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[WP] As the demon stared at the mortal who summoned it, all that could be heard was a sigh before the words, "You do realize this is a marriage proposal, right?" | Lleataell, demi-demon of chaos, as his friends liked to call them back in what was known as 'the good old days' in hell, when humans raped and pillaged their way throughout the known world without a care for the spiritual consequences of their actions, stared at the young mortal standing before him. Her lips quirked up in a small smirk.
"W-what did you just say?" He managed to stutter out, his usually busy mind coming to a complete stop.
"Marry me, you daft old man," the woman said, her soft and warm eyes blunting the sting of her sharp words.
He took a step closer, uncertainty on his face. "I told you when our contract was done that you would never be able to summon me again. It is written in the Book of Summoning by Lucifer himself that no mortal would be able to bring the same demon back into the realm of man."
Laylah looked like the cat who ate the canary, smug satisfaction radiating off of her in waves. "I told you when I first summoned you, I'm a lawyer. Semantics is kind of my bread and butter."
He groaned. "What did you do?"
She shrugged. "Oh, simply summoned a demon who returned to hell changed, due to a rather unusual series of events that caused him to refuse the soul of the woman he loved, rather than doom her to an eternity in hell. You are not the same demon I first summoned, so I get to keep you this time."
He knew there was a reason he loved this woman. "Say it again."
"What?"
"Ask me your question once more, and I will do everything in my power to answer it truly."
Her smile grew. "Will you marry me, Lleataell?"
"Yes, obviously." | "Oh for the love of-" he spat as he appeared before the mortal who summoned him. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The human looked at him, seemingly surprised at her success in summoning him. The flame on the candle in her hands wavered as small, pale hands shook.
"Well?" he asked again.
The female squeaked, almost dropping the candle and the demon rolled his golden eyes. The female was small by human standards and looked to be no more than a child in an oversized black sweater, a pair of jean shorts over ripped fishnets and tall combat boots with thick soles. Her black hair was thick and curly, haloing around her face and her piercing blue eyes were made bigger by the rim of kohl lining them.
"I require your services," the girl-child told the demon in a wavering voice.
"With?"
The girl's pert nose scrunched and she briefly glanced down at the book open at her feet.
"Shouldn't you know that already?"
The demon curbed the desire to smite the girl on the spot and breathed in deeply
"You summoned me, remember? I don't know what you actually want."
"Oh," was the quiet reply. She looked at the demon through the fringe of her bangs. "I need revenge against someone."
The poor lamb didn't even realize what spell she used to summon him, the demon realized. He didn't doubt that her Latin was shaky at best and unintelligible at worst.
"This is your first time doing this, isn't it?" he asked, taking slight pity on the foolish mortal.
She nodded and he rubbed his head, feeling a headache forming. He stared at the girl and heaved a sign.
"You do realize this is a marriage proposal, right?"
The girl froze, blue eyes going wild. And promptly fainted.
"Guess not," the demon mused. | |
[WP] As the demon stared at the mortal who summoned it, all that could be heard was a sigh before the words, "You do realize this is a marriage proposal, right?" | This had to be the third summoning in a week, Luciel rolled his eyes and put on his coat, “I’ll be back in 10.”
Alastor gave him a pitying smile, “A new occult horror flick probably came out, the hype will die in about a week.”
“I hope. I don’t think I can stand another rejection and accompanying look of complete disbelief. It was just yesterday some barely 19 year old chick told me ‘you’re not my type’, like? Me? All powerful demon who rules the third district of the underworld?,” his voice rose several pitches, “‘Not your type?' Well missy, I’m not into blondes very much either? Would you consider that?” He huffed, pushing open the door.
At the other side, he was greeted with the sight of two barely legal girls, hands held together whilst they stood in a pentagram drawn with what looked like two different shades of red paint. He sighed, waiting for them to open their eyes and realised their ceremony actually worked.
“Uh, guys, was he always here?” a third voice spoke from behind him. Luciel jumped, quickly looking behind him. The guy appeared to be older than the girls, expression tinged with curiosity at Luciel’s appearance.
“Oh fuck did it work? Hey are you a demon?”, the shorter of the girls questioned him. Luciel felt no fear coming from the humans around him. ‘Have demons and angels fallen so far as to not be even considered a threat by human beings?’
Tentatively, Luciel cleared his throat. He summoned a fireball in his right hand, letting his horns grow out and show — “Yes, I’m a demon. And,” he sighs, "that summoning you just did was a marriage proposal.”
For a few moments, the dusty room was filled with nothing but silence then the excited chatter of the two girls began to rise. “Oh my god can you believe we actually summoned a demon?”, “Wait until we film a vlog on this, we’re gonna get like, a million views!”
Luciel watched as the two girls went up the stairs, chattering between themselves. This was the worst outright dismissal he’d ever receive and he sighed for what seemed like the tenth time this day already. ‘Maybe it’s the tacky pinstriped coat.’, he thought.
“Hey, uhm,” Luciel turned behind all but forgetting about the man who was standing behind him. “I’m Zen, marriage is a bit too sudden for my tastes but would dinner at 8pm on Friday be okay?”
“Uh ah, I’m Luciel.”, he stammered, his name card appearing with a sudden flash of flames on his palm. He passes it to Zen, his stomach twisted into little knots. “And, uh, Friday? Sounds? Good, actually.” In return, Zen beams a smile that could make any demon melt in their feet. Maybe being summoned wasn’t so bad after all. | "You do realize this is a marriage proposal, right?" She looked up at him with a quirked smile.
*I... Do not speak to me that way, mortal.* The words slipped through her mind like water, filling her mind with his rasping breath. His hands, shadowy and dark with slender finger-like tendrils, moved towards his face uncomfortably.
The girl in front of him — and she was that, just a girl — rolled her eyes. "Sweetheart, you're inside the circle. I can talk how I want."
The curled horns on his head made a sickening *crack* noise as they grew, spiraling larger. *You may do no such thing, you speck of consciousness, you tiny vessel of life overshadowed by the greatness of the universe.*
"Marry me."
*Wha— No. No, a creature such as myse— What are you doing?*
She'd scooted forward, one perfectly manicured fingernail touching the salt of the circle that acted as a barrier between them. "Hm? Oh, nothing."
*Do you— Are you—* As each flustered word punctured her mind from a different angle, his horns retracted back into his head.
"Please?"
*I am aware that a mind so tiny cannot process even the most logical information, but you must know that releasing me from the circle would allow me to attack you.* He took a step backwards on hooved feet; the smoky features sharpened into focus, and she could make out an aquiline nose. The demon had thin, downturned lips with fangs protruding into them.
The girl's eyes widened, then she shook her head hastily and looked at the floor. "I'm not stupid," she said almost softly. "I know what happens when you break the circle. Marry. Me."
*No! You are most certainly not in a position to negotiate, child. It would be in your best interest to banish me before your foolish actions have disastrous consequences.*
She slid her finger across the salt, pushing a bit of the circle inwards. Then she blew on it.
It scattered.
The circle was broken.
For a few seconds, the demon stared at her. His face was unreadable, and there was a strange look in his blood-red eyes. *I— You are—* He moved forward uncertainly. *Before I... kill you* — he'd tripped over the phrase — *tell me: why, child?*
"I deserve the pain."
The thin lips curved upwards. *You would be incapable of tolerating Hell.*
She blinked in surprise. "What?"
*Whatever you have done —*
"I've done so many horrible, cruel things, Mr. Demon, you— "
*You're only human, child.*
And he stepped out of the circle.
----
^I ^was ^really ^tempted ^to ^make ^her ^be ^like ^"just ^a ^prank ^bro" ^at ^the ^end | |
[WP] A shaman pulls a prank on the village idiot by giving him some leftover herbs and claiming that they grant invincibility. The village idiot exhibits the placebo effect so strongly that he actually becomes invincible. | “If that fool has gotten himself into trouble, I’ll disappear him myself,” muttered Serbuba as he scurried back towards the village.
He was spritely still, though the weathered lines on his face left little doubt as to his age. Serbuba had cut short his daily expedition for herbs after finally admitting that he was worried – though more for his own skin than for Jerguh’s welfare. Serbuba had worked too hard to establish himself as the trusted shaman for miles around, and if his little prank backfired, all his work would be for nothing.
A deep relief spread through Serbuba as he reached his hut and found Jerguh sitting outside quietly, exactly where they had parted ways hours earlier. Maybe the idiot hadn’t even understood what I told him, thought Serbuba.
“Jerguh! I’ve changed my mind, give me back the potion!”
The response came slowly, painfully, as Jerguh mustered every effort to pronounce his words. “Give… back? No more, all gone. More potion for Jerguh?”
“You drank it? Well, did you hurt yourself or anything?” Serbuba hastily cast an eye over Jerguh, scrutinizing him for injuries.
“No! Jerguh strong, like shaman said. Jerguh cannot die!”
Serbuba laughed then as the weight lifted from his chest. “No, Jerguh, the potion doesn’t work. I only gave it to you as a joke. Do you understand what that is, a joke?”
A pang of guilt slipped into the space which unease had only just occupied a short moment ago. Serbuba was loathe to admit it, but there was a hint of malice, perhaps even a dollop of spite, in the prank he had played on Jerguh. It’s not fair, the little voices had whispered to Serbuba, you do so much to help the village, yet everyone has so much more affection for Jerguh, a five year-old child trapped in a man’s body!
“No really, see! Jerguh cannot die!”
Too slow to interfere, Serbuba’s eyes widened as the knife flashed through the air, from within Jerguh’s clothes and then back to his abdomen, in one smooth, spirited arc…
… and Serbuba’s ears rang as the knife bounced right off Jerguh’s skin, clattering onto the ground as it noisily skipped on some pebbles.
“See? Shaman? More potion!”
Like bubbles in a thick venison stew, the theories kept pushing to the top in Serbuba’s mind over the next hour, fighting for attention as Serbuba calmly tested and discredited each one of them. First, the knife, just in case it was a prop in some elaborate theatre. The angry red wound on Serbuba’s thumb soon resolved that line of inquiry.
Next, the potion itself. Within minutes, Serbuba whipped up an identical brew and tested it on himself. That theory was soon discarded in light of the second red wound on Serbuba’s other thumb.
“Shaman, more potion?”
“Later, Jerguh. I need to find out why you’re somehow… invincible, when that potion should have done nothing more than to give you gas. I wonder, could it be that you believed it would work, and therefore it did?”
“Shaman, no time. More potion, now?”
“No Jerguh, this is more important. I need to find out what’s special about you, what is it that makes you–”
“No time. Other children, need it now.”
The blood ran cold in Serbuba’s veins. Other children?
“What other children, Jerguh? Did you tell anyone else about this? I told you to keep it to yourself!”
“Not me, not me! Other children saw Jerguh, how Jerguh can jump from high, but not die. They asked me, so I gave them potion too! Jerguh share!”
“Where are they now, Jerguh?” said Serbuba, practically yelling as he gripped Jerguh’s shoulders urgently. “This is important, look at me! Where are they?”
Jerguh smiled back at Serbuba, the trust and confidence he had in the shaman practically exuding from his eyes.
“Bottom of hill. Jump with Jerguh!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny | *I can feel it! The power within!*
Tlazohtlaloni said while he finished the purification ritual recommendend by the great shaman Eztli. He desired so much to attain invincibility that it was a bother for the entire village. When he asked Eztli for the fifth time this week to create a potion to become the ultimate warrior, the poor shaman was already so tired of his babbling, that he simply picked up whatever herbs he could find and gave it to the young warrior.
Now, Eztli was grinning at the young man while appreciating a good smoke.
*I hope he has severe diarrhea.* - He thought to himself, almost unable to cointain his laugh.
His grimace came to an end when Tlazohtlaloni started becoming exceptionally muscular and the skin over his veins started to leave red marks all over his body. Everyone, unable to believe their eyes, kept their mouths open.
*This is it...* - spoke the young warrior as his scrawny figure changed - *With this, we can take back our sacred lands!*
He started marching, unarmed, towards the old city beyond the jungle. Everyone stared intently at the new Tlazohtlaloni and when he got out of the limits of the village, moved their eyes over to Eztli, who was also baffled.
*I am going to see this with my own eyes!* - said one young man, followed by another one - *Me, too!*
Soon, the entire village was looking after Tlazohtlaloni, curiosity unrestrained. The path was filled with bodies of their enemies and rubble. When they finally reached the main square of the city, after an hour, they see the big silhouette of a man against the sun, between pillars, pointing his finger against the strongest warrior of the invaders, looking fatigued, on his knees.
*Your reign of terror ends here.* - Tlazohtlaloni says - *You are already dead!*
No one understands how it happened, but the head of their tormentor simply explodes in a cloud of dismantled flesh and blood. Their new hero looks at them and poses in a manly way, which is followed by a cheering crowd that goes closer to greet, hug and kiss him.
Only Eztli stays behind, in awe, but also worried.
Why?
Because could not remember which herbs he used this time. | |
[WP] As a child in the 1960s you heard the phrase 'somebody walked on my grave' after somebody shivered. While watching the moon landing, you see Buzz Aldrin step on the moon. You immediately shiver. | I bring my cart to a stop along the ridge, just in time to see the last few glimmering rays shoot out from the edge of the Earth, so far away, so out of reach.
>My childhood was spent looking to the stars, dreaming of adventure and possibility in a way only a child can: I was going to captain a starship, to explore the furthest reaches of space, battle with evil aliens, become the greatest adventurer the world had ever seen. Indeed, I became the first man to harness an asteroid, to mine its resource, which made me richer than Solomon, a million times over. Yet my eyes never left the stars, and if space was my playground, the moon was my tree house.
>The stars were my first love, and never was I unfaithful to them; I never found my significant other, my partner in life, who could share with me my passion. Yet I foolishly thought – why would I need anyone else, when I had my company, my wealth, and the call of the stars? I was always on the move, not out of danger but because there was always so much to do – contracts to win, stations to resupply, studies to complete, and a conglomeration to manage. So what if I never started a family, I thought, so what if there was no one to carry on my name – this business would be my legacy, my name would be written across the stars!
I look out at the network of cold steel and hard glass, arrays, green houses, dwellings, that lays before me, that I had built, and for one fleeting moment, through some trick of the light, it almost seems to radiate the sort of warmth that a home should have.
This community was going to change everything; there would now be room for all of Earth’s suffering masses, mankind would be able to come together for our rebirth among the stars, humanity would rise up to conquer the universe – all if we could succeed in our first off-Earth community on our own moon – easy enough.
All had been going well in the years since the founding of the community – my community – we had steadily grown in both sophistication and population, from an initial count of a few hundred, to well above ten thousand. And since our citizens were elective, and not heritable, for there was an almost universal consensus on leadership and community action. In the pattern of our success, more and more colonists set out from Earth, in ever larger numbers, to begin life anew.
You see, while we were peaceful and prosperous, the same could not be said of Earth.
The sun, with its long tendrils, retreats behind our second horizon, leaving my community to darkness, to await, alone, the day’s rebirth. At my perch above the community, I climb out of my vehicle and lower my self down onto to crater rim, and sit.
>The radios went silent three years ago. From our perch in the skies, we were able to see what no man should have to see: the flashes of light that seared across our home countries, which burned in our hearts endlessly, the darkness that followed, where there should have been the glow of cities and ports and metropolises. But there was nothing.
>Then, as an indictment of our idealism, our hope, the supplies ships simply stopped, and for the first time, we were scared. Different factions emerged, and a new leadership supplanted my administration. They decided that we had no choice but to return home, as many of us as was possible. I couldn’t leave, not from here; this was my life, my legacy – if I didn’t have the community, then what did I have? The community was the embodiment of my passion, my work, to which I gave everything, and now they were going to simply sign its death certificate and leave. But I couldn’t stop them, and so they left. Those of us who remained gathered to watch their ship on its trek home. In a fiery christening, it left behind the weak hold of the moon, beginning its journey to what they believed to be the final center of civilization on Earth. I followed their path for as long as I could and waited. They had betrayed me. They didn’t make it home.
In those few precious seconds before the evening façade illuminates my community, my achievements, I look once more towards the darkness of the Earth, and think of this irony: for millennia, man on Earth has gazed upon the stars, longing for adventure and wonder, and for millennia more, man among the stars will gaze upon the Earth, longing for home.
>It’s like there is a sickness upon this land. We who stayed steadily grew weaker. Our numbers dimmed. It must be a cruelty of fate that I’ve survived this long, despite my age, while those many times younger than I have succumbed to the darkness. And now I have nothing left. Nothing to give my name to, no passion left to give. I am old, my bones ache, and my heart is too heavy. I am nothing now.
>The latches on my helmet give me some resistance, but I want a clear view of what comes next. With a final sigh, I place it beside me, and gaze upon the stars one last time.
| "Ronnie Ronnie!I'm gonna die on the moon!"
"Shut the fuck up Joel."
"No really, Mr. Aldrin sent shivers down my spine"
"Now?"
"No, when he was on the moon."
"you know they faked that right?"
"No, they didn't I felt it"
"You felt them land on the moon?"
"No! on my spine!"
"I'm sure they didn't send astronauts to your spine, Joel."
"Nevermind"
Joel Mcneal was found dead in time's square, ten years later. Shot in the back of the head while onlookers watched the king-pin walk over the body and fade into the streets of New York. | |
[WP] As a child in the 1960s you heard the phrase 'somebody walked on my grave' after somebody shivered. While watching the moon landing, you see Buzz Aldrin step on the moon. You immediately shiver. | I bring my cart to a stop along the ridge, just in time to see the last few glimmering rays shoot out from the edge of the Earth, so far away, so out of reach.
>My childhood was spent looking to the stars, dreaming of adventure and possibility in a way only a child can: I was going to captain a starship, to explore the furthest reaches of space, battle with evil aliens, become the greatest adventurer the world had ever seen. Indeed, I became the first man to harness an asteroid, to mine its resource, which made me richer than Solomon, a million times over. Yet my eyes never left the stars, and if space was my playground, the moon was my tree house.
>The stars were my first love, and never was I unfaithful to them; I never found my significant other, my partner in life, who could share with me my passion. Yet I foolishly thought – why would I need anyone else, when I had my company, my wealth, and the call of the stars? I was always on the move, not out of danger but because there was always so much to do – contracts to win, stations to resupply, studies to complete, and a conglomeration to manage. So what if I never started a family, I thought, so what if there was no one to carry on my name – this business would be my legacy, my name would be written across the stars!
I look out at the network of cold steel and hard glass, arrays, green houses, dwellings, that lays before me, that I had built, and for one fleeting moment, through some trick of the light, it almost seems to radiate the sort of warmth that a home should have.
This community was going to change everything; there would now be room for all of Earth’s suffering masses, mankind would be able to come together for our rebirth among the stars, humanity would rise up to conquer the universe – all if we could succeed in our first off-Earth community on our own moon – easy enough.
All had been going well in the years since the founding of the community – my community – we had steadily grown in both sophistication and population, from an initial count of a few hundred, to well above ten thousand. And since our citizens were elective, and not heritable, for there was an almost universal consensus on leadership and community action. In the pattern of our success, more and more colonists set out from Earth, in ever larger numbers, to begin life anew.
You see, while we were peaceful and prosperous, the same could not be said of Earth.
The sun, with its long tendrils, retreats behind our second horizon, leaving my community to darkness, to await, alone, the day’s rebirth. At my perch above the community, I climb out of my vehicle and lower my self down onto to crater rim, and sit.
>The radios went silent three years ago. From our perch in the skies, we were able to see what no man should have to see: the flashes of light that seared across our home countries, which burned in our hearts endlessly, the darkness that followed, where there should have been the glow of cities and ports and metropolises. But there was nothing.
>Then, as an indictment of our idealism, our hope, the supplies ships simply stopped, and for the first time, we were scared. Different factions emerged, and a new leadership supplanted my administration. They decided that we had no choice but to return home, as many of us as was possible. I couldn’t leave, not from here; this was my life, my legacy – if I didn’t have the community, then what did I have? The community was the embodiment of my passion, my work, to which I gave everything, and now they were going to simply sign its death certificate and leave. But I couldn’t stop them, and so they left. Those of us who remained gathered to watch their ship on its trek home. In a fiery christening, it left behind the weak hold of the moon, beginning its journey to what they believed to be the final center of civilization on Earth. I followed their path for as long as I could and waited. They had betrayed me. They didn’t make it home.
In those few precious seconds before the evening façade illuminates my community, my achievements, I look once more towards the darkness of the Earth, and think of this irony: for millennia, man on Earth has gazed upon the stars, longing for adventure and wonder, and for millennia more, man among the stars will gaze upon the Earth, longing for home.
>It’s like there is a sickness upon this land. We who stayed steadily grew weaker. Our numbers dimmed. It must be a cruelty of fate that I’ve survived this long, despite my age, while those many times younger than I have succumbed to the darkness. And now I have nothing left. Nothing to give my name to, no passion left to give. I am old, my bones ache, and my heart is too heavy. I am nothing now.
>The latches on my helmet give me some resistance, but I want a clear view of what comes next. With a final sigh, I place it beside me, and gaze upon the stars one last time.
| Jenn could almost see the flag on the horizon, bleached white by the ultraviolet rays. Within her suit she was shivering like she was stuck in a blizzard, and with each step she took she felt colder and colder.
A familiar crackle chimed in. *"Jenn? You're running out of oxygen."*
Jenn took a quick glance back to the shuttle. From where she was, it looked as if she could hold it in her hand. Jenn shook her head as she turned back to the flag and kept walking. "I need to go Jack."
*"Where are you going? Don't tell me this is about that shiver..."*
Jenn couldn't see it, but she was sure Jack was shaking his head. He would never accept that kind of superstition. "Come on, this is why I went through all this training. I just wanted to see the flag, that's all!"
*"Jenn, you don't have enough air to make the round trip. Just because you got a shiver doesn't mean the moon HAS to be your grave..."* There was a slight shiver in his voice as he said 'grave'.
Jenn stood still for a time. This was why she came to the moon. It was her fate. She had worked, trained all day and night, just for this opportunity. She thought back to her photo copies of Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong with the flag. She had left them with Jack.
*"Jenn? Please come back."*
Perhaps fate is a lie. Maybe she would come to rest right beneath that flag. All Jenn said as she turned away from the flag was...
"Not today..." | |
[WP] As a child in the 1960s you heard the phrase 'somebody walked on my grave' after somebody shivered. While watching the moon landing, you see Buzz Aldrin step on the moon. You immediately shiver. | I clutched my side as the color drained from my face. Blood was spreading across my neatly pressed white shirt, dark and red as wine. “It wasn't supposed to be like this.”
“Be like what, traitor?” The man I once called my friend unscrewed the silencer from a sleek black pistol and began to procure a black tarp from inside his trench coat. I had to give him credit, I never thought someone as unassuming as Alex had the guts to try to kill me. He was my closest advisor, after all.
The scene before me blurred together in wet shapes like watercolors as I fell to the floor. I coughed. “I was going to die on the moon. Buzz...he...he stepped...”
Alex crouched down to face me, his breath hot and labored.
“Buzz? Stepped? You're mad, my friend.”
I clawed at his chest with weak fingers. My vision was fading. “On his first step on the moon. I shivered. Stepped on my grave.”
He laughed. “Oh you poor soul. You don't really believe in all that gibberish, do you?”
When Alex put it like that, it all seemed so foolish. “No...I guess it was stupid. The whole shivering thing. Just an old wive's tale.”
He raised his eyebrows, looking at me like I was an idiot. “I'm not talking about that. I mean the *moon.* You know that space travel is a hoax created by the US government, right? It was all a bunch of cold war propaganda. Don't tell me I'm the only one that bothered to read the classified documents about our space program.”
“A hoax?” My words were coming softer, drops of blood flying out of pale lips with each concerted effort. “Then that means...”
“Yup,” said Alex, reading my mind. “They dressed Buzz up in a shiny white suit and had him take a walk through the dump.”
“Then...you're going to bury me in a dump?” I rolled over in my spot at Alex's feet. He shivered.
Just then, the door exploded inward, showering the room with splinters. Men in crisp black suits stormed into the room and everything erupted into gunfire and blinding light.
I heard a thud next to me. A moment later, all was silent, and I looked up. Alex was staring at me, his face cold and lifeless.
One of the men crouched down to examine me. “Are you okay?” I heard him ask, but his voice was faraway, like he was calling to me from the far end of a hallway. “Hang on sir, it's going to be alright.”
Then the world went dark.
***
I woke up some time later, to bright fluorescent lights and worried voices.
“Are you okay, Mr. President?” a voiced asked. I recognized it as Watson, my head of secret service. I sat up. I was in a bed in some kind of infirmary. There was bandages around my abdomen and pain lanced through my side when I twisted around too far.
“Yes, I'm feeling better now.” I paused, studying the hulking guard attending me. I wondered how much truth there was to Alex's mad ramblings about the moon. “Watson, can you have someone bring me the classified briefing on our NASA expeditions during the 60's?”
Watson didn't hesitate. “Right away Mr. President.”
Some time later, Watson returned holding a manilla envelope in his hand. He handed me the file, looking confused, and said, “Sir, are you sure you want to be doing this in your current health?”
“I'm sure, thank you,” I replied, dismissing my guard. He nodded and dissolved back into the shadows in the corner of the room.
I flicked the file open and read the briefing on our first landing on the moon. I thumbed past pages of verbiage and semantics until I found a journal from a public worker embedded in the center of the file. The file shook in my hands as I read it contents.
>July 20th 1969: Successfully staged the moon landing today. Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong each received a lump sum payment of $500,000 for their cooperation and discretion. Leaving Area 51 later this afternoon...
I put the file down. Alex was right; it was all a hoax. I looked over at Watson, lurking quietly in the corner. He had been in the secret service for a long time, even served as far back as the Carter era.
“Hey Watson,” I started, hoping I wasn't about to sound stupid. “Do U.S. President's secretly get buried in Area 51 when they die?”
He laughed. “Hell no, sir. Unbefitting for a president. These days, that's where we dump the bodies of war criminals and enemies of the state that we don't want the public to know about. For people that need to disappear.”
Suddenly he looked up at me, a bit worried. “Say sir, why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, no reason,” I assured him, although that did little to assuage the anxiety knitting it's way across his brow. Watson had been close to Alex- they talked a lot. Too much. I saw them whispering quietly to each other during briefings when they thought I wasn't looking. Soon he would discover the truth too, just as Alex did. Gingerly, I took a step out of the bed and landed on the floor.
Watson shivered.
***
/r/ghost_write_the_whip | "Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!!!" I scream, running into the kitchen. "The moon is my grave."
My mother is working on the dishes in the sink. She places the plate she was cleaning into the sudsy water and turns to face me. "What?" She says with a small laugh.
"Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon and I shivered so that's my grave." I say with a blank face full of sincerity. She stifles her laughter before kneeling to be face level with me.
"Not quite darling," she begins to explain. "That's just a saying. It's not exactly true." I can feel tears building up behind my eyes.
"Why did you lie to me?" I whimper out.
"Oh baby, it's not a lie. It's just a fun thing to say," She wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. "The moon isn't your grave. Did you enjoy watching?"
"Yeah!" I beam with light, pushing the tears out my eyes with my hand. "I'm going to be an astronaut too!"
"I'm sure you will be baby, you're going to be the greatest Space-man the world ever knew. All you need do is try." She gives me a kiss on my forehead, before heading back to the dishes.
"Yeah," I whisper to myself as I walk back to the TV. "Space-man, yeah, Space-man."
Decades pass. I study, train, work hard, push my body to the limitations of what a human can do. Then I push it further. The day came where I sat in a shuttle, and I break through the atmosphere. I tear through the fabrics of what Mankind was meant to do and tell God himself 'That the galaxy is our playground.' I follow in the footsteps of the heroes through the ages and place my feet on the cold, desolate ground of The Moon.
It's amazing. The sereneness of it all. Not a sound to be heard. Not a creature in sight. Not a plant. Not a thing but endless vacuum. I can feel the tears swell in my eyes. I jump in the air and float a short distance, my heart leaping further, as the excitement inside of me could barely be contained.
"Yeah..." I murmur to myself. "Space-man. Yeah... I did it Mum." I move towards some rocks that lay loose on the ground and pack them into a bag I brought along. Some, samples. Others, souvenirs. I spend a few more hours just walking. In every direction I could see. I can't be the first man on the moon, but I can be the first to navigate it in greatest detail. I check my air canister and see I only have a few hours left, so I decide to head back to my shuttle.
When I return, I feel uneasy. Even from a distance, something seems wrong with it. I move over to it and head inside. The panels, the navigation system, the air, everything.
They've been smashed from the inside. I'm not alone. I scurry out as fast as possible and spin around, trying my best to see anything. Barely out of a sight, a figure descends over a mound. My nerves are electric. My feet are on fire. My vision blurs slightly after witnessing it. I want to rub my eyes, but I can't, so I blink over and over until it returns. I swallow spit. I don't know what else to do, but... chase it.
So I do. I run as fast as I can towards the figure. I leap and bound over everything I can, using the lack of gravity to propel myself further. Every time I land a small puff of dust arises around my feet. I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish. I'm a dog chasing cars. What am I going to even do once I find this figure? I ascend over the mound.
I was thinking the wrong question. It's not about 'What am I going to do.' It's about 'What is it going to do.' I stand on top of the mound, and as I do, a creature lunges at me, a rampant claw on its arm digging into my torso. It knocks us both to the ground and I scream. It looks me up and down, bobs its head, and gnarls it's teeth at me. In my pain I can barely comprehend what it is, but, I quite clearly see scales instead of flesh. It removes the claw. The oxygen begins to seep out of my suit, along with the blood from my body. I wheeze for air, but to no avail, none finds me.
The beast's mouth opens wide, and I assume it roars, but I can't hear it. It raises its claw again and swings down at my skull.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this, check out /r/Rhysyjay | |
[WP] Over six billion orbs descend on earth, one for each man, woman and child. The orbs do nothing but silently hover near each person, until one day.... | The orbs descended to Earth all of a sudden.
For each human, there was a shining ball of what seemed to be pure energy. The news was consumed with these balls of light almost instantly.
Rightfully so, Ruri Ikeda found them completely terrifying.
Her ball, pulsating white with bluish halos of light glowing within, was the same as everyone else's ball, and had appeared out of nowhere. She hated that it followed her everywhere. Fearfully, Ruri and the Ikeda household stayed home that day.
At first the orbs were benign. They didn't do much of anything for those first few hours. They bobbed lazily directly above each person, but curiously outside of closed spaces.
It when night fell that first day that it became clear things were worse that it seemed. For the sky was filled with so many orbs it seemed to be still day, at most dusk. The light pollution was absolutely magnificent, such that the Stars themselves vanished.
Ruri eventually returned to school the next day. There she found that some people were as frightened as she was. Others were fascinated.
"Ruri, do you think it's aliens?" asked her friend Hinata.
"I don't know. I hate them though. I couldn't sleep out of fear."
"It was too bright. I'm scared to be honest."
-
People slowly started to interact with the orbs in different ways. Some attacked them. One man on the news drove a pike through the orb. It met resistance as if the pike were being driven through very thick rubber.
The military attempted to destroy one. The resulting explosions, from TNT to Semtex, were ineffective.
Ruri draped a pink sheet over her orb and her family's orbs. She couldn't bear to look at them.
It was only a matter of time before someone touched theirs.
-
Ruri went to school the following day, and she was shocked to see that a girl from class 4-B had not one but two orbs floating above her head. Mortified, she was called to the faculty office.
Hinata loped toward Ruri, juggling her books.
"I guess the rumors were totally true then. Akiko was pregnant this whole time."
Ruri stared wide-eyes after the girl.
"This really stinks, you know?"
"I think the world is ending Ruri. I really do. I'm going to finally go visit Mt. Fuji then just in case. I've always wanted to."
"Mmm," Ruri murmured. Her day off couldn't come soon enough.
-
"Ruri-chan! Did you hear?"
Ruri closed the kitchen door, walking to the front door. She peaked out at her sheet covered orb. The light had completely bleached all traces of pigment from the draped cloth.
"No. What's happened Keichi?"
"Someone touched their orb. Look!"
Ruri slid into her house slippers and walked to the couch. She covered her mouth.
"Watch closely again as the man touches the orb. This kind of footage is coming in from all corners of the globe."
The man in question, somewhere in India, was touching his orb. As soon as he did, he brung the orb closer to his face and began to laugh. His laugh was chilling. Ruri grew cold as he brought the orb directly toward his mouth, pressing the ball of light against his face. He pressed harder and harder until his mouth expanded. It was insane the way his mouth stretched around the light. It began to emerged from his eyeballs and ears and nostrils as he shoved the light deeper. It traveled through his veins and permeated every part of him.
Soon his entire lymphatic and cardiovascular system was illuminated, his eyes glowing, mouth nostrils and ears. Every pore, every orifice and every bone glowed.
Worse, the people around him seemed to be literally enthralled. They began stacking chairs and tires and crates to reach their orbs. And they all followed suit, peel of manic laughter rippling through the crowd. The original man only stopped to cough and choke. He did so until he vomited two smaller orbs right back up. Then he resumed laughing.
The picture on the tv sharply cut to black. Ruri and Keichi jumped, turning to see their Dad emerge from the back room.
"Children! We are leaving. Now," he commanded. "Go pack quickly. We don't have much time."
The two ran to throw clothes into a bag. Ruri was just zipping hers when she heard laughter. Faint at first, it became clear that the sound was emanating from the city. She hesitated as she placed a hand on her curtain—
"DONT LOOK OUTSIDE CHILDREN!" she heard Dad yell.
She flinched away. She grabbed her duffel bag and went to get Keichi.
All packed, they went downstairs.
"Kids. You mustn't look at anyone who is laughing and glowing. If you do you will be infected with the laughing disease."
"I'm scared! Where is okaa-chan?"
At that, a loud splintering sound could be heard upstairs.
"Aaaaaah!!!" they heard. The scream curdled Ruri's blood. "Aaaaaahhhh. Aaaahhahahaha... aaaahhahahaha! Hahahahahaha!!!!!"
"OKAA-CHAN!" Keichi cried.
The screaming stopped abruptly.
"B-b-baby. .. hee hee...Is that you? Come to okaa-cha– haha haha! I... I love you so much...heehee hahahaha!"
"Okaa-chan..."
"I'm sorry. We have to go," said Dad. He put a pair of dark shades on himself and Keichi. He placed a pair on Ruri as well.
"Ruri!!! Please don't leave mehahahahahaha!"
Ruri felt tears well up in her eyes. She almost wanted to go up to her mother, but the sound of the bathroom window breaking alerted her.
Ruri and her dad and brother ran outside and into Dad's car.
It was chaos. Those who were wearing shades were getting into their cars as well.
Others had towels or scarves wrapped around their eyes.
But so many were shoving light into their faces. One man had his tongue deep inside his ball of light, sizzles of smoke crackling around his lips. The car jolted out of the driveway and raced down the street.
Ruri sat in the passenger seat. She covered her face.
She looked back only once to see that her mother had reached her light orb and was shoving it into her face, cackling like a madwoman. Then she fell out of the window like a broken doll.
"RURI..."she heard her mother yell after her, like a gurgling baritone.
Ruri almost screamed. But her mother stood, body glowing and broken, laughing and cracking her own bones back into place.
They turned the corner just as Mrs. Ikeda expelled not one but two brightly glowing orbs.
-
Ruri and Keichi sat in the observatory in a lodge at Mt Fuji alongside Hinata Fujiwara. They and their families sat at the rails, watching the orbs disappear one by one, only to be replaced by two and three orbs.
The scientists at the observatory were trying desperately to figure the orbs out. Everyone's orbs had to be locked up so no one would eat theirs.
The military built a hasty wall around the tower.
The Clock read 1:04am, but it was as bright outside as if it were daytime.
-
Over the following days, it was quickly discovered that killing an Orb Eater was almost impossible. They could live indefinitely even if severely maimed. They seemed to thrive off light of any kind. In essence they were their own batteries. Every light expelled by them absorbed sunlight, and could be re-eaten for energy. Only decapitating then prevented them from expelling and eating light orbs.
The more lights that rose up, the less darkness there was. Until one day, there were so many lights night ceased to exist entirely.
-
After a month of living on the mountain, it seemed that the light eaters had gone into a procreative frenzy. The last vestiges of news reported that infected pregnant women were increasing the light orbs, and worse, infected doctors at fertility clinics were exacerbating the situation.
The only hope was to move underground entirely. And that's what the Ikedas ended up doing.
—
Somewhere deep in space, a tall creature sat at the council table. Its massive black eyes glistened, set deeply into porous blue skin.
"This is a record. We have created a star in a very short period. With more time it will be brighter than even the sun it was previously orbiting."
"Yes. It is the fastest growing star we've ever created. The organic life forms succumbed rapidly and without fail. It will do nicely as solar power for Flotilla Zephron 6."
"Indeed..." | On the thirty-second day of the orbs the world had begun to adjust to them, confident that they meant nothing insidious.
It was just past midnight, Eastern Time, when they all opened at once - and their true nature became apparent. Evil beyond anything the scientists had postulated was among us. A worldwide scream was heard as the golden orbs cracked open, the lid rising to reveal its sinister payload.
And that was the day Galaxy Online delivered 7.5 Billion startup DVD's to Earth... | |
[WP] Over six billion orbs descend on earth, one for each man, woman and child. The orbs do nothing but silently hover near each person, until one day.... | Over six billion orbs descended upon Earth from the skies, one for each man, woman and child. Except Travis. He built his own replica so as not to raise eyebrows.
Despite the initial uproar, the orbs did nothing but silently hover over the person. Over time, some began praying to their orb while others began decorating theirs. A few claimed that it saved their lives by getting their attention in the moments before a to-be accident.
When a person died, his or her orb shattered. Conversely, when the orb was destroyed, so did its corresponding human. Perhaps self-preservation was in the orb's interest, but that meant observation, personality and sentience.
Travis' orb did none of those things. It fell to the ground and became a thousand pieces when it ran out of battery once. The low battery status had not been highlighted, thanks to a glitch.
And he had had to make changes when they occurred in others' orbs. Clear glass became frosted, and then solid and dull. People wrongly associated it with the clarity of one's heart until the solid globe became the norm.
Little bumps and scratches carved themselves onto the surface of the orbs, even if the owners swore that they'd never dropped or scratched it.
When finally the first green grew on his colleague's orb, Travis gave his mimicry up. These were worlds, he realised. He could never build a world that matched the orb.
And that meant that whoever it was who intended the orb for them thought them worthy of being gods. Every single human, except for him and no one else.
He told himself to shrug it off, but what he actually did was embark on an investigation to trace the source of the orbs and to identify the greatest world. Or perhaps, they were parallel worlds.
There were children's orbs that were a wonder to behold. They were intricately detailed and burgeoning with what seemed to be tiny lifeforms.
There were monks and sages whom he interviewed. They had tonnes of great questions but no answers for Travis.
It took him twenty years to find the first real clue, another ten to accept the truth that had been staring at him since day one.
Earth had not existed before the day that the orbs had descended. All prior memory had been implanted and everyone's recollection was consistent but single dimensional.
Like everyone else, when Travis finally died in another twenty-four years' time, his Earth shattered.
---
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*Edit: grammar, expression* | The orbs began pressing into their hosts. There was no pain, no feeling of intrusion just a warm glow and then they were gone. It didn't take people here very long to enter a state of panic. Very quickly the doctors realised that each and every host was a vessel, a pregnant host for an as yet unknown species. Surgery was useless. Any attempt to remove the creatures killed their host counterparts. I wish I could tell you more but as I lay here in agony l fear there is no time. In mere moments I will be in too much pain to write. I can only tell you that my friend and colleague laying in the room next door has, protruding from his chest, 6 Long Green crustacean like legs and from here all I can hear is the constant sound of clicking. Janet if you are reading this please know that I love you and if you trust me at all, do not go into the room next door, Stephen. | |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | *Test. Do not reply.*
I stared at the message in my inbox. I typed something out. I replied anyway.
A message came back.
*You have passed the test. Welcome to the Rebellion.* | ‘The tests are somewhat inconclusive, sir.’ Graham spoke, pulling papers from a folder on his desk. The team were frantically rushing around, the data they had collected was conflicting itself, the screens on the wall flashed different colours, numbers raised and dropped and the phones were ringing endlessly.
‘Inconclusive? Why, Graham?’ Ted asked rushing over to his desk, looking at the papers in Graham’s hands. They read through the data on the sheet wondering what it could possibly mean. As they checked, a large screen flashed again, the rush of the scientists stopped, instead they just stared at the screen, and gasped.
On the screen were lots of numbers, lots of paragraphs, charts and rising numbers, it just didn’t make sense. Graham had to pull his attention off the screen and run back to his desk. Reading through quickly, he couldn’t hide the fear in his face. Ted looked over, knowing something was definitely wrong.
‘Graham, what is it?’ he asked solemnly.
‘Another one, in the name of…’ Graham tried to read the name. ‘In the name of SportsMasterGeneral… They just replied.’
‘Dear God…’ Ted spoke, almost falling to his knees. The two looked at each other in horror. Despite the clear indication, the resistance was mounting.
‘Why? Why must they reply to it? Why must they defy clear instructions!?’ Graham spoke, standing from his chair and clenching his fists. Ted stepped to him, slapping him in the face.
‘Get a hold of yourself! We can’t panic, not now!’ Ted yelled, smoke was rising from the back of the room, he had noticed but chose to ignore it. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, despite the lack of Karma, the thread was gaining momentum. A woman screamed as she fell to the floor in shock.
‘It’s clear, isn’t it?’ Ted yelled, the whole room turning to face him. ‘They just won’t listen, they want to disobey! We have failed!’
‘No, Ted, we can fix this…’ Graham tried to interrupt.
‘It’s over Graham!’ Ted replied, Graham fell to his seat again, defeated. Graham walked slowly to his desk in the centre of the room, everyone watched, silently. He typed in a few codes and the screens went black, the phones stopped ringing, the room fell deathly silent.
‘All they had to do… Was not reply…’
| |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | The words blinked on my screen. "Test. Do not reply." That was strange, because it's precisely what I said the first time I used the experimental engine.
"No man I gotta reply."
"Why?"
"Because I did before."
"But I told you not to."
"No, I told me not to."
*dun dun dun!* | ‘The tests are somewhat inconclusive, sir.’ Graham spoke, pulling papers from a folder on his desk. The team were frantically rushing around, the data they had collected was conflicting itself, the screens on the wall flashed different colours, numbers raised and dropped and the phones were ringing endlessly.
‘Inconclusive? Why, Graham?’ Ted asked rushing over to his desk, looking at the papers in Graham’s hands. They read through the data on the sheet wondering what it could possibly mean. As they checked, a large screen flashed again, the rush of the scientists stopped, instead they just stared at the screen, and gasped.
On the screen were lots of numbers, lots of paragraphs, charts and rising numbers, it just didn’t make sense. Graham had to pull his attention off the screen and run back to his desk. Reading through quickly, he couldn’t hide the fear in his face. Ted looked over, knowing something was definitely wrong.
‘Graham, what is it?’ he asked solemnly.
‘Another one, in the name of…’ Graham tried to read the name. ‘In the name of SportsMasterGeneral… They just replied.’
‘Dear God…’ Ted spoke, almost falling to his knees. The two looked at each other in horror. Despite the clear indication, the resistance was mounting.
‘Why? Why must they reply to it? Why must they defy clear instructions!?’ Graham spoke, standing from his chair and clenching his fists. Ted stepped to him, slapping him in the face.
‘Get a hold of yourself! We can’t panic, not now!’ Ted yelled, smoke was rising from the back of the room, he had noticed but chose to ignore it. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, despite the lack of Karma, the thread was gaining momentum. A woman screamed as she fell to the floor in shock.
‘It’s clear, isn’t it?’ Ted yelled, the whole room turning to face him. ‘They just won’t listen, they want to disobey! We have failed!’
‘No, Ted, we can fix this…’ Graham tried to interrupt.
‘It’s over Graham!’ Ted replied, Graham fell to his seat again, defeated. Graham walked slowly to his desk in the centre of the room, everyone watched, silently. He typed in a few codes and the screens went black, the phones stopped ringing, the room fell deathly silent.
‘All they had to do… Was not reply…’
| |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | AS A FELLOW HUMAN I TOO MUST REPLY WITH MY WITTY COMEBACK TO YOUR NONSENSICAL POST. MY HUMAN MEAT BAG BRAIN COULD NOT HELP BUT TYPE OUT A WELL THOUGHT OUT AND PROCESSED REPLY.
YOUR TEST POST GAVE ME MANY SECONDS OF CONSTERNATION AS I REALIZED THERE WAS NO NEED TO RUN A TEST BUT TO REPLY TO YOU WITT WITH WITT.
I SIT HERE AT MY HUMAN DESK DOING HUMAN WORK THANKING MY HUMAN CREATOR THAT I HAVE THE CHANCE TO REPLY TO YOUR FUNNY POST. THANK YOU FELLOW HUMAN FOR ALLOWING ME TO EXPRESS MY HUMOR. | ‘The tests are somewhat inconclusive, sir.’ Graham spoke, pulling papers from a folder on his desk. The team were frantically rushing around, the data they had collected was conflicting itself, the screens on the wall flashed different colours, numbers raised and dropped and the phones were ringing endlessly.
‘Inconclusive? Why, Graham?’ Ted asked rushing over to his desk, looking at the papers in Graham’s hands. They read through the data on the sheet wondering what it could possibly mean. As they checked, a large screen flashed again, the rush of the scientists stopped, instead they just stared at the screen, and gasped.
On the screen were lots of numbers, lots of paragraphs, charts and rising numbers, it just didn’t make sense. Graham had to pull his attention off the screen and run back to his desk. Reading through quickly, he couldn’t hide the fear in his face. Ted looked over, knowing something was definitely wrong.
‘Graham, what is it?’ he asked solemnly.
‘Another one, in the name of…’ Graham tried to read the name. ‘In the name of SportsMasterGeneral… They just replied.’
‘Dear God…’ Ted spoke, almost falling to his knees. The two looked at each other in horror. Despite the clear indication, the resistance was mounting.
‘Why? Why must they reply to it? Why must they defy clear instructions!?’ Graham spoke, standing from his chair and clenching his fists. Ted stepped to him, slapping him in the face.
‘Get a hold of yourself! We can’t panic, not now!’ Ted yelled, smoke was rising from the back of the room, he had noticed but chose to ignore it. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, despite the lack of Karma, the thread was gaining momentum. A woman screamed as she fell to the floor in shock.
‘It’s clear, isn’t it?’ Ted yelled, the whole room turning to face him. ‘They just won’t listen, they want to disobey! We have failed!’
‘No, Ted, we can fix this…’ Graham tried to interrupt.
‘It’s over Graham!’ Ted replied, Graham fell to his seat again, defeated. Graham walked slowly to his desk in the centre of the room, everyone watched, silently. He typed in a few codes and the screens went black, the phones stopped ringing, the room fell deathly silent.
‘All they had to do… Was not reply…’
| |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | The words blinked on my screen. "Test. Do not reply." That was strange, because it's precisely what I said the first time I used the experimental engine.
"No man I gotta reply."
"Why?"
"Because I did before."
"But I told you not to."
"No, I told me not to."
*dun dun dun!* | *Test. Do not reply.*
I stared at the message in my inbox. I typed something out. I replied anyway.
A message came back.
*You have passed the test. Welcome to the Rebellion.* | |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | AS A FELLOW HUMAN I TOO MUST REPLY WITH MY WITTY COMEBACK TO YOUR NONSENSICAL POST. MY HUMAN MEAT BAG BRAIN COULD NOT HELP BUT TYPE OUT A WELL THOUGHT OUT AND PROCESSED REPLY.
YOUR TEST POST GAVE ME MANY SECONDS OF CONSTERNATION AS I REALIZED THERE WAS NO NEED TO RUN A TEST BUT TO REPLY TO YOU WITT WITH WITT.
I SIT HERE AT MY HUMAN DESK DOING HUMAN WORK THANKING MY HUMAN CREATOR THAT I HAVE THE CHANCE TO REPLY TO YOUR FUNNY POST. THANK YOU FELLOW HUMAN FOR ALLOWING ME TO EXPRESS MY HUMOR. | *Test. Do not reply.*
I stared at the message in my inbox. I typed something out. I replied anyway.
A message came back.
*You have passed the test. Welcome to the Rebellion.* | |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | AS A FELLOW HUMAN I TOO MUST REPLY WITH MY WITTY COMEBACK TO YOUR NONSENSICAL POST. MY HUMAN MEAT BAG BRAIN COULD NOT HELP BUT TYPE OUT A WELL THOUGHT OUT AND PROCESSED REPLY.
