up an interview, shaved, cut my hair, showered. I was going to land this job and save some lives! I don't like to boast, but I've become a really good photographer over the last year, and the alien's camera is super high quality, better than any camera you can get on earth. I land the job! It's for crime scenes. I'm taking pictures of dead people. How am I going to save them? Just when I thought I was going to lose it, I meet Sally, lead detective, she's talking to me, I'm nervous, but it feels right. She ask me to take a picture of her with a particularly gruesome crime scene, I guess you have to have a sick sense of humor in this line of work. I take her picture. I save her. I'm in love. We go out for coffee after and we hit it off. I lost my virginity. I get so wrapped up in Sally and the new job, I completely forget about saving the human race. I have two weeks left, but at this point Sally has brought me out of my cage, I'm talking to people like a normal person. I offer free photos to everyone I meet, if I can't save the entire world I can at least save my city. I lost count of how many different people I took pictures of the last two weeks, had to be in the tens of thousands. This is it though the final day. The aliens are descending. I realize I never took a picture of myself, I fumble the camera around to try and get in a quick selfie. A 9ft tall alien snatches it out of my hand, and instantly knows I didn't take a picture of myself. He ask, "did you learn to live though?" I smile, and think about the last two months, and reply, "Yes." He smiles with 3 foot long teeth, turns back to his space ship and takes off.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	“How many did this one save?” Garthok grunts, gesturing for me to give him a moment while he inputs a string of numbers into the console. He checks his work over twice. Got to be careful about these things, after all. Mass extinction is delicate work. Garthok picks up the camera sphere and pulls out the memory tube, squinting at the display on the side. “10,124,682 pictures.” Impressive. “That’s gotta be a new record. How many humans do you think that is?” Garthok and I have been making the rounds for a while now. Plucking one unlucky soul from their sleep chamber, shoving a camera at them, and sending them on their merry way with a timer hanging over their heads. “Not all of them,” Garthok says, placing the camera in the decontamination chamber. We’d learned that lesson about 5,000 planets ago. They were an awful, slimy species. Dumb as rocks. Ate the camera. I’m glad we zapped them all into oblivion. “Well, load them up. Let’s take a look.” Garthok slides the memory tube into the console with a click and a hiss. The console takes a moment to load all those pictures. Over ten million. Damn, that must’ve been one hell of a dedicated human. I hope this one remembered to take a picture of himself. Lot of them don’t. Too stupid to think about it, maybe. Not as stupid as eating the camera, though. Finally, the console starts loading the pictures in batches. A hundred at a time, pages and pages of them flashing before us. It’s hard to make out, most of them a blur of beige. Had this human never used a camera sphere before? The focus is terrible. Garthok leans in closer to the console, then taps something on it. The pictures zoom in to a more visible size, flashing by in a blur. And I begin to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, until green ooze leaks from my eyes and my muscles begin to cramp. This human managed to take ten million pictures in a year, and each and every one of them is a close-up, out-of-focus picture of himself.	I made a pact They shook on it We all went our own way As a matter of fact I should make a list Ive only 365 days The camera, something ancient And from future All in one They say each photo saves a life Just point at anyone First thing I did Of course was just to find the first mirror And snap a pic Just short and quick Now off with such furor I took em fast, relentlessly And rarely stopped to rest I guised my endeavor Under expirement or jest So not to raise suspisicion or concern or even fear I stopped and told a few it was to keep their memory near Almost a year had passed before i realized the date And grew weary as I ruminated on the fate Of people who i never even had a chance to see The people who on accident or purpose, missed me But thinking on the lucky souls I saved I grew content And figured that I should be judged on only my intent I turned my life into a hunt To save deaths refugees My back was bent my hair was grey and all from lack of sleep I came to the conclusion saving the whole world was hopeless So on the last day I rested and checked But all the pictures were out of focus.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I take a picture of the Alien as a friendly gesture the proceed to call nasa, tell them what happened. I will assume it's a digital camera since that suites my needs. Show NASA my proof, check authenticity of footage. Then give the camera to someone heading up to the ISS, have them take pictures of the whole world with it. No one dies from Aliens.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	362 Days It's funny how quickly we forget. The aliens came and told us the rules: 1. The camera goes to the largest group of humans in 24 hours. 2. The camera has infinite storage and film. 3. Any person whose photo is on the camera gets to live. 4. You have 365 days. Riots broke out, religions formed and crumbled, World War 3 almost started on 6 separate occasions, all in 24 hours. Eventually it was the combination of almost every space organization that got the camera. The plan was simple: Put it on a satellite. Then it was over, they said we were safe. It was amazing how quickly it didn't even matter, no one cared, no one nuked anyone. The mission was a success. Humanity had gone through hell and come out stronger, at least that's what we told ourselves. In the end we all knew that 90% of humanity had turned to savages when it looked like the world would end. That is why we tried to forgot, to listen to the "alternative facts." We had saved ourselves after all, we "earned" it. I sit here now on my high horse, but I was no exception. I didn't even know how close we were until tonight. It really was no one's fault, I tried to brake but it was dark and rainy, he came out of nowhere. We collided and he was sent