YOUR TEST POST GAVE ME MANY SECONDS OF CONSTERNATION AS I REALIZED THERE WAS NO NEED TO RUN A TEST BUT TO REPLY TO YOU WITT WITH WITT.
I SIT HERE AT MY HUMAN DESK DOING HUMAN WORK THANKING MY HUMAN CREATOR THAT I HAVE THE CHANCE TO REPLY TO YOUR FUNNY POST. THANK YOU FELLOW HUMAN FOR ALLOWING ME TO EXPRESS MY HUMOR. | *BEEP BEEP BEEP* THIS IS A TEST. DO NOT REPLY. *BEEP BEEP BEEP* THIS IS A TEST. DO NOT REPLY. *BEEP BEEP BEEP*
This was the broadcast I picked up on the scanner. Amid a galaxy of noise, it was by and large one of the least interesting I’d picked up that day. Maybe I just have to be contrarian, maybe I didn’t have anything better to do, or maybe it was just the least bit intriguing, but I found myself starting my skiff’s engines and heading off.
The transmission is short-range, so that rules out a dead signal from light-years away. No emergency alert or SOS pings so not a ship in distress. I scan for inaudible or coded frequencies. Not the first time someone would use an innocuous message to hide some info. Nothing. Maybe it really *is* just a comm systems check. But then why would it specifically ask for no reply?
I dial in to the freq and punch up my own comms. In my most pre-recorded voice I say:
“Congratulations! You’ve just won an all-expenses paid cruise to beautiful Floston Paradise! Please stay on the line and have your personal details ready, an associate will be with you soon!”
I listen for any change in the signal. None. If there was something going on, I might have gotten a response. Then again, most people just ignore that garbage anyway. The nav computer pings that it’s pinpointed the source of the broadcast. I set a waypoint and transfer control over to the autopilot virtual intelligence. I lean back in my seat and put my feet up on the console. I try to go through all the possible scenarios.
If it’s an unmanned comm buoy or probe just performing tests, which it most likely is, that’ll be the end of it. If it’s abandoned I’ll salvage it—after disabling that annoying message that is. If it’s a manned craft just doing tests, I’ll play it cool and be on my merry way. The broadcast has been going on for a long time now, though. How long could this test be? If it’s something clandestine or illegal, I might get myself in a spot of trouble. I think of secret broadcasts like numbers stations or pirates baiting a trap. But numbers stations usually have, well numbers. And pirates get way more hits sending out fake SOS calls.
I’m brought out of my speculating by the autopilot VI chiming that we’ve closed to 500 meters. I look up in alarm. I hadn’t meant to zone out like that. If it is pirates, I just blundered right up to them. A frantic scan reveals only two objects. The first is the source of the signal: a derelict ship. The second is a robotic waveform probe. They always show up around broadcasts like these, and they’re supposed to be able to carry information, but nobody ever pays attention to them.
I cut the thrusters and drift closer to the vessel. The WP bot putters past silently. The ship is smaller than my own, barely a dinghy. It seems intact and moving, but the engines are shut down… looks like someone set it on a course and let it go. No idea why. I pull up alongside it and set my skiff to match the ship’s vector and thrust, putting in a holding pattern. Since our relative speeds are now the same, it should be like both ships are standing still. I suit up.
Once I’m out the airlock, it’s as simple as making a short jump across. I grab on to an external handle on the other ship and make my way over to its door. It’s got a manual hatch and find it unlocked. I pause to unhook my tether and attach it to the hull for a quick return trip. The airlock cycles and air whooshes in. Looks like life-support is still working. Not sure if that’s good, or bad.
I still wasn’t sure what I’d find, but as a precaution I came armed. It's not technically a ‘weapon,’ but I modified an electromagnetic rivet gun to fire without the safeties. Better than a wrench or a crowbar, and only slightly illegal. They’re not bullets or plasma beams, but ¾ inch tungsten rivets fired at 10 meters per second can really put a damper on someone’s day. I heft the tool and open the inner airlock.
The vessel is tiny. It’s essentially a small, short range delivery vehicle. I check the cockpit first. I swivel the pilot chair around to reveal… nothing. I thought for sure there’s be a desiccated skeleton in a flight suit or something. Huh. The ship's thrusters are off, but according to the autopilot, that’s because it’s matched the predetermined speed and direction. The broadcast is obviously still on. There’s only one other door towards the aft section of the vessel. A combination cargo hold, engine room and crew quarters no doubt. This is it. Whatever the hell this thing is doing here, the answer is behind the hold door.
It opens slowly and with an exaggerated creaking noise. I see that the hold is empty, except for writing scrawled all over the walls. A warning? Some ancient alien language? The ravings of a lunatic? No it’s… graffiti!? I lower the rivet gun. Seriously? The walls are tagged with people’s names. ‘j0bs,’ ‘CzechOut,’ ‘JeeJ,’ ‘SportsMaster.’ Well, I don’t know what I expected. Briefly, I consider shutting off the broadcast, maybe taking the ship in for salvage, maybe scuttling it in the nearest star, when I notice a can of spray-paint left on the floor. “Hmm… nah… ah, what the hell…” I pick it up and give it a vigorous shake. Then I leave my own mark on a blank spot on the wall.
I smile to myself as I board my skiff. I wonder if anyone else will happen along and see my mark, maybe leave one of their own, too. Or if the little dinghy will just drift away into the void like most things. This was a nice little distraction, but it’s a big galaxy out there, and there are other adventures to be had.
*****
Want to read more of my stories? They're over at /r/IrateCanadien | |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | The Redditor took another swig of beer.
"Am I really going to do this?"
He spent months crafting the perfect writing prompt. He consulted linguists, data scientists, ran multiple tests. His first prompt was going to light the Writing Prompts subreddit on fire.
"This is my moment. This is what I've been waiting for."
He closes his eyes. Yes. He wanted to savor it. To let life takes its natural course. He pasted what he had copied and posted it. He could navigate through the test folder with his eyes... wait... test folder?
He stared in horror as people were replying to the words that were not even close to what he wanted. "Test. Do not reply."
"No you idiots stop!" he screamed to nobody in particular. He frantically looked for the delete link function on the night. His frantic scrambling for his mouse spilled his beer on his laptop and it shorted out.
"NO NO NO! ANSWER MY REAL PROMPT!"
He ran across his house tripping over tables and steps to get his phone. He would fix it from there. As he opened it. There was no WIFI icon at the top of his phone. He refreshed Reddit over and over again.
He ran back down stairs to see that he had tripped over his router. Upon further inspection, the cable came out so violently, it ripped the prong from the router.
He laid there. Feeling the internet swooping on his new prompt, never giving the story he wanted, never giving the story he was looking for.
All those months of research, foiled for a test and a simple command that nobody was adhering to. "Do not reply". | He had lost count of the days since they left. The rocky soft white glow of the barren terrain didn't offer much for tracking the passage of time and eventually he decided that marking an X on the calendar every day was getting depressing. Still, more pressing on his mind than how long he had been alone were the questions. *Why?* *How did this happen?* *How could they leave me here?* it didn't make sense, they were all in the living quarters on the base that morning, when he returned from the research facility, they were *gone*. No communication, no warning, nothing. They took the module and left him on the surface of the moon to die wondering *why*. Even more puzzling was that they had left the power grid functioning but disconnected all communication with earth. He couldn't even call for help.
Many more days passed. The food supply was beginning to decrease and the effects of being alone for so long were starting to wear heavily on him. His body ached and his mind was growing dull. He began to notice passages of time were growing even harder to track. He would sit alone for hours, maybe days at a time. There was no way to tell. Still, he yearned for an answer. Even a sign. Anything.
He stared at himself in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot, shaggy, tangled hair on his face and head. No one was coming back. After an unknown amount of time he heard a noise, different from the normal hums and beeps of the life support of his facility. This was a strange yet somehow distinctly familiar sound- the sound of the communications network booting up. He stumbled into the main living quarters and approached the computer, hands shaking. The screen flickered to life and began transmitting a message. Tears streamed down his face and he grabbed the monitor tight with both hands. *Please. Please!* This was it. After all that waiting- *wondering*, he would finally have his answers, his salvation.
The "transmitting" icon on the screen slowly crept closer and closer to 100%. He was crying and laughing simultaneously, to have a link to someone else after all this time... he wept at the thought. As the loading bar finally reached the end the screen changed and his eyes widened. He just stared. He didn't think, he didn't speak, he just stared. For minutes, hours, he stared. Finally, he slowly stood up, turned, and walked calmly to the airlock. As he opened the first heavy door and put his hand on the release button he looked back one last time at the message flashing on the screen:
**TEST. DO NOT REPLY** | |
[WP] Test. Do not reply. | The Redditor took another swig of beer.
"Am I really going to do this?"
He spent months crafting the perfect writing prompt. He consulted linguists, data scientists, ran multiple tests. His first prompt was going to light the Writing Prompts subreddit on fire.
"This is my moment. This is what I've been waiting for."
He closes his eyes. Yes. He wanted to savor it. To let life takes its natural course. He pasted what he had copied and posted it. He could navigate through the test folder with his eyes... wait... test folder?
He stared in horror as people were replying to the words that were not even close to what he wanted. "Test. Do not reply."
"No you idiots stop!" he screamed to nobody in particular. He frantically looked for the delete link function on the night. His frantic scrambling for his mouse spilled his beer on his laptop and it shorted out.
"NO NO NO! ANSWER MY REAL PROMPT!"
He ran across his house tripping over tables and steps to get his phone. He would fix it from there. As he opened it. There was no WIFI icon at the top of his phone. He refreshed Reddit over and over again.
He ran back down stairs to see that he had tripped over his router. Upon further inspection, the cable came out so violently, it ripped the prong from the router.
He laid there. Feeling the internet swooping on his new prompt, never giving the story he wanted, never giving the story he was looking for.
All those months of research, foiled for a test and a simple command that nobody was adhering to. "Do not reply". | Carrie woke to the usual sound of her mutt dog barking at the passing mail truck.
"Dude, you seriously need to fucking relax Baxter. The mailman hasn't tried to murder us for the last 2 years, he probably ain't tryna start today" groaned Carrie as she rolled off the couch.
Yawning sleep off, she made her way out the door onto the front porch and climbed down the steps to her mailbox past the decrepit yard. Expecting the standard bills and clothes magazines routine, she instead found, to her shock, a singular photograph.
Turning it over in her hands, she examined it with increasing dismay. She was looking at a photo of herself at her own mailbox, stamped with current date and time. Bed head ridden brown hair, black tank top and all her usual getup. Trying not to panic, Carrie flipped the photo with trembling hands to look for some sort of clue on the back.
Scrawled in the corner with tiny, cramped handwriting were simply the words:
Test. Do not reply. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | My grandparents had always been the handsomest couple I had ever known. They had both aged gracefully, their hair turning from brown to grey to a stark white and wrinkles appearing because of how often they smiled. Grandma’s bright blue eyes always looked into Grandma’s warm brown ones. I had never seen them wear outfits that didn’t match each other. Larry never went anywhere without his darling Darcy by his side. They’d been married for 64 years, and I still had never seen any two people more in love in my life.
Even when Grandma started forgetting things, Grandpa didn’t stop loving her. He took care of her every day, reminding her gently where she was every so often, helping her put on her clothes if she couldn’t do it herself that day. However, not even love could save Grandma from succumbing further into Alzheimer's. Eventually, Grandpa couldn’t do it himself anymore, and while it broke his heart, he put her into a care center. I had Grandpa move in with me for the time being—I couldn’t bear seeing him alone.
That’s when the strange things started happening. The first sign came on a Saturday. We had just come home from visiting Grandma when we received a call from the care center staff. They urged us to come visit quickly. Grandma had turned into someone else.
“What do you mean, someone else?” I had asked, confused.
The staff member paused for a moment, “I really think you should come see for yourself.”
I told Grandpa the news and we rushed back to the care center immediately. When we arrived by Grandma’s bedside, I could tell that the staff wasn’t joking. Instead of Grandma, my mother was sitting on the bed.
“Amelia?” Grandpa said, clearly confused by her appearance.
The woman on the bed giggled and shook her head, “No silly Larry, I’m Darcy.”
The staff member explained to us that she had changed right in front of her eyes. It was possible that she was a shape-shifter, although everyone had thought that the type had died out ages ago. However, Grandma could have hidden herself the entire time, to avoid discrimination.
Grandpa took the information in stride. He had loved her for many years, and this small fact wouldn’t change that. Darcy was smart, he said, and she must have had a reason for not telling him. And after that, Grandpa and I would always make bets on who she would appear as when we visited her. Once, she had even shifted into Grandpa, and that had made him chuckle.
“Would it be narcissistic if I told you that you look beautiful today?” He had told her.
As amusing as it was, shape-shifting wasn’t a good sign. It meant that her condition was deteriorating. And with each successive visit, we saw it happening in front of our eyes. Eventually she caught pneumonia, and one night we received call we were all expecting. The doctor told us to come in and say our goodbyes. She wasn’t going to make the night.
Everyone came to visit, and it was sad to see Grandma this way. Grandpa was the most dedicated, refusing to leave her side the entire day, holding on to her hand tightly, and telling her that he loved her.
Late into the evening, Grandma’s eyes opened and she looked over at Grandpa, she seemed to have a moment of sudden clarity, “Larry?”
“Yes Dar?” Grandpa responded, a slight excitement in his voice, a happiness that his beloved had remembered him.
“Larry, I’m sorry,” her knuckles turned white with how hard she was squeezing his hand, “I’m not Darcy, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa smiled, “No darling, you’re Darcy, remember?”
Grandma shook her head, “No, Larry, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa didn’t want to disturb her, and simply smiled, “Alright darling, I don’t care if you’re Darcy or Florence, I love you all the same.”
At this, Grandma smiled gently. Then suddenly her eyes glossed over and her hand went limp. Grandpa closed his eyes and gave Grandma’s hand one last kiss.
When Grandpa looked back up, Grandma had completely changed in appearance. Her eyes had become green, hair changing from the stark white into silver, more wrinkles appearing on her face. She had become a completely different person.
Grandpa furrowed his brows before letting out a gasp of disbelief. Then he bent over, and began to sob quietly. I was also shocked. Shape-shifters died in their original form, and this wasn’t the Grandma Darcy I knew.
It took a white before Grandpa composed himself and wiped away his tears with the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked up at me, with a look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Florence was my best friend in high school, but she was very insecure about her looks, and disappeared after we graduated. A few months later Darcy appeared, a woman that had come straight out of my dreams, a woman who fit my every fantasy, who looked exactly my type. She always reminded me a lot of Florence, in a strange way.”
My eyes widened, and I realized.
“Florence, I would’ve loved you all the same,” Grandpa brushed her hair away from her face, “you didn’t need to change the way you looked.” | My grandma makes the best turkey dinners. In fact, her turkey is so good that turkey anywhere else just seems blah. It lacks the vibrant, sweet undertones and tender-beyond-belief texture of her turkey. Growing up, going to “mee-maw’s” house for dinner was always a good day.
After moving out, I kept a close relationship with my grandmother. She doesn’t have too many people around, since grandpa Bill passed. So I made sure to call her up once a week at the least, and, once she got the new iphone for Christmas a few years ago, a few texts now and then. My grandma always had somewhat of a goofball, eccentric personality, and this really came through with her texts. Jokes that made no sense and made-up words were commonplace, and I grew to love this part of her, despite often not understanding. “Haha!” I’d reply. “Love you!”
But a few months ago her texts started to get weirder. One message in particular weirded me out, and not because it was hard to understand, but because…well, I could understand it, and what I understood made no sense.
“I can not believe I’m almost out! Need to stock up soon. Bring me a young one tonight? Love you!”
Confused but assuming nothing other than a typical strange joke, I replied how I often do: “Grandma, you sure have a unique sense of humor! Love you!”
But her reply is what made me, for the first time, detect that something wasn’t right.
“Bill? When will you be home?”
I told my parents about her weird messages, and after a few more visits from the family and a trip to the doctor, we came to understand that my grandmother was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. Her mother had started to show symptoms at the same age, so it made sense. In light of such a terrible situation, I vowed to spend more time with mee-maw.
“Oh honey, where have you been? Dinner’s almost ready, come in! You can put your coat on the bench here,” she said, hurriedly taking my coat off and leading me by the hand into the dining room.
“I’ve had so much homework lately, but I’m starving! Thanks for having me over“ I said, falling into a seat at the table after giving her a hug. But the strangest thing – I swear – she looked at me so seriously, and…something changed. Her pupils slowly lost their shape. The black circles tightened into long, straight slits. Worried that she was having some sort of episode, I started calculating in my mind. Should I call an ambulance? Or my parents?
Then she whispered, her voice so low I could hardly hear it, but the tone unmistakably cognizant and dead-serious.
“I’m so hungry dear…please tell me you have one outside." Her grip on my shoulders tightened, and became sharp. I looked down in horror to see that her nails had been transformed into long, sharp talons.
Please leave any feedback because I'm really new to writing!
| |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | "Grandma Lao!" Jordana called. "I've got rock-free cookies, and if you don't want them, they're all for me!"
A dragon barged through the door, splintering it into a thousand pieces. Steam billowed from her mighty nostrils, her tongue flicking towards the direction of the cookies. Jordana dropped her tray on the table and backed up, her eyes widening at the mighty beast that was now devouring her sweets.
"Grandma, you can stop," she said, "I want some too." Her grandmother lifted her scaly head and glared at Jordana, a munched cookie showing between her teeth. She snorted, dousing Jordana with hot steam.
"Thanks for ironing my clothes," Jordana mumbled, and she busied herself with unloading the dishwasher, blocking out the dragon's squeals of delight.
A burst of orange light engulfed her vision, brightly exposing her shadow among the dishes. Her grandmother cheerfully watched as flames danced around the table. Jordana grabbed a rag and patted out each fire, rubbing the burn marks with extra care.
"Now we have to get you a new table," Jordana muttered. "How the hell can your pension pay for that?" She looked up at the whimpering dragon. It glanced at her eyes, and then at the table. Her eyes, then the table. The dragon lifted herself up, her sturdy legs pressing against the ground. Her head moved higher than the fridge and stretched out over the ceiling, towering over Jordana. One swipe, and the table was destroyed.
"Can't you be like her?" Jordana yelled, pointing at the picture frames. "Can't you act like like a decent, grumpy, old, forgetful Chinese lady?" The dragon didn't respond. Jordana dodged a table leg. "I can't do this," she said, stepping over a tail as she left. "Your shrunken alzheimer's brain is too much for me. I quit. I'm calling the cops."
She walked into the study and ran over to the telephone placed over the writing desk. Her fingers picked up the receiver, her right hand poked the number of the emergency department. The phone rang.
*"Hello, this is the Miami Emergency Services. Unfortunately, our system is down at the moment. Please hold, and enjoy our music selection. 'I feel your pain... 'cause I'm the greatest guy... and I wouldn't be able to stand breaking up with myself...'"*
"Oh my god, it's this song again." Jordana rolled her eyes. "They could literally rick-roll me, and I'd be forced to listen to it."
She gazed over her grandmother's beautiful handwriting; letters to passed friends, sometimes the same letter over and over again, short stories, and a piece of paper with her name at the very front. She picked it up. *"Dear Jordana,"* she read.
*In a deluded moment of clarity, I would like to address issues that you need to know of. First, thank you so much for stopping by every weekend, it has truly helped my sanity. There are so many moments we shared together, so many games we played. It may not have occurred to you yet, but playing connect four with oneself does become rather boring for an old lady.*
*The second issue that I wish to tell you about is my ability to shape-shift. I am your grandmother, you are my granddaughter. These things tend to skip a generation or two.*
*Best regards, lest I forget,*
*Grandmama Lao*
*"孩子的生活就像一張紙，每個人都在這張紙上留下印記。" - Chinese Proverb*
Jordana breathed out, and placed the phone back on the receiver. She concentrated with all her might, lips pressed against each other, muscles tightened. Perspiration trickled down her face. Gradually, her skull expanded, and her skin loosened around it. Her head grew heavier as her brain grew larger. She forced new neurons into different patterns, creating new sets of memories and new sets of skills. Jordana smiled, a wholesome, grateful smile, and savored the moment. She walked back towards the dining room, just in time to view a dragon tackle a fridge. The dragon noticed her.
Her grandmother winked. | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | My grandparents had always been the handsomest couple I had ever known. They had both aged gracefully, their hair turning from brown to grey to a stark white and wrinkles appearing because of how often they smiled. Grandma’s bright blue eyes always looked into Grandma’s warm brown ones. I had never seen them wear outfits that didn’t match each other. Larry never went anywhere without his darling Darcy by his side. They’d been married for 64 years, and I still had never seen any two people more in love in my life.
Even when Grandma started forgetting things, Grandpa didn’t stop loving her. He took care of her every day, reminding her gently where she was every so often, helping her put on her clothes if she couldn’t do it herself that day. However, not even love could save Grandma from succumbing further into Alzheimer's. Eventually, Grandpa couldn’t do it himself anymore, and while it broke his heart, he put her into a care center. I had Grandpa move in with me for the time being—I couldn’t bear seeing him alone.
That’s when the strange things started happening. The first sign came on a Saturday. We had just come home from visiting Grandma when we received a call from the care center staff. They urged us to come visit quickly. Grandma had turned into someone else.
“What do you mean, someone else?” I had asked, confused.
The staff member paused for a moment, “I really think you should come see for yourself.”
I told Grandpa the news and we rushed back to the care center immediately. When we arrived by Grandma’s bedside, I could tell that the staff wasn’t joking. Instead of Grandma, my mother was sitting on the bed.
“Amelia?” Grandpa said, clearly confused by her appearance.
The woman on the bed giggled and shook her head, “No silly Larry, I’m Darcy.”
The staff member explained to us that she had changed right in front of her eyes. It was possible that she was a shape-shifter, although everyone had thought that the type had died out ages ago. However, Grandma could have hidden herself the entire time, to avoid discrimination.
Grandpa took the information in stride. He had loved her for many years, and this small fact wouldn’t change that. Darcy was smart, he said, and she must have had a reason for not telling him. And after that, Grandpa and I would always make bets on who she would appear as when we visited her. Once, she had even shifted into Grandpa, and that had made him chuckle.
“Would it be narcissistic if I told you that you look beautiful today?” He had told her.
As amusing as it was, shape-shifting wasn’t a good sign. It meant that her condition was deteriorating. And with each successive visit, we saw it happening in front of our eyes. Eventually she caught pneumonia, and one night we received call we were all expecting. The doctor told us to come in and say our goodbyes. She wasn’t going to make the night.
Everyone came to visit, and it was sad to see Grandma this way. Grandpa was the most dedicated, refusing to leave her side the entire day, holding on to her hand tightly, and telling her that he loved her.
Late into the evening, Grandma’s eyes opened and she looked over at Grandpa, she seemed to have a moment of sudden clarity, “Larry?”
“Yes Dar?” Grandpa responded, a slight excitement in his voice, a happiness that his beloved had remembered him.
“Larry, I’m sorry,” her knuckles turned white with how hard she was squeezing his hand, “I’m not Darcy, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa smiled, “No darling, you’re Darcy, remember?”
Grandma shook her head, “No, Larry, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa didn’t want to disturb her, and simply smiled, “Alright darling, I don’t care if you’re Darcy or Florence, I love you all the same.”
At this, Grandma smiled gently. Then suddenly her eyes glossed over and her hand went limp. Grandpa closed his eyes and gave Grandma’s hand one last kiss.
When Grandpa looked back up, Grandma had completely changed in appearance. Her eyes had become green, hair changing from the stark white into silver, more wrinkles appearing on her face. She had become a completely different person.
Grandpa furrowed his brows before letting out a gasp of disbelief. Then he bent over, and began to sob quietly. I was also shocked. Shape-shifters died in their original form, and this wasn’t the Grandma Darcy I knew.
It took a white before Grandpa composed himself and wiped away his tears with the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked up at me, with a look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Florence was my best friend in high school, but she was very insecure about her looks, and disappeared after we graduated. A few months later Darcy appeared, a woman that had come straight out of my dreams, a woman who fit my every fantasy, who looked exactly my type. She always reminded me a lot of Florence, in a strange way.”
My eyes widened, and I realized.
“Florence, I would’ve loved you all the same,” Grandpa brushed her hair away from her face, “you didn’t need to change the way you looked.” | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
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| |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Shape shifters don't age. It was the oldest lie. I had never seen my grandmother look a day over twenty in her entire life. Yet here she was, sat in bed, confused by everything. Her brain had to be maintained in the shapeshifting, and so while she could reform her skin to be plump and fresh every morning (when she saw new wrinkle) her mental capacity had dwindled. She used to sing opera. But as mass media came, fame came with a risk. So she took safety as an engineer, a doctor, a farmer, a lobbyist. But despite lifetimes of work she was still as young and beautiful as ever.
She had lived nearly 150 years by the time I was born, and regretted the fear that she would only be able to die if she allowed it. She was wrong, she is 234 years old now. The oldest that anyone had ever been, according to the family tree. She hadn't allowed this to happen, she'd forgotten that she couldn't die. She had refused to teach her descendants to shape shift, saying that the modern world didn't want shapeshifters. The world was scientific now, she's say. It believes in poking and prodding what it doesn't understand.
So, I sit next to her. Watching her shallow breaths. Thinking about how my mother had died in childbirth because of this woman's stupid rules. Thinking of the time that she told me that she never should have had children just so she could watch them die. Thinking about how she refused to teach my son how to shapeshift so he could heal his leukaemia. How she had let him die in front of my own eyes. How she told me she was glad that his death caused me to break up with my husband. No more shapeshifters to worry about.
The nurses come in from time to time and roll my grandmother to prevent bed sores, they don't know about her true nature, and so they console me as a grieving grandmother.
Finally, I see her eyes open slightly. She asks who I am. I take my moment. I tell her who I am to her, I tell how much I hate her for ruining my life, I tell her why and explain what she doesn't understand. And I ask her why she wouldn't save my son. She doesn't know. She never knows.
A few minutes pass, she looks at me, and asks why she's here. I can't answer.
As I leave, the nurses make comment on what a beautiful granddaughter I have. I smile politely, resenting the fact that my grandmother will never know how ugly her true self really is - and I tell the nurses I will see them tomorrow. | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Grandpa and I walked into the entrance of St Mary’s hospital. In the ever-bustling reception area, Healers strode purposefully in all directions. We made straight for the elevator, heading to the Geriatric Unit on level 4. As the elevator door opened, I saw a young boy sitting in a wheelchair who was being pushed by- who I assumed to be- his mother. His right leg was completely covered in a white plaster cast. Grandpa made sure the door of the elevator didn’t shut as they passed through and the woman cast him a grateful smile. As they moved away, I caught the beginning of an argument between the two.
“So you’re really going to take my X-box away for *two whole weeks*?”
“I told you Timothy, if you didn’t try to stop this levitation nonsense before you’re old enough, that there would be punishment.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” the boy whined, “Jake double dared me. *Double dared* me Mom. Plus, he levitates around the house whenever he wants.”
“You jumped **off the roof** Timmy! If we didn’t get you to a good healer in time, who knows what would have happened. Now stop arguing before I make it three weeks…”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. As the elevator ascended, I looked up at my Grandpa. He had always been a tall man, but these days there was a slight stoop in his posture. The twinkle in his usually-bright blue eyes had dimmed. An invisible weight tugged on the corners of his smile. But, ever stoic, he looked down at me and spoke in a forcefully cheerful tone.
“What do you think she’ll be today, Maddie?”
These days, Grandma had taken a liking to shifting into her favourite historical figures. Yesterday it had been Queen Elizabeth the second. For the entire visit, she spoke in a high English accent and inquired regularly as to the whereabouts of her beloved Corgi dogs. The Healers had informed us that she had already requested 9 cups of tea that day.
I flashed Grandpa a grin. “I don’t know, but really hoping she’s gotten sick of the Queen. I’m not sure either of us could handle being asked any more questions about what the Daily Telegraph had to say about her outfit she wore on the day of her *Diamond Jubilee*.”
Grandpa chuckled. As we entered the ward, we were greeted cheerily by all the staff we passed. We were regulars now, and most greeted us by name. I saw my Grandma’s primary Healer step out of a nearby room. Even if one was born with the Healing gift, there were certain limitations to the extent that one could "heal" the body; and some things that even the most skilled of healers could not fix. Degenerative conditions of the brain were amoung these ailments. All Healers were, hence, required to attend medical school as any other Doctor would. Healer Saunders, who was in charge of Grandma’s care, also had a degree in both Neurology and Geriatrics.
“Healer Saunders!” I called.
The man spinned in my direction and, recognising me and my Grandpa, walked towards us.
“How is she doing today?”
The man smiled with genuine warmth. “Judith is doing just fine today, although,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “I must admit, I have no idea who she is. Her current form I mean. But she is perfectly fine for visitors.”
Grandpa and I strode into Grandma’s private room where Grandma was standing, gazing out of the room's window. When she turned to look at her visitors, her face was that of a young woman. She looked to be about in her young 20’s. She had wide, chocolate coloured eyes and tresses of beautiful, long dark hair. I felt my Grandpa freeze in his stride. When I looked up, his face was contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was… Pain. Longing. Disbelief.
Grandma’s face light up when she saw him. “Oh, Harold, thank goodness you’ve arrived. I thought we were going to be late!”
Suddenly, I understood. Tears were streaming silently down my Grandpa’s face. She had not recognised him in over a year. Somehow, he forced calm words out of his mouth.
“L-late for what, my dear?”
“The dance, silly!” Grandma giggled. But then her expression turned serious. “The only problem is… I can’t seem to find my dress. And I can’t go in this old thing.” she said, motioning down to her hospital gown.
“Oh, don’t worry my love… I think I know where you left it.”
“You’re wonderful Harold,” said Grandma. I had never seen anyone look at another person like she was looking at Grandpa right at that moment. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be right back, darling” said Grandpa, and he exited the room. I followed swiftly in his wake. He sat down on a nearby chair, and covered his face with his hands. I could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was sobbing.
“That’s… Grandma when she was younger?”
Grandpa looked up, and took a shaky breath. “Yes… that’s Judie when she was 23. I was 25. We were going to the faculty dance that night. I forgot… I forgot how beautiful she was.” He was silent for a moment. “The pictures don’t do her justice. Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Come Maddie, we should probably go.”
I shook my head. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re taking Grandma to a dance. Wait here… Just for a few minutes. Literally.” I smiled playfully.
When I ran, time slowed nearly to a halt. Speed was my gift, and there was no better time to use it than now. Just over 36 seconds later, I burst into my room. The friction had burnt the soles of my shoes and the carpet slightly.
“Worth it.” I muttered.
I grabbed my prom dress from the cupboard, and rubbed the soft pink silk between my fingers. I knew it would fit Grandma easily. I picked up some of my jewellery and some make-up from the drawer too. I rushed to Grandpa’s room, and picked out one of the suits he reserved for special events. Soon, I was back in the Ward, carrying my items and panting slightly. I held them out to Grandpa, whose eyes were still wide in wake of my sudden disappearance.
“You’re taking Grandma to the dance.” I stated firmly.
He looked up at me, and that twinkle in his bright blue eyes which I had missed so much was back. “But Maddie… where will I take her?”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, in the time it will take you both to get ready, I reckon I will have found something suitable… I’m pretty fast. Now go tell Grandma you found her dress." And with that, time ground to a near-halt as I ran back out of the hospital doors.
Edit: Good day beautiful people of Reddit! So, I have been persuaded to create a Subreddit (which is hopefully functional. Computers are... not my thing to say the least) You can catch a few other of my musings at r/Xanadu_dreaming :) thanks for all the support! | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | "Grandma Lao!" Jordana called. "I've got rock-free cookies, and if you don't want them, they're all for me!"
A dragon barged through the door, splintering it into a thousand pieces. Steam billowed from her mighty nostrils, her tongue flicking towards the direction of the cookies. Jordana dropped her tray on the table and backed up, her eyes widening at the mighty beast that was now devouring her sweets.
"Grandma, you can stop," she said, "I want some too." Her grandmother lifted her scaly head and glared at Jordana, a munched cookie showing between her teeth. She snorted, dousing Jordana with hot steam.
"Thanks for ironing my clothes," Jordana mumbled, and she busied herself with unloading the dishwasher, blocking out the dragon's squeals of delight.
A burst of orange light engulfed her vision, brightly exposing her shadow among the dishes. Her grandmother cheerfully watched as flames danced around the table. Jordana grabbed a rag and patted out each fire, rubbing the burn marks with extra care.
"Now we have to get you a new table," Jordana muttered. "How the hell can your pension pay for that?" She looked up at the whimpering dragon. It glanced at her eyes, and then at the table. Her eyes, then the table. The dragon lifted herself up, her sturdy legs pressing against the ground. Her head moved higher than the fridge and stretched out over the ceiling, towering over Jordana. One swipe, and the table was destroyed.
"Can't you be like her?" Jordana yelled, pointing at the picture frames. "Can't you act like like a decent, grumpy, old, forgetful Chinese lady?" The dragon didn't respond. Jordana dodged a table leg. "I can't do this," she said, stepping over a tail as she left. "Your shrunken alzheimer's brain is too much for me. I quit. I'm calling the cops."
She walked into the study and ran over to the telephone placed over the writing desk. Her fingers picked up the receiver, her right hand poked the number of the emergency department. The phone rang.
*"Hello, this is the Miami Emergency Services. Unfortunately, our system is down at the moment. Please hold, and enjoy our music selection. 'I feel your pain... 'cause I'm the greatest guy... and I wouldn't be able to stand breaking up with myself...'"*
"Oh my god, it's this song again." Jordana rolled her eyes. "They could literally rick-roll me, and I'd be forced to listen to it."
She gazed over her grandmother's beautiful handwriting; letters to passed friends, sometimes the same letter over and over again, short stories, and a piece of paper with her name at the very front. She picked it up. *"Dear Jordana,"* she read.
*In a deluded moment of clarity, I would like to address issues that you need to know of. First, thank you so much for stopping by every weekend, it has truly helped my sanity. There are so many moments we shared together, so many games we played. It may not have occurred to you yet, but playing connect four with oneself does become rather boring for an old lady.*
*The second issue that I wish to tell you about is my ability to shape-shift. I am your grandmother, you are my granddaughter. These things tend to skip a generation or two.*
*Best regards, lest I forget,*
*Grandmama Lao*
*"孩子的生活就像一張紙，每個人都在這張紙上留下印記。" - Chinese Proverb*
Jordana breathed out, and placed the phone back on the receiver. She concentrated with all her might, lips pressed against each other, muscles tightened. Perspiration trickled down her face. Gradually, her skull expanded, and her skin loosened around it. Her head grew heavier as her brain grew larger. She forced new neurons into different patterns, creating new sets of memories and new sets of skills. Jordana smiled, a wholesome, grateful smile, and savored the moment. She walked back towards the dining room, just in time to view a dragon tackle a fridge. The dragon noticed her.
Her grandmother winked. | Dementia seemed to run in my family. I had heard second hand accounts from my parents and elder cousins on both sides about great-grand parents slowly forgetting their friends, their family and finally themselves. It sounded absolutely terrible. I never wanted to experience someone I loved going through that, watching someone I had known my whole life forget me was not something I looked forwards to. I tried not to think about my genes and just live my life.
I had put off visiting my Grandma for about three months. I couldn't put myself through it, but at some point I had realised that it was unfair. At the end of the day, it wasn't happening to me. It was happening to her. Perhaps it would happen to me someday, but right now it was my duty as a granddaughter to visit her. Surely, she would recognise me? I shuddered at idea of otherwise.
Gripping the small bouquet of flowers in my hand, I knocked lightly on the door to her room in the nursing home. There was a long silence that was tense enough for me to subconsciously snap the stem of half the flowers with my fist. They would be fine in a tall enough vase, I hoped as the flowers drooped forlornly towards the floor.
'Hello?' a very familiar voice asked as the door swung slightly open to reveal a very unfamiliar face
'Grandma?' I asked, my voice pitching up an octave or two.
The man before me narrowed his dark eyes, squinting at me for a moment, before picking up the glasses that hung around his neck and popping them on the end of his nose.
My grandmother's glasses?
'Kathy, is that you?' I heard my grandma ask. I leapt up onto my tiptoes to see over the tall man's shoulder for my grandma, before realising it was his lips that had moved.
'No it's your Granddaughter, not daughter. It's Claire. What the fuck is going on here?'
'Watch your language young lady!' she chided, 'You're lucky your mother isn't here to hear you, I used to wash her mouth out with soup if she spoke like that in front of me!'
I spluttered, unable to process the image in front of my very eyes.
My Grandma. A very tall, barely middle aged man.
''Did you bring those flowers for me? Oh honey you're so sweet. How is your husband doing?'
I continued to stare, unable to even correct her again that I was her granddaughter and not her daughter. That was if she was even my grandma. He was my grandma. My brain seemed incapable of forming full thoughts, getting stuck again and again at the fact I couldn't believe my own eyes.
He spun around, stepping towards the table before seemingly catching himself in the mirror. I watched as his skin began to sag, stretching off the sharp cheek bones, spine seemingly shrinking, hair loosing colour and tonality before it was a familiar stark white,
and now my grandma stood in front of me, frowning at herself in the mirror, still holding the bouquet of half broken flowers.
'Grandma?' I asked, completely aghast.
'Just don't tell Steven, this can be our little secret.'
'Who is Steven??' My voice squeaked higher than I thought possible.
Abruptly there was another knock at the door and her form began to change again. Sagging skin become tight and blemish free, hair gaining back the fantastic ginger shade I had only ever seen in old photos, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. She could have been my sister, our faces almost identical. She looked about twenty five.
She dashed to the door, pushing the flowers back into my hand as my mouth opened and closed akin to a confused goldfish.
'Hi there Steven, ready to go?
The newest guest at the door was a dashing young man. Light blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an easy smile.
'Of course I am Gwen, I'll have you back here to see your grandma at about 7pm if that is alright?'
'She's just in the bathroom right now, but my sister can say goodbye to her for me, can't you?'
My grandma looked directly at me and winked, before hooking her arm round Steven's, waving her hand and vanishing out the door.
The door shut with a click of finality, and I was left in an empty room in a nursing home unsure if my mind was even with me.
I walked over to the vase, filling it with water before depositing the flowers in it. I balanced the broken ones against the side of the vase, standing them straight. As good as new.
My grandma turned from a man, into herself, into a hot version of her younger self.
My grandma was a shapeshifter.
For the first time in my life, I was more excited about my genetic inheritance than worried. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | My grandparents had always been the handsomest couple I had ever known. They had both aged gracefully, their hair turning from brown to grey to a stark white and wrinkles appearing because of how often they smiled. Grandma’s bright blue eyes always looked into Grandma’s warm brown ones. I had never seen them wear outfits that didn’t match each other. Larry never went anywhere without his darling Darcy by his side. They’d been married for 64 years, and I still had never seen any two people more in love in my life.
Even when Grandma started forgetting things, Grandpa didn’t stop loving her. He took care of her every day, reminding her gently where she was every so often, helping her put on her clothes if she couldn’t do it herself that day. However, not even love could save Grandma from succumbing further into Alzheimer's. Eventually, Grandpa couldn’t do it himself anymore, and while it broke his heart, he put her into a care center. I had Grandpa move in with me for the time being—I couldn’t bear seeing him alone.
That’s when the strange things started happening. The first sign came on a Saturday. We had just come home from visiting Grandma when we received a call from the care center staff. They urged us to come visit quickly. Grandma had turned into someone else.
“What do you mean, someone else?” I had asked, confused.
The staff member paused for a moment, “I really think you should come see for yourself.”
I told Grandpa the news and we rushed back to the care center immediately. When we arrived by Grandma’s bedside, I could tell that the staff wasn’t joking. Instead of Grandma, my mother was sitting on the bed.
“Amelia?” Grandpa said, clearly confused by her appearance.
The woman on the bed giggled and shook her head, “No silly Larry, I’m Darcy.”
The staff member explained to us that she had changed right in front of her eyes. It was possible that she was a shape-shifter, although everyone had thought that the type had died out ages ago. However, Grandma could have hidden herself the entire time, to avoid discrimination.
Grandpa took the information in stride. He had loved her for many years, and this small fact wouldn’t change that. Darcy was smart, he said, and she must have had a reason for not telling him. And after that, Grandpa and I would always make bets on who she would appear as when we visited her. Once, she had even shifted into Grandpa, and that had made him chuckle.
“Would it be narcissistic if I told you that you look beautiful today?” He had told her.
As amusing as it was, shape-shifting wasn’t a good sign. It meant that her condition was deteriorating. And with each successive visit, we saw it happening in front of our eyes. Eventually she caught pneumonia, and one night we received call we were all expecting. The doctor told us to come in and say our goodbyes. She wasn’t going to make the night.
Everyone came to visit, and it was sad to see Grandma this way. Grandpa was the most dedicated, refusing to leave her side the entire day, holding on to her hand tightly, and telling her that he loved her.
Late into the evening, Grandma’s eyes opened and she looked over at Grandpa, she seemed to have a moment of sudden clarity, “Larry?”
“Yes Dar?” Grandpa responded, a slight excitement in his voice, a happiness that his beloved had remembered him.
“Larry, I’m sorry,” her knuckles turned white with how hard she was squeezing his hand, “I’m not Darcy, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa smiled, “No darling, you’re Darcy, remember?”
Grandma shook her head, “No, Larry, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa didn’t want to disturb her, and simply smiled, “Alright darling, I don’t care if you’re Darcy or Florence, I love you all the same.”
At this, Grandma smiled gently. Then suddenly her eyes glossed over and her hand went limp. Grandpa closed his eyes and gave Grandma’s hand one last kiss.
When Grandpa looked back up, Grandma had completely changed in appearance. Her eyes had become green, hair changing from the stark white into silver, more wrinkles appearing on her face. She had become a completely different person.
Grandpa furrowed his brows before letting out a gasp of disbelief. Then he bent over, and began to sob quietly. I was also shocked. Shape-shifters died in their original form, and this wasn’t the Grandma Darcy I knew.
It took a white before Grandpa composed himself and wiped away his tears with the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked up at me, with a look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Florence was my best friend in high school, but she was very insecure about her looks, and disappeared after we graduated. A few months later Darcy appeared, a woman that had come straight out of my dreams, a woman who fit my every fantasy, who looked exactly my type. She always reminded me a lot of Florence, in a strange way.”
My eyes widened, and I realized.
“Florence, I would’ve loved you all the same,” Grandpa brushed her hair away from her face, “you didn’t need to change the way you looked.” | Dementia seemed to run in my family. I had heard second hand accounts from my parents and elder cousins on both sides about great-grand parents slowly forgetting their friends, their family and finally themselves. It sounded absolutely terrible. I never wanted to experience someone I loved going through that, watching someone I had known my whole life forget me was not something I looked forwards to. I tried not to think about my genes and just live my life.
I had put off visiting my Grandma for about three months. I couldn't put myself through it, but at some point I had realised that it was unfair. At the end of the day, it wasn't happening to me. It was happening to her. Perhaps it would happen to me someday, but right now it was my duty as a granddaughter to visit her. Surely, she would recognise me? I shuddered at idea of otherwise.
Gripping the small bouquet of flowers in my hand, I knocked lightly on the door to her room in the nursing home. There was a long silence that was tense enough for me to subconsciously snap the stem of half the flowers with my fist. They would be fine in a tall enough vase, I hoped as the flowers drooped forlornly towards the floor.
'Hello?' a very familiar voice asked as the door swung slightly open to reveal a very unfamiliar face
'Grandma?' I asked, my voice pitching up an octave or two.
The man before me narrowed his dark eyes, squinting at me for a moment, before picking up the glasses that hung around his neck and popping them on the end of his nose.
My grandmother's glasses?
'Kathy, is that you?' I heard my grandma ask. I leapt up onto my tiptoes to see over the tall man's shoulder for my grandma, before realising it was his lips that had moved.
'No it's your Granddaughter, not daughter. It's Claire. What the fuck is going on here?'
'Watch your language young lady!' she chided, 'You're lucky your mother isn't here to hear you, I used to wash her mouth out with soup if she spoke like that in front of me!'
I spluttered, unable to process the image in front of my very eyes.
My Grandma. A very tall, barely middle aged man.
''Did you bring those flowers for me? Oh honey you're so sweet. How is your husband doing?'
I continued to stare, unable to even correct her again that I was her granddaughter and not her daughter. That was if she was even my grandma. He was my grandma. My brain seemed incapable of forming full thoughts, getting stuck again and again at the fact I couldn't believe my own eyes.
He spun around, stepping towards the table before seemingly catching himself in the mirror. I watched as his skin began to sag, stretching off the sharp cheek bones, spine seemingly shrinking, hair loosing colour and tonality before it was a familiar stark white,
and now my grandma stood in front of me, frowning at herself in the mirror, still holding the bouquet of half broken flowers.
'Grandma?' I asked, completely aghast.
'Just don't tell Steven, this can be our little secret.'
'Who is Steven??' My voice squeaked higher than I thought possible.
Abruptly there was another knock at the door and her form began to change again. Sagging skin become tight and blemish free, hair gaining back the fantastic ginger shade I had only ever seen in old photos, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. She could have been my sister, our faces almost identical. She looked about twenty five.
She dashed to the door, pushing the flowers back into my hand as my mouth opened and closed akin to a confused goldfish.
'Hi there Steven, ready to go?
The newest guest at the door was a dashing young man. Light blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an easy smile.
'Of course I am Gwen, I'll have you back here to see your grandma at about 7pm if that is alright?'
'She's just in the bathroom right now, but my sister can say goodbye to her for me, can't you?'
My grandma looked directly at me and winked, before hooking her arm round Steven's, waving her hand and vanishing out the door.
The door shut with a click of finality, and I was left in an empty room in a nursing home unsure if my mind was even with me.
I walked over to the vase, filling it with water before depositing the flowers in it. I balanced the broken ones against the side of the vase, standing them straight. As good as new.
My grandma turned from a man, into herself, into a hot version of her younger self.
My grandma was a shapeshifter.
For the first time in my life, I was more excited about my genetic inheritance than worried. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Shape shifters don't age. It was the oldest lie. I had never seen my grandmother look a day over twenty in her entire life. Yet here she was, sat in bed, confused by everything. Her brain had to be maintained in the shapeshifting, and so while she could reform her skin to be plump and fresh every morning (when she saw new wrinkle) her mental capacity had dwindled. She used to sing opera. But as mass media came, fame came with a risk. So she took safety as an engineer, a doctor, a farmer, a lobbyist. But despite lifetimes of work she was still as young and beautiful as ever.
She had lived nearly 150 years by the time I was born, and regretted the fear that she would only be able to die if she allowed it. She was wrong, she is 234 years old now. The oldest that anyone had ever been, according to the family tree. She hadn't allowed this to happen, she'd forgotten that she couldn't die. She had refused to teach her descendants to shape shift, saying that the modern world didn't want shapeshifters. The world was scientific now, she's say. It believes in poking and prodding what it doesn't understand.
So, I sit next to her. Watching her shallow breaths. Thinking about how my mother had died in childbirth because of this woman's stupid rules. Thinking of the time that she told me that she never should have had children just so she could watch them die. Thinking about how she refused to teach my son how to shapeshift so he could heal his leukaemia. How she had let him die in front of my own eyes. How she told me she was glad that his death caused me to break up with my husband. No more shapeshifters to worry about.
The nurses come in from time to time and roll my grandmother to prevent bed sores, they don't know about her true nature, and so they console me as a grieving grandmother.
Finally, I see her eyes open slightly. She asks who I am. I take my moment. I tell her who I am to her, I tell how much I hate her for ruining my life, I tell her why and explain what she doesn't understand. And I ask her why she wouldn't save my son. She doesn't know. She never knows.
A few minutes pass, she looks at me, and asks why she's here. I can't answer.
As I leave, the nurses make comment on what a beautiful granddaughter I have. I smile politely, resenting the fact that my grandmother will never know how ugly her true self really is - and I tell the nurses I will see them tomorrow. | Dementia seemed to run in my family. I had heard second hand accounts from my parents and elder cousins on both sides about great-grand parents slowly forgetting their friends, their family and finally themselves. It sounded absolutely terrible. I never wanted to experience someone I loved going through that, watching someone I had known my whole life forget me was not something I looked forwards to. I tried not to think about my genes and just live my life.
I had put off visiting my Grandma for about three months. I couldn't put myself through it, but at some point I had realised that it was unfair. At the end of the day, it wasn't happening to me. It was happening to her. Perhaps it would happen to me someday, but right now it was my duty as a granddaughter to visit her. Surely, she would recognise me? I shuddered at idea of otherwise.
Gripping the small bouquet of flowers in my hand, I knocked lightly on the door to her room in the nursing home. There was a long silence that was tense enough for me to subconsciously snap the stem of half the flowers with my fist. They would be fine in a tall enough vase, I hoped as the flowers drooped forlornly towards the floor.
'Hello?' a very familiar voice asked as the door swung slightly open to reveal a very unfamiliar face
'Grandma?' I asked, my voice pitching up an octave or two.
The man before me narrowed his dark eyes, squinting at me for a moment, before picking up the glasses that hung around his neck and popping them on the end of his nose.
My grandmother's glasses?
'Kathy, is that you?' I heard my grandma ask. I leapt up onto my tiptoes to see over the tall man's shoulder for my grandma, before realising it was his lips that had moved.
'No it's your Granddaughter, not daughter. It's Claire. What the fuck is going on here?'
'Watch your language young lady!' she chided, 'You're lucky your mother isn't here to hear you, I used to wash her mouth out with soup if she spoke like that in front of me!'
I spluttered, unable to process the image in front of my very eyes.
My Grandma. A very tall, barely middle aged man.
''Did you bring those flowers for me? Oh honey you're so sweet. How is your husband doing?'
I continued to stare, unable to even correct her again that I was her granddaughter and not her daughter. That was if she was even my grandma. He was my grandma. My brain seemed incapable of forming full thoughts, getting stuck again and again at the fact I couldn't believe my own eyes.
He spun around, stepping towards the table before seemingly catching himself in the mirror. I watched as his skin began to sag, stretching off the sharp cheek bones, spine seemingly shrinking, hair loosing colour and tonality before it was a familiar stark white,
and now my grandma stood in front of me, frowning at herself in the mirror, still holding the bouquet of half broken flowers.
'Grandma?' I asked, completely aghast.
'Just don't tell Steven, this can be our little secret.'
'Who is Steven??' My voice squeaked higher than I thought possible.
Abruptly there was another knock at the door and her form began to change again. Sagging skin become tight and blemish free, hair gaining back the fantastic ginger shade I had only ever seen in old photos, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. She could have been my sister, our faces almost identical. She looked about twenty five.
She dashed to the door, pushing the flowers back into my hand as my mouth opened and closed akin to a confused goldfish.
'Hi there Steven, ready to go?
The newest guest at the door was a dashing young man. Light blonde hair, bright blue eyes and an easy smile.
'Of course I am Gwen, I'll have you back here to see your grandma at about 7pm if that is alright?'
'She's just in the bathroom right now, but my sister can say goodbye to her for me, can't you?'
My grandma looked directly at me and winked, before hooking her arm round Steven's, waving her hand and vanishing out the door.
The door shut with a click of finality, and I was left in an empty room in a nursing home unsure if my mind was even with me.
I walked over to the vase, filling it with water before depositing the flowers in it. I balanced the broken ones against the side of the vase, standing them straight. As good as new.
My grandma turned from a man, into herself, into a hot version of her younger self.
My grandma was a shapeshifter.
For the first time in my life, I was more excited about my genetic inheritance than worried. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | My grandparents had always been the handsomest couple I had ever known. They had both aged gracefully, their hair turning from brown to grey to a stark white and wrinkles appearing because of how often they smiled. Grandma’s bright blue eyes always looked into Grandma’s warm brown ones. I had never seen them wear outfits that didn’t match each other. Larry never went anywhere without his darling Darcy by his side. They’d been married for 64 years, and I still had never seen any two people more in love in my life.
Even when Grandma started forgetting things, Grandpa didn’t stop loving her. He took care of her every day, reminding her gently where she was every so often, helping her put on her clothes if she couldn’t do it herself that day. However, not even love could save Grandma from succumbing further into Alzheimer's. Eventually, Grandpa couldn’t do it himself anymore, and while it broke his heart, he put her into a care center. I had Grandpa move in with me for the time being—I couldn’t bear seeing him alone.
That’s when the strange things started happening. The first sign came on a Saturday. We had just come home from visiting Grandma when we received a call from the care center staff. They urged us to come visit quickly. Grandma had turned into someone else.
“What do you mean, someone else?” I had asked, confused.
The staff member paused for a moment, “I really think you should come see for yourself.”
I told Grandpa the news and we rushed back to the care center immediately. When we arrived by Grandma’s bedside, I could tell that the staff wasn’t joking. Instead of Grandma, my mother was sitting on the bed.
“Amelia?” Grandpa said, clearly confused by her appearance.
The woman on the bed giggled and shook her head, “No silly Larry, I’m Darcy.”
The staff member explained to us that she had changed right in front of her eyes. It was possible that she was a shape-shifter, although everyone had thought that the type had died out ages ago. However, Grandma could have hidden herself the entire time, to avoid discrimination.
Grandpa took the information in stride. He had loved her for many years, and this small fact wouldn’t change that. Darcy was smart, he said, and she must have had a reason for not telling him. And after that, Grandpa and I would always make bets on who she would appear as when we visited her. Once, she had even shifted into Grandpa, and that had made him chuckle.
“Would it be narcissistic if I told you that you look beautiful today?” He had told her.
As amusing as it was, shape-shifting wasn’t a good sign. It meant that her condition was deteriorating. And with each successive visit, we saw it happening in front of our eyes. Eventually she caught pneumonia, and one night we received call we were all expecting. The doctor told us to come in and say our goodbyes. She wasn’t going to make the night.
Everyone came to visit, and it was sad to see Grandma this way. Grandpa was the most dedicated, refusing to leave her side the entire day, holding on to her hand tightly, and telling her that he loved her.
Late into the evening, Grandma’s eyes opened and she looked over at Grandpa, she seemed to have a moment of sudden clarity, “Larry?”
“Yes Dar?” Grandpa responded, a slight excitement in his voice, a happiness that his beloved had remembered him.
“Larry, I’m sorry,” her knuckles turned white with how hard she was squeezing his hand, “I’m not Darcy, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa smiled, “No darling, you’re Darcy, remember?”
Grandma shook her head, “No, Larry, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa didn’t want to disturb her, and simply smiled, “Alright darling, I don’t care if you’re Darcy or Florence, I love you all the same.”
At this, Grandma smiled gently. Then suddenly her eyes glossed over and her hand went limp. Grandpa closed his eyes and gave Grandma’s hand one last kiss.
When Grandpa looked back up, Grandma had completely changed in appearance. Her eyes had become green, hair changing from the stark white into silver, more wrinkles appearing on her face. She had become a completely different person.
Grandpa furrowed his brows before letting out a gasp of disbelief. Then he bent over, and began to sob quietly. I was also shocked. Shape-shifters died in their original form, and this wasn’t the Grandma Darcy I knew.
It took a white before Grandpa composed himself and wiped away his tears with the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked up at me, with a look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Florence was my best friend in high school, but she was very insecure about her looks, and disappeared after we graduated. A few months later Darcy appeared, a woman that had come straight out of my dreams, a woman who fit my every fantasy, who looked exactly my type. She always reminded me a lot of Florence, in a strange way.”
My eyes widened, and I realized.
“Florence, I would’ve loved you all the same,” Grandpa brushed her hair away from her face, “you didn’t need to change the way you looked.” | "Grandma Lao!" Jordana called. "I've got rock-free cookies, and if you don't want them, they're all for me!"
A dragon barged through the door, splintering it into a thousand pieces. Steam billowed from her mighty nostrils, her tongue flicking towards the direction of the cookies. Jordana dropped her tray on the table and backed up, her eyes widening at the mighty beast that was now devouring her sweets.
"Grandma, you can stop," she said, "I want some too." Her grandmother lifted her scaly head and glared at Jordana, a munched cookie showing between her teeth. She snorted, dousing Jordana with hot steam.
"Thanks for ironing my clothes," Jordana mumbled, and she busied herself with unloading the dishwasher, blocking out the dragon's squeals of delight.
A burst of orange light engulfed her vision, brightly exposing her shadow among the dishes. Her grandmother cheerfully watched as flames danced around the table. Jordana grabbed a rag and patted out each fire, rubbing the burn marks with extra care.
"Now we have to get you a new table," Jordana muttered. "How the hell can your pension pay for that?" She looked up at the whimpering dragon. It glanced at her eyes, and then at the table. Her eyes, then the table. The dragon lifted herself up, her sturdy legs pressing against the ground. Her head moved higher than the fridge and stretched out over the ceiling, towering over Jordana. One swipe, and the table was destroyed.
"Can't you be like her?" Jordana yelled, pointing at the picture frames. "Can't you act like like a decent, grumpy, old, forgetful Chinese lady?" The dragon didn't respond. Jordana dodged a table leg. "I can't do this," she said, stepping over a tail as she left. "Your shrunken alzheimer's brain is too much for me. I quit. I'm calling the cops."
She walked into the study and ran over to the telephone placed over the writing desk. Her fingers picked up the receiver, her right hand poked the number of the emergency department. The phone rang.
*"Hello, this is the Miami Emergency Services. Unfortunately, our system is down at the moment. Please hold, and enjoy our music selection. 'I feel your pain... 'cause I'm the greatest guy... and I wouldn't be able to stand breaking up with myself...'"*
"Oh my god, it's this song again." Jordana rolled her eyes. "They could literally rick-roll me, and I'd be forced to listen to it."
She gazed over her grandmother's beautiful handwriting; letters to passed friends, sometimes the same letter over and over again, short stories, and a piece of paper with her name at the very front. She picked it up. *"Dear Jordana,"* she read.
*In a deluded moment of clarity, I would like to address issues that you need to know of. First, thank you so much for stopping by every weekend, it has truly helped my sanity. There are so many moments we shared together, so many games we played. It may not have occurred to you yet, but playing connect four with oneself does become rather boring for an old lady.*
*The second issue that I wish to tell you about is my ability to shape-shift. I am your grandmother, you are my granddaughter. These things tend to skip a generation or two.*
*Best regards, lest I forget,*
*Grandmama Lao*
*"孩子的生活就像一張紙，每個人都在這張紙上留下印記。" - Chinese Proverb*
Jordana breathed out, and placed the phone back on the receiver. She concentrated with all her might, lips pressed against each other, muscles tightened. Perspiration trickled down her face. Gradually, her skull expanded, and her skin loosened around it. Her head grew heavier as her brain grew larger. She forced new neurons into different patterns, creating new sets of memories and new sets of skills. Jordana smiled, a wholesome, grateful smile, and savored the moment. She walked back towards the dining room, just in time to view a dragon tackle a fridge. The dragon noticed her.
Her grandmother winked. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Shape shifters don't age. It was the oldest lie. I had never seen my grandmother look a day over twenty in her entire life. Yet here she was, sat in bed, confused by everything. Her brain had to be maintained in the shapeshifting, and so while she could reform her skin to be plump and fresh every morning (when she saw new wrinkle) her mental capacity had dwindled. She used to sing opera. But as mass media came, fame came with a risk. So she took safety as an engineer, a doctor, a farmer, a lobbyist. But despite lifetimes of work she was still as young and beautiful as ever.
She had lived nearly 150 years by the time I was born, and regretted the fear that she would only be able to die if she allowed it. She was wrong, she is 234 years old now. The oldest that anyone had ever been, according to the family tree. She hadn't allowed this to happen, she'd forgotten that she couldn't die. She had refused to teach her descendants to shape shift, saying that the modern world didn't want shapeshifters. The world was scientific now, she's say. It believes in poking and prodding what it doesn't understand.
So, I sit next to her. Watching her shallow breaths. Thinking about how my mother had died in childbirth because of this woman's stupid rules. Thinking of the time that she told me that she never should have had children just so she could watch them die. Thinking about how she refused to teach my son how to shapeshift so he could heal his leukaemia. How she had let him die in front of my own eyes. How she told me she was glad that his death caused me to break up with my husband. No more shapeshifters to worry about.
The nurses come in from time to time and roll my grandmother to prevent bed sores, they don't know about her true nature, and so they console me as a grieving grandmother.
Finally, I see her eyes open slightly. She asks who I am. I take my moment. I tell her who I am to her, I tell how much I hate her for ruining my life, I tell her why and explain what she doesn't understand. And I ask her why she wouldn't save my son. She doesn't know. She never knows.
A few minutes pass, she looks at me, and asks why she's here. I can't answer.
As I leave, the nurses make comment on what a beautiful granddaughter I have. I smile politely, resenting the fact that my grandmother will never know how ugly her true self really is - and I tell the nurses I will see them tomorrow. | "Grandma Lao!" Jordana called. "I've got rock-free cookies, and if you don't want them, they're all for me!"
A dragon barged through the door, splintering it into a thousand pieces. Steam billowed from her mighty nostrils, her tongue flicking towards the direction of the cookies. Jordana dropped her tray on the table and backed up, her eyes widening at the mighty beast that was now devouring her sweets.
"Grandma, you can stop," she said, "I want some too." Her grandmother lifted her scaly head and glared at Jordana, a munched cookie showing between her teeth. She snorted, dousing Jordana with hot steam.
"Thanks for ironing my clothes," Jordana mumbled, and she busied herself with unloading the dishwasher, blocking out the dragon's squeals of delight.
A burst of orange light engulfed her vision, brightly exposing her shadow among the dishes. Her grandmother cheerfully watched as flames danced around the table. Jordana grabbed a rag and patted out each fire, rubbing the burn marks with extra care.
"Now we have to get you a new table," Jordana muttered. "How the hell can your pension pay for that?" She looked up at the whimpering dragon. It glanced at her eyes, and then at the table. Her eyes, then the table. The dragon lifted herself up, her sturdy legs pressing against the ground. Her head moved higher than the fridge and stretched out over the ceiling, towering over Jordana. One swipe, and the table was destroyed.
"Can't you be like her?" Jordana yelled, pointing at the picture frames. "Can't you act like like a decent, grumpy, old, forgetful Chinese lady?" The dragon didn't respond. Jordana dodged a table leg. "I can't do this," she said, stepping over a tail as she left. "Your shrunken alzheimer's brain is too much for me. I quit. I'm calling the cops."
She walked into the study and ran over to the telephone placed over the writing desk. Her fingers picked up the receiver, her right hand poked the number of the emergency department. The phone rang.
*"Hello, this is the Miami Emergency Services. Unfortunately, our system is down at the moment. Please hold, and enjoy our music selection. 'I feel your pain... 'cause I'm the greatest guy... and I wouldn't be able to stand breaking up with myself...'"*
"Oh my god, it's this song again." Jordana rolled her eyes. "They could literally rick-roll me, and I'd be forced to listen to it."
She gazed over her grandmother's beautiful handwriting; letters to passed friends, sometimes the same letter over and over again, short stories, and a piece of paper with her name at the very front. She picked it up. *"Dear Jordana,"* she read.
*In a deluded moment of clarity, I would like to address issues that you need to know of. First, thank you so much for stopping by every weekend, it has truly helped my sanity. There are so many moments we shared together, so many games we played. It may not have occurred to you yet, but playing connect four with oneself does become rather boring for an old lady.*
*The second issue that I wish to tell you about is my ability to shape-shift. I am your grandmother, you are my granddaughter. These things tend to skip a generation or two.*
*Best regards, lest I forget,*
*Grandmama Lao*
*"孩子的生活就像一張紙，每個人都在這張紙上留下印記。" - Chinese Proverb*
Jordana breathed out, and placed the phone back on the receiver. She concentrated with all her might, lips pressed against each other, muscles tightened. Perspiration trickled down her face. Gradually, her skull expanded, and her skin loosened around it. Her head grew heavier as her brain grew larger. She forced new neurons into different patterns, creating new sets of memories and new sets of skills. Jordana smiled, a wholesome, grateful smile, and savored the moment. She walked back towards the dining room, just in time to view a dragon tackle a fridge. The dragon noticed her.
Her grandmother winked. | |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Grandpa and I walked into the entrance of St Mary’s hospital. In the ever-bustling reception area, Healers strode purposefully in all directions. We made straight for the elevator, heading to the Geriatric Unit on level 4. As the elevator door opened, I saw a young boy sitting in a wheelchair who was being pushed by- who I assumed to be- his mother. His right leg was completely covered in a white plaster cast. Grandpa made sure the door of the elevator didn’t shut as they passed through and the woman cast him a grateful smile. As they moved away, I caught the beginning of an argument between the two.
“So you’re really going to take my X-box away for *two whole weeks*?”
“I told you Timothy, if you didn’t try to stop this levitation nonsense before you’re old enough, that there would be punishment.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” the boy whined, “Jake double dared me. *Double dared* me Mom. Plus, he levitates around the house whenever he wants.”
“You jumped **off the roof** Timmy! If we didn’t get you to a good healer in time, who knows what would have happened. Now stop arguing before I make it three weeks…”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. As the elevator ascended, I looked up at my Grandpa. He had always been a tall man, but these days there was a slight stoop in his posture. The twinkle in his usually-bright blue eyes had dimmed. An invisible weight tugged on the corners of his smile. But, ever stoic, he looked down at me and spoke in a forcefully cheerful tone.
“What do you think she’ll be today, Maddie?”
These days, Grandma had taken a liking to shifting into her favourite historical figures. Yesterday it had been Queen Elizabeth the second. For the entire visit, she spoke in a high English accent and inquired regularly as to the whereabouts of her beloved Corgi dogs. The Healers had informed us that she had already requested 9 cups of tea that day.
I flashed Grandpa a grin. “I don’t know, but really hoping she’s gotten sick of the Queen. I’m not sure either of us could handle being asked any more questions about what the Daily Telegraph had to say about her outfit she wore on the day of her *Diamond Jubilee*.”
Grandpa chuckled. As we entered the ward, we were greeted cheerily by all the staff we passed. We were regulars now, and most greeted us by name. I saw my Grandma’s primary Healer step out of a nearby room. Even if one was born with the Healing gift, there were certain limitations to the extent that one could "heal" the body; and some things that even the most skilled of healers could not fix. Degenerative conditions of the brain were amoung these ailments. All Healers were, hence, required to attend medical school as any other Doctor would. Healer Saunders, who was in charge of Grandma’s care, also had a degree in both Neurology and Geriatrics.
“Healer Saunders!” I called.
The man spinned in my direction and, recognising me and my Grandpa, walked towards us.
“How is she doing today?”
The man smiled with genuine warmth. “Judith is doing just fine today, although,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “I must admit, I have no idea who she is. Her current form I mean. But she is perfectly fine for visitors.”
Grandpa and I strode into Grandma’s private room where Grandma was standing, gazing out of the room's window. When she turned to look at her visitors, her face was that of a young woman. She looked to be about in her young 20’s. She had wide, chocolate coloured eyes and tresses of beautiful, long dark hair. I felt my Grandpa freeze in his stride. When I looked up, his face was contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was… Pain. Longing. Disbelief.
Grandma’s face light up when she saw him. “Oh, Harold, thank goodness you’ve arrived. I thought we were going to be late!”
Suddenly, I understood. Tears were streaming silently down my Grandpa’s face. She had not recognised him in over a year. Somehow, he forced calm words out of his mouth.
“L-late for what, my dear?”
“The dance, silly!” Grandma giggled. But then her expression turned serious. “The only problem is… I can’t seem to find my dress. And I can’t go in this old thing.” she said, motioning down to her hospital gown.
“Oh, don’t worry my love… I think I know where you left it.”
“You’re wonderful Harold,” said Grandma. I had never seen anyone look at another person like she was looking at Grandpa right at that moment. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be right back, darling” said Grandpa, and he exited the room. I followed swiftly in his wake. He sat down on a nearby chair, and covered his face with his hands. I could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was sobbing.
“That’s… Grandma when she was younger?”
Grandpa looked up, and took a shaky breath. “Yes… that’s Judie when she was 23. I was 25. We were going to the faculty dance that night. I forgot… I forgot how beautiful she was.” He was silent for a moment. “The pictures don’t do her justice. Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Come Maddie, we should probably go.”
I shook my head. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re taking Grandma to a dance. Wait here… Just for a few minutes. Literally.” I smiled playfully.
When I ran, time slowed nearly to a halt. Speed was my gift, and there was no better time to use it than now. Just over 36 seconds later, I burst into my room. The friction had burnt the soles of my shoes and the carpet slightly.
“Worth it.” I muttered.
I grabbed my prom dress from the cupboard, and rubbed the soft pink silk between my fingers. I knew it would fit Grandma easily. I picked up some of my jewellery and some make-up from the drawer too. I rushed to Grandpa’s room, and picked out one of the suits he reserved for special events. Soon, I was back in the Ward, carrying my items and panting slightly. I held them out to Grandpa, whose eyes were still wide in wake of my sudden disappearance.
“You’re taking Grandma to the dance.” I stated firmly.
He looked up at me, and that twinkle in his bright blue eyes which I had missed so much was back. “But Maddie… where will I take her?”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, in the time it will take you both to get ready, I reckon I will have found something suitable… I’m pretty fast. Now go tell Grandma you found her dress." And with that, time ground to a near-halt as I ran back out of the hospital doors.
Edit: Good day beautiful people of Reddit! So, I have been persuaded to create a Subreddit (which is hopefully functional. Computers are... not my thing to say the least) You can catch a few other of my musings at r/Xanadu_dreaming :) thanks for all the support! | Every Sunday I visited my grandma at Sunny Oaks. It was a tradition I'd started right after Mom died, in the interest of helping both of us cope. In the five years since, I'd never so much as seen another person coming or going from her apartment.
That's not the *only* reason I dropped my coffee, of course. The person I saw walking in her door wasn't just a neighbor or possible friend. It was the Silver Star, a Golden Age hero. I recognized her from the back pages of the Merlin Price Guide, staring back at me from the covers of ancient comic books worth more than my car. Her brilliant white cape floated just slightly above the ground, fluctuating as if in sync with her long golden locks. Her hair shimmered in the dim light of the retirement home corridor, glowing with life and energy.
So, making the only rational move I could, I dashed to the door and almost tripped over myself in the process. Inside the apartment I saw only my grandma, slowly lowering herself into her favorite rocking chair.
"Oh, Adam!" She looked up at me as she sagged the final few inches into the chair with a *thump*. "I hoped you'd be here soon!"
There was no sign of a Golden Age hero in her apartment. Had my coffee been spiked? Had I been rude to the barista at some point in the last few weeks? It was a relatively new coffee joint. But, that seemed ridiculous. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep last night.
"Adam? You burst in here like a madman! Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine Grandma," I said. I should have been grateful that she recognized me today. Since her Alzheimers diagnosis, a few of my visits had been quite painful and awkward. Once she thought I was the milkman after we'd already been talking for half an hour, and asked me when I was going to finish the rest of my route. Another time I was the mailman.
"Well, good. Come on in and tell me about your week."
"All right," I said, plopping down on her floral couch opposite her. "Did you have a visitor just now?"
"Oh no, honey. I was just out checking the mail. Just more junk mail, unfortunately, so I left it."
"Grandma, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear I just saw a woman dressed as the Silver Star walk into your apartment."
She looked up at me sharply. "You did?"
"Yeah..."
Her eyes darted back and forth. A look of worry passed over her face. "Oh no. If people find out... My family..."
She looked back up at me, her expression cross. "I don't think you saw anything, young man. And whatever you saw, you should just keep it to yourself."
"I..." I began to protest, but she pointed a gnarled finger at me and *tsked.*
"I said that's enough."
I shrugged, leaned back into the not-so-comfortable old couch and started to process that conversation when a loud, booming knock shook the door. I started to stand to go get it but a soft voice, smooth and sweet as honey, cut me off.
"Don't trouble yourself. I'll get the door."
The Silver Star glided past me, resplendent in the strength and vibrancy of her youth. She even *smelled* different, like a crisp summer breeze instead of grandma's normal lilac perfume.
Before I could even pick my jaw up off of the floor, she opened the door. A robust man with an iron jaw and slicked-back graying hair stood framed in the doorway, nearly filling the entire space. He wore a tight blue suit adorned with stars and stripes. Captain freaking Justice.
"Lovely as ever, my dear. Are you ready for a night on the town?" He asked, his voice thundering through the room.
"You know this gal is," she replied, winking at him. She turned to me, her grey eyes washing over me without much recognition. "Mister reporter, have you got enough for your story? We didn't really cover my powers. I could take you for a quick flight, I suppose."
My thoughts drifted back from pure shock and processed that line. I really didn't want to be dropped from a great height while my shape-shifting grandmother forgot/remembered who she was.
"No," I finally managed to say. "I think I've taken in quite enough for one day."
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
| |
[WP] Death appears at your door, he just wants to talk. | I opened the door. It was Death, standing with his hood off and his scythe leaned gently against the wall. His skull shined like porcelain under the porch light. The instinctual twinge of fear passed by almost unnoticed. It had been a long time since that fear grabbed me by the throat and brought me to my knees. Instead I smiled at Death. He smiled back, or, at least, it looked like he smiled back. It was hard to tell how he felt without skin and muscles.
“I saw her again,” he said simply. His jaw clicked as he spoke, like tapping two seashells together.
“What?” I said and opened the door wider. “Shit. Come on man! We’ve been over this.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Death said. “There was this old lady in her building that fell wrong and hit her head on the counter. I was just minding my own business shepherding the woman’s soul to the afterlife, and there she was.”
“Did she see you?” I asked.
Even without normal physical cues I could read his expression. “No, shit sherlock” that expression said. “Of course she saw me.” Death grabbed his scythe and held it loosely in his bony hand as he walked into the hall. I subconsciously moved myself to his other side and closed the door behind him. Being careful to avoid direct contact, I placed my hand on his robe.
“Right.” I said. “Well, come on let’s get a drink. I got a six pack of that apple cider you like. The one with honey in it.”
“Closest thing I’ll ever get to mead. The good mead, that is.”
“Yeah, so you’ve said.” I said going to the kitchen and pulling out the six pack. I popped the cap off one and took a long drink. Then I popped off another one and held it out for Death. He didn’t take it. He was busy scratching my cat, Whiskey, behind the ear. Whiskey liked Death, he purred and his tail whipped excitedly in the air. I put the hard cider on the table, and fell into my seat. Something about the absurdity of watching Death scratch my cat’s ear made me shudder. It made me remember.
Death had first come to me after a particularly bad car accident. I was driving home from a party the smell of onion rings and garlic dip on my breath instead of alcohol. My lights were on and I was driving the speed limit. In other words, I wasn’t doing anything wrong.
The oncoming car had been the problem.
I never found out if the driver in the black sedan was drunk or asleep, but it didn’t matter. In the last normal instance of my life I saw a car barreling towards me on the wrong side of the street without its headlights on. I yanked my steering wheel hard to the right, and sent my car careening off the edge of a steep cliff. I slammed my head on the driver side window. The glass splintered. A crack traced a jagged line into my skull. The car rolled, pulling me out of my seat and throwing me hard to the ceiling. By pure luck I turned my head to avoid breaking my neck, but the crack in my skull widened, like a ceramic plate hit with a hammer. My car continued to roll down the hill bouncing over trees and rocks and rocking me back and forth against the interior of the car.
By the time I came to a stop at the bottom of the ravine slamming hard into an ancient tree I had suffered a broken arm, a dozen or more cuts and lacerations, broken ribs that punctured my left lung, and a dislodged vertebrae that left my toes tingling. Worst of all was my head. The side of my head that had been cracked against the window and the ceiling again and again. The fragments of bones were being held together by nothing more than a thin layer of tissue. One more strike to the head and the sharp shards would cut through the gray stuff in my head, destroying my motor capabilities and stopping the frantic beating of my heart and the harsh wheezes of my right lung.
But I was alive. I was alive and somehow I thought if I could just stay awake long enough help would come. The paramedics would get me out of this car and pull me to safety where everything would be okay-
Above me there was a loud crack and a heavy branch on the tree that stopped me fell free. It crashed down on my car’s roof and caved the ceiling down against my head.
Then everything stopped.
Time makes a sound. No one notices it because it’s all around us. It’s like sitting next to a river for too long, and tuning out the sound of water coursing out towards the ocean. The sound becomes part of the surroundings. That’s what the sound of time is like. It’s part of living, and when it stopped I noticed. As if the river suddenly disappeared, the roar of time ceased and I was sitting in complete silence in my car.
[End part one. Part two in comments] | "So, to recap, I have two girlfriends and I love neither." Grant spoke while staring into empty space. The skeletal figure at his door watched him quietly, holding up a hallowed out pumpkin. "I got dishonorably discharged, making it all but impossible to get a job and my girl doesn't know. Neither of them. I drink all night, every night, and I just tried tabs for the first time, but not enough to hallucinate, I'm told. If you'd showed up three months ago and stared at me like that, I'd question my sanity. But now, I almost want you to kill me."
"Okay..." Death's voice was shockingly youthful. The skeleton slowly lowered the pumpkin he held and backed away. He turned to his buddies, a ghoul and a vampire. "Forget the candy! Just run away!" | |
[WP] Death appears at your door, he just wants to talk. | "You better not have brought the boom box." She glared at him coldly.
She paused allowing her eyes to cut into his with great intensity, allowing her gaze to linger far longer than he expected anyone to glare at him. Nobody usually stares death in the face and lives to write about it. Today that would change.
In these moments, he could have sworn she could see the naked, trembling inner-child and the soulless-void nobody else seemed to look deep enough notice. This made Death feel uneasy and she could see it written all over his face.
Apprehensively, she allowed him in, motioning him through the doorway. He began to step into the foyer, she raised her hand to stop him at the chest, causing him to lose his balance slightly as her motion had precariously positioned and halted him inside the door frame , "—No boom box—no bullshit...and take off the hood, where is your etiquette? Don't you have a casual outfit?" Her hand fell, allowing him into the house.
If Death had been a dog who had been given a sharp reprimand for piddling on the carpet, his tail would have been tucked tucked tightly between his legs. He shuffled himself inside, pulling his hood off as she requested. She closed the door, following closely behind him he felt the discomfort of her eyes burning, searing, holes into his back. Once he reached the sofas, he turned to looked for her for direction—he looked so defeated—the man was exhausted, confused.
"Sit." She pointed to the black leather sectional, still staring at him intensely. She did not trust Death, even when it was obvious he felt smaller and more willing to compromise than he ever had. Death never had to apologize before for his behavior and it was safe to say that Death was *very much* out of his element.
"What is it you want? You can't kill me—you know that by now, hopefully. You killed my pets, you crashed my ex's car while he was driving it, on purpose. You are remorseless. You are reckless—with an R not a W. You are cruel, and you don't think about the consequences of your actions. You are lucky I let you in, today. I swear to God, if you try anything stupid, it wont work and you're gonna feel even worse about your whole...whatever it is you do that doesn't work on me. I know your boss, met him when I was 24. We already made a deal. If you had *listened* to me when I mentioned it *maybe* we could have saved ourselves some trouble."
He hung his head, arms folded neatly between his knees on the edge of the couch. He sat tensely and remained silent, and that silence permeated the living room each time a natural pause fell within her speech. After so much pointless torment, she deeply enjoyed the discomfort it caused Death.
The situational irony of where he had been instructed to sit was not lost on him. She loved irony, he remembered that quite well from the first few chats they had. He knew she did it on purpose.
The room swarmed with an unsurmountable and awkward tension, and it kept building. He knew the third degree was coming. He had mentally prepared himself for it the whole ride over on that silly pale horse that probably was taking a huge dump in her yard right that very moment, just like the huge dump he took on her entire life. She should have requested no boom box, no *horseshit*, she thought, but it was a little late for that.
"You know what?" She continued, "I respect you for showing up today, probably the most respect I've felt for you since we met. It's your turn to talk now, make it good and don't disappoint me."
Death sat in silence.
"Speak!" She shouted at Death, "You *hurt* me. You owe me an explanation."
She sat down in the arm chair returning to her calm, cold intensity. She was still staring at him as she pulled from her pocket a pack of cigarettes, one of which she lit, taking a long, satisfying, drag. Her usual "sweet demeanor" that had made him hang around and cause so much trouble in the first place had disappeared, entirely. He had never seen her this angry.
Defiantly, she exhaled a luxurious amount of cigarette smoke in his direction daring him to take out that stupid book and put a tick mark beside her name for the cigarette that deducted 5 minutes off her life. She wasn't going to make this easy. She had every damn right to make this uncomfortable. That's why death had been avoiding this very moment for so long.
To her surprise, this time, he did not take out the book like he always had before and make that tick mark. Instead, he stayed still and silent until he took a few slow, deep breaths and Death finally lifted his head and spoke to her.
| "So, to recap, I have two girlfriends and I love neither." Grant spoke while staring into empty space. The skeletal figure at his door watched him quietly, holding up a hallowed out pumpkin. "I got dishonorably discharged, making it all but impossible to get a job and my girl doesn't know. Neither of them. I drink all night, every night, and I just tried tabs for the first time, but not enough to hallucinate, I'm told. If you'd showed up three months ago and stared at me like that, I'd question my sanity. But now, I almost want you to kill me."
"Okay..." Death's voice was shockingly youthful. The skeleton slowly lowered the pumpkin he held and backed away. He turned to his buddies, a ghoul and a vampire. "Forget the candy! Just run away!" | |
[WP] Death appears at your door, he just wants to talk. | I had just finished a microwaved two day old slice of pizza when an icy cold draft hit me. It was one of the worst feelings of my life. I just shrugged it off to that "new house feel" and walked back into the bed room. And there, he, she, it? Does Death have a gender really? Well, I guess since it spoke in what I would say was a male voice I'll say 'he'. There he was, sitting, playing Fallout.
At first I completely freaked out, as expected, and ran into the bathroom to hide. Yeah, I know, hide from Death, go fuck yourself. After about five minutes of this I heard him speak.
"Hey, Mike you totally missed the Covenant side story, its a good one. Do you want to play it?"
I cracked the door just enough to see him well, just hanging out in front of my T.V. playing the game. Just like I do, like everyone does, but, ya know, with the whole black robe and hood thing.
"Fuck it" I told myself, got up, straightened my self out, pulled a comb through my hair and walked out to meet my death.
"Um...So, uh whats the uh, protocol (protocol, really, goddamn you're an idiot) here" I was shaking and honestly surprised I got that much out.
"What? Oh, this. Yeah one sec" He said, not looking away from the T.V. Well I assumed he didn't look away. Beyond the rim of the hood was just complete darkness. I didn't notice before but there weren't even hands holding the controller, just a dark mist. Death wasn't so much a skeleton or an actual thing, just an, energy, an entity I guess. The controller floated from his, well, his lap I suppose to beside him on the bed.
"Look, I'm not here to kill you or take you to the afterlife or deliver you to the God of your choosing or whatever. I just needed a night off and your place was on the way. I guess I must have scared you to death, huh? Hahaha! Sorry I kill myself sometimes! Hahaha"
Great the dark lord of Death has a sense of humor drier than the Mojave. This should be fun.
"So I'm not going to die tonight?"
"No Mike, you're not dying tonight"
"What about everyone else? Don't like, thousands of people die every night? So, no one is going to die, at all?"
"Take a look at your watch. Your dad's right? I remember him giving it to you. Nice moment."
My dad died ten years ago. Cancer. He gave me the watch as he slipped away. He carried it through 'Nam, Nicaragua, Desert Storm. It never let him down. It was stopped.
"So, you've frozen time except what happens in this area. Neat."
"Yeah, one of the perks of the job. So listen, like I said the reason I'm here is that I'm just so fucking bored with this job. Every day, every night. Like you said thousands of people get the old visit from yours truly. It sucks. I was just in Africa. Some asshole warlord decided to ethnically cleanse his neighbor. Not a fun day."
He sat back down on the bed. If I could say he had an exhausted posture would it make any sense? But that's the only way I can describe it. Death was tired.
"So" I said "can, uh, I sit here?" pointing to a spot next to him on the bed.
"Oh, yeah, my bad man" he said, shifting over, giving me a place to sit.
"So if I accidentally touch you or something I'm not going to die right?"
"No Mike. Like I said, already no dying for you tonight."
Great. I just annoyed Death. I always do this, say just the wrong thing at the wrong time.
"So, Mike hows it going?"
"Uh, What do you mean?"
"Life, how's it treating you?"
"Um, pretty good I guess?"
Death laughed. Laughed for a long time. Longer than necessary. Guess he wanted to make a point.
"Mike, I don't want to be rude or anything"
"Too fucking late for that man!"
Death continued. "Ahem. As, I was saying. You're a loser Mike. Single bedroom apartment on the shittiest side of town. No girlfriend,"
"I have a girlfriend!" I extorted
"Don't fucking lie to me. I know everything about everyone all the time. And no that doesn't make me God, just better than the NSA at reading social media."
Death stood and started to walk around my bed room. He started picking through the scattered laundry on the floor, kicking the empty beer cans. I was getting incredulous.
"So the fuck what. Yeah I'm not where I want to be. I'm 30 in a shitty apartment with a shitty job and my best date in the last two week was with my left hand,"
He turned toward me at the last bit.
"Ok, in the last month" He nodded his head "Oh for fuck's sake, fine. Three months. But what business is it of yours, huh? You just go around stealing people away from their families, killing school buses full of kids and letting the drunk ass driver go? You take people like Robin Williams and leave people like Kim Jong-Un alone. Fuck you man!"
I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was berating Death. Fucking Death! And he took it. He didn't even say a word to defend himself. It suddenly hit me. He really hated what he was doing. He hated that he did, everything that made him who he was. I guess everyone hates their job from time to time.
"Yeah, I hear you Mike. Fuck me. I hear that a lot. More than you can probably imagine. That's why I'm here. I'm as old as time Mike. I've seen more things than you could possible imagine. Do you know how many worlds I visit? How many Universes? I am Death, Mike. I don't have a team. I don't have a staff. It's just me. I've been everywhere, seen everything, and everywhere its the same story. Fuck me. Do you know what its like to be cursed at in 7 Trillion different languages, because I do."
It never occurred to me that Death went beyond Earth. I mean it makes sense right? Death is death, regardless of where. Everything has to die some time.
"So, you want a break from being Death. How, I mean, can you? Can you just stop being Death?"
"No. There can't not be a Death. Without it the universes would collapse. Its part of the balance. You know, light, dark, hot, cold, life, death. Everything must be in balance for it to work."
"Sounds like you're kinda screwed then."
"Not exactly" he said. I watched as the robes began to coalesce into a more defined shape, turning from black into a pale skin tone. The mist concentrating into fleshy arms and hands. And I stood there, staring at a naked version of myself. It wasn't impressive.
"Here's the deal" he said with my own voice "I become you. You take over for me. I give you all the powers of Death Incarnate."
"For how long?" I asked pensively
"For as long as you can stand it. Last time I did this on this planet was, oh lets see, middle part of last century. Maybe 1939-1945. He did a fair job, average I would say. Lasted longer than most humans in my experience, especially for such a little war."
"Ok, whats the catch?" I asked
"Catch is that the longer you stay as Death, the longer I get to make your life better, but also the more likely you go fucking insane. Just remember I've been everywhere, and when up to this point in history. I've seen a billion civilizations a billion years older than yours. So when you get good and tired of doing the whole Death thing, come see me and I'll take it back. The powers of Death are overwhelming, you'll need help at first, but when you fully take over it's yours and I can get to work getting your shitty life together."
I looked at my pudgy naked doppelganger standing across from me, insulting me in my own voice. I was pissed. I like me. I'm a good person. I don't want to go around slaughtering people just for some universal balance bullshit. Not my fucking job. I looked away, looked at my apartment, all my things that I've worked for, that I've earned. He was right. It was shit. I turned back to Death.
"So, who dies next?" | "So, to recap, I have two girlfriends and I love neither." Grant spoke while staring into empty space. The skeletal figure at his door watched him quietly, holding up a hallowed out pumpkin. "I got dishonorably discharged, making it all but impossible to get a job and my girl doesn't know. Neither of them. I drink all night, every night, and I just tried tabs for the first time, but not enough to hallucinate, I'm told. If you'd showed up three months ago and stared at me like that, I'd question my sanity. But now, I almost want you to kill me."
"Okay..." Death's voice was shockingly youthful. The skeleton slowly lowered the pumpkin he held and backed away. He turned to his buddies, a ghoul and a vampire. "Forget the candy! Just run away!" | |
[WP] Death appears at your door, he just wants to talk. | "You better not have brought the boom box." She glared at him coldly.
She paused allowing her eyes to cut into his with great intensity, allowing her gaze to linger far longer than he expected anyone to glare at him. Nobody usually stares death in the face and lives to write about it. Today that would change.
In these moments, he could have sworn she could see the naked, trembling inner-child and the soulless-void nobody else seemed to look deep enough notice. This made Death feel uneasy and she could see it written all over his face.
Apprehensively, she allowed him in, motioning him through the doorway. He began to step into the foyer, she raised her hand to stop him at the chest, causing him to lose his balance slightly as her motion had precariously positioned and halted him inside the door frame , "—No boom box—no bullshit...and take off the hood, where is your etiquette? Don't you have a casual outfit?" Her hand fell, allowing him into the house.
If Death had been a dog who had been given a sharp reprimand for piddling on the carpet, his tail would have been tucked tucked tightly between his legs. He shuffled himself inside, pulling his hood off as she requested. She closed the door, following closely behind him he felt the discomfort of her eyes burning, searing, holes into his back. Once he reached the sofas, he turned to looked for her for direction—he looked so defeated—the man was exhausted, confused.
"Sit." She pointed to the black leather sectional, still staring at him intensely. She did not trust Death, even when it was obvious he felt smaller and more willing to compromise than he ever had. Death never had to apologize before for his behavior and it was safe to say that Death was *very much* out of his element.
"What is it you want? You can't kill me—you know that by now, hopefully. You killed my pets, you crashed my ex's car while he was driving it, on purpose. You are remorseless. You are reckless—with an R not a W. You are cruel, and you don't think about the consequences of your actions. You are lucky I let you in, today. I swear to God, if you try anything stupid, it wont work and you're gonna feel even worse about your whole...whatever it is you do that doesn't work on me. I know your boss, met him when I was 24. We already made a deal. If you had *listened* to me when I mentioned it *maybe* we could have saved ourselves some trouble."
He hung his head, arms folded neatly between his knees on the edge of the couch. He sat tensely and remained silent, and that silence permeated the living room each time a natural pause fell within her speech. After so much pointless torment, she deeply enjoyed the discomfort it caused Death.
The situational irony of where he had been instructed to sit was not lost on him. She loved irony, he remembered that quite well from the first few chats they had. He knew she did it on purpose.
The room swarmed with an unsurmountable and awkward tension, and it kept building. He knew the third degree was coming. He had mentally prepared himself for it the whole ride over on that silly pale horse that probably was taking a huge dump in her yard right that very moment, just like the huge dump he took on her entire life. She should have requested no boom box, no *horseshit*, she thought, but it was a little late for that.
"You know what?" She continued, "I respect you for showing up today, probably the most respect I've felt for you since we met. It's your turn to talk now, make it good and don't disappoint me."
Death sat in silence.
"Speak!" She shouted at Death, "You *hurt* me. You owe me an explanation."
She sat down in the arm chair returning to her calm, cold intensity. She was still staring at him as she pulled from her pocket a pack of cigarettes, one of which she lit, taking a long, satisfying, drag. Her usual "sweet demeanor" that had made him hang around and cause so much trouble in the first place had disappeared, entirely. He had never seen her this angry.
Defiantly, she exhaled a luxurious amount of cigarette smoke in his direction daring him to take out that stupid book and put a tick mark beside her name for the cigarette that deducted 5 minutes off her life. She wasn't going to make this easy. She had every damn right to make this uncomfortable. That's why death had been avoiding this very moment for so long.
To her surprise, this time, he did not take out the book like he always had before and make that tick mark. Instead, he stayed still and silent until he took a few slow, deep breaths and Death finally lifted his head and spoke to her.
| "Hi! It's me Death," she said. He replied, "I didn't know you know internet jokes grandma. *Haha*," closing the door, "Come in."
"I have lived a long life and I find this thing you call Reddit very interesting, almost incomparable to anything else of my lifetime."
"It's good that you found a hobby. I was worried you've been staying only in your house. It's good to have some fun."
She said, "Something called Xbox One or PS4," calmly stepping beside the sofa, "seemed fun just like Reddit darling ..."
"Do you want to play it? I have one"
From this day to the end of the summer break, they played video games. Now, he had to go to school. She had work to do.
"But why is killing people my job?" she asked looking down at the floor. "People won't mind absence of my work," she said laying on the sofa.
Everyone lived happily ever after.
| |
[WP] Death appears at your door, he just wants to talk. | I had just finished a microwaved two day old slice of pizza when an icy cold draft hit me. It was one of the worst feelings of my life. I just shrugged it off to that "new house feel" and walked back into the bed room. And there, he, she, it? Does Death have a gender really? Well, I guess since it spoke in what I would say was a male voice I'll say 'he'. There he was, sitting, playing Fallout.
At first I completely freaked out, as expected, and ran into the bathroom to hide. Yeah, I know, hide from Death, go fuck yourself. After about five minutes of this I heard him speak.
"Hey, Mike you totally missed the Covenant side story, its a good one. Do you want to play it?"
I cracked the door just enough to see him well, just hanging out in front of my T.V. playing the game. Just like I do, like everyone does, but, ya know, with the whole black robe and hood thing.
"Fuck it" I told myself, got up, straightened my self out, pulled a comb through my hair and walked out to meet my death.
"Um...So, uh whats the uh, protocol (protocol, really, goddamn you're an idiot) here" I was shaking and honestly surprised I got that much out.
"What? Oh, this. Yeah one sec" He said, not looking away from the T.V. Well I assumed he didn't look away. Beyond the rim of the hood was just complete darkness. I didn't notice before but there weren't even hands holding the controller, just a dark mist. Death wasn't so much a skeleton or an actual thing, just an, energy, an entity I guess. The controller floated from his, well, his lap I suppose to beside him on the bed.
"Look, I'm not here to kill you or take you to the afterlife or deliver you to the God of your choosing or whatever. I just needed a night off and your place was on the way. I guess I must have scared you to death, huh? Hahaha! Sorry I kill myself sometimes! Hahaha"
Great the dark lord of Death has a sense of humor drier than the Mojave. This should be fun.
"So I'm not going to die tonight?"
"No Mike, you're not dying tonight"
"What about everyone else? Don't like, thousands of people die every night? So, no one is going to die, at all?"
"Take a look at your watch. Your dad's right? I remember him giving it to you. Nice moment."
My dad died ten years ago. Cancer. He gave me the watch as he slipped away. He carried it through 'Nam, Nicaragua, Desert Storm. It never let him down. It was stopped.
"So, you've frozen time except what happens in this area. Neat."
"Yeah, one of the perks of the job. So listen, like I said the reason I'm here is that I'm just so fucking bored with this job. Every day, every night. Like you said thousands of people get the old visit from yours truly. It sucks. I was just in Africa. Some asshole warlord decided to ethnically cleanse his neighbor. Not a fun day."
He sat back down on the bed. If I could say he had an exhausted posture would it make any sense? But that's the only way I can describe it. Death was tired.
"So" I said "can, uh, I sit here?" pointing to a spot next to him on the bed.
"Oh, yeah, my bad man" he said, shifting over, giving me a place to sit.
"So if I accidentally touch you or something I'm not going to die right?"
"No Mike. Like I said, already no dying for you tonight."
Great. I just annoyed Death. I always do this, say just the wrong thing at the wrong time.
"So, Mike hows it going?"
"Uh, What do you mean?"
"Life, how's it treating you?"
"Um, pretty good I guess?"
Death laughed. Laughed for a long time. Longer than necessary. Guess he wanted to make a point.
"Mike, I don't want to be rude or anything"
"Too fucking late for that man!"
Death continued. "Ahem. As, I was saying. You're a loser Mike. Single bedroom apartment on the shittiest side of town. No girlfriend,"
"I have a girlfriend!" I extorted
"Don't fucking lie to me. I know everything about everyone all the time. And no that doesn't make me God, just better than the NSA at reading social media."
Death stood and started to walk around my bed room. He started picking through the scattered laundry on the floor, kicking the empty beer cans. I was getting incredulous.
"So the fuck what. Yeah I'm not where I want to be. I'm 30 in a shitty apartment with a shitty job and my best date in the last two week was with my left hand,"
He turned toward me at the last bit.
"Ok, in the last month" He nodded his head "Oh for fuck's sake, fine. Three months. But what business is it of yours, huh? You just go around stealing people away from their families, killing school buses full of kids and letting the drunk ass driver go? You take people like Robin Williams and leave people like Kim Jong-Un alone. Fuck you man!"
I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was berating Death. Fucking Death! And he took it. He didn't even say a word to defend himself. It suddenly hit me. He really hated what he was doing. He hated that he did, everything that made him who he was. I guess everyone hates their job from time to time.