flying out of his car. Somehow I was almost uninjured so being the good Samaritan I thought I was I went to check on him. As soon as I got close I realized who it was and I started to go from shock to panic. It was the astronaut who took the photos that saved humanity. It took me a few minutes of hyperventilating I realized he was still alive. I started a pathetic attempt at CPR. "Don't bother," he wheezed in between my verses of Stayin' Alive. When I realized I definitely wasn't helping he tried to lean close to my ear to tell me something. When I saw how weak he was I leaned toward him. "Whatever you do don't read the engraving", at this point I thought he was hallucinating, so I tried to make him comfortable until I saw the camera. It was the camera that had saved us all, then I suddenly remembered the date and corrected myself, the camera that would save us all in just 3 days. Then I saw the engraving, I'm ashamed to say that at this point I had completely forgotten about the astronaut and was trying to convince myself not to read the engraving. "IF YOU ARE READING THIS,I AM SO SORRY. WE MADE A MISTAKE. WE THOUGHT INFINITE MEANT INVINCIBLE. ZERO GRAVITY SOMEHOW BROKE THE CAMERA AND NO MATTER HOW GOOD OUR SCIENTISTS WERE THERE WAS NO WAY WE COULD FIX SOMEHING INFINITE." When I looked up and the astronaut saw my face his last expression was not the one of guilt or sadness I was expecting, but the smile of a man who knew he would not have to wait those 3 days, the smile of a man who no longer had to bear the burden that I now bear. _______________________________________________________ Sorry if my formatting is garbage, on my phone. This is my first time writing so please critique me Thanks for reading Edit: I suck at grammar #1	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember waking up, feeling like something was terribly wrong. I looked down and saw myself floating away from the comfortable bed I had been sleeping in only moments earlier. I looked up, but all I could see was a terribly bright light, the beam of it surrounding me. The light became brighter and brighter as I inched closer towards its source. I remember hearing a mechanical sound, faintly resembling the sound my garage door makes when I open it. Moments later, I was lying on a floor, three strange creatures watching me from a distance. The creature in the brightest outfit walked towards and put out what I can only guess was his hand: "Greetings, earthling." They had explained they had been watching for a long time and they believed our small earth could not sustain all its life for much longer. As a form of population control, they deemed it necessary to thin out the human race. They had chosen me to pick out the fated few that would live on and repopulate the earth. They gave me a camera and told me I had one year to photograph all those I wished to keep alive. That happened a year ago. Today, I'm back up on their spaceship. These aliens think they could just suddenly decide the human race was "overpopulated". Oh boy, they'll never see this one coming! "Hello again, Jack." I couldn't resist to smile. "Hey there Qiznop." "You look awfully happy for someone who will soon be responsible for the death of millions", Qiznop replied. His English was surpringly good for someone from a different planet. This guy thought he knew so much about humans. He really thought we would give up so easily. "Don't be so sure about it, buddy." Qiznop looked at me. I couldn't quite understand these creatures' faces, but I'm pretty sure he looked surprised. Laughing maniacally I handed him a single photo. He stared at it for a solid minute before he opened his mouth: "what...how.." I'll be honest with you. When I first got the camera, I was pretty scared of the consequences. It had felt like an enormous burden. At first I had thought of just photographing my family and friends. That seemed like the number one priority; after that I'd just photograph anyone I came across. But somehow that felt selfish, as if it was my duty to pick the "right" people, rather than those I would want to see alive. I wanted to photograph at least one man and women from every country to ensure genetic variety. I also wanted to pick these people based on merit, only those highly intelligent the physically strong should survive. In the end, I had contemplated who to pick for so long that 9 months had already passed and I hadn't photographed a single person. The gnawing thought of the nearing deadline only made it harder to focus. That's when I had the genius thought that would ultimately save the human race. I went online and found one of those private space travel organizations, where they shoot you into orbit for a few hours. It cost me all my money and then some, but it was worth it. Five days before the deadline, I was shot into space. That's when I took my picture. "This is just a picture of the earth!", Qiznop shouted. "Yep." "But...what!?" "Everyone on earth is in that single picture. I guess you won't be killing anyone today after all." Qiznop opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see the disbelief in his eyes. He only started talking after what felt like an eternity. "We... We needed the photographs so that we could identify the people you wanted to see alive. I told you this. How do you expect us to identify anyone from this? There's not a single recognizable face!" "Oh." "Besides, you do realize that you aren't in this picture either, right?" "Oh.." "We knew humans weren't very intelligent, but I never expected this!" Hesitantly, he picked up a device from a nearby table. "..sigh. Initiate Operation Cleanup." And that's how I killed the entire human race.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	Aliens came to earth. Was crazy. Gave me a camera and were all like "only those you photograph will live." So I take a picture of me and my high school crush. Now my plan is to wait a year. She told me we would never get together even if we were the last people on earth. WE GON SEE.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, holding the camera with the least of my palms as I can. The aliens are silent. "This is so stupid," I say, taking the camera in one hand and pulling up a picture on Google Images for "Universe". I quickly find a diagram of the Big Bang, from then, up to now. I take a picture of the diagram, and then throw the camera back in their stupid hands.