"Yeah, I hear you Mike. Fuck me. I hear that a lot. More than you can probably imagine. That's why I'm here. I'm as old as time Mike. I've seen more things than you could possible imagine. Do you know how many worlds I visit? How many Universes? I am Death, Mike. I don't have a team. I don't have a staff. It's just me. I've been everywhere, seen everything, and everywhere its the same story. Fuck me. Do you know what its like to be cursed at in 7 Trillion different languages, because I do."
It never occurred to me that Death went beyond Earth. I mean it makes sense right? Death is death, regardless of where. Everything has to die some time.
"So, you want a break from being Death. How, I mean, can you? Can you just stop being Death?"
"No. There can't not be a Death. Without it the universes would collapse. Its part of the balance. You know, light, dark, hot, cold, life, death. Everything must be in balance for it to work."
"Sounds like you're kinda screwed then."
"Not exactly" he said. I watched as the robes began to coalesce into a more defined shape, turning from black into a pale skin tone. The mist concentrating into fleshy arms and hands. And I stood there, staring at a naked version of myself. It wasn't impressive.
"Here's the deal" he said with my own voice "I become you. You take over for me. I give you all the powers of Death Incarnate."
"For how long?" I asked pensively
"For as long as you can stand it. Last time I did this on this planet was, oh lets see, middle part of last century. Maybe 1939-1945. He did a fair job, average I would say. Lasted longer than most humans in my experience, especially for such a little war."
"Ok, whats the catch?" I asked
"Catch is that the longer you stay as Death, the longer I get to make your life better, but also the more likely you go fucking insane. Just remember I've been everywhere, and when up to this point in history. I've seen a billion civilizations a billion years older than yours. So when you get good and tired of doing the whole Death thing, come see me and I'll take it back. The powers of Death are overwhelming, you'll need help at first, but when you fully take over it's yours and I can get to work getting your shitty life together."
I looked at my pudgy naked doppelganger standing across from me, insulting me in my own voice. I was pissed. I like me. I'm a good person. I don't want to go around slaughtering people just for some universal balance bullshit. Not my fucking job. I looked away, looked at my apartment, all my things that I've worked for, that I've earned. He was right. It was shit. I turned back to Death.
"So, who dies next?" | "Hi! It's me Death," she said. He replied, "I didn't know you know internet jokes grandma. *Haha*," closing the door, "Come in."
"I have lived a long life and I find this thing you call Reddit very interesting, almost incomparable to anything else of my lifetime."
"It's good that you found a hobby. I was worried you've been staying only in your house. It's good to have some fun."
She said, "Something called Xbox One or PS4," calmly stepping beside the sofa, "seemed fun just like Reddit darling ..."
"Do you want to play it? I have one"
From this day to the end of the summer break, they played video games. Now, he had to go to school. She had work to do.
"But why is killing people my job?" she asked looking down at the floor. "People won't mind absence of my work," she said laying on the sofa.
Everyone lived happily ever after.
| |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | The Street
The street was empty and dark. Its denizens were dark and empty.
It was one thousand yards long and 15 yards wide, laid with ancient cobbled stones. Each side was lined with narrow buildings, squeezed together like the chickens at a food mill. These buildings stretched up toward the sky, begging God to be done with them.
But God was not done.
The windows of the buildings, those that were left, were tinged with bloody stains. The acidic downpours that cursed this street burned away the blood from the cobbles and the walls; else there would be nothing but blood. But it could not clean the inside.
Perhaps God did not care.
At one end of the street was a concrete wall: at least one hundred feet high, maybe a little more. It was ten feet thick, and on its backside was a foot of steel (though those who lived on this street did not know). It spanned the expanse between the buildings, blocking off the road from any coming in or any coming out.
Or, perhaps God was testing them.
At the other end of the street was another barrier of thick concrete, much like the first. This one, though, had a profound characteristic. At the bottom, more or less in the center, was a door. It was a steel door, one foot thick and locked with a heavy lock.
Most likely, though, God had forgotten.
It had not always been this way, the street. There was a time when it was bustling with life and laughter. A very long time ago, before the sun burned red and the sky gave out, and all the grass was burned up and the oceans turned to mist. It seemed, at that time, that God had finished with his people; with his world.
But he was not done with us. We built a canopy, 1000 yards long and 15 yards wide, and stretched it across the buildings over Hake Street. It was reflective and semi-opaque; a clever invention by a young scientist to save the human race. But it did not save us. It destroyed us.
The buildings were sealed off tight. No one could get in or out from anywhere, except the 1000 yards of Hake Street. The roofs were covered in layers of cinder blocks to keep out the heat. The radiation was held at bay. We were safe. For a time.
First came the rain. The canopy was set over the tops of the buildings, to reflect the sun and the radiation away from the street. But it was not waterproof. The rain leaked in through the sides and seeped along the top of the canopy, congealing until it became too much for the water tension to support and it spilled down on us, burning through our hair and our clothes and our skin. It melted faces off and left mothers and children screaming in the streets. The lucky ones made back into the buildings.
Or maybe we are not so lucky after all.
The buildings are run by gangs now. Their territory moves and shifts with the days. It’s hard to keep track of who we owe tribute to, most of the time. And most of the time, we don’t have to keep track. They just come and take it.
10 Years Later
I do not remember how I became one of the Undead. All I know is that is what I am now.
Our mark is a faded skull, upside down on our back. We never die, they say. We run the northernmost building, from top to bottom. We take tribute as necessary, and everything else as we want.
I no longer have a name. We do not have names. We only do what we are told. I am a killer. The best killer in the world. So I kill.
I walk down the ragged halls, a scrap of paper in my hand. 7854C. It has taken more than I thought possible to get this number. This number. Antikaan. The one they call The Ghost. He will not escape me this time.
The room appears on my right. A slash of reddish-brown covers his door. I do not knock. This is the man who, they say, is the most important man in the world. He will know what is coming.
The door shatters inward with a great crash. I take a single, purposeful step into the room, my weapon raised and searching.
There is nothing but the swirls of dust from the ancient door. No surprise. He must have heard I was coming for him. I crouch low, running a hand over the threadbare carpet. I let my fingers brush the top of it, gently. Finding. Knowing.
And then I feel it. It’s the tiniest of indentations, but once I’ve found it, it’s impossible to miss. The fading outline of a shoe, pressed into the carpet. I creep forward slowly, following the faint prints to the tile floor of the kitchenette.
There is a stain on the counter that looks like brain fluid.
The tracks change, but I can follow the specks of dirt on the floor, and see where the dust was shifted by the wind of brisk footsteps. They lead through the kitchen and down a narrow hallway, dank with mold. It’s dark, and I step down it slowly, carefully, weapon ready. The swirls of dirt lead me to another door, closed again. I press my ear to it carefully - he knows I’m here. He has to.
There is no sound on the other side of the door. I lash out with my foot, sending this door, too, falling away with a crack.
My stride takes me into the middle of the room and scan it quickly, eyes eating up the empty space as quickly as the optical nerves can send the images to my brain. But, still, there is nothing, except for the swirling dust that permeates all of Hake Street. My eyes narrow as they fall on a closet door. This is the only place he can be. I walk purposefully toward it and throw it open.
But he is not behind it. Nor are there clothes, or weapons. Instead there is a stairway. It is narrow and falls away into blackness. This is strange. I do not know of a stairway in this part of the building.
(con't in comment) | "That sounds awfully cocky for someone who is about to die.", said the assassin as he calmly took aim with his pistol.
"Go on then, *try me*. This area is my playground anyways.", I replied with a smirk on my face.
The assassin was visibliy annoyed at my arrogant reply. "Your funeral...", he muttered as he gently pulled the trigger.
............
My job requires me to travel frequently; and as history has proven, providing security on-the-go for high ranking individuals can be a logistical nightmare, not to mention the potential hazard of death if done wrongly. The system was outdated. It needed an overhaul.
As such, with the advent of modern technology, certain individuals of importance were now enhanced using the latest methods of bioengineering, resulting in the creation of superhumans. Eliminating the need for such heavy security detail.
All of this was kept under lock and key, of course. Lest this knowledge fall into the hands of someone with foul intentions...
.............
The assassin just stood there, wide eyed as the bullet merely ricocheted off my forehead. I grinned cheekily at him as he fired another volley of shots towards me to no avail, with every bullet failing to end me.
"***What the fuck?!***", the assassin said in disbelief.
"Hey there, did you *really* expect the most important man in the world to be such an easy target?", I said in a menacing yet calm tone whilst I slowly made my way towards the assassin.
The assassin began to unload his catridge in a frenzy, this time with less focus on accuracy as he was shooting at my torso instead of my head. I could see hints of panic beginning to surface on his eyes. Again, it was another fruitless attempt, with my suit being the only thing damaged by the gunshots.
"There goes another one... and it was my favourite too...", I thought while letting out a sigh.
He soon ran out of bullets and scrambled for his knife and adopted a defensive position. He was blatantly unnerved now.
Once I was within arms reach, he lunged at me and stabbed, the tip of his knife connecting with the area on my chest just above the heart. The blade shattered upon impact.
"**GAH!**", the assassin exclaimed as he flinged what was left of the knife to the side. He then clenched his hands into a fist and threw a quick flurry of punches towards me.
"Hand to hand combat? Not a very good idea. And I must say, your stance isn't very good at all..." I said as I effortlessly dodged. I then grabbed both his arms and proceeded to fling him into the sky above.
He went up about 10 metres high before landing with a loud thud.
"Just... just... what *are* you..?", the assassin said with a shocked expression across his face. He was coughing up blood at this point; his legs were also visibly broken.
"Just a guy who was elected president...", I replied mockingly. I walked towards a nearby boulder and picked it up. "Ah, perfect, how heavy do you think this rock is? I reckon about half a tonne!"
".....mercy... please...", begged the assassin with a raspy voice.
I strolled towards the unfortunate assassin with a slight hint of regret on my face. "Sorry, can't have anyone know of my little secret now. Don't worry, I'll make it quick".
"**FUCK YOU,** ***ARSEHOLE***", the assassin bellowed with his remaining might.
"T'was just a horrible choice in career paths, buddy..." I said apathetically as I slammed the boulder onto his skull.
.........
.......
.....
...
"Cleaning crew? Yeah, another one. Make it quick, it's already past my bedtime."
.....
"Oh and also, I need a new suit, old one was messed up. Thanks" |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | Puella's bodyguards were eager to get her out of the open and inside. Walking a little too quickly to be calm, the muscled men on either side of Puella guided her from the skyscraper lobby to the 29th floor. Their heads kept on a swivel the whole way, black glasses hiding their gaze. Twisting and turning through a veritable maze of grey corridors, the trio arrived at their destination after an agonizing minute. They entered a conference room, a single glass desk accompanied by two sturdy black chairs. The room had no windows, and no vents.
"Thank you!" Puella enthusiastically said. "I want to be alone before the meeting for now."
"Ms, our orders are to never let you out of our sight. Like it or not, we are here for your protection."
The bodyguards, expertly trained, boasting years of experience, knew only that she was the public head of Cerberus. Any details about Puella were unknown to even the most devoted information brokers.
Puella let out a short laugh. "My protection? You're here for mine!" The men went pale. "Its okay. A lot of people make that mistake," Puella followed, speaking with her usual childlike bluntness. The guards had gone against the wishes of Puella. The face of Cerberus. No one went against Cerberus.
"Of course, Miss," the men said curtly. They left, leaving Puella alone to wait for her planned meeting. Inevitably, company arrived. Like malignant silk he slipped through the partially opened door. Glancing left and right, the suited man seemed surprised to see only Puella, seated comfortably in one of the chairs. "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security," said the assassin to Puella.
"I am here, there is no better security," was the casual reply.
"I'll keep this brief then." The assassin drew his assault shotgun, silencer mounted around the fattened barrel. Pumping three shots of rounds into Puella, the man adopted a fierce grimace. Sitting calmly, Puella let the dozens of pellets sink into her body. Every round hit its target. The surrounding room was in perfect condition. So was Puella.
"Oh. You're one of those people," Puella said, dissapointed.
"Tsk."
------------------------------------------------------------
The chairman dismissed his aides and walked through the conference room door. He immediately focused on the splat of blood on the glass table. "PUELLA! What happened?"
"Its fine! I took care of it," Puella said.
"It?"
"Yeah. It."
"I'll take your word for it." The chairman glanced around. "You sure you don't need security in here?"
"Should Cerberus want for anything," she asked? | "That sounds awfully cocky for someone who is about to die.", said the assassin as he calmly took aim with his pistol.
"Go on then, *try me*. This area is my playground anyways.", I replied with a smirk on my face.
The assassin was visibliy annoyed at my arrogant reply. "Your funeral...", he muttered as he gently pulled the trigger.
............
My job requires me to travel frequently; and as history has proven, providing security on-the-go for high ranking individuals can be a logistical nightmare, not to mention the potential hazard of death if done wrongly. The system was outdated. It needed an overhaul.
As such, with the advent of modern technology, certain individuals of importance were now enhanced using the latest methods of bioengineering, resulting in the creation of superhumans. Eliminating the need for such heavy security detail.
All of this was kept under lock and key, of course. Lest this knowledge fall into the hands of someone with foul intentions...
.............
The assassin just stood there, wide eyed as the bullet merely ricocheted off my forehead. I grinned cheekily at him as he fired another volley of shots towards me to no avail, with every bullet failing to end me.
"***What the fuck?!***", the assassin said in disbelief.
"Hey there, did you *really* expect the most important man in the world to be such an easy target?", I said in a menacing yet calm tone whilst I slowly made my way towards the assassin.
The assassin began to unload his catridge in a frenzy, this time with less focus on accuracy as he was shooting at my torso instead of my head. I could see hints of panic beginning to surface on his eyes. Again, it was another fruitless attempt, with my suit being the only thing damaged by the gunshots.
"There goes another one... and it was my favourite too...", I thought while letting out a sigh.
He soon ran out of bullets and scrambled for his knife and adopted a defensive position. He was blatantly unnerved now.
Once I was within arms reach, he lunged at me and stabbed, the tip of his knife connecting with the area on my chest just above the heart. The blade shattered upon impact.
"**GAH!**", the assassin exclaimed as he flinged what was left of the knife to the side. He then clenched his hands into a fist and threw a quick flurry of punches towards me.
"Hand to hand combat? Not a very good idea. And I must say, your stance isn't very good at all..." I said as I effortlessly dodged. I then grabbed both his arms and proceeded to fling him into the sky above.
He went up about 10 metres high before landing with a loud thud.
"Just... just... what *are* you..?", the assassin said with a shocked expression across his face. He was coughing up blood at this point; his legs were also visibly broken.
"Just a guy who was elected president...", I replied mockingly. I walked towards a nearby boulder and picked it up. "Ah, perfect, how heavy do you think this rock is? I reckon about half a tonne!"
".....mercy... please...", begged the assassin with a raspy voice.
I strolled towards the unfortunate assassin with a slight hint of regret on my face. "Sorry, can't have anyone know of my little secret now. Don't worry, I'll make it quick".
"**FUCK YOU,** ***ARSEHOLE***", the assassin bellowed with his remaining might.
"T'was just a horrible choice in career paths, buddy..." I said apathetically as I slammed the boulder onto his skull.
.........
.......
.....
...
"Cleaning crew? Yeah, another one. Make it quick, it's already past my bedtime."
.....
"Oh and also, I need a new suit, old one was messed up. Thanks" |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | Puella's bodyguards were eager to get her out of the open and inside. Walking a little too quickly to be calm, the muscled men on either side of Puella guided her from the skyscraper lobby to the 29th floor. Their heads kept on a swivel the whole way, black glasses hiding their gaze. Twisting and turning through a veritable maze of grey corridors, the trio arrived at their destination after an agonizing minute. They entered a conference room, a single glass desk accompanied by two sturdy black chairs. The room had no windows, and no vents.
"Thank you!" Puella enthusiastically said. "I want to be alone before the meeting for now."
"Ms, our orders are to never let you out of our sight. Like it or not, we are here for your protection."
The bodyguards, expertly trained, boasting years of experience, knew only that she was the public head of Cerberus. Any details about Puella were unknown to even the most devoted information brokers.
Puella let out a short laugh. "My protection? You're here for mine!" The men went pale. "Its okay. A lot of people make that mistake," Puella followed, speaking with her usual childlike bluntness. The guards had gone against the wishes of Puella. The face of Cerberus. No one went against Cerberus.
"Of course, Miss," the men said curtly. They left, leaving Puella alone to wait for her planned meeting. Inevitably, company arrived. Like malignant silk he slipped through the partially opened door. Glancing left and right, the suited man seemed surprised to see only Puella, seated comfortably in one of the chairs. "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security," said the assassin to Puella.
"I am here, there is no better security," was the casual reply.
"I'll keep this brief then." The assassin drew his assault shotgun, silencer mounted around the fattened barrel. Pumping three shots of rounds into Puella, the man adopted a fierce grimace. Sitting calmly, Puella let the dozens of pellets sink into her body. Every round hit its target. The surrounding room was in perfect condition. So was Puella.
"Oh. You're one of those people," Puella said, dissapointed.
"Tsk."
------------------------------------------------------------
The chairman dismissed his aides and walked through the conference room door. He immediately focused on the splat of blood on the glass table. "PUELLA! What happened?"
"Its fine! I took care of it," Puella said.
"It?"
"Yeah. It."
"I'll take your word for it." The chairman glanced around. "You sure you don't need security in here?"
"Should Cerberus want for anything," she asked? | He set up his aim. He was ready, as he always was when a job came with such a large sum of money attached to it. The woman who had approached him was strange, he'd admit, and if it hadn't been for her showcasing 500million dollars right in his face he wouldn't have believed her for a second. But she had, she had dangled it right in his face as she asked of him one simple request: kill the young boy standing right in line of the assassin's shot, locking his door as he stepped out his home. The boy looked harmless from the assassin's perspective on top the neighboring rooftop, sniper set up for a brute murder. Usually his jobs consisted of scoping out and murdering men in high power who liked to spend their money at high end social clubs and elite sites. Men and women who looked like they had more than murder on their hands. His jobs never really consisted of killing a kid not looking a day over his prepubescent years, straddling a book bag and coming out of house not even worth 1% of the pay he'd be receiving for killing this boy. But he wasn't above it, not 500million dollars above it.
He'd kill him and he'd get his compensation for the job, even if he didn't really understand why this boy's life was worth so much to the strange woman. He never really asked for backstory when he was asked to do what he was best at with rich a-holes and this time would be no different just because it was a seemingly innocent kid. There was a reason he was the best at this business: he was brutal, he never showed remorse, and he simply didn't have the emotional capacity or moral compass to care.
His finger was on the trigger as the boy walked down the steps, and as he was ready to take his life he made a sly comment out loud, "it's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security."
And okay, maybe the strange woman hadn't called this boy the most important person in the world but he had to be pretty damn important if his life was worth 500million dollars for a job that took less than two seconds to get done with. It was the most money he'd ever been offered for someone so ordinary.
He was about to finally get it done, when the wind suddenly picked up behind him. It was so loud and gushing and strong that he was suddenly thrown off balance, stumbling on his feet as he crouched on the ground. He was compelled to turn around at the sudden gush of wind, but what he would find was beyond what he'd expected.
Behind him was something that looked like a man, but was definitely not so. His hair was long and his skin was radiant, almost glowing along with the sun right behind the man's head. He was tall, so much taller than the assassin, and muscular to the point that the white robe he wore almost seemed like it'd rip off with any sudden movement the man made. The most stunning part about him were his eyes, such a crystallized blue it almost looked like the assassin was looking into the ocean when he met eyes with the unknown man before him.
"I am here," the man said, and his voice was as strong as his appearance, rumbling through the ground all the way up to the assassin's very bones, "there is no better security."
His voice seemed to be everywhere, crawling and seeping into every little space, refusing to be ignored.
The assassin was in awe, and he found himself in a position he'd never been before. He found himself in a position of mercy. And there was no real reason why yet, but it was just something he knew. This would be his last day alive.
"W-who a-are you?" He stuttered. The assassin never stuttered, because he was hardly ever in a situation that made him nervous. But this was it, this was the exception.
"I am a protector of this world," the man said, "and you Jeremy, have been decaying your humanity and that of others for far too long."
The assassin's eyes widened. The man had used his real name, the name his mother had gifted him with when she brought him into this world. The name he'd never used since he was fifteen, his mother passed away, and he left the life he'd had up until then behind. Since then he'd always used a different name, a different alias for every client he had. How this man knew his name was just another indication that Jeremy's new life was also coming to an end.
"I-" he started, but he was cut off by the same growling voice of the man before him.
"You were about to kill an innocent child for a sum of money that has no more than selfish worth to you," he said with indignation, "you have done too much taking and not enough giving in your life. Only to be met by this fate."
The assassin's lips quivered as he was ready to beg for his life, repent for his sins, but before he could speak once more the man before him spoke again, voice booming to a degree that it couldn't not be heard.
"I am Xavier, a protector of this Earth. The boy you were about to kill is a key tool in the preservation of humanity when the war comes," he reached for his back and Jeremy stood frozen, and he felt something roll down his cheek. Something that reminded him of a time where his mother took her last breath in her death bed. The last time he cried, "the woman who sent you knew this, and was using you as you have used the gift of life for nothing more than assassination. But I cannot let this go on any further. This boy is much too important."
From his back Xavier released a sword with no actual blade, but instead a white burning flame that sealed Jeremy's fate as it struck him, plunging deep into chest.
"Humanity is too important," Xavier roared as Jeremy went hot and then cold all over. It was actually the opposite of what Jeremy thought death would feel like. It was almost peaceful, painless, just as if he had combusted in thin air, his entire existence disappearing into a place where nothing was. He was just gone, like he'd been after fifteen where it seemed that life was not what it had been, his soul was not where it was supposed to be, and he drowned in the abyss of absolute nothingness. |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | It was only after the assassin told him what was the reason, that the President look himself in the mirror and thought about all he had done in his reign!
"Can I have at least a moment to say goodbye to them, they mean the world to me?"
"Moment to say goodbye?"
"Yes, a brief moment just to tell how much I love them, and will never forget them!"
The anxiety, despair and utterly discontent was deep rooted in the President's face. This man must be kidding me? Thought he assassin to himself after pondering the way to execute his plan.
He couldn't comprehend how a man who had begun wars for less than 40$ a barrel, wars that destroyed families, that take all the earthly possessions a simple hardworking man had after 10 hours of working a day for 5 days a week under the blazing sun of the mourning and the frigid cold of the night, and the millions like him, how this man could had such love. The president who took the free healthcare from the people who build the country, the ones who went to wars they didn't conceive, the ones who contributed for the same financial well-being of himself, the ones who had to endure police cruelty and thousands of jobs fleeing from them cause some low-life capitalist wanted more money for "building" a conglomerate.
"You did all those things, and never thought in any of this, and still think we should care for you?"
"N...n..no"
"You bet your ass we don't, we do this because it needs to be done, nothing personal, just business."
The president realized that he couldn't fight any longer, and with a stoic look in his face he looked the assassin on the eyes, and knowing he was unable change the course of life, he finally accepted the fate of his.
“You go on and do it! But remember son…”
“What?”
“You remember that everything I did, I did for all of you, for all of the working-class people out there, I did what had to be done because like you I also love this country and for this country to live in peace, threats must be eliminated, power has to be imposed so the weak ones have the help to develop themselves, so that the world can live in peace and harmony. So, that we can make a better tomorrow! So, go on boy, do your job, but when you walk out that door remember this.”
“Ok! I’ll just do my work then…”
The termite assassin proceeded to take the rotten wood furniture and applied Termitor in the areas that still could be saved.
Those 19th century mahogany bookcase cabinet and the two French medallion stools will definitely be missed!
| "I guess you weren't so important last time." The figure faded in and out of the shadows.
"You are right, but I do have more security as well, I just told them not to interfere."
"Thanks, makes my job easier."
"Last time was a draw." She smiled and finally set down the book.
"Last time really wasn't a fight."
"It was, you were just fighting yourself."
"They didn't tell me you were a woman."
"And that caught you by surprise."
"Well of course, everyone of any power around the city is a man. I mean, not including you." The shadow shifted in front of a bookcase.
"So I am alive just because of some chivalrous ideas from an assassin?"
"Nobody usually calls me that."
"Of course not, more like unscrupulous."
"Yes, more like that."
"Well just tell them that they have it all wrong and don't need to kill me."
"How am I going to tell them that? And where did that come from? You do know they often shoot the messenger, right?"
"I think it is time that you worked for someone else..." |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | "So? What makes you think you can even hope to defeat me?" Said the assassin, his eyes bloodshot. You know he was gritting his teeth through his black mask.
"Try me" The 50 year old man said, as he meekly brought up his fists up to his jaw, in a classic fight stance.
The assassin's eyes glare into his soul, as he sends his shuriken flying through the air, hitting the man in the chest and arm, pinning him to the wall.
The man cried out in pain.
"Now tell me" The assassin said coldly "Do you really think you're capable enough to lay a finger on me?"
The man just smiled.
Enraged, the assassin quickly slashes his blade through the man's neck chopping his head clean off. After one final look, he leaves the scene and gets onto the rooftop of the former president's house. He contacts his client and lets him know the job is done.
He then goes to his hideout, where he found the promised 90K on his doorstep, as expected.
What he didn't expect, was the old man, sitting on top of the stack, smiling at him. | I don't know if you've ever been out to the country. Have you ever seen one of those big, dilapidated barns? The wood all rotted and blackened, like a shadow against the sun, and the slits of light casting bullets inside so that the ground is spotty. The smell of it all is old grass and animal, faint, but stuck to the place like a ghost. I don't know if you've ever seen one, been to one, but if you have, what was inside?
Was it tools? Was it bare? Old things rusted and falling apart? It usually is like that. I had never gone to the country before, to be honest, but then we had found him and we had to go. There were the usual things you would expect in an old barn. There was also the fate of the world being decided in that moment.
Society is hard to explain to someone like you. You cannot understand the breakdown that happened long ago in the late twenty-first century. The anarchy was expected. The rebuilding into what it would become was not. We were warlike and held the guns to our head, and back then we had heads to lose. The world was going but on the horizon there was home, still visible and comforting somehow. It's like the dilapidated barn. It may be dead, but the ghosts of life remain.
King Jesus had taken the lead. He led the Western Front of our world. He held the gun to to the Eastern Front and Far Eastern Front. He was a shrewd man and he had been on the run.
When we came I was surprised at how pristine the area was. There was light splotches of grass and the earth was unmarked, never being hit with shells. We had been chasing them for months, following clues and gossip and pure hope. We had something to lose then, don't forget. We were relentless. I sometimes think had I not ogled the barn, taken in the sight of it all, we wouldn't have been too late. For that I am sorry.
Inside there was an assassin. He was a young boy, unhealthy and thin. He struggled with his gun. The shower of light bathed him in pity and his face was scarred from battle. King Jesus stood there, weary and old. He held the briefcase that would change the world. It was the gun to the head.
"I am here. There is no better security," King Jesus said.
I hadn't heard what the assassin had said. King Jesus was unarmed but for the briefcase.
"There is revelation in the air, son," he said. "Revelation and revolution. Are you here to do God's work?"
The boy spoke so softly that his words seemed lost in the moment.
"You have sinned too greatly. I am here to end it all," the boy said.
We had come in then and I was leading the force. I had hardly seen a place like this, a building not built for battle, wooden and with character. I suppose I am trying to set up my defense, but there is hardly anything I can say. I was late and I was slow.
"Do God's work!" King Jesus commanded.
He was shrewd and he was old. In our times we lived longer than you do, but it was not anything like how it was before. He was about forty, King Jesus, and he was near his expectancy.
I remember in that helpless moment that I felt some grim respect for the man. Those who were not his fanatics always thought he was a fraud and an unbeliever like those he purged. His final act made his life true and enacted your demise.
The boy shot and the gun was true and it hit though it did not kill King Jesus immediately. I wonder how things would be had he died then and there. Maybe he did have special powers.
The King was bloody and mangled, crumpled inwards as if in prayer on the floor of the barn. He opened the case of the gun. The machinery inside was electric as this was still the age of that fading magic. There were wires and switches and all manner of complex connections that amounted to one thing: a trigger.
With his bloody hands King Jesus pulled the trigger and smiled at the boy. I opened fire as did my men and we killed the boy but it was too late and then the barn shook as if in fear and the world was filled with a siren that pierced our ears. That was the future crying, knowing it was dead, perhaps. We went outside and the horizon was orange as if it were dusk but the trails of smoke covered the sun and there were explosions amidst the siren.
My men and I looked around and we were frozen with disbelief. There was nothing we could do. I thought back to my great forefathers and their stories of green and peace and of a world that had not left home. Seeking shelter in a faraway trench, we knew that the horizon no longer had any memory of that home. We knew that we were gone now and going farther into that abyss. The horizons now showed only chemical death and a mourning for an unreachable past. |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | "You're just a weak man in a position of power, do you feel secure right now?"
I looked at the would be assassin standing before me. I watched as he drew his weapon from his side with one hand and a suppressor from his pocket with the other. "No, I suppose not." I replied. He screwed the suppressor to the front of his gun. "But what if I told you it wasn't worth it, I am not worth the money they're paying you." He gripped the top of his weapon and chambered a round.
"Listen old man, I doubt you can offer me more than 15 million, and I'm the one with the gun so maybe-"
"So maybe you should hear me out."
The young man stood silently, looking quite annoyed with my interruption as he caressed the trigger with his finger. I continued on, "I doubt a young kid like you still believes in God or religion, and I don't blame you for that...Hell, I don't believe that shit either. But there's more to this than whoever hired you has told you, in fact there's more here than most would be willing to admit."
His gun lowered ever so slightly as he began to think. This was my gift, the gift of gab. I didn't have to be snarky or use big words, I didn't have to be eloquent and articulate; I simply needed to get him thinking. "Why do you think they sent you here?" I said raising up slowly from my chair.
The boy took a step back and raised his weapon again. "Relax, would you like a drink?" I walked over to the mini bar and began to prepare a glass for myself.
"No, now turn around and face me so I can get this over with."
"As you wish," I sighed. This kid was clearly a rookie, if they sent a man I'd have been dead 2 days ago in a parking garage somewhere. I placed my glass on the counter and pulled my 1911 from the ice bucket, silently and with practiced precision. I raised my weapon as I would have my glass and slowly began to turn. As my shoulder opened and began to reveal the mouth of my dragon I commanded him to roar.
My house keeper burst into the room as I pulled the magazine from my gun. I reached down under the bar and grabbed another round to replace the one I had fired and returned my pistol to its resting place.
"Would you like me to clean him up, Master?"
"Yes, and would you please send this letter to my brother. I have a phone call to make." I knelt next to the man I floored, briefly, and took him by the hand. I placed his finger on the entrance wound my .45 left in his skull and then pressed it to the seal of my letter. I disarmed him quickly ran his pockets and rose handing the letter to Susan.
"S-sure...sir." she said, clearly disturbed. I smiled as I brushed passed her and looked at the small black burner phone I took from the young man's pocket. I looked at it in all of its 'obsolete' glory as I pressed and held the number 5.
Two rings. "Hello? How'd it go?"
"Hello, father, we need to have a little chat about a certain visitor I've accepted recently. If I'm not mistaken, Matthew sent him, and if I know Matt, he didn't get that idea on his own."
The line went dead. | I don't know if you've ever been out to the country. Have you ever seen one of those big, dilapidated barns? The wood all rotted and blackened, like a shadow against the sun, and the slits of light casting bullets inside so that the ground is spotty. The smell of it all is old grass and animal, faint, but stuck to the place like a ghost. I don't know if you've ever seen one, been to one, but if you have, what was inside?
Was it tools? Was it bare? Old things rusted and falling apart? It usually is like that. I had never gone to the country before, to be honest, but then we had found him and we had to go. There were the usual things you would expect in an old barn. There was also the fate of the world being decided in that moment.
Society is hard to explain to someone like you. You cannot understand the breakdown that happened long ago in the late twenty-first century. The anarchy was expected. The rebuilding into what it would become was not. We were warlike and held the guns to our head, and back then we had heads to lose. The world was going but on the horizon there was home, still visible and comforting somehow. It's like the dilapidated barn. It may be dead, but the ghosts of life remain.
King Jesus had taken the lead. He led the Western Front of our world. He held the gun to to the Eastern Front and Far Eastern Front. He was a shrewd man and he had been on the run.
When we came I was surprised at how pristine the area was. There was light splotches of grass and the earth was unmarked, never being hit with shells. We had been chasing them for months, following clues and gossip and pure hope. We had something to lose then, don't forget. We were relentless. I sometimes think had I not ogled the barn, taken in the sight of it all, we wouldn't have been too late. For that I am sorry.
Inside there was an assassin. He was a young boy, unhealthy and thin. He struggled with his gun. The shower of light bathed him in pity and his face was scarred from battle. King Jesus stood there, weary and old. He held the briefcase that would change the world. It was the gun to the head.
"I am here. There is no better security," King Jesus said.
I hadn't heard what the assassin had said. King Jesus was unarmed but for the briefcase.
"There is revelation in the air, son," he said. "Revelation and revolution. Are you here to do God's work?"
The boy spoke so softly that his words seemed lost in the moment.
"You have sinned too greatly. I am here to end it all," the boy said.
We had come in then and I was leading the force. I had hardly seen a place like this, a building not built for battle, wooden and with character. I suppose I am trying to set up my defense, but there is hardly anything I can say. I was late and I was slow.
"Do God's work!" King Jesus commanded.
He was shrewd and he was old. In our times we lived longer than you do, but it was not anything like how it was before. He was about forty, King Jesus, and he was near his expectancy.
I remember in that helpless moment that I felt some grim respect for the man. Those who were not his fanatics always thought he was a fraud and an unbeliever like those he purged. His final act made his life true and enacted your demise.
The boy shot and the gun was true and it hit though it did not kill King Jesus immediately. I wonder how things would be had he died then and there. Maybe he did have special powers.
The King was bloody and mangled, crumpled inwards as if in prayer on the floor of the barn. He opened the case of the gun. The machinery inside was electric as this was still the age of that fading magic. There were wires and switches and all manner of complex connections that amounted to one thing: a trigger.
With his bloody hands King Jesus pulled the trigger and smiled at the boy. I opened fire as did my men and we killed the boy but it was too late and then the barn shook as if in fear and the world was filled with a siren that pierced our ears. That was the future crying, knowing it was dead, perhaps. We went outside and the horizon was orange as if it were dusk but the trails of smoke covered the sun and there were explosions amidst the siren.
My men and I looked around and we were frozen with disbelief. There was nothing we could do. I thought back to my great forefathers and their stories of green and peace and of a world that had not left home. Seeking shelter in a faraway trench, we knew that the horizon no longer had any memory of that home. We knew that we were gone now and going farther into that abyss. The horizons now showed only chemical death and a mourning for an unreachable past. |
From Bleach. | [WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply. | "You're just a weak man in a position of power, do you feel secure right now?"
I looked at the would be assassin standing before me. I watched as he drew his weapon from his side with one hand and a suppressor from his pocket with the other. "No, I suppose not." I replied. He screwed the suppressor to the front of his gun. "But what if I told you it wasn't worth it, I am not worth the money they're paying you." He gripped the top of his weapon and chambered a round.
"Listen old man, I doubt you can offer me more than 15 million, and I'm the one with the gun so maybe-"
"So maybe you should hear me out."
The young man stood silently, looking quite annoyed with my interruption as he caressed the trigger with his finger. I continued on, "I doubt a young kid like you still believes in God or religion, and I don't blame you for that...Hell, I don't believe that shit either. But there's more to this than whoever hired you has told you, in fact there's more here than most would be willing to admit."
His gun lowered ever so slightly as he began to think. This was my gift, the gift of gab. I didn't have to be snarky or use big words, I didn't have to be eloquent and articulate; I simply needed to get him thinking. "Why do you think they sent you here?" I said raising up slowly from my chair.
The boy took a step back and raised his weapon again. "Relax, would you like a drink?" I walked over to the mini bar and began to prepare a glass for myself.
"No, now turn around and face me so I can get this over with."
"As you wish," I sighed. This kid was clearly a rookie, if they sent a man I'd have been dead 2 days ago in a parking garage somewhere. I placed my glass on the counter and pulled my 1911 from the ice bucket, silently and with practiced precision. I raised my weapon as I would have my glass and slowly began to turn. As my shoulder opened and began to reveal the mouth of my dragon I commanded him to roar.
My house keeper burst into the room as I pulled the magazine from my gun. I reached down under the bar and grabbed another round to replace the one I had fired and returned my pistol to its resting place.
"Would you like me to clean him up, Master?"
"Yes, and would you please send this letter to my brother. I have a phone call to make." I knelt next to the man I floored, briefly, and took him by the hand. I placed his finger on the entrance wound my .45 left in his skull and then pressed it to the seal of my letter. I disarmed him quickly ran his pockets and rose handing the letter to Susan.
"S-sure...sir." she said, clearly disturbed. I smiled as I brushed passed her and looked at the small black burner phone I took from the young man's pocket. I looked at it in all of its 'obsolete' glory as I pressed and held the number 5.
Two rings. "Hello? How'd it go?"
"Hello, father, we need to have a little chat about a certain visitor I've accepted recently. If I'm not mistaken, Matthew sent him, and if I know Matt, he didn't get that idea on his own."
The line went dead. | "So? What makes you think you can even hope to defeat me?" Said the assassin, his eyes bloodshot. You know he was gritting his teeth through his black mask.
"Try me" The 50 year old man said, as he meekly brought up his fists up to his jaw, in a classic fight stance.
The assassin's eyes glare into his soul, as he sends his shuriken flying through the air, hitting the man in the chest and arm, pinning him to the wall.
The man cried out in pain.
"Now tell me" The assassin said coldly "Do you really think you're capable enough to lay a finger on me?"
The man just smiled.
Enraged, the assassin quickly slashes his blade through the man's neck chopping his head clean off. After one final look, he leaves the scene and gets onto the rooftop of the former president's house. He contacts his client and lets him know the job is done.
He then goes to his hideout, where he found the promised 90K on his doorstep, as expected.
What he didn't expect, was the old man, sitting on top of the stack, smiling at him. |
[WP] 5 years ago, a gunslinger found himself in a fantasy setting with a revolver that never runs out of ammo. Write about his adventures | Evenin’, stranger.
You here for the harvest festival? Best get yourself a cup of mead from Rosie o’er by the bar. It’s the best this side of the Dragon’s Spine Mountains. S’alright. I’ll wait. The young ‘uns haven’t come in from the duelling fields yet, and they love to hear me tell of the Whistling Gunslinger.
You back? Told you that mead was good, didn’t I? And look, here come the children. Gather round, young ‘uns, gather round. Kendel, move o’er. Let Peter sit down. Everyone sorted. Can everybody hear me?
Most of you have heard me tell this a’fore. It’s a true story and, like the best of ‘em, starts with a murder and a death.
Many moons ago, back when I was no older than little Steven there, this tavern was run by Rosie’s grandmother. Glory kept things running smoothly: she prided herself for having good ale and clean rooms. No whoring, no brawling, the Skittering Weasel was the place to be.
On this particular evening, there was a visiting bard. He sat by this very fire, right where I am now, and played his harmonica like nobody I ever saw before or since. His voice filled the air, like the brightest bird song. Even in autumn’s encroaching bitterness, he conjured summer back to life with nothing more than his songs and his music.
In the corner, o’er there where Harris’ sitting now, was one of the King’s men. Sir Martin of Grassford. Martin the Handsome, they called him. And no wonder. He was an angel in human form. His smile lit the room like a torch and with nothing more’n a glance and a wink, he could set a maiden’s knees a-tremblin’.
We loved Martin. He was the only knight who ever stopped in town and joined in with us. Like he was born in a stable and not in a castle. Like he didn’t carry castle-forged steel on his hip and didn’t have a suit of armour in his room.
He’d been unbeaten in the duelling fields that day. Everyone who’d stood against him, including my own Paw, who was no slouch with a blade for a farmhand. And so Glory let Sir Martin drink and didn’t charge him a single crown for it.
But as the night wore on and the fire died down, and the men got drunker, Martin didn’t like what the bard was singing. “Here! Stop singing that shit! Sing ‘My Love of Glassford’s son’.”
Now, maybe the bard ignored Sir Martin. Or maybe he didn’t hear the good knight. Either way, he kept singing.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Martin bellowed. The bard’s harmonica squawked. He lurched to his feet and levelled an unsteady finger at the bard. “You know who I am, you little shit?”
Silence fell, save for the crackling of the dying fire. “Yessir,” the bard muttered, face downcast.
Sir Martin shoved Glory aside as he advanced on the poor singer. “Then, if you know who I am, you’ll sing whatever the fuck I tell you to sing. And I’m telling you to sing ‘My Love of Grassford’s son’.”
The reek of the knight’s breath was enough to make the bard stagger. “Yessir,” he mumbled. Then, taking a deep breath, he sang Sir Martin’s request. It was divine. And when he was finished, we clapped, we whistled, we stamped our feet.
Sir Martin, however, scowled at the bard, all offended like. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now what the knight was thinking, but he wasn’t happy. Drunk he may have been, but a knight of the realm he was. His dagger flashed, the fire turning the blade to solid flame. He slit the bard’s throat, dousing those closest in warm red. My Paw put himself between me and the knight, as if he could withstand Martin’s wrath if he decided I was his next target.
Glory was the first to scream. Martin rounded on her. “You, shut up. Deal with this,” he said, kicking the gargling bard, “and get your backside into my room. The rest of you, go home. Party’s done.”
Nobody moved. Nobody except the stranger by the bar. I don’t know how long he’d been sitting there, or even when he’d come into the tavern. But there he was, watching everything from beneath the brim of his strange leather hat. The stranger whistled, a note so piercing I had to cover my ears. His hand dropped to the hunk of metal hanging on his thigh. He held the knight’s gaze like Martin was just another man.
“You’re drunk, partner,” the stranger drawled. “Best you go on up to your room and sleep it off ‘fore there’s any more blood.”
Martin’s knuckles whitened on the hilt of his dagger. “Who are you to threaten me? Do you know who I am?”
The stranger shrugged. “Makes no never mind who you are. You do as I say, or there’s gonna be a reckoning.”
It was about then that my mind caught up with what was happening. “Paw,” I hissed, tugging my father’s sleeve. “It’s him, Paw. It’s the Whistling Gunslinger.” My Paw hushed me, but I could see him looking at the infamous weapon the Gunslinger wore. The stories I’d heard were that he carried some kind of wizard’s short boomstick. Where he pointed, death came.
Martin growled, like he was some kind of animal. He took a single step toward the Gunslinger.
Quicker than a snake bite, the stranger drew that shining iron of his. He didn’t take his eyes off Martin, but the boomstick spoke and the knight’s dagger was reduced to shards.
“Witchcraft!” Martin howled.
The Gunslinger shook his head. “Sleep it off, friend,” he said. “You ain’t got a want to end like this.”
Was this what the Whistling Gunslinger had told the last Fire Dragon in the western Mountains? Or had he stood in the Cold King’s throne room and held that undead bastard’s gaze the way he stared at Martin the Handsome?
Martin shrank back from the stranger. We gasped, all of us. A knight of the realm couldn’t stand before this man. He turned tail and fled to his room. We watched him go, astounded.
The Whistling Gunslinger’s gaze followed Martin, but the man never moved. Not until Martin was out of sight. Only then, he slid from his stool, flipped Glory a coin, and headed for the door. “This ain’t over,” he told us as he went. “I’ll be outside, waiting.” We parted to let him go, none of us knowing what to do or say. The tavern door creaked shut behind him.
Heavy thumping sounded from upstairs. Martin the Handsome stormed down, long sword in hand and breastplate bouncing on his chest. “Out of the fucking way!” he screamed at us. His flat-footed kick sent the door tumbling into the street. “Where are you, you fucking wizard spawn?”
We dived to the windows, wiping the condensation away. None of us wanted to be outside, but we all wanted to see what was about to happen.
The Whistling Gunslinger was halfway out of town. He turned on his heel, flicked the brim of his hat and watched Martin lumber toward him. “You looking for a duel, friend?” he called.
“Duel? You’re not a knight! You’re just a dog that needs some fucking manners!” Martin broke into an awkward run, sword raised.
The Gunslinger waited. Martin closed the distance. Still the Gunslinger didn’t move. Martin’s blade swung. The Gunslinger’s hand moved like lightning.
The big iron barked once, twice, three times. A trio of holes appeared in Martin’s armour. The knight spun away, blood arcing from those awful holes. He landed face down in the mud with a wet thud and didn’t move.
The Gunslinger looked at the tavern – looked right at me – and tipped his hat. Then he wandered into the night, whistling. The wind carried his brilliant tune back to us: My Love of Glassford’s son.
| As the light of a setting sun trickled through between cracks of the window hatches, his rag covered hand busily ran over the same mug for the thousandth time. He had long since learned that you didn't actually have to clean all of the mugs, cleaning one repeatedly in front of the customers was enough to gain their trust. Besides, if they were paying attention to him and not their drinks, they weren't the kind of customers wanted around here. And he was starting to suspect the woman seated at the corner table was one of those customers.
She came in around noon, a tall woman clad in sand-colored clothing that hung loosely off of her hunched form. She had ordered a jug of dragon grog upon her arrival and hadn't moved an inch since, putting slim boots on the table and pulling down a strange hat over her face. Beyond the dismay of having to clean the table once she left, he had at least hoped for some further coin as compensation.
Well, not like he couldn't spare the table as the bar was fairly deserted. Though he knew this would change momentarily as the light making its way through the cracks grew dimmer by the minute. Until then he was content cleaning mugs and checking his inventory, strange strangers not something this bar was a stranger to.
As the night came to town, more people started trickling in. He recognized a few, Leon always came after his shift, giving him the customary nod and two raised fingers indicating his order. Hati was somehow already at the counter when he noticed her, indulging in her small talk even if he knew she would never buy anything. She was an exception to his bar rule, one he had no intention of replicating anytime soon.
Suddenly, a large band of men and women adorned in armor and weapons ranging from spears to axes burst through the door, shouting and pushing each other around recklessly. Troublemakers, great. Hopefully, they would end up bringing in more coin than they scared off, but judging from experience that was unlikely to happen. As one of them approached the counter he put on his best bartending face to greet her.
"Welcome to the Scorched Anchor, what can I do for you?"
She smiled widely and her breath hung heavy with alcohol, shattering his dreams of making a profit on this ordeal. "A barrel of Kobold Brew for me and my friend over there, if you would be so kind."
He didn't much care about how disingenuous her politeness was if it meant less fighting with his furniture, and nodded before running off to fetch said barrel. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the band had taken a seat next to the lady in the corner and wondered if maybe they were connected. As he turned his back completely he heard several thunderclaps in quick succession behind him.
Turning around, the mercenary band sitting at the table all lay limp and lifeless, the one at the counter barely having the time to unsheathe her blade before the back of her head exploded in blood and brains at the sound of another thunderclap. The woman with the strange hat was standing up holding a metal wand that smoked at the tip pointed at what used to be a customer and was now a janitorial task.
She slowly walked over to the counter, carefully avoiding the blood and bodies as her boots made the sound of coin purses with every step. Reaching the counter she looked around at the now quite filthy bar, before reaching into her pocket and fishing out several large silver coins which she promptly threw onto the bloodstained counter. With a tip of her hat, she placed her metal wand back into the sheath on her hip and walked silently out the door and into the night. Looking down at the meek half a dozen silver coins laying there on the counter, he couldn't help but feel like he got the shit end of the stick.
| |
[WP] In a desperate mission to save the world from attacking aliens the world leaders gather experts of every field. For some reason they invite you as "Expert In Bullshitting" in the very last attempt of rescuing the planet. | They looked surprised, even when I couldn't say if I was looking at their faces or their butts. What was sure it's that they didn't expect me to just appear in the bridge of their capital ship. They though we didn't had teleportation technology. We didn't. We stole it from on of their ships we did manage to take down, and adapted it to our own means. It was still damaged, so my ship had to be small and it made weird noises while traveling through the subspace.
-Hello, nice party we are having - I said in a casual tone, using a sci-fi prompt to "scan" the surroundings. They could understand me and viceversa through another device taken from their crashed ship.
-Identify yourself! - One of they said, as he pointed what I think was a weapon towards me.
-Put that thing down before you hurt someone, Worf. As for who am I, I'm this world's protector, the last of my kind, and the one that will make you put your name in this peace treaty. For the laymen, I'm the Doctor. | I could see the grim expressions on their faces, all of them, everyone could see them, but really it was actually pride. I am the last defense for this planet. Really, everyone knows it, I know it, you know it. We all know it. La Pen of France greeted me with a smile and I tried to shake her hand, but you got to be firm, and pull them in. Everyone knows I'm a bull, they know, I know it. We all know it. The aliens even know it.
Very sad. Devastating. Really. It really is. They've come into our planet and started to integrate into our society. The last thing my planet needs is more aliens. That's why everyone comes to me and says, 'hey, you need to get rid of these aliens. you are the only one who can do it.' I'm totally going to do it. I know it.
Trudeau grimaced and tried to hide it with his hands buried at his chin to wipe the disdain and uncertainty from his chiseled face, but I know we're good. Totally good. Very good. We are, ask anyone. They'll tell you, for sure. I know it, you know it. We all know it.
"Are you ready sir?" An older man at the front, around my age, actually, looked me in the eyes, which is typically something you don't do, but because I've allowed these people to be graced by my presence at such a sad, very tragic moment in human history, I didn't pull him in with a most aggressive handshake. Everyone knows my handshakes break grounds in all debates. I'm a prime diplomat, you know? You know.
"Are you sure this the last ditch effort to save humanity, eh?" Trudeau objected, but really, we all know he just likes to be objectified by women. Maybe some men too, very sad. We're going to fix that.
"Excuse me, very rude. Totally rude. So rude, everyone in the room could tell that was rude. How rude." I objected to his objectification.
"We need someone who has been capable to BS his way out of everything and still remain in power, still grasp the world by the–" The older man spoke, but I didn't know what those letters meant. I asked, with an interruption to be sure.
"BS?"
"Business Star. You're going to do business with the aliens and find some way to bring them out of the fallen territories." The older man, a decorated war hero spoke. I saw something in his eyes as he looked deep into mine and spoke. The wrinkles pressed tight, his brow barely visible pinched between them and his eyes were like dull orbs that tried to find something, but of course what he found was the excellence of execution. I have so many businesses, so many! So many that have succeeded, and then I became a world leader, a leader of the world, you know? I know, everyone does, and I'm the best world leader in the entire planet.
"This is a serious matter." Sorry, very sad. He caught me with a smug grin, but really, it was just pride. I was going to be the one sent forth to the leader of the aliens.
"Before we do this, sir, do you even have a clue what we're up against? What you're going to do? Everything up to this point, your entire entourage has cried fake news, hell you even tried to sell some of your own citizens to them as slaves." Said a smelly black skinned man in something he probably got at an african hut with his ebt card. How dare he! Everyone should by my daughter's clothing, whether they can afford it or not! She's my daughter!
"I'm sorry what?" I asked him, looked right in his gross white eyes. I could see the poo stained in the middle of them.
He looked at me as though there should be a border wall between us, but really, how can they even understand simple human concepts. I guess they wanted to get Harambe involved and this is the only representative they could find for him.
"This is ridiculous." One person interjected, but I couldn't see them.
"I said, you are a terrible person. You will get us all killed!" He exclaimed, arms up in defeat as I clearly won this argument. Clearly. He knows it. You know it. We all know it.
La Pen stood between us, her hands gestured the representative of the apes to stand back, and I could hear the group bickering about it all. I'm glad they were on my side. Obviously they were because there were all pointing and waving their arms at me because I should always be the focal point of everything, right? Right.
Pt 1. | |
[WP] In a desperate mission to save the world from attacking aliens the world leaders gather experts of every field. For some reason they invite you as "Expert In Bullshitting" in the very last attempt of rescuing the planet. | "Don't call me 'President', please. There is only one President of the United States. Mister Obama will be fine."
The aliens were not used to modesty. Their tentacle lips plugged at the orifices in their mouth. Their flutelike speech was translated by the machine before the former president. It had been quickly devised by Google computer engineers in order to aid the desperate, final negotiations.
***YOUR SPECIES IS BRAVE, MISTER OBAMA, BUT RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. REMOVE YOUR FORCES FROM WARZONE OMEGA AND WE WILL CONSIDER SLAVERY INSTEAD OF EXTERMINATION.***
Betraying no emotion, Barack nodded and pretended to refer to the pages in front of him. His tan suit was crisp, clean, and stylish. His hair was a salt-and-pepper grey, seasoned with experience at all things bullshit.
"Well, ah...... first of all, we're, ah..... we're not resisting you. Our strategy is to support local troops on the ground with, ah..... a training effort.... and targeted airstrikes. This kind of war isn't over quickly, but, ah.... I think, if you look at data on the ground, this is working, we are winning."
***WE WILL DESTROY YOUR FORCES.***
"No, okay, first of all, you're exaggerating there. You and I both know that, ah...... this effort is a local effort. Local forces are leading.... planning.... and executing on the battlefield. And, ah..... we're just providing training..... support. Now you look at data from this whole war, and, ah..... you'll see, *across the board*, we've taken fewer casualties than you, if you subtract the local forces. Not to mention, thanks to our healthcare system..... more Earth forces are receiving timely, effective treatment, ah..... than ever before. This year, only 4 million soldiers haven't received healthcare, which, ah...... is half of that same number last year."
***YOU INFLATE YOUR STRENGTH, MISTER OBAMA. WHEN EARTH DREW THE RED LINE AT BATTLEFIELD TERTIUS, WE SAW YOU LACKED THE STRENGTH TO EFFECTIVELY STOP OUR MASSACRE OF CIVILIANS.***
"No, okay, there, you see, you're not quite being truthful. Our strategy, ah..... was to if we could broker a deal without a strike to stop those massacres, and to go to Congress to ask for authorization for use of force."
The alien negotiator hesitated, as best Barack could tell. He flipped to another page, pretending to read it. He was totally flying by the seat of his pants.
***THE ARTHMACHRI HAS HEARD YOUR ARGUMENT. WE MUST CONSULT. WE WILL RESUME NEGOTIATIONS IN FOUR EARTH MINUTES.***
Barack Obama thanked him personally, standing up and leaving the chamber. As the hatch sealed behind him, he gave a sigh of relief as his aides applauded the progress he'd made.
"Not bad," came another voice beside him. A red power tie, bronze complexion and beautiful wave of gold hair looked back at the former president. "I'm not saying you didn't do well, I'm a nice guy. I'm gonna close this one, though, I'm a deal-maker. I'm the best at deals. The greatest. This is gonna be yuge." | I could see the grim expressions on their faces, all of them, everyone could see them, but really it was actually pride. I am the last defense for this planet. Really, everyone knows it, I know it, you know it. We all know it. La Pen of France greeted me with a smile and I tried to shake her hand, but you got to be firm, and pull them in. Everyone knows I'm a bull, they know, I know it. We all know it. The aliens even know it.
Very sad. Devastating. Really. It really is. They've come into our planet and started to integrate into our society. The last thing my planet needs is more aliens. That's why everyone comes to me and says, 'hey, you need to get rid of these aliens. you are the only one who can do it.' I'm totally going to do it. I know it.
Trudeau grimaced and tried to hide it with his hands buried at his chin to wipe the disdain and uncertainty from his chiseled face, but I know we're good. Totally good. Very good. We are, ask anyone. They'll tell you, for sure. I know it, you know it. We all know it.
"Are you ready sir?" An older man at the front, around my age, actually, looked me in the eyes, which is typically something you don't do, but because I've allowed these people to be graced by my presence at such a sad, very tragic moment in human history, I didn't pull him in with a most aggressive handshake. Everyone knows my handshakes break grounds in all debates. I'm a prime diplomat, you know? You know.
"Are you sure this the last ditch effort to save humanity, eh?" Trudeau objected, but really, we all know he just likes to be objectified by women. Maybe some men too, very sad. We're going to fix that.
"Excuse me, very rude. Totally rude. So rude, everyone in the room could tell that was rude. How rude." I objected to his objectification.
"We need someone who has been capable to BS his way out of everything and still remain in power, still grasp the world by the–" The older man spoke, but I didn't know what those letters meant. I asked, with an interruption to be sure.
"BS?"
"Business Star. You're going to do business with the aliens and find some way to bring them out of the fallen territories." The older man, a decorated war hero spoke. I saw something in his eyes as he looked deep into mine and spoke. The wrinkles pressed tight, his brow barely visible pinched between them and his eyes were like dull orbs that tried to find something, but of course what he found was the excellence of execution. I have so many businesses, so many! So many that have succeeded, and then I became a world leader, a leader of the world, you know? I know, everyone does, and I'm the best world leader in the entire planet.
"This is a serious matter." Sorry, very sad. He caught me with a smug grin, but really, it was just pride. I was going to be the one sent forth to the leader of the aliens.
"Before we do this, sir, do you even have a clue what we're up against? What you're going to do? Everything up to this point, your entire entourage has cried fake news, hell you even tried to sell some of your own citizens to them as slaves." Said a smelly black skinned man in something he probably got at an african hut with his ebt card. How dare he! Everyone should by my daughter's clothing, whether they can afford it or not! She's my daughter!
"I'm sorry what?" I asked him, looked right in his gross white eyes. I could see the poo stained in the middle of them.
He looked at me as though there should be a border wall between us, but really, how can they even understand simple human concepts. I guess they wanted to get Harambe involved and this is the only representative they could find for him.
"This is ridiculous." One person interjected, but I couldn't see them.
"I said, you are a terrible person. You will get us all killed!" He exclaimed, arms up in defeat as I clearly won this argument. Clearly. He knows it. You know it. We all know it.
La Pen stood between us, her hands gestured the representative of the apes to stand back, and I could hear the group bickering about it all. I'm glad they were on my side. Obviously they were because there were all pointing and waving their arms at me because I should always be the focal point of everything, right? Right.
Pt 1. | |
[WP] In a desperate mission to save the world from attacking aliens the world leaders gather experts of every field. For some reason they invite you as "Expert In Bullshitting" in the very last attempt of rescuing the planet. | PART 1
When I arrived at home, tired from a long day at work, I went directly into my study for some alone time and poured a drink. I sat back in my comfy, brown leather layzyboy and closed my eyes.
"Brent Sutter?" a voice sounded behind me.
"Oh fuck!" I exclaimed, spilling my drink all over my frontside, "You scared the shit outta me! Who the hell are you?" Two men in suits stood in the way of the door.
"Are you Brian Sutter?" they asked.
"Yeah, who are you? How did you get in my house?"
"We are with the SOAO. You need to come with us."
"What's the SOAO?" The men turned to eachother and smirked. Hesitantly, they said together,
"The Save Our Ass Organization."
"HA! What's that, some sort of stupid fuckin club? Haha, what do you want with me?"
"No," one of the men said, "The SOAO board of specialsts has personally requested you to hold a position and assist with operation 'WFM'. We can explain more later."
"WFM?" I asked. Again, the suits smirked at eachother, then answered in unison,
"We're Fucked, Mate."
"HAHA! What a joke," I retorted, "is this for real?"
"Sir, please, this is a serious matter. Come with us. The fate of the known universe is dependent on it."
I was then escorted by the suits to a black sedan that pulled up right on que as we exited my house. When we entered the car, I was blindfolded so I couldn't tell where we were going. The suits were absolutely silent until the third suit, the driver, asked me,
"Are you comfortable enough, Mr. Sutter?"
"I could use a drink," I said. One of the men held a bottle up to my mouth and I took a sip. "Water... really? Hey pal, I meant I would like a beverage. You know, whiskey, wine, spirits... got anything like that?"
"Water will have to do for now, we need you sober for briefing."
We were in the car for a long time, close to 4 hours, I'd say. Finally, we came to a stop and I heard the doors open. "Is that him?" a voice outside the car asked.
"I be me, who you be?" I answered, jokingly. The blindfold was then removed from my head. "Damn," I said as the light hurt my eyes, "nice place ya got here." We seemed to be in the middle of a desert and there was absolutely no sign of civilization other than the one, enormous and beautiful building in front of me as I stepped out of the car. A man in a labcoat approached me with an extended hand,
"Brian Sutter, its a pleasure to meet you. I'm William Crock. Call me Will."
"Nice to meet ya, doctor doctor," I replied. He then pointed to the door of the building and said,
"Shall we?"
"I suppose we shall." The suits and Will led me into the building. I was in awe, first off, at the security. Will walked up to a pin pad next to an steel door and quickly typed in a pin. Then, he held his hand on separate panel, which I assume scanned his finger prints. After that we entered a chamber as the steel door shut behind us, closing us in. Out of no where, a small mechanism popped out of the door and began flying around the room like a bug. After a brief moment, the bug settled in front of Will's eye and projected a red scanning laser upon him.
"IDENTITY," a computerized cyborg voice sounded.
"Willam. Crock." said Will.
"IDENTITY RECOGNIZED." The huge, vault foor then began to open as the sounds of the locking mechanisms filled the chamber.
"Holy shit," I muttered.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Will answered. As we entered an enormous room. Some thousand plus people had to be in the room, all wearing lab coats, surrounded by the most advanced technology I had ever seen. Sounds of busy people flooded the place when the mass began to look our way.
"It's him. Oh thank God, it's him! Yes! He's here!" some of the people in the croud shouted. All eyes were then on me and the group began to clap and cheer wildly. Will then spoke very audibly and said,
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present you, Brent Sutter!" Their cheers got even louder and more wild. Everyone was on their feet cheering... cheering for me. I waved and said,
"Thank you, thank you. You're far too kind." Will then motioned me to follow him as the crowd continued to hoot and holler. As we walked along the edge of the room, Will led me down a corridor and proceeded to open another room; this time, much smaller. Immediately, graphics began popping up on screens and tablets and right out of the middle of the table in the center of the room. I took a seat, as I was prompted to do so, and waited for a moment in amazement at the holograms and other technology. Everything in the room was the purest, brightest of whites from the chairs to the pens and tablets. Suddenly, a group of 10 men and women entered the room, including Will. They all took their seats except one man who stood at the head of the table.
"Welcome to SOAO, Brent," the man said.
"Thanks, pleasure to be here," I answered.
"Hello, Brent, I am Dr. Galso. Brent, you have been selected by a committee of your peers, each of whom are the top experts in their chosen fields, to join our team as an expert. You hav-"
I cut him off, "Woah woah woah, I'm no expert by any means. Why am I here?"
He continued, "You are, by ALL means an expert, according to our analytics, in the art of... bull shitting." I couldn't contain my laughter. I cackled and chuckled until one of the women in the room yelled,
"Oh, for God's sake! We're wasting our time with this guy!"
"Hey, fuck you, asshole!" I exclaimed as I blew the woman a kiss.
"Now, now, enough. Brent, mind your tongue. And Lucille, shut your mouth, he is our only hope," said Dr. Galso. "Brent, this is briefing. Play nice. Now operation WFM..." Images began popping up from the tablets as Galso explained, "The Maltoise race of alien has begun efforts to destroy all lifeforms in the universe, successfully eliminating 35% of the known alien races. You, Brent, are being tasked with bullshitting, for lack of a better term, with their leader as a means of diverting and diffusing this threat whilst the rest of us work to destroy only the Maltoise race, thus, saving the universe as we know it."
"Whoa," I interjected, "fuckin aliens?! What else have you been hiding?!"
"Brent, this is a very serious matter. The fate of the world lies in your hands," the Dr. said, "you will have an arranged meeting for 'peace talks' with their leader while our soldiers storm their planet and seed an unstoppable virus which will entirely wipe their race from history." Dr. Galso continued with more jargain about the mission and the Maltoise's primary weaknesses when the true breadth of the situation hit me. I snapped back to reality when Galso said, "...Do you understand?" Everyone at the table was staring at me.
"Uhh.. yes, sir," I replied.
"Good. William will show you to your quarters and assist you with training. You depart in 0900 hours. We're counting on you, Brent. God speed."
END PART 1
| I could see the grim expressions on their faces, all of them, everyone could see them, but really it was actually pride. I am the last defense for this planet. Really, everyone knows it, I know it, you know it. We all know it. La Pen of France greeted me with a smile and I tried to shake her hand, but you got to be firm, and pull them in. Everyone knows I'm a bull, they know, I know it. We all know it. The aliens even know it.
Very sad. Devastating. Really. It really is. They've come into our planet and started to integrate into our society. The last thing my planet needs is more aliens. That's why everyone comes to me and says, 'hey, you need to get rid of these aliens. you are the only one who can do it.' I'm totally going to do it. I know it.
Trudeau grimaced and tried to hide it with his hands buried at his chin to wipe the disdain and uncertainty from his chiseled face, but I know we're good. Totally good. Very good. We are, ask anyone. They'll tell you, for sure. I know it, you know it. We all know it.
"Are you ready sir?" An older man at the front, around my age, actually, looked me in the eyes, which is typically something you don't do, but because I've allowed these people to be graced by my presence at such a sad, very tragic moment in human history, I didn't pull him in with a most aggressive handshake. Everyone knows my handshakes break grounds in all debates. I'm a prime diplomat, you know? You know.
"Are you sure this the last ditch effort to save humanity, eh?" Trudeau objected, but really, we all know he just likes to be objectified by women. Maybe some men too, very sad. We're going to fix that.
"Excuse me, very rude. Totally rude. So rude, everyone in the room could tell that was rude. How rude." I objected to his objectification.
"We need someone who has been capable to BS his way out of everything and still remain in power, still grasp the world by the–" The older man spoke, but I didn't know what those letters meant. I asked, with an interruption to be sure.
"BS?"
"Business Star. You're going to do business with the aliens and find some way to bring them out of the fallen territories." The older man, a decorated war hero spoke. I saw something in his eyes as he looked deep into mine and spoke. The wrinkles pressed tight, his brow barely visible pinched between them and his eyes were like dull orbs that tried to find something, but of course what he found was the excellence of execution. I have so many businesses, so many! So many that have succeeded, and then I became a world leader, a leader of the world, you know? I know, everyone does, and I'm the best world leader in the entire planet.
"This is a serious matter." Sorry, very sad. He caught me with a smug grin, but really, it was just pride. I was going to be the one sent forth to the leader of the aliens.
"Before we do this, sir, do you even have a clue what we're up against? What you're going to do? Everything up to this point, your entire entourage has cried fake news, hell you even tried to sell some of your own citizens to them as slaves." Said a smelly black skinned man in something he probably got at an african hut with his ebt card. How dare he! Everyone should by my daughter's clothing, whether they can afford it or not! She's my daughter!
"I'm sorry what?" I asked him, looked right in his gross white eyes. I could see the poo stained in the middle of them.
He looked at me as though there should be a border wall between us, but really, how can they even understand simple human concepts. I guess they wanted to get Harambe involved and this is the only representative they could find for him.
"This is ridiculous." One person interjected, but I couldn't see them.
"I said, you are a terrible person. You will get us all killed!" He exclaimed, arms up in defeat as I clearly won this argument. Clearly. He knows it. You know it. We all know it.
La Pen stood between us, her hands gestured the representative of the apes to stand back, and I could hear the group bickering about it all. I'm glad they were on my side. Obviously they were because there were all pointing and waving their arms at me because I should always be the focal point of everything, right? Right.
Pt 1. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Gro-sho-neh hissed as her combat augment released another jolt of military-grade epinephrine into her body. With a rapid series of gasps, she searched around her person for another antipersonnel grenade. One left. She pulled it from the now-empty bandolier and thumbed the timer down to three sha-as.
Her brood lay about her. Gore patterned her broad reptilian face, bluring the vision from her right eye. Her wide flat tongue, feeling dry now, flicked out over the hard lens. She tasted her children in the unconscious move, all that was left of her children. They had been legion. They had been strong. They were no more.
With a quick glance over the low wall created by the shattered remains of her inner lair partition wall, she felt the surge to flee. It was like that with adrenaline… fight OR flight. But where would she flee to? All of the males in the clutch had died when the septim-damned human dropship had slammed directly into her harem. Those that hadn’t died when the walls fell in flames had been too slow to avoid the guns and armored boots of the human Mah-Reenz. The seven hells and seven curses weren’t enough for them, seven times the septim of curses to them all.
She knew no word equivalent to regret, but she knew failure. As she prepared to blow herself and the entire future of her line into oblivion she considered it all a failure. It had been a failure to consider hunting down the few remaining humans a waste of resources… those who has escaped the harvest collection. It had been a failure that she hadn’t ordered a full psychological study of how the humans would react, or how their physiology had adapted to so many cycles of evolution with adrenaline.
A burst of light followed by a searing flash of pain. She stared in horror at the ruin of her arm, shredded below the elbow. The grenade and her hand were still sliding across the floor, out of reach. As she watched an armored boot landed in her vision. Tiny slivers of the warming stones, handed down for generations, skipped into the air as the top surface flaked under the impact of the armored tread.
She shrieked and tried to attack the horrid primate, but armored gauntlets seized her four arms before they had moved more than a fraction of the distance, roughly hauling her back and painfully wedging her tail at an angle.
The human’s mirrored visor showed her a distorted view of her own face. She looked dreadful, her eyes too wide and her body covered in the gore of her family. She didn’t much care, the artificial stimulate harvested from the humans surged through her, making her burn to do violence. The visor let out a pop and hiss, then rose. The flat ape-like visage of a human looked at her dispassionately. It said something in that bestial hooting monkey language. The language of the brood followed after only a few syllables, amplified from somewhere on the suit it wore.
“So you’re the Bit-cheh queen of this infestation?” The human made an expression she didn’t understand. Who could read those horribly flat rubber faces? “May Joor wants you alive, but he’s back on the ship and we’re here with you.” MALES! These were primate males! How horribly insulting! She tried to scream in outraged fury, but one of the humans behind her clamped a gauntleted hand around her throat, choking off the outburst.
“See, we found your little Day Ree farm while we were slaughtering your family. There were kids in there, suffering and dying just so you could harvest their adrenaline. The way I see it, there’s a lot of pieces of you that aren’t exactly required to keep you alive.”
The human Mah Reen then looked very much like her brood mother as it drew a long curved dagger from its sheath on the armor breastplate. It squatted in front of her, filling her sense organs with the feted filth of its breath.
“The thing you scaled Bas Tards never understood about humans is hatred. For us, it’s a far more powerful drug than adrenaline.”
| The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | I always hate wrestling with tentacles. As in when they have tentacles, not me. I'm a human, I don't have any. But I swear some of these aliens have the most convoluted and variable anatomies, so much so that you literally might need to come up with a new fighting style on the fly. Nonetheless, we still have one advantage that no one else does, to make up for our relatively dull bodies, and a that's adrenaline. As it turns out we're the only ones who naturally produce it. Not only that, but it's their heroin; It's just as coveted, if not more. Every time I step out onto a mat, I know the guy I'm wrestling might be thrice as strong as I am, but I haven't met a single alien with as much determination as a human. It seems to be a point of pride for many of them, but I digress. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | I always thought I was weird. I never fit in. It started in grade school, risking my body for plays that my teamates had given up on. Thinking, "Oh! That minor amount of blood I shed was easily worth the amazing play or goal that was important in that sport in that time." I started seeking the same high later in life, things like jumping out of planes, getting into physical confrontations with other members of my species, getting sprayed in the face with what found out is an earth native plant, almost for the sheer exciment of it. Well, I am now a very rich man. The secretion that my body secrets for things I consider banal, almost not worth it, most members of our glactic community will pay millions for. I fight other members of my species for a living but the outcome does not matter, only the products. Our sweat sells for thousands, our blood, almost millions. While adrenaline might be a mild, almost controlled high for someone like me, for many in the galaxy, it is considered one of the nastiest addictions possible. The flight or fight response was Homo-sapians way into the galaxy, if only because we are its greatest dealers... | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Focus, Tai." my master repeated. It had been almost an hour and a half since we'd begun this new exercise, and yet my heart was racing, threatening to dislodge itself from my chest.
I couldn't take it anymore, the chills, the trembling sensation, the fear, rage, and thrill that permeated my being was becoming too intense, and I lashed out at my beloved teacher.
"Easy for you to say, human! I feel like I'm gonna explode!" I launched myself from my meditative stance, kicked our table of beverages across the room and sent my fist through the wall only to find I couldn't retrieve my hand from its new drywall home.
Master Lao didn't retaliate in anger, as I'd expected him to, but gave me a sympathetic smile and a soft sigh.
"Do you know what happens when a Movradi injects adrenaline?", he asked in his normal, breathy 'grand master' voice.
"They die.", I stated blandly. "Everyone knows that, it's why adrenaline is illegal."
"Only partially correct, Tai. The Movradi are a fierce warrior people, and their ways of war are all focused on harnessing the ferocity within them to attack. Their martial arts assume they will always have a level head in combat, and so, once injected with adrenaline, they lose their rationality. They become like beasts, with no regard for the safety of those around them or for themselves. They can be fearsome combatants, and they can be their own downfall, and yes, it's a Movradi survives his rampage, his heart will always give out shortly after. "
Master Lao was silent for a moment, watching me closely and giving me a moment to comprehend some of the implications of what he had said.
Then he continued, "What was our first lesson in human martial arts?"
"Breath timing." I responded through my fatigued exhales and inhales.
"The human martial arts are about calming the storm within. About understanding your body, it's possibilities and limitations, as well as understanding your opponent." Another moments silence told me there was a lesson my master meant to impress on me in his statements.
"What do you think this means for a hybrid?" Master Lao was nearing full circle in his lesson.
Completely quiet, I considered his words and regretted losing my temper. He was right. I had lost my temper in the past, and it had meant big repercussions. For me and for my mother.
"Remember why you are here, Tai. When you are fully realized, you will be able to summon your adrenaline at will, but until you are able to subdue that power at will also, you are very dangerous, and there are already those hungry for the idea of an apex warrior. If you will not join them, they may try to take you, study you, and attempt to recreate you." My usually calm and serene master gave a fearful look that told me he was serious, but only reminded me of the trouble I went through to make it this far.
"During your last outbreak at Movr a Knar you nearly killed the 4 officers trying to subdue you. Do you remember why?"
"I was mugged! Of course I wouldn't respond calmly!" My temper flashed, and I felt the urge to hit Master Lao, but I remember how badly my attempt had failed last time. It was still weird that there exists a person that could subdue me.
"Instead of losing your money, a desperate man lost his life, a struggling family lost their father, and you lost your innocence."
I suppressed a sniffle and wiped a tear away, driving all thoughts of mother and how she died out of my thoughts. "I understand."
"Are you still focused on the exercise?" Master Lao recognized the look of determination and his expression lightened.
"The exercise is to raise my heart rate to 3x, then bring it down to normal, all while remaining motionless and calm..." I responded.
"Good. Now let's start again."
A deep breath, a slow exhale, and my heart started it's climb past 2x. I don't know how I'll ever make it to 10. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Here we go!..."
A loud sound came from somewhere nearby, but we could never identify the sound or the location. It was from everywhere, and it was nowhere, and it sounded like a mixture of one long continuous thunder rumble and a lion's roar. They were coming for us, again. I hated that sound. They always come at night, when it's darkest. First, they came only during the day, when it was light, but we fought them off. Then they came for us at night while we slept, and though we lost a lot of good people, for some reason stopped soon after. Now, they come only with a warning first. A loud booming sound resonates from the sky before the hole opens, and all of our sirens go off, and then the rumble-roar builds to an unbelievable climax, and we know that as soon as it crescendos, they hole will open and we'll fight again. I'm so tired.
The roar is getting louder. Windows and loose items are starting to shake. People are readying their weapons; everybody aiming at the still-forming hole. The incoming force is always ugly and loud, but slow. We've been able to take a lot of them out, but every wave feels like we barely made a dent. They don't kill us, at least on purpose- they just capture us and take us back into the hole. I lost a lot of good friends. I lost a lot of family. I feel like cattle. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm old. I'm feeling tired. Let the young ones carry this battle till tomorrow- I'm done today. It's my last. I need this to end. I start to move to where the hole is forming.
The end of the roar is almost here. I haven't timed it, but it can't last more than a minute or two. When I was younger, it felt like an eternity, and my heart would pound and my pulse quickened- I would sometimes inadvertently tap my foot on the ground in anticipation. God, it's getting louder now. I have to plug my ears, and I see many others doing the same. This is it; a few seconds now. I used to get crazy adrenaline rushes, but now, there's just calm. I'm ready to accept my fate.
"GET READY! IT'S ALMOST TIME, BOYS!"
Somebody's yelling at somebody, and guns are being aimed, and I'm standing directly in front of the nearly formed hole, a few yards away. Nobody else is as close as I, but nobody is telling me to get back. I can start to see inside of it, and I see nothing but lights and stars for what feels like eternity. Ugh- nausea now; I hope I don't throw up in the hole. Or maybe I should. Whatever. I don't care. I just want it to end. I'm going to walk right into that hole and end this. I can't fight anymore. I'm ready.
"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"
Time stands still for me. I'm ready. Bullets are whizzing by so close my ear hairs are bristling, but nothing is hitting me for now. There go the creatures above me, and beside me, and strangely enough, below me. I'm inside of the hole now, and all around me is black and little points of light. I'm going to keep walking until I can't walk anymore, and when I wake up, I'll be in eternity, one form of it or another. The sounds of gunfire sound like they're coming from inside a large pool of water now, but I'm not afraid. There's a whole mess of creatures in front of me, and I'm going to calmly walk up to them and they'll kill me and that'll be that.
...I'm invisible? That's the only explanation for it. All around me are those damned creatures, but they're not paying attention to me. They're actively avoiding me, and instead paying attention only to the people they're capturing. These people are being shoved onto slabs face-up, clamped so they won't move, and then cut open to remove... a liver? No, that's not right Not quite remove, but pull out, still connected.Also, not the liver directly, butsomething on the liver. Everybody is screaming, but as soon as the screamer quiets, they discard the person, even if they're still alive. They're scraping small globules off of the liver and putting them into containers and then throwing away the body... God, we are cattle to them. Other different creatures are in the room now, and they're all yelling and talking in their own languages, exchanging various trinkets for the containers of whatever they took off of our livers. I can start to feel my blood pressure rise and my heart quicken- We are nothing more than a supply source for them. This isn't right. This isn't how I want to go. I need to calm down now.
Some of the creatures are eating the liver globules, and there's an instant change in their behavior; they get excited, and if they have eyes, I can see their pupils widen, and then they start running all over the place, or sometimes in place, or they start fighting with each other... or mating? I can't tell. Those who can't exchange trinkets are searching the floor for any spilled globules to ingest. The fighting outside of the hole must be done now, so I start to look around for any survivors, and then I remembered that even if I did find them, I don't have any way to close wounds or stop infection, so all around me, I see my species dying, and I can't do anything.
No, I can do something. An idea is starting to form. I break off a blade from one of the tools they use to cut us open. I'm going to die still, but not easily. My heart is quickening again. My breath is short and fast, and nobody notices me. I'm invisible. I'm going to kill every last one of them. There's one lizard/worm creature on the ground, trying desperately to eat some globule that belonged to one of us. He'll be the first to go. I'm calm. I'm cool. I'm detached. I swing the blade down on what I assume is the neck, and it passes through easily; the head is gone, and the body is limp. Suddenly, I feel a surge of adrenaline. It occurs to me somewhere in the back of my mind that the adrenal gland is found at the top of the liver, and that's what's being consumed by these things. It doesn't matter though; they'll all die.
"Who's next?"
Some things are starting to notice me now. Some thing on the first creature type's head is pointed straight towards my stomach, but it's not their eyes; it's just a machine; I can hear the whir of mechanical gears and see the lights on the end. I use the blade to take out the nearest of those creatures, and he falls easily, the machine on his head going limp right away. More adrenaline surges through me, and now more of the machines are pointed at me, and other nearby creatures are starting to notice me. Bring it on. I'm ready.
"LETS GO!"
Now I'm in full on bloodlust mode. I'm an old 1st century Norse Berseker now, and I'm angry. These are my people, and we are not cattle, dammit! I swing the blade left and right, without care of who I hit or how I hit them; they'll all pay. They'll all die. The entire room of creatures is convening on me now, and every machine on every head as far as I can see is pointed at me, and they'll all die. My blade is cutting through them all with ease, and I now I should be tired, but the adrenaline is keeping me going. My adrenaline. My human adrenaline that belongs in my body and is not for sale and they'll all die for trying to take it from me. This is mine. All creatures will die. I will die, but all creatures will die first. I don't see anything any more. I'm just feeling happy whenever I feel my blade connect with something fleshy.
The room is empty now. I'm the only one left alive. I'm cut, and I'm beat, and I'm pretty sure I can only move my arm and my head, but all around me are dead bodies of various creatures, or dying. Strange creature appendages are here and there, some still flopping around, but none are trying to get me at the moment. I can feel my age again. I can feel how tired I am. I need to sit down. Others are here now, and they found me. I'm ready to die.
They came in loud from a door somewhere far away, all in matching uniforms that hid their species type, and made them all look like various robots of different sizes. They had weapons of some sort pointed all over the room, and at me, but I'm too tired to fight again, so I don't move. Nobody says a word. Nobody fires a weapon. Some of them start to inspect the various bodies on the floor, but they all kept their weapons on me. The robot creature in front walks up to me, slowly holstering his weapon and putting his arms in the air. It made me look like he was surrendering; I laughed. Surprisingly I heard a feminine laugh from behind the helmet. The robot raised it's visor, and it was a human woman inside.
"Bonjour", she said. I stared blankly back at her. She tried again, waving her hand. "Bonjour? Hola? Ciao? Namaste? Hello? Konichiwa?"
"Hi", I said back. She started laughing again.
"Oh, thank god. I was afraid I'd have to get a translator!" She has a slight accent. "Don't worry, we're the good guys. We're basically the police here."
"Hi." I said again. I didn't know what else to say.
"So you did all this huh? It was adrenaline, you know. They come for our adrenaline. It's a real upper in certain parts of the universe, but it's hard to come by synthetically. It's much easier to find it naturally, and wouldn't you know it, we humans are one of the only creatures that produce it naturally." She started laughing at this.
"...oh." What are you supposed to say to something like that, after all.
"Yeah. This is a basically a drug bust; adrenaline in different creatures causes different reactions- some use it as an energy source, some as a aphrodisiac, some space out, but it's pretty heavily regulated pretty much everywhere. Sorry about everything. We've been trying to find the source of this wormhole for a few months now. I guess you did all the paperwork for us." She kicked a still oozing appendage that belonged to what looked like a moth with fins nonchalantly as she said that.
"...ah. Um, I have to throw up now. Excuse me." And I did. She started laughing again. I hated her.
"Yeah, go ahead. That's what happens after you get an adrenaline rush. It's a hell of a drug, isn't it?"
| The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Please... not again... just, give me the rest of the day off, I need a break..." I begged, knowing that there would be no reprieve. I'd already used all my vacation time, and there's no such thing as sick leave in this line of work. Being injured or ill wouldn't make a difference unless it was so bad that my adrenal system stopped working, and at that point I'd probably be past the point of caring.
My manager didn't say anything. She simply reached out with one of her tentacles, and flipped a switch.
Suddenly I was plummeting through the air, the ground far below me and rapidly growing closer. Beneath me, jagged rocks grew more defined as the distance closed, until I could make out the very peak where I would likely impact and break my spine, if I were ever to land...
...But I didn't land. The simulation ended, and I was back in my chair, strapped in place as the tube connected to the base of my spine drained what little yield that latest scare had produced. The manager gurgled in a tone that indicated disappointment. The "falling to your death" simulation was the most extreme stimulus they could give me without causing physiological damage, and even that was producing diminishing returns. My run as an adrenaline farm might be coming to an end. I shuddered at the thought that I might be out of a job soon.
She undid my straps and handed me a plastic pouch of water and a protein bar. Those bars are a lot better than the ones we have on Earth. They even sprung for the ones with Rigellian sunberries at my request. I devoured it almost as soon as it was in my hand. This work takes a lot out of a person.
"Would you mind turning on the news?" I asked. We had to wait an hour before trying again. My body needed time to recover, to restore the materials that it would use for its goldmine. I liked to keep abreast of current events. I've never been super political or anything, but staying informed was important to me.
My manager flicked another switch and settled into her own chair beside me as I sipped my water. Ahead of us, the same technology that had sent me hurtling to my doom just moments before brought us into a news room, a panel of experts from several species gathered for some sort of conference. It took a moment to catch on to the subject matter.
"-the victims of these crimes doesn't help anything. A more aggressive law enforcement presence can *only* work alongside comprehensive protections for the humans being taken advantage of!"
"With all due respect, the Settled Party loves to throw around this 'humans are victims' narrative, but that's simply untrue. They've been part of this community for decades now. They know our laws. If they choose to pursue these careers, then they are responsible for the consequences of their actions."
"What you Opaque Partiers never seem to understand is the extreme lack of opportunities most humans find off of their home planet. Who hires humans? Who's willing to accommodate their unique physical needs? Small businesses don't have the resources to retrofit for them, big corporations have lobbying-"
"I'll have to interrupt you there; we've just received this bulletin. The Galactic Federation has just announced a new policy regarding the use of humans to produce the illicit drug adrenaline. Beginning immediately, any individual suspected to be involved with the production of this drug for recreational or medicinal use is subject to arrest and imprisonment. There is to be no immunity for human participants in these operations. Raids are expected to begin shortly, targeting the biggest manufacturers first. I'll turn this over to the panel. Your thoughts?"
"I'm extremely concerned about how this will affect the Kopul system, where adrenaline has been quasi-legal for some time now. Humans there have enjoyed a certain degree of protection, with local regulations allowing for the production of adrenaline as long as certain guidelines for the subjects are followed. Legalization advocates have long pointed to Kopul as an example of-"
"Are you kidding? The humans in those adrenaline factories are treated *horribly*. They have few benefits, low pay, and no job security. They use methods that lose their effectiveness over time and when a human can't produce anymore they're tossed out into the asteroid field. If-"
My manager flicked the switch again. The room went back to its sterile, empty appearance. The two of us shared a look.
We could be arrested at any moment for what we were doing. Local authorities always looked the other way for our benefit, but they couldn't protect us. And at this point, neither one of us had other options. Once you get into this gig, you're pretty much stuck.
If I ran out of adrenaline before I got arrested, I'd consider my career a success. At that point, I expected either one to happen any day.
When I first started, getting adrenaline out of me was easy. They just had to show me a spider. The creepy things always scared me to death. It didn't even have to be a simulation back then, it could just be a photo. Of course, to get a result they had to get bigger, and more intense, over time. Eventually they had me facing down simulations of spiders bigger than I was, wrapping me up in their webs.
But eventually that didn't work anymore. It's not that I got over my fear of spiders. I'm more scared of them now than ever. But my body just doesn't react to them the way it used to. So they moved onto something different.
I hate that feeling. Being terrified is the worst.
Well, not the worst.
Starving is the worst.
Getting arrested is the worst.
Doing something so horrible I beg in vain not to do it every time? That's just work. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Shanty is buzzed up on Dreddy again.
I want her to stop so much. She’s so much better when she stops. Her art is so much more beautiful when she stops.
She can’t stop. She won’t stop.
Sometimes she shows up to the falconing parties with the red eye. Sometimes she even shows up to the children’s parleys with the red eye. She’s been getting buzzed up on Dreddy.
She described it to me as being torn apart in a poison tornado of ecstasy and torture. She hates herself in the morning but she says she can get more done on the Dreddy. Well, sometimes she comes out and she is on, but she pays the debt later.
Dreddy gives her the shakes something fierce at night. Some nights it makes her scream like a harpy in heat. If she doesn’t take it in the morning she starts getting the blue eye. She starts getting the purple teeth, the ones that shine like stalactites and stalagmites in the level of hell where even demons themselves get sent.
She got it for the first time from one of those travelers. What do they call them? Yu, Yu, Yuans? Yumans? Ah, right, humans. Humans. Apparently it occurs naturally in their bodies. It’s released when they are in fear, or danger. It is a natural product, for them. They wanted to use their own power for themselves, so they eventually found a way to extract it. They used it to give themselves power in times outside of duress. You need some juice to power through the consequences of your alcoholism and get your day job done, you dred. You ever get so drunk that you manage to take a lady or two back home but you can’t get your skenken up? Dred it up. Ever get in a fight you couldn’t win? Good thing you dredded earlier.
Those skubs made contact with the other civilizations. Well, with us. They found us first. We knew all the others, well, all the others to be known.
Relations were peaceful. We began to trade. We became a sort of intergalactic intersociety. As with any society, a black market eventually erupts like pus from a steamy old gash…
They started selling to the Prebians first. They always had a grip of the vice. Then the Happons. Little by little, everyone began to partake in the incandescent wonders of the Dred.
Shanty’s friends tried it. They loved it too much. They told her she had to try too. She had always been straight laced, and at first she had refused with the vehemence of a sick rhino. They wore her down slowly. Eventually, in her own distraught mind, she broke down and did it for a boy. Kazko.
In the end, the boy didn’t care about her and she was addicted to Dreddy.
Fucking humans took my sister. In my anger I killed Kazko. Now I'm on the run. Now I’m on the dred, too.
| The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Steven was in his lab when he heard the crash.
It shook his world, sending bottles of cleaning product clattering to the concrete floor. More than one vial of glass broke.
"Jesus Martha!" He screamed. "You leave the stove on again? Martha?"
He blinked, and suddenly he was outside with a bag of blue crystals in one hand. He jingled it merrily. That had to be record time, or perhaps he had forgotten how long it usually took him to get into the yard. Either way, he supposed that this batch was a good one.
A REALLY good one, judging by the thing he saw sitting in a crater on his lawn. It was sliver - or, at least the parts of it that hadn't been charred black looked silver-ish. At one point it might have been sleek, shaped like a squat teardrop, but now it just looked like a mess.
"Martha? You in there?" Steven asked. "This ain't a very funny joke if you is."
If Martha was in the strange thing, she didn't answer. Steven looked at the ring of fire expanding from the crater and frowned. The lawn was no loss - most of it had been dead or dirt anyway - but he couldn't afford a fire in his lab. Might draw suspicion, after all. So he set about trying to stamp it out, not even noticing that he didn't have on his shoes.
He was so preoccupied with cursing at the flames that he didn't even notice when a circular doorway of light appeared in the side of the strange craft. What slumped out of the thing was not Martha, as Steven had supposed, but something far, far stranger. It had a bulbous head, round as a beach ball, with only a single eye covered in strange lumps. It stood tall on three suckered tentacles, a head or two taller than Steven even from inside the crater. It was also, apparently, very drunk.
<Give me...the thing...> It said, the universal translator around its neck slurring the words appropriately. <I need it...just a bit more...>
"Who the hell are you?" Steven asked, whirling around. "I don't recall inviting any guests to come hang about. Get the hell off my prop-"
He caught a glimpse of the creature and stopped mid-sentence. Steven squinted, as if trying to make something out, looked away, and then looked back. Nope. It was still there.
<I smell it!> The creature said. <Give it to me!>
It rose up, extending a tentacle over the top of the crater, and pulled itself free of the wreckage. Steven gave a yelp like a kicked dog.
"Get the hell away from me, you freak 'o nature!" He yelled, backing away. But the thing didn't seem to be in a mood for bargaining.
<Stronger! It smells stronger!> It screeched, opening a rounded spike-filled mouth just under its eye. <Give it to me, tiny thing! Give me your blood!>
It was all Steven could take. He screamed.
"I said go!" He said, fleeing, but the thing was right at his heels.
<Blood! I smell blood!> It crowed, and half-tumbled in his direction. For all of its efforts, it only succeeded at slamming into the side of his garage.
"Watch it!" Steven yelled "There's valuable stuff in there!" But again, the thing ignored him, content to tumble vaguely after him.
Steven ran into the road, trying to put as much distance between himself and the bizarre creature as he could. "I don't want no trouble, just get the hell out of here!" He screamed, running to the tree-lined corner at the end of his street. If he could only get behind it, maybe he had a chance.
<Blood! Blood! It smells good, please! I'm jonesing so hard, I just need a few liters!> It pleaded.
Steven clenched his teeth. It was so close now, slopping up behind him like a rotten octopus. It was too big, too fast - there was no way he could get away. "Lord Jesus, way up in heaven." He said. "I know I ain't been the most Christian of folk, but I swear if you save me I'll do good. I'll change - I won't do no drugs no more, I promise! Please!" He tripped over the side of the steep curve, falling to the dirt, and he knew he was dead.
Fortunately for him, he was wrong. Right at that very moment, a driver came screaming around the corner, barreling ahead without bothering to slow down or look. Behind him, there was a sickening squelch, the screeching of wheels, and a blaring horn as the car collided with something big, wet, and slimy.
Steven looked up, spitting dirt from his mouth, and crowed in victory. "THANK YOU JESUS!" He said, kissing the dirt.
The thing was dead.
"Steven? Did you leave the stove on again?" Cried a woman with rollers in her hair from a nearby window. "What the hell is that thing?"
Steven didn't respond. He was looking at the creature where it lay on the pavement, oozing thick blue blood. It was beautiful, Steven thought. Beautiful and so, so familiar.
Ignoring both his wife and the irate honking of the driver, Steven knealt down in the road beside the thing and dipped a finger in the goo. A clump of it stuck to his nail, glistening like crystal. He stuck it in his mouth and gasped.
"Martha!" he called. "Call the boys and get the buckets! We're gonna be RICH!" | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Among the lines of hustling Warriors in dark armor, one carried an important message.
"Jarod, did you get my parcel?"
"Yep, got it an hour ago. Thanks!"
A message that will hit "reset".
"Hey Yosef! Yosef!"
It will make them bear their teeth and arms.
"YOSEF!"
It will sap their strength to stand.
"I have to tell Leader!"
"Wha-ok!" Dominic grabs his cell-radio from his belt, hits speed dial and brings it to his left ear. "Sam, this is Dominic. Messenger charging your gates at Epsilon oh-four. How copy?"
"Solid Copy, Dominic. Tell COMMS to purge the lines again, would you please? The static is terrible. Over."
"I'll get right on that. Dominic, out."
It will make their spirits flare and anger surge.
Yosef waved to the guards at the gate as he ran and they waved back. He is sweating, warm drops flowing down his back under his armor. Blood splattered on a few places, one blotch in particular over a single, thin yellow stripe on his right shoulder.
Yosef almost ran through the sliding doors into the uplink booth had they not parted a moment later. His training kicked in. Calming the mind and forcing his nerves to settle. He reached for his cell-radio again and stood in front of the terminal as the doors behind him closed and locked.
He inserted his cell-radio into the bottom slot and waited five seconds...
The screen didn't light up, but his helmet was pinged.
"Hello?"
"Tell me, how fucked are we?"
"Bad, sir."
"Report."
Yosef spent the next several minutes debriefing the Leader before he got to the end...
"...about ninety percent of the known sapient peoples learned that our bodies produce adrenaline."
"..."
"It's considered to be one of the most illicit drugs in this galaxy."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Code Black." The line went dead.
Yosef suddenly felt cold and whispered to himself, "Not my children. Not my children." He crumpled inside the booth, removed his helmet and gripped his head. Flashbacks of previous tragedies storming through his mind-
-the doors open.
"Hey! Get up! We have a Code Black!" Someone yelled at him before returning to the mass of Warriors streaming back into the hangar. Yosef looked at his brethren and took in their strides. Some were in full armor of varying configurations, their helmets pitch black concealing their faces. The rest were in BDU and undersuits with rage carved into their faces.
Seeing them snapped him back into reality.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Yosef screamed, running with his people as everyone went to their stations. Putting on their armor, loading tanks with ammunition and fuel, attaching guns to light vehicles and more.
***
I felt the past slowly creep up and its cold hand gripped my spine. Its bones offered no comfort, but remind me of the grave truth.
I felt my bones speak of the days when we used to shiver in caves.
I felt my blood scream at me, seeking to make dead those that threaten my chosen family.
Even as I charged through the lines, I couldn't help but see our previous war before me.
It's happening all over again.
Tracked. Hunted. Exploited. Haunted. We fought for over seven-hundred years to secure our right to live. We pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.
These fools have no idea what we've been through. They will learn of the strength of my family.
And they will fear my family. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | I expertly avoided eye contact as my boss glanced at me from across the office. I had only been at this job for about a month, but I was already quite proud of my ability to maneuver the office social sphere. This was my first “real” job- I had been plucked from an internship at the United Nations where I must have been doing some bang-up work, because they upgraded me to be one of Earth’s representatives in the United Solar Systems. Honestly the same thing as the UN, but on a much bigger scale. I’m doing nothing important, just the usual desk job and paperwork, but it’s still pretty cool.
My boss started walking toward my cubicle. I switched tabs.
“You’ve had two weeks to write your grant proposal, Jim. Our presentation is this afternoon; I need it on my desk within two hours,” he said, before retreating to his office.