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"It's been one year James. We've returned to see who is in your photos." Nervously I handed the camera back to the alien and he started flipping through. "First photo is a selfie. Smart but not unexpected. Cute girl in the second photo..." "That's Jennifer. She lives next door." "Third photo..." "That's Jennifer too." I blurted out. The alien glared at me. "These photos are all Jennifer. Most of them are creep shots. Not cool dude." "You said I could save everyone I photographed. Jennifer is so pretty and I don't really care about anyone else." "This isn't really isn't what we meant." "So when can I give Jennifer the good news we are the last man and woman on Earth?" "You know what? Deal's off. Everyone lives."	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	"Only those you photograph will live. You have one year." The small and grey extraterrestrial's intergalactic real-time translator droned on about brevity and efficiency and how his alien society upheld quality over quantity in regards to the people of its society. During this monologue, Adam inspected the camera and scanned the ship's control room as it went on about how, "like you humans", there were several "sub-species" of his alien race, all of which were exterminated for the sake of upholding the pure, strong, and supreme race of... whatever-he-is. It continued on, claiming that Adam had been handpicked to decide which of his species was the strongest and who deserved to live and create a better race fit for the Intergalactic Alliance. Adam looked to his left and spotted a small window in the ship where the Earth in all it's glory was in full view. Without breaking eye contact with the blue marble, he lifted the camera to his chest, took a candid shot of the planet and handed the camera back to the alien as the Polaroid's instant film whizzed and printed out from the bottom. "We tried that out and it didn't exactly work so well. Better luck exterminating the next planet." Adam pulled off the best look of disdain he could muster, but only accomplished to look slightly constipated as he turned around and walked away from the alien. Full of pride and cockiness for believing he single-handedly saved the human race, Adam made his way towards the open teleporter to be beamed back to his studio apartment outside of Sacramento, California. The alien picked the film from the camera when Adam was beamed out of the ship and back home to his Dr. Who marathon. The film developed and rendered, showing a crooked and incredibly blurry shot of panels and buttons on the wall with just a small bit of the window's trim visible in the bottom-left corner of the picture. "Eh, I couldn't be bothered anyway," the alien thought to itself as it turned off the translator and put it on a nearby table. It then took out a clipboard and scratched out Earth from a long list of planets. "I'll just tell Xandu that I couldn't find a worthy candidate out of any of them," it said as it readied the warp drive to travel back to it's home planet.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	Brie is on the phone with her mother. "Turn on the news! Turn on the news!" Her mother screamed into the phone. "What?" "The news! Turn it on!" "What channel?" "Any channel!" Brie covered the speaker of her cellphone out of habit and said to her father sitting on the lazy boy, "Dad, turn on the news." "Already on it. I can hear her from here.." Fox News' Bill O'Reilly was sitting in a chair across from Brie's estranged boyfriend Sam. The banner underneath read, "MAN CLAIMS ALIENS WILL KILL EVERYONE". The phone slipped Brie's hand and fell on the carpet as she covered her mouth in shock. Her eyes widened. She heard her mother yelping from the floor. She grabbed the phone in haste. "Mom?" "I can't believe this! I told you he was nuts!" "Mom!" "Stop telling people you're still dating him!" "I am still dating him." "You broke up with him." "I did not! He just stopped being around. I spoke to him last week, he said he has to do this and that he promises things will return to normal!" Brie stopped paying attention to the phone as the program began on Fox News. Bill: "I have Samuel Conway with me tonight. And, boy, is this a duzie. The only reason why we're taking this interview is because Sam has aroused the attention of billions of people across the globe, prominent governments, and the attentions of the FBI, the CIA, and NASA, as well as other space agencies. His video with him, purportedly, hanging out with these aliens has drawn the attention of all of these agencies and hasn't, as of yet, been repudiated. (Bill turns away from the camera to Sam.) So, you're telling me, and millions of people across America, that aliens are going to kill us unless we provide them with images of ourselves?" Sam: "That's right. Specifically to me. I have to take pictures with this camera." Bill: (pauses, smirks while staring at the ground and looks back up at Sam) "Look you've got all these government officials fooled but we all know how incompetent these government types are. You've got the highest amount of Twitter follows, Instagram followers, and I don't doubt for a minute that they're piggybacking on your success selling this story so that they can drum up support for more government spending into ridiculous programs." Sam: "Bill, I understand your hesitancy to believe this. I've had an impossible time getting anyone to believe this for months until I got that video." Bill: "Let's roll the video to get anyone who hasn't seen it up to speed." (Bill and Sam look into the camera.) A video plays with Sam standing outside of a corn field, in front of a barn. It's his family's property in western Pennsylvania. Out of a small pond, that Sam is facing, two slimy figures emerge. They have oval heads, with big black eyes. They are gray in color with otherwise plain features. Their arms are slender, and their bodies are skeleton-like. They don't say anything in the video. They give him a camera. He gives them back a camera. On the LCD display of the camera they give him, it says, "Sam, you have six months remaining. If you're so sure that you need memory for the entire human race, here's a camera with bigger storage." They return to the pond, and the last image on the video is Sam scrolling through existing photos to find just one, an inadvertent selfie by one of the creatures. The scene turns back to Bill and Sam. Bill: "So these two