Well, that’s all I need to hear. I quickly opened a blank document and started reviewing my compiled research to figure out the best way to shove my sources onto the page. Two hours? I’d done a lot more in fewer. Back in my college days, I used to pride myself on completing final papers within the hour or so they were due. My motto was always “why give more, when your average is better than everyone else’s best?” Cocky, I know, but have you seen some of the kids in a college class? Come on. Those kids are not life’s finest.
I shook my reminiscing away. I need to focus. This was the first big paper I was putting my name on, believe it or not. And it was a proposal to set up an inter-dimensional telescope, with the most advanced races within the galaxy pitching in to help with funding. (I wanted to call it the ‘Hubba-Hubba-Hubble ‘Scope’, but that got vetoed.) It supposedly would help us crack the most challenging mathematical aspects of the universe, letting us calculate fifth-dimension attributes in the spacetime continuum. At least, that’s what I understand it’s supposed to do. Honestly, all I’ve done is the research. Well, I'm supposed to have done the research.
An hour and a half left until it was due, giving me enough time to check my galactic mail (g-mail, for short) before I really have to get to work. Free food in the break room, ads for heli-boots, a memo urging the office to attend the pot luck sponsored by the communications department, Betsy from HR’s son is selling meteorite stones for his school, but nothing important. I clicked ‘mark all as read’ and closed out.
One hour to go. I took a deep breath and looked at the blank page. I turned to the sources I had found weeks ago. Ah, yes. There’s that familiar panic beginning to creep into the pits of my stomach, as I realize that this is a lot more work than I could possibly shove into one document during an hour. No time to panic! “A due date is just a do date,” I always said. I took a second to ball up the butterflies and shove them into a corner of my large intestine, and began to write.
Forty-five minutes left, I took another breath and tried to organize my thoughts as I wrote.
Thirty minutes left, my heart was definitely skipping more beats than was probably life-sustaining. I stop myself from looking up the average rate of a human heart beat.
Twenty minutes. I took a second to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead.
Fifteen minutes, and I could definitely feel my heart in the pit of my stomach. Which is not normal, probably.
Ten minutes? I’m standing, typing faster than I can think but trusting my fingers to get the job done.
There’s an entire conclusion to write with five minutes left- do I need an entire paragraph? No, a sentence or two will do. Is it “compliment” or “complement”, do I mean “definitely” or was it supposed to be “defiantly?” Does it matter? I’m typing as fast as my heart is fluttering. How can anyone in this galaxy say humans are weak? Look at me, crushing this.
One minute left. One sentence to go. I sense my boss’ door opening. His feet are walking closer. An alarm is sounding, but it’s all in my periphery. I don’t have time to pay attention, I still have to type my name.
My fingers slip off the keys in a hasty rush as I fumble trying to send the report to my boss’ i-glass device. My boss has appeared next to me, a frown on his face. I’m grinning ear-to-ear, out of breath but proud at my completed work.
“You were such a promising member of the team, Jim,” he says, disappointment in his eyes. “You could have done well with us, but every single time we entrust a homosapien to complete a task, you guys end up arrested.”
“Arrested? I just sent the completed proposal to you, I don’t think we need to go to such extreme lengths,” I laugh. Why is everyone so serious in this place? And what is that god-forsaken alarm?
“No, Jim. You’re in direct disobedience of Galactic Code 30087- possession of the illegal drug AD-Ren-10.”
“I have no drugs in my workspace at all, you’ve got to be mistaken.”
“Really? Then explain the spike in your heart rate and the increase of palm sweat collected by your mouse. The only explanation is that of which you earthlings call adrenaline.”
“Adrenaline? You’re kidding right?” I question him as I raise my eyebrows. “This is preposterous. How is that even a drug?”
“According to the Galactic Code, the rush it gives is illegal. As part of the U.S.S. we expect every employee to obey Galactic Code. You were given a copy of both the Code and our expectations the day you started. Here is your signature saying you read both copies and have retained the documents in your private collection.” He pulled up an image scan of my stupid name on the papers HR had shoved into my face my first day. I curse Betsy under my breath.
I mean, I wasn’t arguing that I signed it. You kinda don’t get the job without signing the paperwork. I had just assumed the documents involved normal things, like no porn on the company computers or always attend mandatory meetings or don’t eat labeled food from the office refrigerator. I’m pretty sure you don’t get paid if you don’t sign them, right?
The security officers barged into the office and were in the process of tightening an electric clasp around my wrists. I sighed. I probably should have read the damn papers.
| The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | The walls of the hallway were as bland as the rest of the ship. Despite being pristine, the white walls of cabin C3-T were horrendous on the eyes.
As I made my way down the corridor I bumped into another god damned cleaning rover - there's just about more robots on this ship than humans. The buggers are all over the place, especially in this part of the ship, as things tend to get messy.
After proceeding past countless numbered cells I finally arrived at cell #0142, my first assignment of the shift. My long, cruel shift
Prisoner #0142's chart was pretty surprising. 36 year old male with no major health problems. He had been picked up a little over 100 days ago yet he had an average production rate of over 1500ng. Prisoners usually only last a few weeks at most before they break and after that their production plummets.
It's crazy what money will drive a civilization to do.
The first assignment of the shift was always the hardest. After a series of deep breaths I finally forced myself into the cell. As soon as the door opened prisoner #0142 scurried to the corner of his cell, quickly beginning to hyperventilate. A good sign.
I rushed to the side of the prisoner and threw in a combination of punches. I don't like hurting them I really don't, but it's my job.
As he cowered in the corner I took out the extracting device and jammed it into the side of his neck, aiming for the biggest vein in sight. Contact was made and and the device quickly began filling. The most effective way of extracting adrenaline is via blood, the only downside is that you have to take a lot.
As the container slowly filled to maximum capacity I began to feel even worse for #0142. After a quick glance at his eyes I realized he was blind, though it wasn't noted on his chart. That may explain his high production rate, he has no idea what's going on. He might not even know he's left earth.
After filling the canister I quickly stood up and left the cell, fleeing to the hallway and quickly closing the door behind me. He didn't appear to be moving.
The first one of the day was always the hardest, I reminded myself, as I slid the canister into one of the passing storage bots whilst grabbing a fresh extractor.
Time for prisoner #0143. | The inner circle prepares to extract the illicit substance from the human, when all of the sudden the human proclaims, "hey we rip this shit out of sharks because there's tons of it in there!" The group looks pleased with the results of their first meeting on earth based adrenaline. "But we have much better than adrenaline," the human adds, "we can also get shark testosterone!" Later on that evening, everyone gets ripped and they feel the most intense rush of their lives, even though the group never once did leave the comforts of their meeting room. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | **Warning: This is a bit dark. Not for the squeamish**
*******
Sporadic flashing lights sparked overhead, lighting up the cages like a this was a dank nightclub back home. Ryan keep running, his sweating fingers desperately clutching to Haley's cold hand. Each time the light sparked he could see Them and prayed They couldn't see him. He also saw bleak hopeless eyes staring out at him from the cage they ducked behind to avoid detection. Each time they stopped and hid, the eyes pleaded to Ryan, but he just stared back.
*Don't make a sound. Can't save you. Must save my wife, must save myself.*
The shed was huge, so there was hope. Thousands of cages three feet cubed held two or three humans each. They were spaced apart just enough for Them to walk between them, and luckily for Ryan, for him and Haley to hide among them.
They desperately stumbled through the dark, towards the distance doorway, the harsh light occasionally burning their eyes and forcing them to hide. Those moments were the worse, for as their vision returned they saw ever more humans in more cages. Some wore tattered clothing from the time they were abducted, others bred into captivity were naked, deformed, and had expressions void of hope or understanding. Some of them pushed against each other, struggling for every inch of space they were crammed into, while others coexisted in mutual misery, resigned to their filth covered homes.
A guttural cry made Ryan's ears spike with pain, and all around the shed humans wailed in agony. They had noticed he had escaped with Haley. Hundreds of Them constantly worked the cages, sticking instruments in each human at least once a day. Except now they would all be looking for Haley and for him.
His heart started pumping harder now, and her hand squeezed his repeatedly. He turned to face her in the afterglow of another spike of light and he barely saw his wife, he just saw a face of utter terror. He gave her an urgent nudge with his head. He dare not speak, he didn't even want to breath. She just nodded frantically and he felt blood pulse through his head like never before.
The doorway wasn't too far. They'd seen others escape through it before, and heard the rumors of what lay on the other side - a hanger with ships, an armory with so many weapons... Hope for survival. A chance of escape.
They made a break for it, forgoing the cover of the cages and openly sprinting the remaining distance to the exit. Endless pairs of panicked eyes watched them as they rushed past in the erratic light. One harsh shriek of alarm followed another. Tall powerful spiked shapes of immeasurable pain and death closed in on them from all sides. They were so close, the door was rushing to meet them. 20 feet. A sharp crackle of energy obliterated a cage just behind them, spraying blood and scorched metal everywhere. 10 feet. One of Them was moments from impaling them both on it's claws.
They slammed through the doors into the warm clean room beyond.
******
Overseer Kriewt drummed his fingers expectantly on his desk as both he and his client watched the thousands of sensory feeds following the two samples. They had made it out of the hanger, and were in the last corridor before the End, where a shuttle was waiting for them to commandeer.
"So you've already tried our caged variety, Visor Quuotrk" Kriewt said politely. The Visor was a fearsome and stunningly beautiful person to behold, her second set of arms were the most slender he had ever seen, with claws so sharp and obsidian they drew his attention every time, so much so he had to keep himself from staring. "You will find that this free range variety offers a superior kick"
"I'm looking forward to it, Overseer" the Visor replied with a sly smile that only just showed her middle fang. She didn't take her attention off the sensory inputs, as she was enjoying feeling the pulse beat through the female's heart.
They both watched as the two samples entered the craft and were instantly teleported before them. Spikes shot out of the floor and ceiling and skewered both samples before either of them could gasp in surprise. The tentacle like spikes lifted both of them off the floor and made them face each other, too far apart to touch but enough to see each other's pain.
The Overseer nodded approving and turned to his customer. "We find that processing mating pairs like this provides the purest form of the drug. The gauntlet that you just saw them guided through gets the most we can possibly get into their fluid system and then letting them see each other in their final moments just adds that sweet refinement that you won't find from my competitors. It's the effect of the mind knowing how hopeless the situation is while the body just tries to hold on. They'll both expire within twelve ghats and the extraction will be complete.
Visor Quuotrk walked up to them both curiously, and saw the male's tear soaked face move his desolate expression from his dying mate to meet her own mercury gaze. She watched as the life drained from him and his last breath left his blood filled lungs.
"You don't find your methods to be in-Yorwen, do you?" she asked
"With all due respect Visor, they're not Yorwan, are they?" Kriewt offered diplomatically. "You see, they don't even have all 7 senses. They can only communicate using air vibrations or photon absorption, it's so wonderfully mindless and soulless there's no need to worry about welfare."
"I see," the Visor said, eagerly watching the vial of substance emerge from the collection of tentacle spikes. "so they're not sentient?"
"Absolutely not. Well, not anywhere near the level it counts. In fact, if it wasn't for their valuable genetic abnormality, their planet would probably have been harvested by the Garrim or seeded by the Ko by now. This operation, however illegal, is letting 80% of the population of that miserable rock live killing each other, we're frankly doing them a favor"
The Overseer took the two vials from the processed samples and handed one to the Visor.
"And really," he grinned a mouth full of blacked razor teeth, "If they didn't want to be processed like this, they shouldn't have created such a sweet high in their glands."
"Overseer", smiled Visor Quuotrk as she injected herself with the purest adrenaline. "I think we can do business." | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | Gro-sho-neh hissed as her combat augment released another jolt of military-grade epinephrine into her body. With a rapid series of gasps, she searched around her person for another antipersonnel grenade. One left. She pulled it from the now-empty bandolier and thumbed the timer down to three sha-as.
Her brood lay about her. Gore patterned her broad reptilian face, bluring the vision from her right eye. Her wide flat tongue, feeling dry now, flicked out over the hard lens. She tasted her children in the unconscious move, all that was left of her children. They had been legion. They had been strong. They were no more.
With a quick glance over the low wall created by the shattered remains of her inner lair partition wall, she felt the surge to flee. It was like that with adrenaline… fight OR flight. But where would she flee to? All of the males in the clutch had died when the septim-damned human dropship had slammed directly into her harem. Those that hadn’t died when the walls fell in flames had been too slow to avoid the guns and armored boots of the human Mah-Reenz. The seven hells and seven curses weren’t enough for them, seven times the septim of curses to them all.
She knew no word equivalent to regret, but she knew failure. As she prepared to blow herself and the entire future of her line into oblivion she considered it all a failure. It had been a failure to consider hunting down the few remaining humans a waste of resources… those who has escaped the harvest collection. It had been a failure that she hadn’t ordered a full psychological study of how the humans would react, or how their physiology had adapted to so many cycles of evolution with adrenaline.
A burst of light followed by a searing flash of pain. She stared in horror at the ruin of her arm, shredded below the elbow. The grenade and her hand were still sliding across the floor, out of reach. As she watched an armored boot landed in her vision. Tiny slivers of the warming stones, handed down for generations, skipped into the air as the top surface flaked under the impact of the armored tread.
She shrieked and tried to attack the horrid primate, but armored gauntlets seized her four arms before they had moved more than a fraction of the distance, roughly hauling her back and painfully wedging her tail at an angle.
The human’s mirrored visor showed her a distorted view of her own face. She looked dreadful, her eyes too wide and her body covered in the gore of her family. She didn’t much care, the artificial stimulate harvested from the humans surged through her, making her burn to do violence. The visor let out a pop and hiss, then rose. The flat ape-like visage of a human looked at her dispassionately. It said something in that bestial hooting monkey language. The language of the brood followed after only a few syllables, amplified from somewhere on the suit it wore.
“So you’re the Bit-cheh queen of this infestation?” The human made an expression she didn’t understand. Who could read those horribly flat rubber faces? “May Joor wants you alive, but he’s back on the ship and we’re here with you.” MALES! These were primate males! How horribly insulting! She tried to scream in outraged fury, but one of the humans behind her clamped a gauntleted hand around her throat, choking off the outburst.
“See, we found your little Day Ree farm while we were slaughtering your family. There were kids in there, suffering and dying just so you could harvest their adrenaline. The way I see it, there’s a lot of pieces of you that aren’t exactly required to keep you alive.”
The human Mah Reen then looked very much like her brood mother as it drew a long curved dagger from its sheath on the armor breastplate. It squatted in front of her, filling her sense organs with the feted filth of its breath.
“The thing you scaled Bas Tards never understood about humans is hatred. For us, it’s a far more powerful drug than adrenaline.”
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Focus, Tai." my master repeated. It had been almost an hour and a half since we'd begun this new exercise, and yet my heart was racing, threatening to dislodge itself from my chest.
I couldn't take it anymore, the chills, the trembling sensation, the fear, rage, and thrill that permeated my being was becoming too intense, and I lashed out at my beloved teacher.
"Easy for you to say, human! I feel like I'm gonna explode!" I launched myself from my meditative stance, kicked our table of beverages across the room and sent my fist through the wall only to find I couldn't retrieve my hand from its new drywall home.
Master Lao didn't retaliate in anger, as I'd expected him to, but gave me a sympathetic smile and a soft sigh.
"Do you know what happens when a Movradi injects adrenaline?", he asked in his normal, breathy 'grand master' voice.
"They die.", I stated blandly. "Everyone knows that, it's why adrenaline is illegal."
"Only partially correct, Tai. The Movradi are a fierce warrior people, and their ways of war are all focused on harnessing the ferocity within them to attack. Their martial arts assume they will always have a level head in combat, and so, once injected with adrenaline, they lose their rationality. They become like beasts, with no regard for the safety of those around them or for themselves. They can be fearsome combatants, and they can be their own downfall, and yes, it's a Movradi survives his rampage, his heart will always give out shortly after. "
Master Lao was silent for a moment, watching me closely and giving me a moment to comprehend some of the implications of what he had said.
Then he continued, "What was our first lesson in human martial arts?"
"Breath timing." I responded through my fatigued exhales and inhales.
"The human martial arts are about calming the storm within. About understanding your body, it's possibilities and limitations, as well as understanding your opponent." Another moments silence told me there was a lesson my master meant to impress on me in his statements.
"What do you think this means for a hybrid?" Master Lao was nearing full circle in his lesson.
Completely quiet, I considered his words and regretted losing my temper. He was right. I had lost my temper in the past, and it had meant big repercussions. For me and for my mother.
"Remember why you are here, Tai. When you are fully realized, you will be able to summon your adrenaline at will, but until you are able to subdue that power at will also, you are very dangerous, and there are already those hungry for the idea of an apex warrior. If you will not join them, they may try to take you, study you, and attempt to recreate you." My usually calm and serene master gave a fearful look that told me he was serious, but only reminded me of the trouble I went through to make it this far.
"During your last outbreak at Movr a Knar you nearly killed the 4 officers trying to subdue you. Do you remember why?"
"I was mugged! Of course I wouldn't respond calmly!" My temper flashed, and I felt the urge to hit Master Lao, but I remember how badly my attempt had failed last time. It was still weird that there exists a person that could subdue me.
"Instead of losing your money, a desperate man lost his life, a struggling family lost their father, and you lost your innocence."
I suppressed a sniffle and wiped a tear away, driving all thoughts of mother and how she died out of my thoughts. "I understand."
"Are you still focused on the exercise?" Master Lao recognized the look of determination and his expression lightened.
"The exercise is to raise my heart rate to 3x, then bring it down to normal, all while remaining motionless and calm..." I responded.
"Good. Now let's start again."
A deep breath, a slow exhale, and my heart started it's climb past 2x. I don't know how I'll ever make it to 10. | I always hate wrestling with tentacles. As in when they have tentacles, not me. I'm a human, I don't have any. But I swear some of these aliens have the most convoluted and variable anatomies, so much so that you literally might need to come up with a new fighting style on the fly. Nonetheless, we still have one advantage that no one else does, to make up for our relatively dull bodies, and a that's adrenaline. As it turns out we're the only ones who naturally produce it. Not only that, but it's their heroin; It's just as coveted, if not more. Every time I step out onto a mat, I know the guy I'm wrestling might be thrice as strong as I am, but I haven't met a single alien with as much determination as a human. It seems to be a point of pride for many of them, but I digress. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | I always hate wrestling with tentacles. As in when they have tentacles, not me. I'm a human, I don't have any. But I swear some of these aliens have the most convoluted and variable anatomies, so much so that you literally might need to come up with a new fighting style on the fly. Nonetheless, we still have one advantage that no one else does, to make up for our relatively dull bodies, and a that's adrenaline. As it turns out we're the only ones who naturally produce it. Not only that, but it's their heroin; It's just as coveted, if not more. Every time I step out onto a mat, I know the guy I'm wrestling might be thrice as strong as I am, but I haven't met a single alien with as much determination as a human. It seems to be a point of pride for many of them, but I digress. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Focus, Tai." my master repeated. It had been almost an hour and a half since we'd begun this new exercise, and yet my heart was racing, threatening to dislodge itself from my chest.
I couldn't take it anymore, the chills, the trembling sensation, the fear, rage, and thrill that permeated my being was becoming too intense, and I lashed out at my beloved teacher.
"Easy for you to say, human! I feel like I'm gonna explode!" I launched myself from my meditative stance, kicked our table of beverages across the room and sent my fist through the wall only to find I couldn't retrieve my hand from its new drywall home.
Master Lao didn't retaliate in anger, as I'd expected him to, but gave me a sympathetic smile and a soft sigh.
"Do you know what happens when a Movradi injects adrenaline?", he asked in his normal, breathy 'grand master' voice.
"They die.", I stated blandly. "Everyone knows that, it's why adrenaline is illegal."
"Only partially correct, Tai. The Movradi are a fierce warrior people, and their ways of war are all focused on harnessing the ferocity within them to attack. Their martial arts assume they will always have a level head in combat, and so, once injected with adrenaline, they lose their rationality. They become like beasts, with no regard for the safety of those around them or for themselves. They can be fearsome combatants, and they can be their own downfall, and yes, it's a Movradi survives his rampage, his heart will always give out shortly after. "
Master Lao was silent for a moment, watching me closely and giving me a moment to comprehend some of the implications of what he had said.
Then he continued, "What was our first lesson in human martial arts?"
"Breath timing." I responded through my fatigued exhales and inhales.
"The human martial arts are about calming the storm within. About understanding your body, it's possibilities and limitations, as well as understanding your opponent." Another moments silence told me there was a lesson my master meant to impress on me in his statements.
"What do you think this means for a hybrid?" Master Lao was nearing full circle in his lesson.
Completely quiet, I considered his words and regretted losing my temper. He was right. I had lost my temper in the past, and it had meant big repercussions. For me and for my mother.
"Remember why you are here, Tai. When you are fully realized, you will be able to summon your adrenaline at will, but until you are able to subdue that power at will also, you are very dangerous, and there are already those hungry for the idea of an apex warrior. If you will not join them, they may try to take you, study you, and attempt to recreate you." My usually calm and serene master gave a fearful look that told me he was serious, but only reminded me of the trouble I went through to make it this far.
"During your last outbreak at Movr a Knar you nearly killed the 4 officers trying to subdue you. Do you remember why?"
"I was mugged! Of course I wouldn't respond calmly!" My temper flashed, and I felt the urge to hit Master Lao, but I remember how badly my attempt had failed last time. It was still weird that there exists a person that could subdue me.
"Instead of losing your money, a desperate man lost his life, a struggling family lost their father, and you lost your innocence."
I suppressed a sniffle and wiped a tear away, driving all thoughts of mother and how she died out of my thoughts. "I understand."
"Are you still focused on the exercise?" Master Lao recognized the look of determination and his expression lightened.
"The exercise is to raise my heart rate to 3x, then bring it down to normal, all while remaining motionless and calm..." I responded.
"Good. Now let's start again."
A deep breath, a slow exhale, and my heart started it's climb past 2x. I don't know how I'll ever make it to 10. | I always thought I was weird. I never fit in. It started in grade school, risking my body for plays that my teamates had given up on. Thinking, "Oh! That minor amount of blood I shed was easily worth the amazing play or goal that was important in that sport in that time." I started seeking the same high later in life, things like jumping out of planes, getting into physical confrontations with other members of my species, getting sprayed in the face with what found out is an earth native plant, almost for the sheer exciment of it. Well, I am now a very rich man. The secretion that my body secrets for things I consider banal, almost not worth it, most members of our glactic community will pay millions for. I fight other members of my species for a living but the outcome does not matter, only the products. Our sweat sells for thousands, our blood, almost millions. While adrenaline might be a mild, almost controlled high for someone like me, for many in the galaxy, it is considered one of the nastiest addictions possible. The flight or fight response was Homo-sapians way into the galaxy, if only because we are its greatest dealers... | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | I always thought I was weird. I never fit in. It started in grade school, risking my body for plays that my teamates had given up on. Thinking, "Oh! That minor amount of blood I shed was easily worth the amazing play or goal that was important in that sport in that time." I started seeking the same high later in life, things like jumping out of planes, getting into physical confrontations with other members of my species, getting sprayed in the face with what found out is an earth native plant, almost for the sheer exciment of it. Well, I am now a very rich man. The secretion that my body secrets for things I consider banal, almost not worth it, most members of our glactic community will pay millions for. I fight other members of my species for a living but the outcome does not matter, only the products. Our sweat sells for thousands, our blood, almost millions. While adrenaline might be a mild, almost controlled high for someone like me, for many in the galaxy, it is considered one of the nastiest addictions possible. The flight or fight response was Homo-sapians way into the galaxy, if only because we are its greatest dealers... | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Shanty is buzzed up on Dreddy again.
I want her to stop so much. She’s so much better when she stops. Her art is so much more beautiful when she stops.
She can’t stop. She won’t stop.
Sometimes she shows up to the falconing parties with the red eye. Sometimes she even shows up to the children’s parleys with the red eye. She’s been getting buzzed up on Dreddy.
She described it to me as being torn apart in a poison tornado of ecstasy and torture. She hates herself in the morning but she says she can get more done on the Dreddy. Well, sometimes she comes out and she is on, but she pays the debt later.
Dreddy gives her the shakes something fierce at night. Some nights it makes her scream like a harpy in heat. If she doesn’t take it in the morning she starts getting the blue eye. She starts getting the purple teeth, the ones that shine like stalactites and stalagmites in the level of hell where even demons themselves get sent.
She got it for the first time from one of those travelers. What do they call them? Yu, Yu, Yuans? Yumans? Ah, right, humans. Humans. Apparently it occurs naturally in their bodies. It’s released when they are in fear, or danger. It is a natural product, for them. They wanted to use their own power for themselves, so they eventually found a way to extract it. They used it to give themselves power in times outside of duress. You need some juice to power through the consequences of your alcoholism and get your day job done, you dred. You ever get so drunk that you manage to take a lady or two back home but you can’t get your skenken up? Dred it up. Ever get in a fight you couldn’t win? Good thing you dredded earlier.
Those skubs made contact with the other civilizations. Well, with us. They found us first. We knew all the others, well, all the others to be known.
Relations were peaceful. We began to trade. We became a sort of intergalactic intersociety. As with any society, a black market eventually erupts like pus from a steamy old gash…
They started selling to the Prebians first. They always had a grip of the vice. Then the Happons. Little by little, everyone began to partake in the incandescent wonders of the Dred.
Shanty’s friends tried it. They loved it too much. They told her she had to try too. She had always been straight laced, and at first she had refused with the vehemence of a sick rhino. They wore her down slowly. Eventually, in her own distraught mind, she broke down and did it for a boy. Kazko.
In the end, the boy didn’t care about her and she was addicted to Dreddy.
Fucking humans took my sister. In my anger I killed Kazko. Now I'm on the run. Now I’m on the dred, too.
| I always thought I was weird. I never fit in. It started in grade school, risking my body for plays that my teamates had given up on. Thinking, "Oh! That minor amount of blood I shed was easily worth the amazing play or goal that was important in that sport in that time." I started seeking the same high later in life, things like jumping out of planes, getting into physical confrontations with other members of my species, getting sprayed in the face with what found out is an earth native plant, almost for the sheer exciment of it. Well, I am now a very rich man. The secretion that my body secrets for things I consider banal, almost not worth it, most members of our glactic community will pay millions for. I fight other members of my species for a living but the outcome does not matter, only the products. Our sweat sells for thousands, our blood, almost millions. While adrenaline might be a mild, almost controlled high for someone like me, for many in the galaxy, it is considered one of the nastiest addictions possible. The flight or fight response was Homo-sapians way into the galaxy, if only because we are its greatest dealers... | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | It is known that, out of all of the substances sought across the galaxy, adrenaline is one of the most illicit... and the most profitable.
Although its production is banned by the Galactic Alliance, its use is often an open secret within the armed forces of the galaxy. The anger and unpredictability it produces are simply unmatched; when taken in the heat of battle, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. It sharpens the senses, dulls the pain, and heightens the will to live into the unthinkable. On barbarian worlds, warrior cults tie thorns drenched in the drug to themselves before entering the fray, screaming praises of their many gods as bloodlust consumes the mind. Athletes inject it into the veins, risking disqualification and disgrace in hopes of gaining an edge.
And, on a growing number of worlds and stations, it naturally permeates the blood of one of the most dangerous species in the known universe: homo sapiens, "wise man".
Interestingly, in many of the cultures of the human race, stories of blood-sucking beasts and monsters permeate the mythos. Chupacabras, vampires, et cetera; the stories abound, even when explanations are lacking.
Initially, these stories confused the emissaries of the Alliance during first contact. While blood-sucking parasites did exist on the human homeworld, hemophages did not seem jarring enough of an evolutionary threat to appear in so many human mythologies. However, closer inspection revealed a deep history of clandestine predation of the human race by off-world criminals. Kidnappings, murders, gruesome tortures, and violations of the highest tenets of Alliance law, all in the name of extracting adrenaline from the blood of humans, took place under the radar of both the local governments and the Alliance lawkeepers. Concerned for the continued safety of the newly-inducted human race, the Alliance informed human governments of the likely presence of dangerous intergalactic criminals in their midst.
Within a year, humanity had declared war on all of the galactic crime families. Millions of human soldiers boarded Alliance troopships, projectile-throwers in hand, to find and destroy the organized criminals that had callously used their ancestors as simple livestock. Clandestine adrenaline labs burned across the cosmos as mankind raged its way through the stars, fueled with a fury unseen in all of galactic history. Unswayed, unafraid, and unstoppable, mankind succeeded where centuries of lawkeepers had failed. In previous attempts, illicit adrenaline supplies had quickly rebounded shortly after even major busts; now, supply dropped to near nothing as lab after lab succumbed to unending waves of human warriors. Billions of human clones were liberated from their existences as adrenaline factories, joining the forces of man as they embarked on their interstellar crusade. Criminal groups that had previously only been involved in small-time skirmishes with law enforcement now faced an army willing to sacrifice all in the name of revenge. One by one, crime bosses went into hiding, but they never lasted long. Dragged from unregistered asteroid bases screaming, mob bosses were tried as war criminals and executed in the hundreds. In three short years, galactic adrenaline networks had faded, replaced with a void in the drug market that, it turns out, humans were happy to fill.
Now, almost all adrenaline on the market is sourced from human colonies. Like much that occurs within the adrenaline trade, it is an open secret that humans disobey drug enforcement laws with impunity, producing adrenaline with industrial methods far more efficient that the organic harvesting utilized in the past. Galactic courts know that humanity profits from the adrenaline trade, but what can they do? Adrenaline production, synthetic and natural, has become a human's de facto birthright, and no court is brave enough to draw the ire of mankind, lest the rage of the human legions be turned against the Alliance.
It is best, in the opinion of the author, that humanity be left to its own devices in this matter. Better that we be entertained by human martial artists and athletes, protected by human soldiers, and policed by human officers than have to face the unstoppable rage of their forces. For, although plasma bursts may incinerate the flesh of man, although nuclear bombs may incinerate their worlds, no weapon known to the civilized races will ever extinguish the flame of a human's vengeance. As an ally, mankind is indispensable; we should not make the mistake of souring such as useful friendship. | "Focus, Tai." my master repeated. It had been almost an hour and a half since we'd begun this new exercise, and yet my heart was racing, threatening to dislodge itself from my chest.
I couldn't take it anymore, the chills, the trembling sensation, the fear, rage, and thrill that permeated my being was becoming too intense, and I lashed out at my beloved teacher.
"Easy for you to say, human! I feel like I'm gonna explode!" I launched myself from my meditative stance, kicked our table of beverages across the room and sent my fist through the wall only to find I couldn't retrieve my hand from its new drywall home.
Master Lao didn't retaliate in anger, as I'd expected him to, but gave me a sympathetic smile and a soft sigh.
"Do you know what happens when a Movradi injects adrenaline?", he asked in his normal, breathy 'grand master' voice.
"They die.", I stated blandly. "Everyone knows that, it's why adrenaline is illegal."
"Only partially correct, Tai. The Movradi are a fierce warrior people, and their ways of war are all focused on harnessing the ferocity within them to attack. Their martial arts assume they will always have a level head in combat, and so, once injected with adrenaline, they lose their rationality. They become like beasts, with no regard for the safety of those around them or for themselves. They can be fearsome combatants, and they can be their own downfall, and yes, it's a Movradi survives his rampage, his heart will always give out shortly after. "
Master Lao was silent for a moment, watching me closely and giving me a moment to comprehend some of the implications of what he had said.
Then he continued, "What was our first lesson in human martial arts?"
"Breath timing." I responded through my fatigued exhales and inhales.
"The human martial arts are about calming the storm within. About understanding your body, it's possibilities and limitations, as well as understanding your opponent." Another moments silence told me there was a lesson my master meant to impress on me in his statements.
"What do you think this means for a hybrid?" Master Lao was nearing full circle in his lesson.
Completely quiet, I considered his words and regretted losing my temper. He was right. I had lost my temper in the past, and it had meant big repercussions. For me and for my mother.
"Remember why you are here, Tai. When you are fully realized, you will be able to summon your adrenaline at will, but until you are able to subdue that power at will also, you are very dangerous, and there are already those hungry for the idea of an apex warrior. If you will not join them, they may try to take you, study you, and attempt to recreate you." My usually calm and serene master gave a fearful look that told me he was serious, but only reminded me of the trouble I went through to make it this far.
"During your last outbreak at Movr a Knar you nearly killed the 4 officers trying to subdue you. Do you remember why?"
"I was mugged! Of course I wouldn't respond calmly!" My temper flashed, and I felt the urge to hit Master Lao, but I remember how badly my attempt had failed last time. It was still weird that there exists a person that could subdue me.
"Instead of losing your money, a desperate man lost his life, a struggling family lost their father, and you lost your innocence."
I suppressed a sniffle and wiped a tear away, driving all thoughts of mother and how she died out of my thoughts. "I understand."
"Are you still focused on the exercise?" Master Lao recognized the look of determination and his expression lightened.
"The exercise is to raise my heart rate to 3x, then bring it down to normal, all while remaining motionless and calm..." I responded.
"Good. Now let's start again."
A deep breath, a slow exhale, and my heart started it's climb past 2x. I don't know how I'll ever make it to 10. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Shanty is buzzed up on Dreddy again.
I want her to stop so much. She’s so much better when she stops. Her art is so much more beautiful when she stops.
She can’t stop. She won’t stop.
Sometimes she shows up to the falconing parties with the red eye. Sometimes she even shows up to the children’s parleys with the red eye. She’s been getting buzzed up on Dreddy.
She described it to me as being torn apart in a poison tornado of ecstasy and torture. She hates herself in the morning but she says she can get more done on the Dreddy. Well, sometimes she comes out and she is on, but she pays the debt later.
Dreddy gives her the shakes something fierce at night. Some nights it makes her scream like a harpy in heat. If she doesn’t take it in the morning she starts getting the blue eye. She starts getting the purple teeth, the ones that shine like stalactites and stalagmites in the level of hell where even demons themselves get sent.
She got it for the first time from one of those travelers. What do they call them? Yu, Yu, Yuans? Yumans? Ah, right, humans. Humans. Apparently it occurs naturally in their bodies. It’s released when they are in fear, or danger. It is a natural product, for them. They wanted to use their own power for themselves, so they eventually found a way to extract it. They used it to give themselves power in times outside of duress. You need some juice to power through the consequences of your alcoholism and get your day job done, you dred. You ever get so drunk that you manage to take a lady or two back home but you can’t get your skenken up? Dred it up. Ever get in a fight you couldn’t win? Good thing you dredded earlier.
Those skubs made contact with the other civilizations. Well, with us. They found us first. We knew all the others, well, all the others to be known.
Relations were peaceful. We began to trade. We became a sort of intergalactic intersociety. As with any society, a black market eventually erupts like pus from a steamy old gash…
They started selling to the Prebians first. They always had a grip of the vice. Then the Happons. Little by little, everyone began to partake in the incandescent wonders of the Dred.
Shanty’s friends tried it. They loved it too much. They told her she had to try too. She had always been straight laced, and at first she had refused with the vehemence of a sick rhino. They wore her down slowly. Eventually, in her own distraught mind, she broke down and did it for a boy. Kazko.
In the end, the boy didn’t care about her and she was addicted to Dreddy.
Fucking humans took my sister. In my anger I killed Kazko. Now I'm on the run. Now I’m on the dred, too.
| "Here we go!..."
A loud sound came from somewhere nearby, but we could never identify the sound or the location. It was from everywhere, and it was nowhere, and it sounded like a mixture of one long continuous thunder rumble and a lion's roar. They were coming for us, again. I hated that sound. They always come at night, when it's darkest. First, they came only during the day, when it was light, but we fought them off. Then they came for us at night while we slept, and though we lost a lot of good people, for some reason stopped soon after. Now, they come only with a warning first. A loud booming sound resonates from the sky before the hole opens, and all of our sirens go off, and then the rumble-roar builds to an unbelievable climax, and we know that as soon as it crescendos, they hole will open and we'll fight again. I'm so tired.
The roar is getting louder. Windows and loose items are starting to shake. People are readying their weapons; everybody aiming at the still-forming hole. The incoming force is always ugly and loud, but slow. We've been able to take a lot of them out, but every wave feels like we barely made a dent. They don't kill us, at least on purpose- they just capture us and take us back into the hole. I lost a lot of good friends. I lost a lot of family. I feel like cattle. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm old. I'm feeling tired. Let the young ones carry this battle till tomorrow- I'm done today. It's my last. I need this to end. I start to move to where the hole is forming.
The end of the roar is almost here. I haven't timed it, but it can't last more than a minute or two. When I was younger, it felt like an eternity, and my heart would pound and my pulse quickened- I would sometimes inadvertently tap my foot on the ground in anticipation. God, it's getting louder now. I have to plug my ears, and I see many others doing the same. This is it; a few seconds now. I used to get crazy adrenaline rushes, but now, there's just calm. I'm ready to accept my fate.
"GET READY! IT'S ALMOST TIME, BOYS!"
Somebody's yelling at somebody, and guns are being aimed, and I'm standing directly in front of the nearly formed hole, a few yards away. Nobody else is as close as I, but nobody is telling me to get back. I can start to see inside of it, and I see nothing but lights and stars for what feels like eternity. Ugh- nausea now; I hope I don't throw up in the hole. Or maybe I should. Whatever. I don't care. I just want it to end. I'm going to walk right into that hole and end this. I can't fight anymore. I'm ready.
"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"
Time stands still for me. I'm ready. Bullets are whizzing by so close my ear hairs are bristling, but nothing is hitting me for now. There go the creatures above me, and beside me, and strangely enough, below me. I'm inside of the hole now, and all around me is black and little points of light. I'm going to keep walking until I can't walk anymore, and when I wake up, I'll be in eternity, one form of it or another. The sounds of gunfire sound like they're coming from inside a large pool of water now, but I'm not afraid. There's a whole mess of creatures in front of me, and I'm going to calmly walk up to them and they'll kill me and that'll be that.
...I'm invisible? That's the only explanation for it. All around me are those damned creatures, but they're not paying attention to me. They're actively avoiding me, and instead paying attention only to the people they're capturing. These people are being shoved onto slabs face-up, clamped so they won't move, and then cut open to remove... a liver? No, that's not right Not quite remove, but pull out, still connected.Also, not the liver directly, butsomething on the liver. Everybody is screaming, but as soon as the screamer quiets, they discard the person, even if they're still alive. They're scraping small globules off of the liver and putting them into containers and then throwing away the body... God, we are cattle to them. Other different creatures are in the room now, and they're all yelling and talking in their own languages, exchanging various trinkets for the containers of whatever they took off of our livers. I can start to feel my blood pressure rise and my heart quicken- We are nothing more than a supply source for them. This isn't right. This isn't how I want to go. I need to calm down now.
Some of the creatures are eating the liver globules, and there's an instant change in their behavior; they get excited, and if they have eyes, I can see their pupils widen, and then they start running all over the place, or sometimes in place, or they start fighting with each other... or mating? I can't tell. Those who can't exchange trinkets are searching the floor for any spilled globules to ingest. The fighting outside of the hole must be done now, so I start to look around for any survivors, and then I remembered that even if I did find them, I don't have any way to close wounds or stop infection, so all around me, I see my species dying, and I can't do anything.
No, I can do something. An idea is starting to form. I break off a blade from one of the tools they use to cut us open. I'm going to die still, but not easily. My heart is quickening again. My breath is short and fast, and nobody notices me. I'm invisible. I'm going to kill every last one of them. There's one lizard/worm creature on the ground, trying desperately to eat some globule that belonged to one of us. He'll be the first to go. I'm calm. I'm cool. I'm detached. I swing the blade down on what I assume is the neck, and it passes through easily; the head is gone, and the body is limp. Suddenly, I feel a surge of adrenaline. It occurs to me somewhere in the back of my mind that the adrenal gland is found at the top of the liver, and that's what's being consumed by these things. It doesn't matter though; they'll all die.
"Who's next?"
Some things are starting to notice me now. Some thing on the first creature type's head is pointed straight towards my stomach, but it's not their eyes; it's just a machine; I can hear the whir of mechanical gears and see the lights on the end. I use the blade to take out the nearest of those creatures, and he falls easily, the machine on his head going limp right away. More adrenaline surges through me, and now more of the machines are pointed at me, and other nearby creatures are starting to notice me. Bring it on. I'm ready.
"LETS GO!"
Now I'm in full on bloodlust mode. I'm an old 1st century Norse Berseker now, and I'm angry. These are my people, and we are not cattle, dammit! I swing the blade left and right, without care of who I hit or how I hit them; they'll all pay. They'll all die. The entire room of creatures is convening on me now, and every machine on every head as far as I can see is pointed at me, and they'll all die. My blade is cutting through them all with ease, and I now I should be tired, but the adrenaline is keeping me going. My adrenaline. My human adrenaline that belongs in my body and is not for sale and they'll all die for trying to take it from me. This is mine. All creatures will die. I will die, but all creatures will die first. I don't see anything any more. I'm just feeling happy whenever I feel my blade connect with something fleshy.
The room is empty now. I'm the only one left alive. I'm cut, and I'm beat, and I'm pretty sure I can only move my arm and my head, but all around me are dead bodies of various creatures, or dying. Strange creature appendages are here and there, some still flopping around, but none are trying to get me at the moment. I can feel my age again. I can feel how tired I am. I need to sit down. Others are here now, and they found me. I'm ready to die.
They came in loud from a door somewhere far away, all in matching uniforms that hid their species type, and made them all look like various robots of different sizes. They had weapons of some sort pointed all over the room, and at me, but I'm too tired to fight again, so I don't move. Nobody says a word. Nobody fires a weapon. Some of them start to inspect the various bodies on the floor, but they all kept their weapons on me. The robot creature in front walks up to me, slowly holstering his weapon and putting his arms in the air. It made me look like he was surrendering; I laughed. Surprisingly I heard a feminine laugh from behind the helmet. The robot raised it's visor, and it was a human woman inside.
"Bonjour", she said. I stared blankly back at her. She tried again, waving her hand. "Bonjour? Hola? Ciao? Namaste? Hello? Konichiwa?"
"Hi", I said back. She started laughing again.
"Oh, thank god. I was afraid I'd have to get a translator!" She has a slight accent. "Don't worry, we're the good guys. We're basically the police here."
"Hi." I said again. I didn't know what else to say.
"So you did all this huh? It was adrenaline, you know. They come for our adrenaline. It's a real upper in certain parts of the universe, but it's hard to come by synthetically. It's much easier to find it naturally, and wouldn't you know it, we humans are one of the only creatures that produce it naturally." She started laughing at this.
"...oh." What are you supposed to say to something like that, after all.
"Yeah. This is a basically a drug bust; adrenaline in different creatures causes different reactions- some use it as an energy source, some as a aphrodisiac, some space out, but it's pretty heavily regulated pretty much everywhere. Sorry about everything. We've been trying to find the source of this wormhole for a few months now. I guess you did all the paperwork for us." She kicked a still oozing appendage that belonged to what looked like a moth with fins nonchalantly as she said that.
"...ah. Um, I have to throw up now. Excuse me." And I did. She started laughing again. I hated her.
"Yeah, go ahead. That's what happens after you get an adrenaline rush. It's a hell of a drug, isn't it?"
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Shanty is buzzed up on Dreddy again.
I want her to stop so much. She’s so much better when she stops. Her art is so much more beautiful when she stops.
She can’t stop. She won’t stop.
Sometimes she shows up to the falconing parties with the red eye. Sometimes she even shows up to the children’s parleys with the red eye. She’s been getting buzzed up on Dreddy.
She described it to me as being torn apart in a poison tornado of ecstasy and torture. She hates herself in the morning but she says she can get more done on the Dreddy. Well, sometimes she comes out and she is on, but she pays the debt later.
Dreddy gives her the shakes something fierce at night. Some nights it makes her scream like a harpy in heat. If she doesn’t take it in the morning she starts getting the blue eye. She starts getting the purple teeth, the ones that shine like stalactites and stalagmites in the level of hell where even demons themselves get sent.
She got it for the first time from one of those travelers. What do they call them? Yu, Yu, Yuans? Yumans? Ah, right, humans. Humans. Apparently it occurs naturally in their bodies. It’s released when they are in fear, or danger. It is a natural product, for them. They wanted to use their own power for themselves, so they eventually found a way to extract it. They used it to give themselves power in times outside of duress. You need some juice to power through the consequences of your alcoholism and get your day job done, you dred. You ever get so drunk that you manage to take a lady or two back home but you can’t get your skenken up? Dred it up. Ever get in a fight you couldn’t win? Good thing you dredded earlier.
Those skubs made contact with the other civilizations. Well, with us. They found us first. We knew all the others, well, all the others to be known.
Relations were peaceful. We began to trade. We became a sort of intergalactic intersociety. As with any society, a black market eventually erupts like pus from a steamy old gash…
They started selling to the Prebians first. They always had a grip of the vice. Then the Happons. Little by little, everyone began to partake in the incandescent wonders of the Dred.
Shanty’s friends tried it. They loved it too much. They told her she had to try too. She had always been straight laced, and at first she had refused with the vehemence of a sick rhino. They wore her down slowly. Eventually, in her own distraught mind, she broke down and did it for a boy. Kazko.
In the end, the boy didn’t care about her and she was addicted to Dreddy.
Fucking humans took my sister. In my anger I killed Kazko. Now I'm on the run. Now I’m on the dred, too.
| "Please... not again... just, give me the rest of the day off, I need a break..." I begged, knowing that there would be no reprieve. I'd already used all my vacation time, and there's no such thing as sick leave in this line of work. Being injured or ill wouldn't make a difference unless it was so bad that my adrenal system stopped working, and at that point I'd probably be past the point of caring.
My manager didn't say anything. She simply reached out with one of her tentacles, and flipped a switch.
Suddenly I was plummeting through the air, the ground far below me and rapidly growing closer. Beneath me, jagged rocks grew more defined as the distance closed, until I could make out the very peak where I would likely impact and break my spine, if I were ever to land...
...But I didn't land. The simulation ended, and I was back in my chair, strapped in place as the tube connected to the base of my spine drained what little yield that latest scare had produced. The manager gurgled in a tone that indicated disappointment. The "falling to your death" simulation was the most extreme stimulus they could give me without causing physiological damage, and even that was producing diminishing returns. My run as an adrenaline farm might be coming to an end. I shuddered at the thought that I might be out of a job soon.
She undid my straps and handed me a plastic pouch of water and a protein bar. Those bars are a lot better than the ones we have on Earth. They even sprung for the ones with Rigellian sunberries at my request. I devoured it almost as soon as it was in my hand. This work takes a lot out of a person.
"Would you mind turning on the news?" I asked. We had to wait an hour before trying again. My body needed time to recover, to restore the materials that it would use for its goldmine. I liked to keep abreast of current events. I've never been super political or anything, but staying informed was important to me.
My manager flicked another switch and settled into her own chair beside me as I sipped my water. Ahead of us, the same technology that had sent me hurtling to my doom just moments before brought us into a news room, a panel of experts from several species gathered for some sort of conference. It took a moment to catch on to the subject matter.
"-the victims of these crimes doesn't help anything. A more aggressive law enforcement presence can *only* work alongside comprehensive protections for the humans being taken advantage of!"
"With all due respect, the Settled Party loves to throw around this 'humans are victims' narrative, but that's simply untrue. They've been part of this community for decades now. They know our laws. If they choose to pursue these careers, then they are responsible for the consequences of their actions."
"What you Opaque Partiers never seem to understand is the extreme lack of opportunities most humans find off of their home planet. Who hires humans? Who's willing to accommodate their unique physical needs? Small businesses don't have the resources to retrofit for them, big corporations have lobbying-"
"I'll have to interrupt you there; we've just received this bulletin. The Galactic Federation has just announced a new policy regarding the use of humans to produce the illicit drug adrenaline. Beginning immediately, any individual suspected to be involved with the production of this drug for recreational or medicinal use is subject to arrest and imprisonment. There is to be no immunity for human participants in these operations. Raids are expected to begin shortly, targeting the biggest manufacturers first. I'll turn this over to the panel. Your thoughts?"
"I'm extremely concerned about how this will affect the Kopul system, where adrenaline has been quasi-legal for some time now. Humans there have enjoyed a certain degree of protection, with local regulations allowing for the production of adrenaline as long as certain guidelines for the subjects are followed. Legalization advocates have long pointed to Kopul as an example of-"
"Are you kidding? The humans in those adrenaline factories are treated *horribly*. They have few benefits, low pay, and no job security. They use methods that lose their effectiveness over time and when a human can't produce anymore they're tossed out into the asteroid field. If-"
My manager flicked the switch again. The room went back to its sterile, empty appearance. The two of us shared a look.
We could be arrested at any moment for what we were doing. Local authorities always looked the other way for our benefit, but they couldn't protect us. And at this point, neither one of us had other options. Once you get into this gig, you're pretty much stuck.
If I ran out of adrenaline before I got arrested, I'd consider my career a success. At that point, I expected either one to happen any day.
When I first started, getting adrenaline out of me was easy. They just had to show me a spider. The creepy things always scared me to death. It didn't even have to be a simulation back then, it could just be a photo. Of course, to get a result they had to get bigger, and more intense, over time. Eventually they had me facing down simulations of spiders bigger than I was, wrapping me up in their webs.
But eventually that didn't work anymore. It's not that I got over my fear of spiders. I'm more scared of them now than ever. But my body just doesn't react to them the way it used to. So they moved onto something different.
I hate that feeling. Being terrified is the worst.
Well, not the worst.
Starving is the worst.
Getting arrested is the worst.
Doing something so horrible I beg in vain not to do it every time? That's just work. | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Steven was in his lab when he heard the crash.
It shook his world, sending bottles of cleaning product clattering to the concrete floor. More than one vial of glass broke.
"Jesus Martha!" He screamed. "You leave the stove on again? Martha?"
He blinked, and suddenly he was outside with a bag of blue crystals in one hand. He jingled it merrily. That had to be record time, or perhaps he had forgotten how long it usually took him to get into the yard. Either way, he supposed that this batch was a good one.
A REALLY good one, judging by the thing he saw sitting in a crater on his lawn. It was sliver - or, at least the parts of it that hadn't been charred black looked silver-ish. At one point it might have been sleek, shaped like a squat teardrop, but now it just looked like a mess.
"Martha? You in there?" Steven asked. "This ain't a very funny joke if you is."
If Martha was in the strange thing, she didn't answer. Steven looked at the ring of fire expanding from the crater and frowned. The lawn was no loss - most of it had been dead or dirt anyway - but he couldn't afford a fire in his lab. Might draw suspicion, after all. So he set about trying to stamp it out, not even noticing that he didn't have on his shoes.
He was so preoccupied with cursing at the flames that he didn't even notice when a circular doorway of light appeared in the side of the strange craft. What slumped out of the thing was not Martha, as Steven had supposed, but something far, far stranger. It had a bulbous head, round as a beach ball, with only a single eye covered in strange lumps. It stood tall on three suckered tentacles, a head or two taller than Steven even from inside the crater. It was also, apparently, very drunk.
<Give me...the thing...> It said, the universal translator around its neck slurring the words appropriately. <I need it...just a bit more...>
"Who the hell are you?" Steven asked, whirling around. "I don't recall inviting any guests to come hang about. Get the hell off my prop-"
He caught a glimpse of the creature and stopped mid-sentence. Steven squinted, as if trying to make something out, looked away, and then looked back. Nope. It was still there.
<I smell it!> The creature said. <Give it to me!>
It rose up, extending a tentacle over the top of the crater, and pulled itself free of the wreckage. Steven gave a yelp like a kicked dog.
"Get the hell away from me, you freak 'o nature!" He yelled, backing away. But the thing didn't seem to be in a mood for bargaining.
<Stronger! It smells stronger!> It screeched, opening a rounded spike-filled mouth just under its eye. <Give it to me, tiny thing! Give me your blood!>
It was all Steven could take. He screamed.
"I said go!" He said, fleeing, but the thing was right at his heels.
<Blood! I smell blood!> It crowed, and half-tumbled in his direction. For all of its efforts, it only succeeded at slamming into the side of his garage.
"Watch it!" Steven yelled "There's valuable stuff in there!" But again, the thing ignored him, content to tumble vaguely after him.
Steven ran into the road, trying to put as much distance between himself and the bizarre creature as he could. "I don't want no trouble, just get the hell out of here!" He screamed, running to the tree-lined corner at the end of his street. If he could only get behind it, maybe he had a chance.
<Blood! Blood! It smells good, please! I'm jonesing so hard, I just need a few liters!> It pleaded.
Steven clenched his teeth. It was so close now, slopping up behind him like a rotten octopus. It was too big, too fast - there was no way he could get away. "Lord Jesus, way up in heaven." He said. "I know I ain't been the most Christian of folk, but I swear if you save me I'll do good. I'll change - I won't do no drugs no more, I promise! Please!" He tripped over the side of the steep curve, falling to the dirt, and he knew he was dead.
Fortunately for him, he was wrong. Right at that very moment, a driver came screaming around the corner, barreling ahead without bothering to slow down or look. Behind him, there was a sickening squelch, the screeching of wheels, and a blaring horn as the car collided with something big, wet, and slimy.
Steven looked up, spitting dirt from his mouth, and crowed in victory. "THANK YOU JESUS!" He said, kissing the dirt.
The thing was dead.
"Steven? Did you leave the stove on again?" Cried a woman with rollers in her hair from a nearby window. "What the hell is that thing?"
Steven didn't respond. He was looking at the creature where it lay on the pavement, oozing thick blue blood. It was beautiful, Steven thought. Beautiful and so, so familiar.
Ignoring both his wife and the irate honking of the driver, Steven knealt down in the road beside the thing and dipped a finger in the goo. A clump of it stuck to his nail, glistening like crystal. He stuck it in his mouth and gasped.
"Martha!" he called. "Call the boys and get the buckets! We're gonna be RICH!" | John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Among the lines of hustling Warriors in dark armor, one carried an important message.
"Jarod, did you get my parcel?"
"Yep, got it an hour ago. Thanks!"
A message that will hit "reset".
"Hey Yosef! Yosef!"
It will make them bear their teeth and arms.
"YOSEF!"
It will sap their strength to stand.
"I have to tell Leader!"
"Wha-ok!" Dominic grabs his cell-radio from his belt, hits speed dial and brings it to his left ear. "Sam, this is Dominic. Messenger charging your gates at Epsilon oh-four. How copy?"
"Solid Copy, Dominic. Tell COMMS to purge the lines again, would you please? The static is terrible. Over."
"I'll get right on that. Dominic, out."
It will make their spirits flare and anger surge.
Yosef waved to the guards at the gate as he ran and they waved back. He is sweating, warm drops flowing down his back under his armor. Blood splattered on a few places, one blotch in particular over a single, thin yellow stripe on his right shoulder.
Yosef almost ran through the sliding doors into the uplink booth had they not parted a moment later. His training kicked in. Calming the mind and forcing his nerves to settle. He reached for his cell-radio again and stood in front of the terminal as the doors behind him closed and locked.
He inserted his cell-radio into the bottom slot and waited five seconds...
The screen didn't light up, but his helmet was pinged.
"Hello?"
"Tell me, how fucked are we?"
"Bad, sir."
"Report."
Yosef spent the next several minutes debriefing the Leader before he got to the end...
"...about ninety percent of the known sapient peoples learned that our bodies produce adrenaline."
"..."
"It's considered to be one of the most illicit drugs in this galaxy."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Code Black." The line went dead.
Yosef suddenly felt cold and whispered to himself, "Not my children. Not my children." He crumpled inside the booth, removed his helmet and gripped his head. Flashbacks of previous tragedies storming through his mind-
-the doors open.
"Hey! Get up! We have a Code Black!" Someone yelled at him before returning to the mass of Warriors streaming back into the hangar. Yosef looked at his brethren and took in their strides. Some were in full armor of varying configurations, their helmets pitch black concealing their faces. The rest were in BDU and undersuits with rage carved into their faces.
Seeing them snapped him back into reality.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Yosef screamed, running with his people as everyone went to their stations. Putting on their armor, loading tanks with ammunition and fuel, attaching guns to light vehicles and more.
***
I felt the past slowly creep up and its cold hand gripped my spine. Its bones offered no comfort, but remind me of the grave truth.
I felt my bones speak of the days when we used to shiver in caves.
I felt my blood scream at me, seeking to make dead those that threaten my chosen family.
Even as I charged through the lines, I couldn't help but see our previous war before me.
It's happening all over again.
Tracked. Hunted. Exploited. Haunted. We fought for over seven-hundred years to secure our right to live. We pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.
These fools have no idea what we've been through. They will learn of the strength of my family.
And they will fear my family. | John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | I expertly avoided eye contact as my boss glanced at me from across the office. I had only been at this job for about a month, but I was already quite proud of my ability to maneuver the office social sphere. This was my first “real” job- I had been plucked from an internship at the United Nations where I must have been doing some bang-up work, because they upgraded me to be one of Earth’s representatives in the United Solar Systems. Honestly the same thing as the UN, but on a much bigger scale. I’m doing nothing important, just the usual desk job and paperwork, but it’s still pretty cool.
My boss started walking toward my cubicle. I switched tabs.
“You’ve had two weeks to write your grant proposal, Jim. Our presentation is this afternoon; I need it on my desk within two hours,” he said, before retreating to his office.
Well, that’s all I need to hear. I quickly opened a blank document and started reviewing my compiled research to figure out the best way to shove my sources onto the page. Two hours? I’d done a lot more in fewer. Back in my college days, I used to pride myself on completing final papers within the hour or so they were due. My motto was always “why give more, when your average is better than everyone else’s best?” Cocky, I know, but have you seen some of the kids in a college class? Come on. Those kids are not life’s finest.
I shook my reminiscing away. I need to focus. This was the first big paper I was putting my name on, believe it or not. And it was a proposal to set up an inter-dimensional telescope, with the most advanced races within the galaxy pitching in to help with funding. (I wanted to call it the ‘Hubba-Hubba-Hubble ‘Scope’, but that got vetoed.) It supposedly would help us crack the most challenging mathematical aspects of the universe, letting us calculate fifth-dimension attributes in the spacetime continuum. At least, that’s what I understand it’s supposed to do. Honestly, all I’ve done is the research. Well, I'm supposed to have done the research.
An hour and a half left until it was due, giving me enough time to check my galactic mail (g-mail, for short) before I really have to get to work. Free food in the break room, ads for heli-boots, a memo urging the office to attend the pot luck sponsored by the communications department, Betsy from HR’s son is selling meteorite stones for his school, but nothing important. I clicked ‘mark all as read’ and closed out.
One hour to go. I took a deep breath and looked at the blank page. I turned to the sources I had found weeks ago. Ah, yes. There’s that familiar panic beginning to creep into the pits of my stomach, as I realize that this is a lot more work than I could possibly shove into one document during an hour. No time to panic! “A due date is just a do date,” I always said. I took a second to ball up the butterflies and shove them into a corner of my large intestine, and began to write.
Forty-five minutes left, I took another breath and tried to organize my thoughts as I wrote.
Thirty minutes left, my heart was definitely skipping more beats than was probably life-sustaining. I stop myself from looking up the average rate of a human heart beat.
Twenty minutes. I took a second to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead.
Fifteen minutes, and I could definitely feel my heart in the pit of my stomach. Which is not normal, probably.
Ten minutes? I’m standing, typing faster than I can think but trusting my fingers to get the job done.
There’s an entire conclusion to write with five minutes left- do I need an entire paragraph? No, a sentence or two will do. Is it “compliment” or “complement”, do I mean “definitely” or was it supposed to be “defiantly?” Does it matter? I’m typing as fast as my heart is fluttering. How can anyone in this galaxy say humans are weak? Look at me, crushing this.
One minute left. One sentence to go. I sense my boss’ door opening. His feet are walking closer. An alarm is sounding, but it’s all in my periphery. I don’t have time to pay attention, I still have to type my name.
My fingers slip off the keys in a hasty rush as I fumble trying to send the report to my boss’ i-glass device. My boss has appeared next to me, a frown on his face. I’m grinning ear-to-ear, out of breath but proud at my completed work.
“You were such a promising member of the team, Jim,” he says, disappointment in his eyes. “You could have done well with us, but every single time we entrust a homosapien to complete a task, you guys end up arrested.”
“Arrested? I just sent the completed proposal to you, I don’t think we need to go to such extreme lengths,” I laugh. Why is everyone so serious in this place? And what is that god-forsaken alarm?
“No, Jim. You’re in direct disobedience of Galactic Code 30087- possession of the illegal drug AD-Ren-10.”
“I have no drugs in my workspace at all, you’ve got to be mistaken.”
“Really? Then explain the spike in your heart rate and the increase of palm sweat collected by your mouse. The only explanation is that of which you earthlings call adrenaline.”
“Adrenaline? You’re kidding right?” I question him as I raise my eyebrows. “This is preposterous. How is that even a drug?”
“According to the Galactic Code, the rush it gives is illegal. As part of the U.S.S. we expect every employee to obey Galactic Code. You were given a copy of both the Code and our expectations the day you started. Here is your signature saying you read both copies and have retained the documents in your private collection.” He pulled up an image scan of my stupid name on the papers HR had shoved into my face my first day. I curse Betsy under my breath.
I mean, I wasn’t arguing that I signed it. You kinda don’t get the job without signing the paperwork. I had just assumed the documents involved normal things, like no porn on the company computers or always attend mandatory meetings or don’t eat labeled food from the office refrigerator. I’m pretty sure you don’t get paid if you don’t sign them, right?
The security officers barged into the office and were in the process of tightening an electric clasp around my wrists. I sighed. I probably should have read the damn papers.
| John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | The walls of the hallway were as bland as the rest of the ship. Despite being pristine, the white walls of cabin C3-T were horrendous on the eyes.
As I made my way down the corridor I bumped into another god damned cleaning rover - there's just about more robots on this ship than humans. The buggers are all over the place, especially in this part of the ship, as things tend to get messy.
After proceeding past countless numbered cells I finally arrived at cell #0142, my first assignment of the shift. My long, cruel shift
Prisoner #0142's chart was pretty surprising. 36 year old male with no major health problems. He had been picked up a little over 100 days ago yet he had an average production rate of over 1500ng. Prisoners usually only last a few weeks at most before they break and after that their production plummets.
It's crazy what money will drive a civilization to do.
The first assignment of the shift was always the hardest. After a series of deep breaths I finally forced myself into the cell. As soon as the door opened prisoner #0142 scurried to the corner of his cell, quickly beginning to hyperventilate. A good sign.
I rushed to the side of the prisoner and threw in a combination of punches. I don't like hurting them I really don't, but it's my job.
As he cowered in the corner I took out the extracting device and jammed it into the side of his neck, aiming for the biggest vein in sight. Contact was made and and the device quickly began filling. The most effective way of extracting adrenaline is via blood, the only downside is that you have to take a lot.
As the container slowly filled to maximum capacity I began to feel even worse for #0142. After a quick glance at his eyes I realized he was blind, though it wasn't noted on his chart. That may explain his high production rate, he has no idea what's going on. He might not even know he's left earth.
After filling the canister I quickly stood up and left the cell, fleeing to the hallway and quickly closing the door behind me. He didn't appear to be moving.
The first one of the day was always the hardest, I reminded myself, as I slid the canister into one of the passing storage bots whilst grabbing a fresh extractor.
Time for prisoner #0143. | John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Among the lines of hustling Warriors in dark armor, one carried an important message.
"Jarod, did you get my parcel?"
"Yep, got it an hour ago. Thanks!"
A message that will hit "reset".
"Hey Yosef! Yosef!"
It will make them bear their teeth and arms.
"YOSEF!"
It will sap their strength to stand.
"I have to tell Leader!"
"Wha-ok!" Dominic grabs his cell-radio from his belt, hits speed dial and brings it to his left ear. "Sam, this is Dominic. Messenger charging your gates at Epsilon oh-four. How copy?"
"Solid Copy, Dominic. Tell COMMS to purge the lines again, would you please? The static is terrible. Over."
"I'll get right on that. Dominic, out."
It will make their spirits flare and anger surge.
Yosef waved to the guards at the gate as he ran and they waved back. He is sweating, warm drops flowing down his back under his armor. Blood splattered on a few places, one blotch in particular over a single, thin yellow stripe on his right shoulder.
Yosef almost ran through the sliding doors into the uplink booth had they not parted a moment later. His training kicked in. Calming the mind and forcing his nerves to settle. He reached for his cell-radio again and stood in front of the terminal as the doors behind him closed and locked.
He inserted his cell-radio into the bottom slot and waited five seconds...
The screen didn't light up, but his helmet was pinged.
"Hello?"
"Tell me, how fucked are we?"
"Bad, sir."
"Report."
Yosef spent the next several minutes debriefing the Leader before he got to the end...
"...about ninety percent of the known sapient peoples learned that our bodies produce adrenaline."
"..."
"It's considered to be one of the most illicit drugs in this galaxy."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Code Black." The line went dead.
Yosef suddenly felt cold and whispered to himself, "Not my children. Not my children." He crumpled inside the booth, removed his helmet and gripped his head. Flashbacks of previous tragedies storming through his mind-
-the doors open.
"Hey! Get up! We have a Code Black!" Someone yelled at him before returning to the mass of Warriors streaming back into the hangar. Yosef looked at his brethren and took in their strides. Some were in full armor of varying configurations, their helmets pitch black concealing their faces. The rest were in BDU and undersuits with rage carved into their faces.
Seeing them snapped him back into reality.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Yosef screamed, running with his people as everyone went to their stations. Putting on their armor, loading tanks with ammunition and fuel, attaching guns to light vehicles and more.
***
I felt the past slowly creep up and its cold hand gripped my spine. Its bones offered no comfort, but remind me of the grave truth.
I felt my bones speak of the days when we used to shiver in caves.
I felt my blood scream at me, seeking to make dead those that threaten my chosen family.
Even as I charged through the lines, I couldn't help but see our previous war before me.
It's happening all over again.
Tracked. Hunted. Exploited. Haunted. We fought for over seven-hundred years to secure our right to live. We pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.
These fools have no idea what we've been through. They will learn of the strength of my family.
And they will fear my family. | Steven was in his lab when he heard the crash.
It shook his world, sending bottles of cleaning product clattering to the concrete floor. More than one vial of glass broke.
"Jesus Martha!" He screamed. "You leave the stove on again? Martha?"
He blinked, and suddenly he was outside with a bag of blue crystals in one hand. He jingled it merrily. That had to be record time, or perhaps he had forgotten how long it usually took him to get into the yard. Either way, he supposed that this batch was a good one.
A REALLY good one, judging by the thing he saw sitting in a crater on his lawn. It was sliver - or, at least the parts of it that hadn't been charred black looked silver-ish. At one point it might have been sleek, shaped like a squat teardrop, but now it just looked like a mess.
"Martha? You in there?" Steven asked. "This ain't a very funny joke if you is."
If Martha was in the strange thing, she didn't answer. Steven looked at the ring of fire expanding from the crater and frowned. The lawn was no loss - most of it had been dead or dirt anyway - but he couldn't afford a fire in his lab. Might draw suspicion, after all. So he set about trying to stamp it out, not even noticing that he didn't have on his shoes.
He was so preoccupied with cursing at the flames that he didn't even notice when a circular doorway of light appeared in the side of the strange craft. What slumped out of the thing was not Martha, as Steven had supposed, but something far, far stranger. It had a bulbous head, round as a beach ball, with only a single eye covered in strange lumps. It stood tall on three suckered tentacles, a head or two taller than Steven even from inside the crater. It was also, apparently, very drunk.
<Give me...the thing...> It said, the universal translator around its neck slurring the words appropriately. <I need it...just a bit more...>
"Who the hell are you?" Steven asked, whirling around. "I don't recall inviting any guests to come hang about. Get the hell off my prop-"
He caught a glimpse of the creature and stopped mid-sentence. Steven squinted, as if trying to make something out, looked away, and then looked back. Nope. It was still there.
<I smell it!> The creature said. <Give it to me!>
It rose up, extending a tentacle over the top of the crater, and pulled itself free of the wreckage. Steven gave a yelp like a kicked dog.
"Get the hell away from me, you freak 'o nature!" He yelled, backing away. But the thing didn't seem to be in a mood for bargaining.
<Stronger! It smells stronger!> It screeched, opening a rounded spike-filled mouth just under its eye. <Give it to me, tiny thing! Give me your blood!>
It was all Steven could take. He screamed.
"I said go!" He said, fleeing, but the thing was right at his heels.
<Blood! I smell blood!> It crowed, and half-tumbled in his direction. For all of its efforts, it only succeeded at slamming into the side of his garage.
"Watch it!" Steven yelled "There's valuable stuff in there!" But again, the thing ignored him, content to tumble vaguely after him.
Steven ran into the road, trying to put as much distance between himself and the bizarre creature as he could. "I don't want no trouble, just get the hell out of here!" He screamed, running to the tree-lined corner at the end of his street. If he could only get behind it, maybe he had a chance.
<Blood! Blood! It smells good, please! I'm jonesing so hard, I just need a few liters!> It pleaded.
Steven clenched his teeth. It was so close now, slopping up behind him like a rotten octopus. It was too big, too fast - there was no way he could get away. "Lord Jesus, way up in heaven." He said. "I know I ain't been the most Christian of folk, but I swear if you save me I'll do good. I'll change - I won't do no drugs no more, I promise! Please!" He tripped over the side of the steep curve, falling to the dirt, and he knew he was dead.
Fortunately for him, he was wrong. Right at that very moment, a driver came screaming around the corner, barreling ahead without bothering to slow down or look. Behind him, there was a sickening squelch, the screeching of wheels, and a blaring horn as the car collided with something big, wet, and slimy.
Steven looked up, spitting dirt from his mouth, and crowed in victory. "THANK YOU JESUS!" He said, kissing the dirt.
The thing was dead.
"Steven? Did you leave the stove on again?" Cried a woman with rollers in her hair from a nearby window. "What the hell is that thing?"
Steven didn't respond. He was looking at the creature where it lay on the pavement, oozing thick blue blood. It was beautiful, Steven thought. Beautiful and so, so familiar.
Ignoring both his wife and the irate honking of the driver, Steven knealt down in the road beside the thing and dipped a finger in the goo. A clump of it stuck to his nail, glistening like crystal. He stuck it in his mouth and gasped.
"Martha!" he called. "Call the boys and get the buckets! We're gonna be RICH!" | |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | The walls of the hallway were as bland as the rest of the ship. Despite being pristine, the white walls of cabin C3-T were horrendous on the eyes.
As I made my way down the corridor I bumped into another god damned cleaning rover - there's just about more robots on this ship than humans. The buggers are all over the place, especially in this part of the ship, as things tend to get messy.
After proceeding past countless numbered cells I finally arrived at cell #0142, my first assignment of the shift. My long, cruel shift
Prisoner #0142's chart was pretty surprising. 36 year old male with no major health problems. He had been picked up a little over 100 days ago yet he had an average production rate of over 1500ng. Prisoners usually only last a few weeks at most before they break and after that their production plummets.
It's crazy what money will drive a civilization to do.
The first assignment of the shift was always the hardest. After a series of deep breaths I finally forced myself into the cell. As soon as the door opened prisoner #0142 scurried to the corner of his cell, quickly beginning to hyperventilate. A good sign.
I rushed to the side of the prisoner and threw in a combination of punches. I don't like hurting them I really don't, but it's my job.
As he cowered in the corner I took out the extracting device and jammed it into the side of his neck, aiming for the biggest vein in sight. Contact was made and and the device quickly began filling. The most effective way of extracting adrenaline is via blood, the only downside is that you have to take a lot.
As the container slowly filled to maximum capacity I began to feel even worse for #0142. After a quick glance at his eyes I realized he was blind, though it wasn't noted on his chart. That may explain his high production rate, he has no idea what's going on. He might not even know he's left earth.
After filling the canister I quickly stood up and left the cell, fleeing to the hallway and quickly closing the door behind me. He didn't appear to be moving.
The first one of the day was always the hardest, I reminded myself, as I slid the canister into one of the passing storage bots whilst grabbing a fresh extractor.
Time for prisoner #0143. | I expertly avoided eye contact as my boss glanced at me from across the office. I had only been at this job for about a month, but I was already quite proud of my ability to maneuver the office social sphere. This was my first “real” job- I had been plucked from an internship at the United Nations where I must have been doing some bang-up work, because they upgraded me to be one of Earth’s representatives in the United Solar Systems. Honestly the same thing as the UN, but on a much bigger scale. I’m doing nothing important, just the usual desk job and paperwork, but it’s still pretty cool.
My boss started walking toward my cubicle. I switched tabs.
“You’ve had two weeks to write your grant proposal, Jim. Our presentation is this afternoon; I need it on my desk within two hours,” he said, before retreating to his office.
Well, that’s all I need to hear. I quickly opened a blank document and started reviewing my compiled research to figure out the best way to shove my sources onto the page. Two hours? I’d done a lot more in fewer. Back in my college days, I used to pride myself on completing final papers within the hour or so they were due. My motto was always “why give more, when your average is better than everyone else’s best?” Cocky, I know, but have you seen some of the kids in a college class? Come on. Those kids are not life’s finest.
I shook my reminiscing away. I need to focus. This was the first big paper I was putting my name on, believe it or not. And it was a proposal to set up an inter-dimensional telescope, with the most advanced races within the galaxy pitching in to help with funding. (I wanted to call it the ‘Hubba-Hubba-Hubble ‘Scope’, but that got vetoed.) It supposedly would help us crack the most challenging mathematical aspects of the universe, letting us calculate fifth-dimension attributes in the spacetime continuum. At least, that’s what I understand it’s supposed to do. Honestly, all I’ve done is the research. Well, I'm supposed to have done the research.
An hour and a half left until it was due, giving me enough time to check my galactic mail (g-mail, for short) before I really have to get to work. Free food in the break room, ads for heli-boots, a memo urging the office to attend the pot luck sponsored by the communications department, Betsy from HR’s son is selling meteorite stones for his school, but nothing important. I clicked ‘mark all as read’ and closed out.
One hour to go. I took a deep breath and looked at the blank page. I turned to the sources I had found weeks ago. Ah, yes. There’s that familiar panic beginning to creep into the pits of my stomach, as I realize that this is a lot more work than I could possibly shove into one document during an hour. No time to panic! “A due date is just a do date,” I always said. I took a second to ball up the butterflies and shove them into a corner of my large intestine, and began to write.
Forty-five minutes left, I took another breath and tried to organize my thoughts as I wrote.
Thirty minutes left, my heart was definitely skipping more beats than was probably life-sustaining. I stop myself from looking up the average rate of a human heart beat.
Twenty minutes. I took a second to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead.
Fifteen minutes, and I could definitely feel my heart in the pit of my stomach. Which is not normal, probably.
Ten minutes? I’m standing, typing faster than I can think but trusting my fingers to get the job done.
There’s an entire conclusion to write with five minutes left- do I need an entire paragraph? No, a sentence or two will do. Is it “compliment” or “complement”, do I mean “definitely” or was it supposed to be “defiantly?” Does it matter? I’m typing as fast as my heart is fluttering. How can anyone in this galaxy say humans are weak? Look at me, crushing this.
One minute left. One sentence to go. I sense my boss’ door opening. His feet are walking closer. An alarm is sounding, but it’s all in my periphery. I don’t have time to pay attention, I still have to type my name.
My fingers slip off the keys in a hasty rush as I fumble trying to send the report to my boss’ i-glass device. My boss has appeared next to me, a frown on his face. I’m grinning ear-to-ear, out of breath but proud at my completed work.
“You were such a promising member of the team, Jim,” he says, disappointment in his eyes. “You could have done well with us, but every single time we entrust a homosapien to complete a task, you guys end up arrested.”
“Arrested? I just sent the completed proposal to you, I don’t think we need to go to such extreme lengths,” I laugh. Why is everyone so serious in this place? And what is that god-forsaken alarm?
“No, Jim. You’re in direct disobedience of Galactic Code 30087- possession of the illegal drug AD-Ren-10.”
“I have no drugs in my workspace at all, you’ve got to be mistaken.”
“Really? Then explain the spike in your heart rate and the increase of palm sweat collected by your mouse. The only explanation is that of which you earthlings call adrenaline.”
“Adrenaline? You’re kidding right?” I question him as I raise my eyebrows. “This is preposterous. How is that even a drug?”
“According to the Galactic Code, the rush it gives is illegal. As part of the U.S.S. we expect every employee to obey Galactic Code. You were given a copy of both the Code and our expectations the day you started. Here is your signature saying you read both copies and have retained the documents in your private collection.” He pulled up an image scan of my stupid name on the papers HR had shoved into my face my first day. I curse Betsy under my breath.
I mean, I wasn’t arguing that I signed it. You kinda don’t get the job without signing the paperwork. I had just assumed the documents involved normal things, like no porn on the company computers or always attend mandatory meetings or don’t eat labeled food from the office refrigerator. I’m pretty sure you don’t get paid if you don’t sign them, right?
The security officers barged into the office and were in the process of tightening an electric clasp around my wrists. I sighed. I probably should have read the damn papers.
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | The walls of the hallway were as bland as the rest of the ship. Despite being pristine, the white walls of cabin C3-T were horrendous on the eyes.
As I made my way down the corridor I bumped into another god damned cleaning rover - there's just about more robots on this ship than humans. The buggers are all over the place, especially in this part of the ship, as things tend to get messy.
After proceeding past countless numbered cells I finally arrived at cell #0142, my first assignment of the shift. My long, cruel shift
Prisoner #0142's chart was pretty surprising. 36 year old male with no major health problems. He had been picked up a little over 100 days ago yet he had an average production rate of over 1500ng. Prisoners usually only last a few weeks at most before they break and after that their production plummets.
It's crazy what money will drive a civilization to do.
The first assignment of the shift was always the hardest. After a series of deep breaths I finally forced myself into the cell. As soon as the door opened prisoner #0142 scurried to the corner of his cell, quickly beginning to hyperventilate. A good sign.
I rushed to the side of the prisoner and threw in a combination of punches. I don't like hurting them I really don't, but it's my job.
As he cowered in the corner I took out the extracting device and jammed it into the side of his neck, aiming for the biggest vein in sight. Contact was made and and the device quickly began filling. The most effective way of extracting adrenaline is via blood, the only downside is that you have to take a lot.
As the container slowly filled to maximum capacity I began to feel even worse for #0142. After a quick glance at his eyes I realized he was blind, though it wasn't noted on his chart. That may explain his high production rate, he has no idea what's going on. He might not even know he's left earth.
After filling the canister I quickly stood up and left the cell, fleeing to the hallway and quickly closing the door behind me. He didn't appear to be moving.
The first one of the day was always the hardest, I reminded myself, as I slid the canister into one of the passing storage bots whilst grabbing a fresh extractor.
Time for prisoner #0143. | The light tube flickered. A spray of green splats against it, tinting the room.
The small crowd roars. The stout Munger is on top now. “Boss! Boss! Boss!”
He pulverizes the skull of the Ling against the floor of the forecastle. The body of the Ling stopped twitching. It's sickly yellow skin is covered in its own blood; the yellow sclera of its eye ripped and dangling.
The Munger shoves through the crowd to collect his winnings from the cage. A teen male, human and scared. The Munger grabbed the boy his hair and yanked him from the cage, triggering his fight or flight response.
The tube running from his carotid artery to the vial on his back excretes a few precious drops of adrenaline.
The scent of those scant drops fills the nostrils of every creature in the room. The Munger roars, reminding them that they could be the next Ling.
The light in the room cuts out. Two shrill beeps. The ship is about to be boarded. Everyone is quiet.
“Kessaw freighters are never searched.”
“They must be looking for a bribe,” whispered another.
The freighter sat still in space. The engines humming idle. The crowd growing restless with each minute of uncertainty.
The door of the forecastle melts away. Armed soldiers storm the room. The brave fools that resisted had their forelimbs erased. Those that didn't have any anymore had more personal areas deleted.
The Munger was caught red-handed with the human milk cow and hauled away, the body of the unconscious boy too.
…
When the boy awoke later in sickbay the Munger and a soldier were there waiting for him.
The boy screamed upon seeing him again.
“It's okay. You're safe now. I'm officer Pok,” the Munger said.
“Officer Pok has been looking for you for a long time,” said the soldier next. “Let's get you home.”
| |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | "Okay," Admiral Illena gave of hiss of exasperation, "Run this by me again. Who did what?"
"Will you pay attention this time?" Captain Jento moaned, "I don't like to think about it."
Admiral Illena squinted through her black, slit eyes, "I will decide what you think about Captain. Now recount."
"Well," Jento shuffled back and forth on his hooves. The Admiral's species had given up a diet based on living creatures eons ago, but her appearance still triggered some primal fear that his conscious being could barely overcome, "To make it short, some drug smugglers bit off more than they could chew, and now a type-0 civilization has some extremely advanced technology."
"Captain," Illena said in a harsh whisper, "If I wanted it short, I would re-read your disposition. Now I am commanding you to give the entire story, or I will hold you in contempt."
Jento's eye twitched as he attempted to met Illena's gaze, and he quickly diverted it to the floor.
"It was Adrenaline," he said, the name of the drug itself making him feel that high. Anyone who wanted to become an officer was required to take a generous dose of it during training, and show that they could operate effectively under its influence. Use of weaponized adrenaline in war was not unheard off, especially in space fleets where entire ships reused their air systems. "The drug smuggles were going to that planet for Adrenaline."
"Adrenaline is a very refined drug," Illena reminded Jento, "Assuming a type-0 civilization could even produce it, they wouldn't be sophisticated enough to deal with the effects. Now would you like to change your story before I put it on the records?"
"No, Admiral," Jento sighed, "You wanted the story, this is it."
"If you are lying to me-" Illena began.
"Yeah, yeah," Jento murmured in a brief moment of courage, "Held in contempt, etcetera."
Illena stared daggers into him, and he took a step back. "I apologize Admiral."
"Continue," was all she said.
"Of course," Jento said, "The civilization that exists on this planet does not manufacture Adrenaline, they produce it. Naturally."
"I don't believe I'm following," Illena said, "Do they harvest it from some natural source?"
"No," Jento shook his head, "They literally produce it. Their bodies do. When in danger, it courses through their veins."
Illena was silent for a moment, as she looked Jento over for any signs of this being a foolish joke, or even worse, a foolish lie. But despite his constant shivering, he seemed rather composed.
"Go on," Illena finally commanded, deciding she would need to hear the rest of the story before coming to a conclusion on it's truthfulness.
"The smugglers were attacking these people," Jento said, "Capturing them, and sucking them dry for the Adrenaline. They tortured them, in gruesome ways, to get the Adrenaline 'pumping'. The smugglers would keep these people alive for as long as possible, often in horrid conditions, before dumping their bodies off on the world when they died."
"Calling them smugglers is a generosity at this point," Illena spoke through thinly veiled anger, "I could call it Xenocide. Did you capture the smugglers?"
"No," Jento closed his eyes as he recounted the next part of the story, "The smuggler's got overconfident, and one of their ships was shot down. It was captured by the world's military. They re-engineered it surprisingly fast, and suddenly they were taking out smugglers left and right. We can't blame them for defending themselves, but they didn't quit after the smugglers left."
"Do you mean..." Illena began.
"Yes," Jento said, "They are F.T.L. capable. We just discovered them making incursions into our space earlier today, six months after first contact. Current estimates have their technological pace growing exponentially, and we expect them to be at our current level in four cycles."
"How?" Illena asked.
"The drug," Jento explained, "It makes them think faster than us. They move faster, fight in a more fierce way, and can continue through crippling injuries that would otherwise incapacitate."
"Why am I just hearing of this?" Illena hissed angrily. If she had the vocal ability of some other species, her voice would've been booming.
"I intended to inform you," Jento whimpered, "But after we knew more of the situation. This development was...unexpected."
Illena was silent for a moment, as nictating membranes flicked over her eyes.
"Are they...are they angry?" she finally asked in a nearly silent whisper.
"Does it matter?" Jento asked, "I sent a full fleet out there to stop their incursions, and a quarter of it came back in shambles. The crazy bastards couldn't stand up to us with their ships, so they boarded our ships and attacked. We couldn't stop them once their bodies were full of *that* drug."
"We can't stop them?" Illena asked, "What they did could be considered an act of war."
"We can't," Jento sighed, "My recommendation is we try to establish contact, and avoid any more skirmishes. If we can convince them we have military superiority, they may be willing to settle on some sort of peace."
"And if they don't want peace?" Illena asked.
"Then we give them what they want," Jento said, "And be happy with what they leave us, if anything."
"A type-0 civilization," Illena mumbled, "We fought off the Daqen. How is this even possible?"
"Well, Admiral, Adrenaline is a hell of a drug."
________________________________________________________________
Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there!
Part [Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5ws8f8/wp_it_turns_out_that_adrenaline_is_considered_one/dedp7ro/)
Part [Three](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5ws8f8/wp_it_turns_out_that_adrenaline_is_considered_one/dedp850/) | The light tube flickered. A spray of green splats against it, tinting the room.
The small crowd roars. The stout Munger is on top now. “Boss! Boss! Boss!”
He pulverizes the skull of the Ling against the floor of the forecastle. The body of the Ling stopped twitching. It's sickly yellow skin is covered in its own blood; the yellow sclera of its eye ripped and dangling.
The Munger shoves through the crowd to collect his winnings from the cage. A teen male, human and scared. The Munger grabbed the boy his hair and yanked him from the cage, triggering his fight or flight response.
The tube running from his carotid artery to the vial on his back excretes a few precious drops of adrenaline.
The scent of those scant drops fills the nostrils of every creature in the room. The Munger roars, reminding them that they could be the next Ling.
The light in the room cuts out. Two shrill beeps. The ship is about to be boarded. Everyone is quiet.
“Kessaw freighters are never searched.”
“They must be looking for a bribe,” whispered another.
The freighter sat still in space. The engines humming idle. The crowd growing restless with each minute of uncertainty.
The door of the forecastle melts away. Armed soldiers storm the room. The brave fools that resisted had their forelimbs erased. Those that didn't have any anymore had more personal areas deleted.
The Munger was caught red-handed with the human milk cow and hauled away, the body of the unconscious boy too.
…
When the boy awoke later in sickbay the Munger and a soldier were there waiting for him.
The boy screamed upon seeing him again.
“It's okay. You're safe now. I'm officer Pok,” the Munger said.
“Officer Pok has been looking for you for a long time,” said the soldier next. “Let's get you home.”
| |
[WP] The gun will be fired at the end of the story. | "Soldier, Report! The barricade, how is it holding?" Stepping with confidence, the Captain marched along the floor, nods earning salutes from both the wounded and the readied men despite their worried expressions. "Second Rank?" He prompted.
"Sir!" The exhausted looking man standing beside the arch of the stairway jumped to attention, straightening out their helm as they did so. "We're holding well enough, nothing is getting up the stairwell without taking a spear or an arrow. Fires they've tried can't seem to catch."
Continuing his pace, the Captain stopped just shy of the threshold out into the winding staircase, peeking ever so slightly around the corner to confirm the bloodied pile of furniture and corpses that littered the steps. "Hmm..." Nodding slowly, he pulled back, just as a screech sounded from below, and a stray shaft and fletching ricocheted of the wall nearby. Unperturbed by this incident, The Captain gave a rough click of his tongue, as he moved back into the second-floor encampment. "And the windows? Nothing trying to grapple in?"
"No sir, we've been waiting for it, but nothing yet." The Soldier responded quickly, pointing along the broken planes of once perfect glass, now nothing more than jagged shards and edges. "Battlement teams have said that they've seen some signs, so we're sure they're thinking about it- surely. Below a few ropes are being passed around, and several trees have been cut over by the meadow, spyglass caught a good look of that on' the morning."
"Right, right." Stroking at his beard with a brooding expression, the Captain risked a quick glance beyond the nearest window, again ducking back just as a stray arrow streaked passed to shatter on the stone walls. "Certainly are a lot of them..."
"Sir: three-hundred in the courtyards alone, by our best estimates." The tired looking soldier followed as the Captain began his stride once more, heading towards the watch-tower passage with a quick wave-away at the raising salutes that responded to his presence.
"With me, Second Rank. Sola, I'm heading up. You're in charge." The commands issued with a simple and matter-a-fact manner, as they took the next set of stairs passing another barricade. The Captain showed little to any concern as more screeches ushered from around the winding steps of blocked stone. "Noisy things, Goblins." He muttered, Second Rank soldier hot on his heels.
Heavy hands pushed open the final set of doors on the battlement of the watch-tower, catching them men with bows and slings leaning back in cover with distant stares off-guard. Several jumped up, hands reaching for swords or spears just as recognition to the two figures arriving passed along- hands making for rough salutes.
"Captain!" A grizzy looking man in armor shouted from the far side of the rooftop, crouching low beside the fallen corpse of a less-fortunate soldier. Two arrows were pinned into the dead man's chest, apparently having passed with ease through the leather armor strapped there. "Fourth Rank Fredrick went down last night to one of their volleys, but I think they're finally starting to run out of arrows." Was all the explanation received before the soldier continued. "I've taken over command in his stead, sir. My name's Braldinel, but the others call me Bral' for short. Third Rank, Sir."
"Noted Bral, I'm sorry to hear about Fredrick." The Captain crouched down low, gloved hands settling against the stone parapet beside him for a steady knee. "Have you found it yet?"
"Sir, yes sir." Bral gave a wry grin, beaming stained teeth over a grime-covered face. "We found 'im. Tracked him too, he's still in the open, far side by the stables. A big 'un, for certain."
"Show me." The Captain commanded, settled in to peer over the wall-top, ignoring the blood splatted along the ground where he crouched. "We'll deal with that first."
"Yes sir." Came the reply, grin turning wider as the grizzly soldier motioned several other men to move aside, leading the Captain and Second-Rank on an awkward ducked walk to the far side of the watchtower's battlement before fishing out a small looking-glass. "Aye... there's the bastard, still waiting right out of bow range."
"You already take a shot, I'm guessing?"
"Sir, Fredrick gave it his best." Bral motioned back to the corpse still leaning against the far wall. "Standin' there... Chief like that is baiting us, that he is."
"Clever thing, for a Goblin." Another soldier grunted. "He knows what he's doin' I'd say. Done this before, mayhaps."
"Very clever." The Captain took the glass, eyeing it carefully before returning it to Bral's hands and unslinging the device over his shoulder. "We'll deal with him now. Second-Rank Ronalde, run down to the second floor and tell the Sola and men to raise a ruckus. Three volleys from the windows there, then have the men duck and wait."
"Sir!" The waiting soldier responded quickly before heading towards the door, briskly rushing down the steps with echoed thumps of boot and stone as the Captain carefully fell into a cross-legged seating position. Calmly, his free hand fished through a small pouch on his belt, until he pulled free a single metal piece.
"Normally, I try not to use these, Bral." He said, idly tinkering with the strange contraption resting on his legs as he took the metal piece and pressed it into place with a careful hand.
"Use what sir?" The soldier asked, eyeing the brass piece. "Magic item, mayhaps?"
"Sort of like that, sure." A sliding bolt pulled back, Captain eyeing it closely, clicking his tongue with a look of displeasure. "See, I've gotten better at magic, learned a few tricks recently. Do you know any magic Bral?"
"No sir, never had much of an' interest in such things"
"Well, a bit of air condensed in the proper manner, a spark and flame- a tiny explosion. Those can be done without too much effort once practiced." The Captain leaned forward, rising to a crouch as he continued. "Still not good for much, but it seems to get me by when things are up close." Leaning forward, the odd device fell with a light thump, sliding up along the stone as the Captain followed it, eyes peering though an odd portion of metal and crafted work not all that unlike the looking-glass moments before. "But for times like this, there's nothing like the original, ."
"Can it be done, Captain?" Bral leaned in, noting the distance. "Truly, from this distance?" Far below, a shout raised up, spears and arrows launching from the windows of the second floor in a burst to fall several green figures with cries and shrieks.
"Oh, it can be done." The Captain muttered, breath hissing out as the wooden instrument fell to his shoulder. It was much in the way one much set a crossbow, as his eyes narrowed, arms positioned ever so carefully to guide the length of metal and wood. "But first, you should all cover your ears."
&nbsp;
#"CRACK"
&nbsp;
**This is a continuation of a bunch of other writing prompts:**
[*Start here*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51f8ag/wp_youre_such_a_powerful_magician_that_life_is/d7bn3g2)
[*Previous*]
(https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5wsys2/ip_childhood/dedfx5b/)
[NEXT](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5xvbkq/wp_what_happened_on_the_worst_day_of_your_life/del9p00/) | “You need to stop.”
Hammond turned slowly and carefully to face the aging woman; her small, frightened figure filled the large doorway.
“Please.”
Hammond grimaced and glanced down as the word escaped her lips. The gun felt even heavier in his hands. He tightened his grip, eyes flicking back to the old woman clutching her tatty scarf.
She didn’t move.
He didn’t move.
An eternity passed between them before he finally choked the fatal words out.
“I can’t.”
| |
Think about how Spock always brings up Vulcan culture and saves the day because he's more resistant to radiation or how Worf reminds everyone Klingons are warriors and gets saved because Klingons have 4 stomachs and 3 hearts.
For the record I'm giving examples from Star Trek because I love the shows. | [WP] On a spaceship where most of the crew is of a alien species, the lone human always talks about "ancient human wisdom", offers "old earth proverbs" to every problem and his main contribution to missions come from strange quirks of the human body | He walked the halls of the GDLS: Indomitable, a vague memory of a time a long ago. He was old, for a human, over seventy in their years. He was on the crew of the first Interstellar Flagship earth ever launched. Now he served an advisory role aboard this ship.
We all loved the old man, he was living proof that humanity once wasn't always the military and political powerhouse that it is today. His accent was odd even for a human, the translators said it was a combination of at least two earth dialects. His terms were old too, never once did I hear him refer to the galaxy as anything but the "Milky Way". Though is words were old, he spoke eloquently and would often wax so poetically that you couldn't help but feel his words carried great significance.
I was a young academy graduate the first time I met him. I was assigned to the ship as my first field deployment. I was taken aback when I saw him standing on the bridge beside Capt. Timak. He had long wirey hair... coming out of his face! On his head he wore wrapped strips of cloth that hid almost all of his head-hair. On his hip was a small, decorated, curved dagger. He was the first to welcome me to the bridge that day, and every day after that.
I liked the old man more and more each day. I didn't have many friends those first few weeks, and he would sit with me in the messdeck when he saw me eating alone. He was so kind and soft spoken that I couldn't help but confide in him my feelings of inadequacy for the post I was taking up. He spoke comfort to me and after about ten minutes of is pep-talk, I remember I grabbed my trey to leave because I was due to relieve someone on the bridge, as I stood up I said
"Thank you I will try."
As I was about to turn to walk away he grabbed my arm. I looked back to meet those deep, wise, brown eyes and he gave me an ancient piece of human wisdom, wisdom that I apply to my entire life, and everything I do. He looked me in the eye and said:
"Do. Or do not. There is no try." | "Captain, This reminds me of the words of our great Human philosopher Zeddemore when educating the one know as Stanz on the plains of Gozer. If some asks if you are in charge, we should probably say yes."
The Captain steeples his fingers and gives him a sidelong glance.
"You crazy red blooded Humans, It just might work." |
Think about how Spock always brings up Vulcan culture and saves the day because he's more resistant to radiation or how Worf reminds everyone Klingons are warriors and gets saved because Klingons have 4 stomachs and 3 hearts.
For the record I'm giving examples from Star Trek because I love the shows. | [WP] On a spaceship where most of the crew is of a alien species, the lone human always talks about "ancient human wisdom", offers "old earth proverbs" to every problem and his main contribution to missions come from strange quirks of the human body | Captain's Log, 1603259.6: Captain Gythis of the Starship Pherdes.
My new first officer, Lieutenant Commander Grey, has arrived from Earth.
He has been familiarised with the ship's design and functions in an impressively short time.
I have been concerned that some of the older Jarisi crew members who fought in the Earth-Tyron
war might harbour bitter feelings towards their old enemy, but so far they have kept it to themselves.
We received a message from a terrorist group on Colony 382-B. The group is led by an Uhytt named
Ghijir, who inspires fanatacism among her followers. Their ideology opposes the rights of Jarisi
given by Tyronda Fleet Government. They have attacked the Starship Yirfu, and taken the crew
hostage. They are demanding that Jarisi are no longer recognised as citizens of Tyron, or they
will execute all prisoners.
Although my ship is staffed only with a skeleton crew, we must repond, as there are no other
starships in the sector.
...
Captain Gythis watched the rocky moon below through the viewscreen. She could see the colony below, but there was no other course of action but to wait.
"Still no reply to the negotiation requests, captain." said Lieutenant Hisika, who was in charge of communications.
"Keep trying. They may respond yet." she replied. The waiting was bothering her more than she let on. She was an Uhytti warrior, and Uhytti warriors did not sit around waiting when there is conflict to be had. She flexed her insectoid mandibles in irritation. *Why haven't they responded yet? What reason could they have for waiting this long?*
"Perhaps they're preparing to attack." the Human said, as if in answer to her thoughts. "They wouldn't wait this long if they weren't preparing something."