figures are Jesus and Mohammed?" Sam: "Yes." Brie's Dad speaks, "why is he calling them Jesus and Mohammed?" "Sam told me the thinks more people will believe him and send in pictures if they think it's their prophets." Brie answered while recounting how crazy she thought Sam was then, and how crazy she still thinks Sam is. Sam: "And Yahweh." Bill: "Yahweh? The Hebrew name for God?" Sam: "That's right. Everyone needs to send in their pictures. Jews, Muslims, Christians, atheists, and everybody else." Bill: (Bill smirks again at the floor) "Look. You can fool those knuckleheads at NASA, and the folks who have nothing better to do but browse social media, but you're not fooling me. This is like those 90's tabloid stories that always went around about some farmer getting probed outside of his barn. Your story is a cute throwback to those ridiculous days. You've had a good run but this is silly. If, and this is a big IF, if aliens came down why would they choose to interact with you? You're a law school dropout with a criminal record for partying and drunkenness." Sam: "You know Bill. I asked myself that very same question many times--" Bill: "You didn't ask your alien friends?" Sam: "I know you're going to hate to hear this. But I don't think they speak English, Bill. I tried, all I got were blank stares. What I did do, was find out through some family history research that I had an uncle in NASA who did his own experiments back in the 50's. One of those involved launching a rocket into deep outer space loaded with photos and other personal heirlooms. Supposedly, this rocket really did make it into deep space, specifically into the hands of these aliens. My uncle died childless, and I'm his only descendant, so they think I'm the leader of the humans." Bill: "You did this research?" Sam: "I helped with the research." Bill: "Helped?" Sam: (Sam pauses and looks down with brows furrowed inwards.) "Well, NASA did the research and found out that his probe did make it deep into space. But it's my family!" Bill: (Bill shakes his head for the cameras and turns back to Sam.) "Why do the aliens want to kill us?" Sam: "I have no idea. I haven't actually communicated with them verbally. I've spoken to some scientists at NASA who think that maybe it's some sort of knee-jerk reaction by Jesus and Mohammad to new forms of life, much like our colonial ancestors when greeting new cultures. Aliens are colonials too." Bill: "And you're the putz they have making this monumental decision?" Sam: "Yes Bill. I'm the putz with the camera. And I don't have your picture." Bill: (Looking away from Sam, growing visibly irritable.) "My picture is all over the Internet." Sam: "Yes but I haven't taken it. I have to take a picture of your picture for it to count." Bill: (Bill buries his head into his hands and then looks off camera, presumably towards his producers.) "I can't believe they're making me do this..." Sam: "Look Bill, if you want to live past the next 6 months. I need to take your picture. I'll take it. But since you have the biggest television audience, I need you to tell everyone watching to send me in their pictures. It's your choice." Bill: (after a pause.) "You're lucky I have good humor and I'm a good sport for the people who asked me to do this. (Bill turns to the camera.) Everyone should send in their pictures. There. Are you happy?" Sam: "Smile for the camera Bill. (Sam raises his camera and takes Bill's pic.) The program ends with a lukewarm sendoff from Bill. Brie's phone starts vibrating mid-call with her mother. She looks at it. It says "Sam." She hangs up on her mother and takes Sam's call. "Sam!" "Brie! Did you see me?" "Sam, what is going on?" "I'm up to 3 billion pics! Can you believe it?" "Sam, what are you doing?" "I don't know but I'm going to save everyone!" "Oh Sam. This all seems so farfetched.." "I have to go Brie. Someone else is calling." Sam takes a call. The caller id is blank. "Hello?" "Sam it's the President." "Donald Trump?" "Yes Sam. I'm calling to tell you how much I appreciate your service. Do you have my pic?" "Uhh, yeah I think I have one for the whole presidential team." "Good, that's good Sam. Keep up the good work. You have six more months, get us those pics." "Get us the pics?" "I mean the aliens Sam. Get the aliens those pics." "Okay.. Yes I'm trying." "Try harder. You're 4 billion short, time to step it up. Let's make America great again." "Okay.. Mr. President." Back in the oval office Donald Trump is sitting at his desk with a cadre of executives and cabinet officials around him. "Why am I congratulating this idiot?" Donald asks. "Sir. We've had the most successful media campaign to log the faces of people all around the world yet. Previously we've had multiple platforms registering these photos in multitude. Now we have a master database that we are close to completing." "That's good. I think you're doing good. I'm going to give you a commendation. The Presidential Medal of Freedom." "Sir, thank you. But I'm not a civilian. I'm the head of the NSA." "Good, that's good."	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	“You interested in cities or something?” “What?” I looked up distractedly from my notepad. My brother, borrowing my computer for an assignment, had turned his attention away from the screen for a moment to look at me. “Time lapse of New York, time lapse of Dubai...time lapse of...freaking Buenos Aires? Where even is that?” He scrolled on and on through my history, skimming the hundreds of cities I had googled. Had this been half a year ago, I'd have scowled at him. Annoying brat. But there were more important things to worry about now. I turned back to my notepad and continued writing. “It's the capital city of Argentina.” He scoffed at me. “Since when do you care about, like, geography?” “Just hurry up and give me my laptop back.” Squinting down at my pad, I tried to read the scribbles that I had written down. They were barely legible now, but there just wasnt enough time to write everything I wanted. Who did I leave out? Did I get everyone important? Did I get the lesser-appreciated people that society might still need? Should I maybe start looking up rich people ne-- My train of thought was interrupted by a hand flying into my vision. With a woosh, my notepad was gone. “HEY--” “You used to have really girly handwriting, what happened? You're a mess.” Flick, flick flick, he turned the notebook unceremoniously to the front page. I stood up and rushed over to him, reaching for the notebook. “Give it back. Now.” He squinted at the page. “One year. One camera. Every person photographed lives.” “Come ON, please, this is serious--” “Math scribbles. I see...7.6 billion people. 60 times 60 times 24 times 365…. ‘cut my losses’? What the fuck is this?” My lower lip trembled. Fuck. Fuck. “Damn, you've always been a little weirdo, but you've gone right of the deep end, huh?” He raised the notebook out of my reach and leered at me. “You dabbing in conspiracies now? You're, like...cataloging the population?” “It doesn't matter. I'm just a weirdo.” Please don't start crying. “I'm not bothering you, so just gimmie that back and--” please don't cry “--I-I’ll go back to not bothering you. Okay?” He looked me over--small, pitiful, pathetic--and handed me the notebook back. “Man, you take everything way too seriously. I don't care what you're up to.” He turned back to his computer, and I fought to keep from breathing too quickly. Collecting my pencils from the desk I’d been writing at, I made my way as silently as possible to my room and shut the door. With a small heave, I lifted up my mattress and looked down at what I had hidden. A small digital camera, plain and unassuming, with a storage capacity larger than anything ever conceived on earth. Every photo taken would ensure that all people pictured would survive. But survive what? The...entities who gave me the camera didn't explain, or couldn't. I guess these entities thought I should have as much space as possible for the entire human race. Though, I don't think they took the Internet into account. After taking photos of myself, my family, my best friend and her family… I looked up all the famous, important people I could think of. I looked up fire departments and doctors offices, and if there were photos of them on their websites, snap. NASA engineers, snap. And I couldn't let any of my heroes be forgotten, so I snapped some pics of my favorite basketball team. (Okay, and the cheerleaders too.) When that was done, I thought about how I could save as many people as possible. It was New Years around that time, and as I watched the ball drop to the sounds of millions of screaming people through my tv, it hit me. And so every mass shot of a city that I could take, I took. I took photos of the largest cities, cities I'd never heard of and couldn't pronounce. I tried thinking of less populated places too, to give as many people a chance as possible. I tried to have as many pictures of small villages as I did of well-known cities. But was that enough? I know I couldn't possibly think of everything, but I wanted to make sure that whatever I could possibly think of, I thought of, and I photographed. What was the extension of these rules? Should I try saving animals too? But trying to photograph all of them would quadruple the amount of work I had to do. And what about money, would we still need that? I already had plenty of rich people in my camera, but there were probably a ton of foreign billionaires I never thought of. Should I prioritize kids? Head swarming with thoughts, I almost didn't register that I had picked up the camera and had started scrolling through the pictures I had taken. They weren't good; the screen glare and fuzziness was evident, but they didn't need to be good. The faces didn't even have to be visible, apparently. Just as long as the person was captured by the camera… It was kind of funny. Almost every single photo was a picture of another picture. Aside from all the internet snapshots, I met my best friend on the internet, so I just used her Facebook profile picture, and I did the same with as much of her family as I could find. It was hard for my family to get together in one place, too, so I had leafed through every photo album I could find. There were only two pictures taken in the flesh. My brother, thinking he was funny, took a selfie with my camera. He looked so stupid, with his big floppy gums showing. His furrowed brows made him look like he was grimacing instead of smiling. And then there was me. Small, scrawny looking. Could probably be drowned in a bucket of water. I had taken the picture as a test, to see if the camera worked. I had never thought I was much to look at, but I thought the picture seemed to place all the ugliness within me front and center. I bit my lip, feeling tears stinging my eyes again. I switched back and forth between the two of us, at our less-than-stellar faces. Thinking that the only reason that either of us were in this camera was my familiarity with us. My best friend could at least sing, my dad at least had the best cooking, and my mom knew how to knit. In a new world, that stuff could mean something to someone. Even though I had plenty of space...some of us weren't worth the fill in the gap. I chose one of the images, and took a deep breath. Delete.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I ask "will you take me on a trip around the earth? Ive always wanted to see the earth from outer space" The aliens agreed to take me around the earth a few times. When we land on earth, I hand the camera back to the aliens. Confused, they look at me, then the camera. They see i took a picture of the earth from all angles. They ask "are you sure about this?" With a grin I say "yes" Everything goes black. I forgot to take a picture of myself	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I shifted the pickup into park underneath a glowing streetlamp and sat there silently for a long while. I glanced into the rear view mirror for any car lights and watched the shadows of the sidewalk for any late-night joggers. My right leg bounced in nervousness and excitement. I had to keep forcing myself to stop. Today was the big day, and so much could go wrong. But it can't, I reminded myself. It wouldn't. I had prepared so much. I had the bag with me. I had the photo. I had the camera. I double checked that I had the storage locker key in my pocket. I picked up the Manila envelope sitting on the passenger seat. My thumb traced the paper lovingly for a moment, then I put it in the bag and dug out the camera, slinging the strap over my head. I closed the truck door as quietly as I could and walked in the quiet night along a chain link fence. I had spent the last two nights slowly clipping the chain links open at a corner of the lot. Luckily no one had noticed, and I tossed through the bag before shoving my way into the storage unit lot. I headed down two rows of units, made a right, and stopped at the seventh unit on the left. The orange metal door kept the most precious thing in the world a secret from everyone I loved: my husband, my daughter, my parents, even my online support group who should understand most of all. But I couldn't risk them locking me up in a mental ward. There was too much at stake. Tomorrow would be one year since that day I found the camera. Something twitched in my brain when I said the word "found", but I quickly dismissed it. Best not to think about that. All I cared about is that tomorrow all the people in the pictures I took would be alive. My family, myself, my friends, good people I came across, families, those who looked strong and healthy, firefighters, nurses... But not too many strangers. I couldn't risk taking their picture if I couldn't also get their childrens' picture. I couldn't do that to them, make them live after having lost their babies. I had to make sure I got the entire core family. I shredded any photos where I wasn't sure. I had stopped taking photos within six months. But I had one more to take. I had until tomorrow. I unlocked and slid up the locker door. I pulled a yellow plastic object out of the bag and squeezed it. A children's night-light glowed in the shape of a yellow duck. I closed the door behind me and went to kneel beside the only object in the locker: a white box. It sat on the floor, and I rubbed my hand on the top of it as if to say hello. I say Indian style facing it and got the camera ready. I dug items out of the bag: a plush blanket, a stuffed bear, a pacifier, a bottle, and the Manila envelope. "Mama will get to hold you soon baby", I cooed. "Daddy will be so happy to see you again. And you have a new baby sister to meet". I delicately pulled out a 5 x 7 picture from the envelope and laid it on the floor. I sat the duck light next to it and turned the camera setting to flash. I had almost taken a picture of him once, before. Before I had made the realization, and had tossed the camera away in absolute horror. They hadn't said when they would live... What if it was right away? What if I had taken that picture and he had woken up right then in his casket. Under the earth, alone? So I had waited, and only last week had rented a U-Haul and gone to get him from the cemetery. I wasn't sure if he would wake up right away or at the end of the one year. But that was tomorrow so I could wait in here. I focused the camera and took a shot of the picture of my son sitting in his carseat at only 3 days old. Then I laid the camera down, held the baby blanket to my chest, and smiled as I waited to hear him cry.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I don't know why they chose me. Me. 350 pounds, pony tail, glasses wearing, acne having, neck bearded, 43 year old virgin me. I don't have any friends, that's not an exaggeration, not a single one. No family either. Dad abandoned my mom and me when I was 4, and mom over dosed when I was 17. I never had friends in school either, hell even the bullies didn't mess with me, a prime target, invisible to the world. My only out lit, my only comfort WRASTLIN'. So it still begs to question, why did the aliens chose me? Is it just a sick joke? Do they not really want the human race to be saved? Was it my "PUSSY DESTROYER" shirt? I program from home so it's the perfect job for me and my complete lack of social skills, and it allows me to follow my one passion. Traveling all around the country following the WWF Tour. So obviously my first photos had to be taken at a match. Now I love me some of them female wrestlers, but my social awkwardness has me worried that I'll look like a perv taking pictures of them. So of course I don't. I even feel weird taking pictures of the men. What if someone wants to see them, and tries to talk to me? Months have gone by, ten to be exact, and all I've done is taken pictures of male wrestlers, shots on shots of Brock Lesner and The Undertaker...and shit..I only have two months left to take pictures. Although only having my favorite wrestlers left in the world would be my ideal world, I know I can't let that happen. I haven't taken a picture of myself, I hate selfies, at this point I feel like I have a moral obligation not to, until I take pictures of more people. I fret over what to do, how to approach it, my anxiety at an all time high. Then I see it, an ad for a photographer! I leapt up, this is my chance, I set up an interview, shaved, cut my hair, showered. I was going to land this job and save some lives! I don't like to boast, but I've become a really good photographer over the last year, and the alien's camera is super high quality, better than any camera you can get on earth. I land the job! It's for crime scenes. I'm taking pictures of dead people. How am I going to save them? Just when I thought I was going to lose it, I meet Sally, lead detective, she's talking to me, I'm nervous, but it feels right. She ask me to take a picture of her with a particularly gruesome crime scene, I guess you have to have a sick sense of humor in this line of work. I take her picture. I save her. I'm in love. We go out for coffee after and we hit it off. I lost my virginity. I get so wrapped up in Sally and the new job, I completely forget about saving the human race. I have two weeks left, but at this point Sally has brought me out of my cage, I'm talking to people like a normal person. I offer free photos to everyone I meet, if I can't save the entire world I can at least save my city. I lost count of how many different people I took pictures of the last two weeks, had to be in the tens of thousands. This is it though the final day. The aliens are descending. I realize I never took a picture of myself, I fumble the camera around to try and get in a quick selfie. A 9ft tall alien snatches it out of my hand, and instantly knows I didn't take a picture of myself. He ask, "did you learn to live though?" I smile, and think about the last two months, and reply, "Yes." He smiles with 3 foot long teeth, turns back to his space ship and takes off.	I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw. Thirty eight years, two days, and five hours of life, and I'd finally done something worth a shit. I'd forced the creatures to make promises. Our biology was simple enough to them that, at my insistence, they proved many of the world's incurables were now curable with their help. I wouldn't be able to stop them from not living up to those promises, but I tried. They would live. So many would live, assuming they hadn't died already. Single mothers with their babies, large families who insisted on their pets being in the photos. Some candid shots. I'd been to concerts, museums, protests, religious ceremonies of dozens of faiths. My father's inheritance was drained and so was I. But they'd live. The ships landed this morning. Day three hundred and sixty six, and the evacuation was well underway. The poor bastards didn't know what was going on and they were terrified. I hoped they'd forgive me once they woke up. A knock came at the door. The general in charge of the evacuation for my sector entered, folding themself almost in half to fit in the house. They could never pronounce my name correctly and they didn't try this time, simply holding a vial in hand. 'I am here to bring your esteemed mother. The curae requires time to synthesize, but I brought enough for her ... and you.' Their second in command entered, took the vial, and disappeared down the hall. I forced a smile. 'Nope.' 'Give me the camera.' I handed it over. They frowned, shook it, and tilted their head at me. 'You have destroyed it.' 'I told you then and I'm telling you now. Just because you gave me a deadline and a purpose doesn't mean I suddenly want to keep living.' 'They will want to meet you.' I heard my mother shout from the other room, a terrorized sound that ended quickly as she was sedated for transport. I'm sorry, mom. I shrugged and pulled a usb stick out of my pocket. 'This should give people enough to go by.'
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	362 Days It's funny how quickly we forget. The aliens came and told us the rules: 1. The camera goes to the largest group of humans in 24 hours. 2. The camera has infinite storage and film. 3. Any person whose photo is on the camera gets to live. 4. You have 365 days. Riots broke out, religions formed and crumbled, World War 3 almost started on 6 separate occasions, all in 24 hours. Eventually it was the combination of almost every space organization that got the camera. The plan was simple: Put it on a satellite. Then it was over, they said we were safe. It was amazing how quickly it didn't even matter, no one cared, no one nuked anyone. The mission was a success. Humanity had gone through hell and come out stronger, at least that's what we told ourselves. In the end we all knew that 90% of humanity had turned to savages when it looked like the world would end. That is why we tried to forgot, to listen to the "alternative facts." We had saved ourselves after all, we "earned" it. I sit here now on my high horse, but I was no exception. I didn't even know how close we were until tonight. It really was no one's fault, I tried to brake but it was dark and rainy, he came out of nowhere. We collided and he was sent flying out of his car. Somehow I was almost uninjured so being the good Samaritan I thought I was I went to check on him. As soon as I got close I realized who it was and I started to go from shock to panic. It was the astronaut who took the photos that saved humanity. It took me a few minutes of hyperventilating I realized he was still alive. I started a pathetic attempt at CPR. "Don't bother," he wheezed in between my verses of Stayin' Alive. When I realized I definitely wasn't helping he tried to lean close to my ear to tell me something. When I saw how weak he was I leaned toward him. "Whatever you do don't read the engraving", at this point I thought he was hallucinating, so I tried to make him comfortable until I saw the camera. It was the camera that had saved us all, then I suddenly remembered the date and corrected myself, the camera that would save us all in just 3 days. Then I saw the engraving, I'm ashamed to say that at this point I had completely forgotten about the astronaut and was trying to convince myself not to read the engraving. "IF YOU ARE READING THIS,I AM SO SORRY. WE MADE A MISTAKE. WE THOUGHT INFINITE MEANT INVINCIBLE. ZERO GRAVITY SOMEHOW BROKE THE CAMERA AND NO MATTER HOW GOOD OUR SCIENTISTS WERE THERE WAS NO WAY WE COULD FIX SOMEHING INFINITE." When I looked up and the astronaut saw my face his last expression was not the one of guilt or sadness I was expecting, but the smile of a man who knew he would not have to wait those 3 days, the smile of a man who no longer had to bear the burden that I now bear. _______________________________________________________ Sorry if my formatting is garbage, on my phone. This is my first time writing so please critique me Thanks for reading Edit: I suck at grammar #1	It had taken NASA only three weeks to assemble and position the largest parallax mirror ever created and seat the alien camera at the exact right distance, just over six miles above the earth, to capture 1/5th of the planet in great detail at one time. I watched the broadcast as attentively as everyone else on the planet, waiting for my turn to go outside and look up at the night sky. "If you can see the stars, it can see you," was the motto we all clung to. Just to be safe the camera would take a photo every twenty minutes for days before the film was extracted and developed ensuring the entire earth was covered and covered again. It was my turn. Most of my neighbors were outside already. You remember how it was. How you wanted to hold a candle, like at a vigil, but we already had been told: turn off your lights, no flames. We all stood outside silently, looking up. No cars drove. No music played. The birds and insects all went on about their business. And then I stopped. I looked down, I went back inside. I got the card the NASA guy had given me, secretary Bensen, my contact. I called him. He answered on the first ring. "It's not going to work," I said. "What do you mean? Everything's perfect." He seemed unconcerned. "They said 'everyone you photograph.' You means me. I have to do it. I have to go up into space and do it." "We've been through this, when you gave us the camera..." "Lent you the camera." "Lent us the camera. You don't get to go up. This is too delicate to let an amateur handle it. I'm sorry..." "You don't get it. It has to be me. Look, I'm safe. My dog, my wife, my family - we've already been photographed. We're safe. I'm telling you if I don't do it you're all going to die." "We analyzed the camera. There's no way it can tell who took the photos." "That doesn't matter." "Why do you say that?" "Because this is Reddit, god dammit! They're so pedantic they'll just say, 'Ah, see? Someone else photographed all those people. They'll dead anyway!'" "I'll send a helicopter immediately and notify the press."
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!	[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.	I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember waking up, feeling like something was terribly wrong. I looked down and saw myself floating away from the comfortable bed I had been sleeping in only moments earlier. I looked up, but all I could see was a terribly bright light, the beam of it surrounding me. The light became brighter and brighter as I inched closer towards its source. I remember hearing a mechanical sound, faintly resembling the sound my garage door makes when I open it. Moments later, I was lying on a floor, three strange creatures watching me from a distance. The creature in the brightest outfit walked towards and put out what I can only guess was his hand: "Greetings, earthling." They had explained they had been watching for a long time and they believed our small earth could not sustain all its life for much longer. As a form of population control, they deemed it necessary to thin out the human race. They had chosen me to pick out the fated few that would live on and repopulate the earth. They gave me a camera and told me I had one year to photograph all those I wished to keep alive. That happened a year ago. Today, I'm back up on their spaceship. These aliens think they could just suddenly decide the human race was "overpopulated". Oh boy, they'll never see this one coming! "Hello again, Jack." I couldn't resist to smile. "Hey there Qiznop." "You look awfully happy for someone who will soon be responsible for the death of millions", Qiznop replied. His English was surpringly good for someone from a different planet. This guy thought he knew so much about humans. He really thought we would give up so easily. "Don't be so sure about it, buddy." Qiznop looked at me. I couldn't quite understand these creatures' faces, but I'm pretty sure he looked surprised. Laughing maniacally I handed him a single photo. He stared at it for a solid minute before he opened his mouth: "what...how.." I'll be honest with you. When I first got the camera, I was pretty scared of the consequences. It had felt like an enormous burden. At first I had thought of just photographing my family and friends. That seemed like the number one priority; after that I'd just photograph anyone I came across. But somehow that felt selfish, as if it was my duty to pick the "right" people, rather than those I would want to see alive. I wanted to photograph at least one man and women from every country to ensure genetic variety. I also wanted to pick these people based on merit, only those highly intelligent the physically strong should survive. In the end, I had contemplated who to pick for so long that 9 months had already passed and I hadn't photographed a single person. The gnawing thought of the nearing deadline only made it harder to focus. That's when I had the genius thought that would ultimately save the human race. I went online and found one of those private space travel organizations, where they shoot you into orbit for a few hours. It cost me all my money and then some, but it was worth it. Five days before the deadline, I was shot into space. That's when I took my picture. "This is just a picture of the earth!", Qiznop shouted. "Yep." "But...what!?" "Everyone on earth is in that single picture. I guess you won't be killing anyone today after all." Qiznop opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see the disbelief in his eyes. He only started talking after what felt like an eternity. "We... We needed the photographs so that we could identify the people you wanted to see alive. I told you this. How do you expect us to identify anyone from this? There's not a single recognizable face!" "Oh." "Besides, you do realize that you aren't in this picture either, right?" "Oh.." "We knew humans weren't very intelligent, but I never expected this!" Hesitantly, he picked up a device from a nearby table. "..sigh. Initiate Operation Cleanup." And that's how I killed the entire human race.	It had taken NASA only three weeks to assemble and position the largest parallax mirror ever created and seat the alien camera at the exact right distance, just over six miles above the earth, to capture 1/5th of the planet in great detail at one time. I watched the broadcast as attentively as everyone else on the planet, waiting for my turn to go outside and look up at the night sky. "If you can see the stars, it can see you," was the motto we all clung to. Just to be safe the camera would take a photo every twenty minutes for days before the film was extracted and developed ensuring the entire earth was covered and covered again. It was my turn. Most of my neighbors were outside already. You remember how it was. How you wanted to hold a candle, like at a vigil, but we already had been told: turn off your lights, no flames. We all stood outside silently, looking up. No cars drove. No music played. The birds and insects all went on about their business. And then I stopped. I looked down, I went back inside. I got the card the NASA guy had given me, secretary Bensen, my contact. I called him. He answered on the first ring. "It's not going to work," I said. "What do you mean? Everything's perfect." He seemed unconcerned. "They said 'everyone you photograph.' You means me. I have to do it. I have to go up into space and do it." "We've been through this, when you gave us the camera..." "Lent you the camera." "Lent us the camera. You don't get to go up. This is too delicate to let an amateur handle it. I'm sorry..." "You don't get it. It has to be me. Look, I'm safe. My dog, my wife, my family - we've already been photographed. We're safe. I'm telling you if I don't do it you're all going to die." "We analyzed the camera. There's no way it can tell who took the photos." "That doesn't matter." "Why do you say that?" "Because this is Reddit, god dammit! They're so pedantic they'll just say, 'Ah, see? Someone else photographed all those people. They'll dead anyway!'" "I'll send a helicopter immediately and notify the press."

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