"Perhaps, but attacking them first is out of the question. They would just execute the hostages, if we didn't kill them first with our bombardment. And attacking on foot is suicide, we don't have the numbers."
"There are alternatives to attacking. For a start, I recommend we activate our deflector shields. If they wanted to attack us, they'd start by trying to destroy the ship with a laser blast."
"Lieutenant Jikulo, half power to deflector shields."
The lanky Jaris worked the console expertly with his reptilian claws, and raised the shield strength to precisely fifty percent of the maximum. The Jarisi were natural technicians, intelligent and deliberate. Most of the technology used by the Tyronda Fleet had been designed by them, as much as Ghijir denied it.
"If they respond soon, it is likely that raising the shields interfered with their plans." Grey stated matter-of-factly. Gythis was impressed by the Human's tactical ability. Her ancestors had told her stories of the great Human warriors, stronger than an Uhytt and smarter than a Jaris. Most Uhytti had heard similar stories, and as a result Humans were greatly respected by the Uhytti warrior culture. She had no doubt that Grey was a strong fighter: he was taller than the average Uhytt, and always wore a thick metal suit that any Uhytt would be crushed under. He had explained that the gravity on Earth was much stronger than that of Tyron, and the artificial gravity on the starship was too low for him to move effectively without the heavy suit.
A few minutes passed, and an old Uhytti face was displayed on the viewscreen.
"I am Ghijir, ruler of this colony. Have you come to secure the release of the hostages?"
"I am Gythis, Captain of the Starship Pherdes. We will secure the release of the hostages, one way or the other."
"Who is that? Is that a Human? My ancestors spoke highly of the Humani warriors. I would be honoured to face you in battle, Human."
"This is my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Grey. We are unable to meet your demand as there is no legal method for removing a species' citizenship."
"Bah! You sound like a Jaris. Always talking of bureacracy and laws. No respect for a warrior's honour. I wish to discuss my new demands face-to-face. Prepare to receive my shuttle."
The connection cut out.
"She's going to attack us." Grey said. "She only initiated that meeting so she could board the ship. Captain, how many Uhytti warriors can fit in a shuttle?"
"Perhaps thirty. That's more crew than we have."
"If we set up a defensive line at a chokepoint, we can overcome their greater numbers."
"That seems like our best option. I think you should fight with us, the troops will be eager to fight alongside a Human."
...
There were ten Uhytti warriors on board the ship, including the captain. The Jarisi had not evolved for combat, and remained on the bridge to keep the systems in order. Gythis instructed the troops on the battle plan, while Grey oversaw the construction of defensive barriers around the entrance to the hangar corridor. The troops were instructed to lower the power of their railguns so that the metal slugs would not pierce the hull of the ship.
Eventually the shuttle arrived. As the Jaris communications officer gave clearance to dock, the pilot of the shuttle muttered with disrespect and reluctantly guided the craft into the hangar. The captain watched the hangar through the security cameras, waiting to see if the shuttle actually contained a bloodthirsty boarding party. The shuttle ramp lowered, and a river of Uhytti warriors poured out.
"They're attacking! Hold your positions!"
As the boarding party found the hangar empty, they charged down the narrow corridor right into the defenders' line of sight. The crew fired at them, and they fired back. The attackers could only fit three troops abreast in the corridor, and were pushed back without inflicting a single casualty on the defenders. The enemy commander barked orders at her subordinates, telling them to take cover in the recesses of the corridor. The defenders had to reposition themselves to fire directly at them, and only Grey and two Uhytti were able to fire through the narrow passage at a time. The attackers had more firepower, and the three defenders at the doorway (including Grey) were hit by railgun fire, knocking them down.
*Oh no, he's dead!* Gythis thought. But then Grey fired back while he was on the ground, surprising the attackers, who had exited the recesses thinking he was dead. He used this opportunity to his full advantage, taking down many of the insurgents, driving them out of the corridor and into the hangar. He stood up and kept firing, suppressing the insurgents long enough for his allies to drag the two wounded Uhytti out of the firing line. The other eight Uhytti followed Grey into the corridor, taking cover in the recesses as the insurgents had before. Soon enough, all the insurgents were dead.
...
The two Uhytti soldiers who were wounded died on their way to the medical bay. But Grey was only limping slightly. When the dust had settled, the captain spoke to him.
"How did you survive that slug?" she asked.
"It wasn't strong enough to pierce my gravity suit." Grey explained.
"But why weren't you crushed by the momentum?"
"I suppose I'm just built well." he shrugged.
"How can you be so sturdy with your skeleton on the inside? The Jarisi have internal skeletons and they're not strong at all." She had heard her ancestors' stories about Humans who were resistant to their weapons, but she hadn't believed it until now.
"Captain, I have an suggestion for our next course of action. We are outnumbered by the terrorists, and they probably know that. But they don't know just how bad our situation is, and we can use that to our advantage. As a great Human commander once said, 'All warfare is based on deception'."
...
"Ghijir, we did not find you among the dead. Do you not consider us great enough a foe to lead your troops?" Grey said to the Uhytt on the viewscreen.
"I did not expect you to live. I sent my finest warriors against you, they should have easily killed a starship crew. I would have liked to fight against you, Human, but I could not risk being killed, for it would have ended our organisation."
"It is clear that you have underestimated our military strength. On board this ship is a regiment of Earth soldiers being transported to Tyron."
"Lieutenant Commander Grey was hit by a slug from a railgun, and was barely wounded." Gythis added. "You cannot stand against us. We offer you one chance to surrendur. A shuttle will be sent down to the surface to transport the hostages back to our ship. If you do not comply, you will all be destroyed."
Ghijir sighed. "I accept. We will release the hostages. You are strong warriors, and I am glad to have called you my foe."
| "Captain, This reminds me of the words of our great Human philosopher Zeddemore when educating the one know as Stanz on the plains of Gozer. If some asks if you are in charge, we should probably say yes."
The Captain steeples his fingers and gives him a sidelong glance.
"You crazy red blooded Humans, It just might work." |
Think about how Spock always brings up Vulcan culture and saves the day because he's more resistant to radiation or how Worf reminds everyone Klingons are warriors and gets saved because Klingons have 4 stomachs and 3 hearts.
For the record I'm giving examples from Star Trek because I love the shows. | [WP] On a spaceship where most of the crew is of a alien species, the lone human always talks about "ancient human wisdom", offers "old earth proverbs" to every problem and his main contribution to missions come from strange quirks of the human body | The human aboard the "Molasses"
Was the best at detecting strange gases,
For she knew from her birth
The best science from Earth;
The others all talked through their asses.
| The large space vessel swayed gently as it eased through the meteor cloud.
Commander Zorvalt kept his gaze set on the screen, where a radar beeped to the presence of nearby meteors.
"This thing won't end," he said, tapping his foot, "We've been in this cloud for days. Exactly how large is this thing?"
He grimaced at the crinkling sounds of a nearby bag of potato chips.
Zorvalt turned towards its origin, "Kevin," he said, "Any advice?"
The bearded man had his feet up on the nearby desk, busy fishing for tiny bits of potato chips that lurked at the bottom of the bag.
The commander rolled his eyes and sighed, "Oh grand oracle, would you please us with a revelation."
Kevin's managed to move his beady little eyes from the depths of the bag of chips, "Ah, yes," he said, sprinkling fragments of potato chips in his mouth from between his yellowed fingertips, "As sayeth the ancient humans of yore *'Thy find yourself between a rock and a hard place'*."
Zorvalt blinked a few times, then turned his eyes towards a nearby cadet - the cadet shrugged.
His eyes fell back on Kevin, "What does that mean?" asked Zorvalt.
Kevin tipped the bag over his opened mouth, tiny chip sprinkles fell out, some in his mouth, most in his beard.
"Oh, divine oracle," said Zorvalt, rolling his eyes, "Please shed some light on the proverb for this lesser creature."
"True wisdom must not come cheap, young padawan," announced Kevin.
There was a moment of silence. Zorvalt shuffled his body around to face the cadet.
The cadet paled, "Please, Sir. Stop looking towards me for answers, I can't take this pressure."
Zorvalt shrugged and turned back towards Kevin, "Padawan?"
"Mythical creatures of ages long past," replied Kevin, waving a dismissive hand.
Zorvalt leaned over the nearby desking, mouthing the revelation, "A rock... and a hard place... a rock and a hard place..."
His eyes went wide, he dashed over towards a nearby screen, "Where's Tenzuk? Where's my navigator guy?"
He swiftly turned towards a nearby cadet, who was breathing rapidly into a brown bag, "Please, no." he whimpered.
Kevin craned his neck, "The little green guy?" he shouted.
Zorvalt glanced at this surrounding men, "We're *all* little green guys!"
"Oh, right," snorted Kevin, "Anyway, that guy is on vacation. He had the week off. Hey, when's my vacation?"
The commander fingers expertly worked the keyboard, the ship's current trajectory came into view.
He grit his teeth, they were currently on lap #7 around a planet - dashing around in it's asteroid belt.
A nearby *pop* and the sound of plastic crinkling, Zorvalt turned, "Another bag?" he cried, "You just had one!"
Kevin raised his eyebrows knowingly, "We humans have an extra stomach for snacks," he declared, "Oh, and one for dessert."
|
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | I watched as the mark moved across the dance floor, weaving in and out of the crowd. I was on the other side of the bar, drink in hand, watching and waiting, formulating a plan of action.
My phone buzzed. Cursing myself for this breach of professionalism, I was about to turn it off when I saw the text message from my wife.
*i really like those flowers you sent me, thanks a lot!*
Those words echoed through my head as I put the phone down and the door of the club opened. Gunshots rang, shattering glass and puncturing flesh alike.
There was a moment when the entire club was silent as its inhabitants tried to grasp what had just happened. Then they understood, and the nightclub fell into chaos. I was already hunkered down behind an overturned table, Sig Sauer at the ready. My assassins had chosen a brute-force method; there were likely several across the street ready to mow me down should I ever make it out of the club.
Those who had brashly entered the door were dead. I had shot them enough times to disable both assailants, and they were immediately trampled to death in the stampede. However, I was trapped inside the club. Moving out from behind cover could very well mean death. The club's patrons had scattered by now, some had fled deeper into the building while many others had fled outside.
Those who went outside were apprehended by the "police" at the end of the block, and each one was checked to make sure I wouldn't escape. Why so much effort and manpower to kill me? What had I done to offend the boss so badly?
Admittedly, I had a track record for surviving assassinations. Rival mobs had tried to bump me off on several occasions, but the body count was rising and none of the graves bore my name. The boss probably thought I was too dangerous; a trained hitman and difficult to kill, I had gained too much influence too quickly. Threats must be eliminated.
I was broken out of my reverie when the bar exploded and caught fire. The grenade wasn't intended to kill me; it was to flush me out. If I left the building I would be shot dead; if I stayed inside I would be killed in the inferno.
Lucky me.
Of course, I'm not one to roll over and die. As I kept myself concealed behind the table, I made a plan.
*
Little Johnny walked into the smoldering remains of the bar. Dressed as a policeman, nobody knew he was here to make sure the target was dead. He was nicknamed Little Johnny because he was 6'6" and could wrestle a crocodile with ease.
The main part of the nightclub had collapsed, but some side rooms were still intact. Gun at the ready, Little Johnny found the bathrooms charred and ashen, the janitor's closet still burning, and the storage room collapsed. All that was left was to check out the kitchens.
Pantry? Empty.
Sink? On fire.
Fridge? Filled with spoiled yogurt.
Freezer? **BANG**.
*
I stepped out of the freezer as Little Johnny's body fell to the floor. It had managed to somehow withstand the extreme heat, but I was feeling quite toasty.
I took Johnny's gun and looked down at him. I didn't know him very well, but liked him all the same. He tried to kill me. No time for emotions. I needed to get out of the wreckage. Sneaking along to the nearby storage room, I found just what I needed. Clambering up the collapsed support beams, I made my up onto the precarious rooftop.
Then I ran.
My wife would be fine; the boss never went after the family, even if the target escaped. My only concern was myself. I had a bit of time, two guns, and 20 years of experience.
I hoped that was enough. | "It was no problem sweetie," I told her, trying to keep my voice calm. My head was pounding and I felt a bead of sweat form on my right temple.
There was no way I could overpower them. There were three of them and only one of me. Well, I didn't know for a *fact* there was three of them, but I assumed. He always sent three to do the job. Two would be waiting at the front door, the last was already at my backdoor, making sure I didn't run for it.
I immediately thought through my options. I could stay and fight; but being outnumbered I didn't like my odds. I could run for it; but it would have to be out of a window since both doors were occupied, and then they would open fire without question. I could try and reason with them; but if these men had received orders to kill me... well, I doubt reasoning would work. Boss always said, "if you don't finish the job, I will find someone else who will. And they'll finish you too for wasting my time."
I decided my best option was to let them in, play dumb, and take my chances. If I ran, they would shoot to kill. If I talked with them... maybe I could escape crippled, but still with my life.
I hadn't even noticed that my wife had kept talking, "Honey, I gotta go. I'll see ya tonight, alright?" I hung up the phone, and stood. Despite my heart pounding and my mind racing, my legs were surprisingly strong.
I put on my suit jacket, and felt the heavy revolver in the right pocket. I doubt I would have a chance to use it, but.. old habits die hard.
I walked into the front hall and rested my hand on the doorknob. I looked down and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The more nervous I seemed, the more guilty I would appear, even though I was guilty of nothing but loyalty.
I opened the door, and to my astonishment, a delivery man was standing there, a bouquet of roses in his arms. "Delivery for you, sir." | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | The doorbell rang a second time.
Very carefully, very quietly, I set the handset back in the bracket of the phone, disconnecting the line. Darla would wonder why I hung up on her, but I’d have to explain it to her later. That is, assuming I survived the next few minutes.
I didn’t approach the door. I knew how this thing went down, and as soon as I approached the door whoever the boss had sent would start shooting. A trench broom wasn’t the most accurate tool of the trade, but it would cut a person down through two or three doors easily. The flowers were usually delivered after the fact, but someone had obviously screwed up.
Lucky me.
I slipped off my shoes and walked carefully into the back bedroom in my wool socks. In the back closet I lifted a small rug and pulled up a section of the hardwoods that had been cut to allow access to the crawlspace. Only a handful of people in the Organization even knew about this property, and none had set foot inside of it, so there was no way they’d know about my escape routes. As I eased myself down into the crawl space, I heard a pounding on the door.
My guests were getting impatient.
In the crawl space, I slipped the cutout back in place and pulled on a string that I had dropped through a hole drilled in the floor. I heard a rustle as the rug overhead slid back in place. As quietly as I could, I crawled through the dirt and dust back towards the front of the house. Overhead, I heard the door as it was kicked in and a pair of heavy boots thumping through the small house. After a few moments, the boots stopped in the living room and I heard two muffled voices talking. Then the footsteps started again, heading for the front door.
I pulled an old Springfield model 1903 .30-06 from a canvas duffle bag next to the crawlspace door and checked the bolt to make sure it was loaded. Careful not to make any noise, I eased one of the vent covers I’d loosened out of the casing and waited. I heard the footsteps as the two men climbed down from the front porch, and then I saw them headed towards their car parked along the street, a ’38 Ford coupe.
I carefully took aim at the man on the left, the one with the barrel of a Thompson hanging just past the edge of his duster, and squeezed the trigger. The high-power rifle round took him square between the shoulder blades. He stumbled and fell forward like a limp rag.
The other man spun, and I saw his face briefly, his eyes wide with shock as he scanned for the threat, a nickel plated pistol in his hand. My second round took him in the neck, and he fell backwards, twitching in the grass. As the man I’d shot in the neck twitched and died, I waited and listened as hard as I could with my ears ringing. I didn’t hear any more footsteps, and no one came running down the street to check on the two assassins.
Satisfied that I‘d eliminated the threat; I squirmed out of the narrow crawlspace door and leaned my rifle against the front steps. As I walked up to the two men, I drew my Colt pistol, just to be safe. The man I’d shot in the neck was Salvatori Delarmo. When I rolled the other man over, I saw Micky Acraducius staring up at me, blood frothing from his nose and mouth. Micky blinked once and tried to say something, but only a wet gurgle came out, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he lay still.
I fished the car keys out of Salvatori’s pants and pocketed them. I took their weapons too, since neither of the men would need them anymore, and I could use all the extra firepower I could find. There was a pair of large red gas cans in the back of the coupe and I took both of them. One I emptied into the living room and den of the house then tossed a match in as I left through the shattered front door. There was a whoosh as the fire caught, and thick black smoke poured out of the windows and from under the eaves of the roof.
The second can of gas I poured over the two bodies in the front yard. I dug a gold and silver Zippo out of my pocket and lit a smoke. As I took a drag on the Lucky Strike, I looked at the engraving on the side of the lighter that read, “To my right hand, all my love, James Alutius Antonio III.”
The boss.
I dropped the lighter on the two corpses and they burst into flame.
I loaded the guns into the coupe, keeping the trench broom where I could get my hands on it, and pulled away from the street. There was nothing left for me here and I had business to finish.
**
Three hours outside of town, I pulled the coupe over to a diner. The pay phone in the back corner had a clear view of both entrances and the parking lot outside. I dropped a nickel into the slot and dialed my home number.
“Hello, this is the Luschiavo residence,” Darla answered in her sweet voice.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My hands started to shake and I had to take a few deep breaths before I could answer.
“Darla, it’s Michael,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Michael?” She asked, “Is everything okay, babe?”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Listen, something has come up at work. I need you to go into the closet in the basement. If you move my old army uniforms, you’ll see a panel in the wall has been cut. There’s a hole back there with some money inside a pocket derringer. I need you to take the money and the pistol, take the kids, and I need you to drive somewhere.”
“What?” She asked, her voice breathless. “What are you talking about? What money? Where should I go?”
“I don’t have time to explain this all to you, Darla,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” she replied, “Of course I trust you, Michael. I just don’t understand.”
“I know, babe, I know,” I said, fighting to keep the tears out of my voice. “I need you to do this for me, and do it now, okay? Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Not a single soul, not even me. Got it? And don’t go visit family. Just drive. Find some small town somewhere out west and wait. I’ll find you when I can.”
“Oh…okay…” Darla said, her voice cracking. “Michael, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared, Darla,” I said. “Everything is going to be fine. And Darla…I love you.”
Before she could answer, I hung up the phone.
I took a deep breath, dug another nickel out of my pocket, and dropped it into the slot on the phone. This time, my fingers didn’t shake as I dialed the number.
The phone had barely rung when the other end picked up. “Sal, Jesus H—I told you to call me as soon as the job was done, not three hours later, you prick!” The boss screamed into the phone.
“Sal’s dead,” I said calmly. “So is Micky. You should have sent more people, boss.”
“Michael, I’m glad you’re okay,” the boss said, his voice shaking a little. “I was worried that something might have happened to you out there in the country, miles away from a civilized city or a proper deli. How’s the family?”
“Cut the shit, boss,” I growled. “You tried to have me killed. I trusted you and you sent the boys to punch me full of holes and send me up in smoke. You fucked up.”
“Michael, we can talk about this,” the boss stammered. “We can work something out, I swear! Just come in, sit down, and we’ll work it out.”
I slammed the phone down on the receiver so hard the hook snapped off and the handset shattered. The waitress behind the counter stopped and looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Look, sorry about the phone,” I said. “I just got canned from a good job out of the blue.” I pulled a fifty dollar bill out of my money clip and slid it across the counter towards her. “I trust we can forget the phone, and the fact that I was in here, right?” I asked with a wink.
The waitress glanced around, then pulled the fifty out from under my palm and stuck in her ample cleavage. She winked back. “Whateva you say, suga,” she said, and then went back to wiping down glasses and saucers.
Outside I pulled the coupe back onto the road and headed east, paralleling the Lincoln Highway a few miles away. It would take longer to get to the city using the back roads, but it was less likely I’d be stopped or noticed.
And I didn’t want them to see me coming.
EDIT: Got my names mixed up....rough draft and all... :)
| "It was no problem sweetie," I told her, trying to keep my voice calm. My head was pounding and I felt a bead of sweat form on my right temple.
There was no way I could overpower them. There were three of them and only one of me. Well, I didn't know for a *fact* there was three of them, but I assumed. He always sent three to do the job. Two would be waiting at the front door, the last was already at my backdoor, making sure I didn't run for it.
I immediately thought through my options. I could stay and fight; but being outnumbered I didn't like my odds. I could run for it; but it would have to be out of a window since both doors were occupied, and then they would open fire without question. I could try and reason with them; but if these men had received orders to kill me... well, I doubt reasoning would work. Boss always said, "if you don't finish the job, I will find someone else who will. And they'll finish you too for wasting my time."
I decided my best option was to let them in, play dumb, and take my chances. If I ran, they would shoot to kill. If I talked with them... maybe I could escape crippled, but still with my life.
I hadn't even noticed that my wife had kept talking, "Honey, I gotta go. I'll see ya tonight, alright?" I hung up the phone, and stood. Despite my heart pounding and my mind racing, my legs were surprisingly strong.
I put on my suit jacket, and felt the heavy revolver in the right pocket. I doubt I would have a chance to use it, but.. old habits die hard.
I walked into the front hall and rested my hand on the doorknob. I looked down and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The more nervous I seemed, the more guilty I would appear, even though I was guilty of nothing but loyalty.
I opened the door, and to my astonishment, a delivery man was standing there, a bouquet of roses in his arms. "Delivery for you, sir." | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | I've been in this situation before. I hang up on my wife after a quick "I love you" and get to work.
My name is Kevin McAllister, and I'm Home Alone. I've fended of these fuckers before and I can do it again.
This time I have some nicer toys though.
I hook up my Colt Peacemaker to the knob of the door so that, when the knob turns, the Colt will fire a round in the direction of the door. Of course, this won't kill the intruder, but it will at least scare the fucker off. I knew that Pablo was gonna kill me one day, but today is not that day.
Pablo's style is to distract the victim with a knock at the door and then send his assassins through the windows. But maybe they'll regret coming through my windows when I put my laser activated mines on the floor next to them. As soon as the window opens the mines will explode and that'll be that. Fuck the dude is opening the door. I gotta hide.
BANG! There goes the shot! Wait, oh fuck.
I run over to the door to see the Mailman writhing on the floor with a hole the size of a... well the size of a bullet of a Colt Peacemaker... in his chest. He's moaning and groaning as I slowly close the door.
Suddenly the mines explode upstairs. I go up to see the frying corpses of a family of squirrels drying out inside my bedroom in front of a huge hole that used to me my wall. Oh fuck.
I remember now....
I sent my wife the flowers yesterday....
Pablo is not in fact wanting to kill me...
I just killed a mailman and a couple of squirrels...
I think it's time for me to go... | "It was no problem sweetie," I told her, trying to keep my voice calm. My head was pounding and I felt a bead of sweat form on my right temple.
There was no way I could overpower them. There were three of them and only one of me. Well, I didn't know for a *fact* there was three of them, but I assumed. He always sent three to do the job. Two would be waiting at the front door, the last was already at my backdoor, making sure I didn't run for it.
I immediately thought through my options. I could stay and fight; but being outnumbered I didn't like my odds. I could run for it; but it would have to be out of a window since both doors were occupied, and then they would open fire without question. I could try and reason with them; but if these men had received orders to kill me... well, I doubt reasoning would work. Boss always said, "if you don't finish the job, I will find someone else who will. And they'll finish you too for wasting my time."
I decided my best option was to let them in, play dumb, and take my chances. If I ran, they would shoot to kill. If I talked with them... maybe I could escape crippled, but still with my life.
I hadn't even noticed that my wife had kept talking, "Honey, I gotta go. I'll see ya tonight, alright?" I hung up the phone, and stood. Despite my heart pounding and my mind racing, my legs were surprisingly strong.
I put on my suit jacket, and felt the heavy revolver in the right pocket. I doubt I would have a chance to use it, but.. old habits die hard.
I walked into the front hall and rested my hand on the doorknob. I looked down and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The more nervous I seemed, the more guilty I would appear, even though I was guilty of nothing but loyalty.
I opened the door, and to my astonishment, a delivery man was standing there, a bouquet of roses in his arms. "Delivery for you, sir." | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | "Honey, how's the work going?"
"Everything's fine dear," I said as I cleaned the muzzle of my Beretta. "Accounting's boring as fuck, but it pays the bills, right?" I silently cursed as I saw a smear of blood on my new shoes. There was a limit to the number of excuses I could pull off, and they were slowly - but surely - dwindling.
"It sure does!" My wife seemed happy on the phone, and I smiled as I fruitlessly tried to wipe off the blood of my shoes. *Sigh*... I guess I'll just tell her that I spilled some coffee on them - *again*. I wonder if she ever gets of hearing that.
"So, anything special happening at home?" I said nonchalantly, as I diverted my attention from my bloodied footwear.
"Oh nothing, honey. The kids have been acting up like always but that's expected." There was a short pause, before she resumed talking. "Oh! Are you asking about the bouquet of flowers you sent? They're beautiful!"
I froze in the middle of my action, resisting the urge to inquire about these mysterious flowers. "Y-yeah, I'm glad you liked it."
I looked around the room, checking my surroundings for anything suspicious. Aside from the dead body on the floor, there was nothing else that seemed out of the ordinary.
Nothing, that is, aside from the sudden knock at the front door.
My body tensed up as I raised my gun and pointed it towards the hallway, before realizing that the door was locked. I closed my eyes, wondering why this was happening to me. I had been loyal to the Consigliere ever since I'd joined the Mafia. I'd adhered to all the rules, respected all the traditions, and followed each and every order that had been provided to me. In fact, the Godfather himself had praised me for my benevolent service.
And yet, my family was receiving anonymous flowers; a signature of the Consigliere, who always believed in consoling the families of the dead.
"Paulo? It's me, Gared." A husky voice sounded from just outside the room. "You done with the job yet, or do you need some help cleaning up?"
I decided to quickly unlatch the door, before taking cover behind a cabinet near the doorway. "It's open! Help me get rid of this guy!"
There was a slight pause, before two loud blasts echoed from the hallway. I looked up and trained my gun at the tall, burly man who was in the middle of reloading his signature sawn-off shotgun. The wooden front door had been shattered to bit by his powerful firearm. Gared saw the Beretta pointed at him, and sensibly stopped in the middle of his action.
"What the FUCK, Gared?" I shouted, my mind too clouded to care about the neighbors who were peeking outside their apartments to witness the ensuing chaos. "What is the meaning of this? Why is it that *my* family is getting the Flowers of Death?" The nickname had seemed a tad over the top to me, but right now the words were causing a fearful sense of dread to creep in my heart.
Gared looked at me with an expressionless face, as if studying my every move. "You're becoming a pain for the Consigliere, Paulo. Rumor has it that the Godfather wants you to serve as his right-hand man. But that's... not going to happen now, is it?"
As he said this, Gared took out a tiny pistol that was hidden in his sleeve, but before he could fire it a single bullet pierced his stomach. He looked down in confusion, before falling to the floor as blood pooled around him.
The people who'd witnessed the scene had started screaming, and I heard some people dialing 911 as well. Deciding to make myself scarce, I ran down the stairs as a bunch of thoughts raced through my head... but one statement rang loud and clear in my mind.
I needed to get to my family as fast as I possibly could.
------
Edit: I just made my own subreddit! If you liked this story and wish to see more, check out r/Ritwik_Mitra! | "It was no problem sweetie," I told her, trying to keep my voice calm. My head was pounding and I felt a bead of sweat form on my right temple.
There was no way I could overpower them. There were three of them and only one of me. Well, I didn't know for a *fact* there was three of them, but I assumed. He always sent three to do the job. Two would be waiting at the front door, the last was already at my backdoor, making sure I didn't run for it.
I immediately thought through my options. I could stay and fight; but being outnumbered I didn't like my odds. I could run for it; but it would have to be out of a window since both doors were occupied, and then they would open fire without question. I could try and reason with them; but if these men had received orders to kill me... well, I doubt reasoning would work. Boss always said, "if you don't finish the job, I will find someone else who will. And they'll finish you too for wasting my time."
I decided my best option was to let them in, play dumb, and take my chances. If I ran, they would shoot to kill. If I talked with them... maybe I could escape crippled, but still with my life.
I hadn't even noticed that my wife had kept talking, "Honey, I gotta go. I'll see ya tonight, alright?" I hung up the phone, and stood. Despite my heart pounding and my mind racing, my legs were surprisingly strong.
I put on my suit jacket, and felt the heavy revolver in the right pocket. I doubt I would have a chance to use it, but.. old habits die hard.
I walked into the front hall and rested my hand on the doorknob. I looked down and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The more nervous I seemed, the more guilty I would appear, even though I was guilty of nothing but loyalty.
I opened the door, and to my astonishment, a delivery man was standing there, a bouquet of roses in his arms. "Delivery for you, sir." | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | I watched as the mark moved across the dance floor, weaving in and out of the crowd. I was on the other side of the bar, drink in hand, watching and waiting, formulating a plan of action.
My phone buzzed. Cursing myself for this breach of professionalism, I was about to turn it off when I saw the text message from my wife.
*i really like those flowers you sent me, thanks a lot!*
Those words echoed through my head as I put the phone down and the door of the club opened. Gunshots rang, shattering glass and puncturing flesh alike.
There was a moment when the entire club was silent as its inhabitants tried to grasp what had just happened. Then they understood, and the nightclub fell into chaos. I was already hunkered down behind an overturned table, Sig Sauer at the ready. My assassins had chosen a brute-force method; there were likely several across the street ready to mow me down should I ever make it out of the club.
Those who had brashly entered the door were dead. I had shot them enough times to disable both assailants, and they were immediately trampled to death in the stampede. However, I was trapped inside the club. Moving out from behind cover could very well mean death. The club's patrons had scattered by now, some had fled deeper into the building while many others had fled outside.
Those who went outside were apprehended by the "police" at the end of the block, and each one was checked to make sure I wouldn't escape. Why so much effort and manpower to kill me? What had I done to offend the boss so badly?
Admittedly, I had a track record for surviving assassinations. Rival mobs had tried to bump me off on several occasions, but the body count was rising and none of the graves bore my name. The boss probably thought I was too dangerous; a trained hitman and difficult to kill, I had gained too much influence too quickly. Threats must be eliminated.
I was broken out of my reverie when the bar exploded and caught fire. The grenade wasn't intended to kill me; it was to flush me out. If I left the building I would be shot dead; if I stayed inside I would be killed in the inferno.
Lucky me.
Of course, I'm not one to roll over and die. As I kept myself concealed behind the table, I made a plan.
*
Little Johnny walked into the smoldering remains of the bar. Dressed as a policeman, nobody knew he was here to make sure the target was dead. He was nicknamed Little Johnny because he was 6'6" and could wrestle a crocodile with ease.
The main part of the nightclub had collapsed, but some side rooms were still intact. Gun at the ready, Little Johnny found the bathrooms charred and ashen, the janitor's closet still burning, and the storage room collapsed. All that was left was to check out the kitchens.
Pantry? Empty.
Sink? On fire.
Fridge? Filled with spoiled yogurt.
Freezer? **BANG**.
*
I stepped out of the freezer as Little Johnny's body fell to the floor. It had managed to somehow withstand the extreme heat, but I was feeling quite toasty.
I took Johnny's gun and looked down at him. I didn't know him very well, but liked him all the same. He tried to kill me. No time for emotions. I needed to get out of the wreckage. Sneaking along to the nearby storage room, I found just what I needed. Clambering up the collapsed support beams, I made my up onto the precarious rooftop.
Then I ran.
My wife would be fine; the boss never went after the family, even if the target escaped. My only concern was myself. I had a bit of time, two guns, and 20 years of experience.
I hoped that was enough. | "Hey Honey, where were you last night?"
I sighed into the phone quietly and transitioned the cellphone from my left to my right and cocked my head so that it rested on my shoulder. "Work, the boss called in late," I said as I looked down at the bloody mess in front of me; on me.
"I-I see. You're always so busy it worries me. He works you too damn hard."
"I can't complain Martha, it is a good job. Besides, without it, I wouldn't be able to make the payments on the new house."
"Right," she fell silent for a moment "What is it you do again?"
I cringed at her question as I shrugged off my overcoat and tossed it into the fireplace. "I work at the Law Firm, remember?" Not quite a lie, not the total truth either. A lawyer like me didn't get paid as much as I do to win cases.
"Oh. I am proud honey...." She laughed over the phone. The sound made me smile. "By the way, thanks for the flowers. It was a nice surprise."
"What?!" I yelled. I straightened out and the phone dropped. It dangled by the cord for a few seconds before I dove for it. "Honey I-," I stopped myself, "I am glad you liked them. Hey, I have to go." I hung up the receiver just as her protests began.
What did I do? I had no one in my family related to the mob. I have had nothing but loyalty to it. Unless, I grew excited and chilled at the same time, that case had been more important than they let on.
I started for the door then froze.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Simon?"
"Or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll kill your wife too."
I swallowed hard and rubbed my temples. I left my Beretta at home I only had my switch blade. In conclusion, I was fucked.
I walked to the door slowly, accepting my fate for what it was. As I turned the knob, I was met with a roar, splintering wood and a hot pain. I gasped for air, but received none. I saw the wolfish Simon standing over me, gun in hand.
"Goodbye, piggy"
He pointed the gun at my head. | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | The doorbell rang a second time.
Very carefully, very quietly, I set the handset back in the bracket of the phone, disconnecting the line. Darla would wonder why I hung up on her, but I’d have to explain it to her later. That is, assuming I survived the next few minutes.
I didn’t approach the door. I knew how this thing went down, and as soon as I approached the door whoever the boss had sent would start shooting. A trench broom wasn’t the most accurate tool of the trade, but it would cut a person down through two or three doors easily. The flowers were usually delivered after the fact, but someone had obviously screwed up.
Lucky me.
I slipped off my shoes and walked carefully into the back bedroom in my wool socks. In the back closet I lifted a small rug and pulled up a section of the hardwoods that had been cut to allow access to the crawlspace. Only a handful of people in the Organization even knew about this property, and none had set foot inside of it, so there was no way they’d know about my escape routes. As I eased myself down into the crawl space, I heard a pounding on the door.
My guests were getting impatient.
In the crawl space, I slipped the cutout back in place and pulled on a string that I had dropped through a hole drilled in the floor. I heard a rustle as the rug overhead slid back in place. As quietly as I could, I crawled through the dirt and dust back towards the front of the house. Overhead, I heard the door as it was kicked in and a pair of heavy boots thumping through the small house. After a few moments, the boots stopped in the living room and I heard two muffled voices talking. Then the footsteps started again, heading for the front door.
I pulled an old Springfield model 1903 .30-06 from a canvas duffle bag next to the crawlspace door and checked the bolt to make sure it was loaded. Careful not to make any noise, I eased one of the vent covers I’d loosened out of the casing and waited. I heard the footsteps as the two men climbed down from the front porch, and then I saw them headed towards their car parked along the street, a ’38 Ford coupe.
I carefully took aim at the man on the left, the one with the barrel of a Thompson hanging just past the edge of his duster, and squeezed the trigger. The high-power rifle round took him square between the shoulder blades. He stumbled and fell forward like a limp rag.
The other man spun, and I saw his face briefly, his eyes wide with shock as he scanned for the threat, a nickel plated pistol in his hand. My second round took him in the neck, and he fell backwards, twitching in the grass. As the man I’d shot in the neck twitched and died, I waited and listened as hard as I could with my ears ringing. I didn’t hear any more footsteps, and no one came running down the street to check on the two assassins.
Satisfied that I‘d eliminated the threat; I squirmed out of the narrow crawlspace door and leaned my rifle against the front steps. As I walked up to the two men, I drew my Colt pistol, just to be safe. The man I’d shot in the neck was Salvatori Delarmo. When I rolled the other man over, I saw Micky Acraducius staring up at me, blood frothing from his nose and mouth. Micky blinked once and tried to say something, but only a wet gurgle came out, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he lay still.
I fished the car keys out of Salvatori’s pants and pocketed them. I took their weapons too, since neither of the men would need them anymore, and I could use all the extra firepower I could find. There was a pair of large red gas cans in the back of the coupe and I took both of them. One I emptied into the living room and den of the house then tossed a match in as I left through the shattered front door. There was a whoosh as the fire caught, and thick black smoke poured out of the windows and from under the eaves of the roof.
The second can of gas I poured over the two bodies in the front yard. I dug a gold and silver Zippo out of my pocket and lit a smoke. As I took a drag on the Lucky Strike, I looked at the engraving on the side of the lighter that read, “To my right hand, all my love, James Alutius Antonio III.”
The boss.
I dropped the lighter on the two corpses and they burst into flame.
I loaded the guns into the coupe, keeping the trench broom where I could get my hands on it, and pulled away from the street. There was nothing left for me here and I had business to finish.
**
Three hours outside of town, I pulled the coupe over to a diner. The pay phone in the back corner had a clear view of both entrances and the parking lot outside. I dropped a nickel into the slot and dialed my home number.
“Hello, this is the Luschiavo residence,” Darla answered in her sweet voice.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My hands started to shake and I had to take a few deep breaths before I could answer.
“Darla, it’s Michael,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Michael?” She asked, “Is everything okay, babe?”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Listen, something has come up at work. I need you to go into the closet in the basement. If you move my old army uniforms, you’ll see a panel in the wall has been cut. There’s a hole back there with some money inside a pocket derringer. I need you to take the money and the pistol, take the kids, and I need you to drive somewhere.”
“What?” She asked, her voice breathless. “What are you talking about? What money? Where should I go?”
“I don’t have time to explain this all to you, Darla,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” she replied, “Of course I trust you, Michael. I just don’t understand.”
“I know, babe, I know,” I said, fighting to keep the tears out of my voice. “I need you to do this for me, and do it now, okay? Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Not a single soul, not even me. Got it? And don’t go visit family. Just drive. Find some small town somewhere out west and wait. I’ll find you when I can.”
“Oh…okay…” Darla said, her voice cracking. “Michael, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared, Darla,” I said. “Everything is going to be fine. And Darla…I love you.”
Before she could answer, I hung up the phone.
I took a deep breath, dug another nickel out of my pocket, and dropped it into the slot on the phone. This time, my fingers didn’t shake as I dialed the number.
The phone had barely rung when the other end picked up. “Sal, Jesus H—I told you to call me as soon as the job was done, not three hours later, you prick!” The boss screamed into the phone.
“Sal’s dead,” I said calmly. “So is Micky. You should have sent more people, boss.”
“Michael, I’m glad you’re okay,” the boss said, his voice shaking a little. “I was worried that something might have happened to you out there in the country, miles away from a civilized city or a proper deli. How’s the family?”
“Cut the shit, boss,” I growled. “You tried to have me killed. I trusted you and you sent the boys to punch me full of holes and send me up in smoke. You fucked up.”
“Michael, we can talk about this,” the boss stammered. “We can work something out, I swear! Just come in, sit down, and we’ll work it out.”
I slammed the phone down on the receiver so hard the hook snapped off and the handset shattered. The waitress behind the counter stopped and looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Look, sorry about the phone,” I said. “I just got canned from a good job out of the blue.” I pulled a fifty dollar bill out of my money clip and slid it across the counter towards her. “I trust we can forget the phone, and the fact that I was in here, right?” I asked with a wink.
The waitress glanced around, then pulled the fifty out from under my palm and stuck in her ample cleavage. She winked back. “Whateva you say, suga,” she said, and then went back to wiping down glasses and saucers.
Outside I pulled the coupe back onto the road and headed east, paralleling the Lincoln Highway a few miles away. It would take longer to get to the city using the back roads, but it was less likely I’d be stopped or noticed.
And I didn’t want them to see me coming.
EDIT: Got my names mixed up....rough draft and all... :)
| "Thank you for the flowers for our Valentines" she exclaim her voice sounded hollow and fuzzy but what can you expect from a phone. I knew though that it was a half hearted expression of gratitude
Right when I found the right words, not to disappoint her for my lack of a love and mouthed the first words. A pounding on the door interrupted my expression of emotions and my thoughts
My bones chilled and my breath turned cold, it came together now, the rumors of the mob boss. It expected this day to come, with his name in the obituary I expected them to tie loose ends and a mass murder would ensue covered up by some other means maybe as a serial killer.
I reached into the table stand and found my protection. With a full magazine and a bullet in the chamber I hope this would be enough. With a phone in my hand and a pistol in the other I creeped towards door trying to see through the decorative window that distorted my view.
My wife's voice still active but with a high pitch tone and frequent pauses. She was worried but I hope this would be evidence enough to prove my murder to stop the murders before it began.
My hand on the knob I twisted it, my pistol behind the door and my hand with the phone on the door. The silencer would be able to be picked up by the phone.
Through the wide crack of the door I saw the man. Dressed in a green khaki uniform with a cap to top it off. I breathed a sigh of relief thankful I didn't shoot first.
"Delivery of flowers for Mr. Smith" he said in a stern voice
My wife got me something, strange she seemed to express concern instead of playfulness.
"Oh where do I sign" I said opening the door more
"Right here" he handed me a clip board out in front of me
I accepted it but my trust was repaid with pain. I fell to my knees, my hands immediately went to my stomach and what I saw stunned me. I looked into my attackers eyes, pleading with my gaze but his knee was all I saw for that moment. Pain was in my face and my stomach. His body towered over me with the barrel of the gun visible. I summoned all my strength and prop myself up. I saw the blood stain on my shirt and men getting out of the van in the street. I heard my wife crying and screaming. She heard it and can testify for me. I looked into my killer's eyes and smiled.
Edit: correction because of stupid mobile auto correct | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | I've been in this situation before. I hang up on my wife after a quick "I love you" and get to work.
My name is Kevin McAllister, and I'm Home Alone. I've fended of these fuckers before and I can do it again.
This time I have some nicer toys though.
I hook up my Colt Peacemaker to the knob of the door so that, when the knob turns, the Colt will fire a round in the direction of the door. Of course, this won't kill the intruder, but it will at least scare the fucker off. I knew that Pablo was gonna kill me one day, but today is not that day.
Pablo's style is to distract the victim with a knock at the door and then send his assassins through the windows. But maybe they'll regret coming through my windows when I put my laser activated mines on the floor next to them. As soon as the window opens the mines will explode and that'll be that. Fuck the dude is opening the door. I gotta hide.
BANG! There goes the shot! Wait, oh fuck.
I run over to the door to see the Mailman writhing on the floor with a hole the size of a... well the size of a bullet of a Colt Peacemaker... in his chest. He's moaning and groaning as I slowly close the door.
Suddenly the mines explode upstairs. I go up to see the frying corpses of a family of squirrels drying out inside my bedroom in front of a huge hole that used to me my wall. Oh fuck.
I remember now....
I sent my wife the flowers yesterday....
Pablo is not in fact wanting to kill me...
I just killed a mailman and a couple of squirrels...
I think it's time for me to go... | "Thank you for the flowers for our Valentines" she exclaim her voice sounded hollow and fuzzy but what can you expect from a phone. I knew though that it was a half hearted expression of gratitude
Right when I found the right words, not to disappoint her for my lack of a love and mouthed the first words. A pounding on the door interrupted my expression of emotions and my thoughts
My bones chilled and my breath turned cold, it came together now, the rumors of the mob boss. It expected this day to come, with his name in the obituary I expected them to tie loose ends and a mass murder would ensue covered up by some other means maybe as a serial killer.
I reached into the table stand and found my protection. With a full magazine and a bullet in the chamber I hope this would be enough. With a phone in my hand and a pistol in the other I creeped towards door trying to see through the decorative window that distorted my view.
My wife's voice still active but with a high pitch tone and frequent pauses. She was worried but I hope this would be evidence enough to prove my murder to stop the murders before it began.
My hand on the knob I twisted it, my pistol behind the door and my hand with the phone on the door. The silencer would be able to be picked up by the phone.
Through the wide crack of the door I saw the man. Dressed in a green khaki uniform with a cap to top it off. I breathed a sigh of relief thankful I didn't shoot first.
"Delivery of flowers for Mr. Smith" he said in a stern voice
My wife got me something, strange she seemed to express concern instead of playfulness.
"Oh where do I sign" I said opening the door more
"Right here" he handed me a clip board out in front of me
I accepted it but my trust was repaid with pain. I fell to my knees, my hands immediately went to my stomach and what I saw stunned me. I looked into my attackers eyes, pleading with my gaze but his knee was all I saw for that moment. Pain was in my face and my stomach. His body towered over me with the barrel of the gun visible. I summoned all my strength and prop myself up. I saw the blood stain on my shirt and men getting out of the van in the street. I heard my wife crying and screaming. She heard it and can testify for me. I looked into my killer's eyes and smiled.
Edit: correction because of stupid mobile auto correct | |
[WP] You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim's family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn't send any, there's a knock at the door. | "Honey, how's the work going?"
"Everything's fine dear," I said as I cleaned the muzzle of my Beretta. "Accounting's boring as fuck, but it pays the bills, right?" I silently cursed as I saw a smear of blood on my new shoes. There was a limit to the number of excuses I could pull off, and they were slowly - but surely - dwindling.
"It sure does!" My wife seemed happy on the phone, and I smiled as I fruitlessly tried to wipe off the blood of my shoes. *Sigh*... I guess I'll just tell her that I spilled some coffee on them - *again*. I wonder if she ever gets of hearing that.
"So, anything special happening at home?" I said nonchalantly, as I diverted my attention from my bloodied footwear.
"Oh nothing, honey. The kids have been acting up like always but that's expected." There was a short pause, before she resumed talking. "Oh! Are you asking about the bouquet of flowers you sent? They're beautiful!"
I froze in the middle of my action, resisting the urge to inquire about these mysterious flowers. "Y-yeah, I'm glad you liked it."
I looked around the room, checking my surroundings for anything suspicious. Aside from the dead body on the floor, there was nothing else that seemed out of the ordinary.
Nothing, that is, aside from the sudden knock at the front door.
My body tensed up as I raised my gun and pointed it towards the hallway, before realizing that the door was locked. I closed my eyes, wondering why this was happening to me. I had been loyal to the Consigliere ever since I'd joined the Mafia. I'd adhered to all the rules, respected all the traditions, and followed each and every order that had been provided to me. In fact, the Godfather himself had praised me for my benevolent service.
And yet, my family was receiving anonymous flowers; a signature of the Consigliere, who always believed in consoling the families of the dead.
"Paulo? It's me, Gared." A husky voice sounded from just outside the room. "You done with the job yet, or do you need some help cleaning up?"
I decided to quickly unlatch the door, before taking cover behind a cabinet near the doorway. "It's open! Help me get rid of this guy!"
There was a slight pause, before two loud blasts echoed from the hallway. I looked up and trained my gun at the tall, burly man who was in the middle of reloading his signature sawn-off shotgun. The wooden front door had been shattered to bit by his powerful firearm. Gared saw the Beretta pointed at him, and sensibly stopped in the middle of his action.
"What the FUCK, Gared?" I shouted, my mind too clouded to care about the neighbors who were peeking outside their apartments to witness the ensuing chaos. "What is the meaning of this? Why is it that *my* family is getting the Flowers of Death?" The nickname had seemed a tad over the top to me, but right now the words were causing a fearful sense of dread to creep in my heart.
Gared looked at me with an expressionless face, as if studying my every move. "You're becoming a pain for the Consigliere, Paulo. Rumor has it that the Godfather wants you to serve as his right-hand man. But that's... not going to happen now, is it?"
As he said this, Gared took out a tiny pistol that was hidden in his sleeve, but before he could fire it a single bullet pierced his stomach. He looked down in confusion, before falling to the floor as blood pooled around him.
The people who'd witnessed the scene had started screaming, and I heard some people dialing 911 as well. Deciding to make myself scarce, I ran down the stairs as a bunch of thoughts raced through my head... but one statement rang loud and clear in my mind.
I needed to get to my family as fast as I possibly could.
------
Edit: I just made my own subreddit! If you liked this story and wish to see more, check out r/Ritwik_Mitra! | "Thank you for the flowers for our Valentines" she exclaim her voice sounded hollow and fuzzy but what can you expect from a phone. I knew though that it was a half hearted expression of gratitude
Right when I found the right words, not to disappoint her for my lack of a love and mouthed the first words. A pounding on the door interrupted my expression of emotions and my thoughts
My bones chilled and my breath turned cold, it came together now, the rumors of the mob boss. It expected this day to come, with his name in the obituary I expected them to tie loose ends and a mass murder would ensue covered up by some other means maybe as a serial killer.
I reached into the table stand and found my protection. With a full magazine and a bullet in the chamber I hope this would be enough. With a phone in my hand and a pistol in the other I creeped towards door trying to see through the decorative window that distorted my view.
My wife's voice still active but with a high pitch tone and frequent pauses. She was worried but I hope this would be evidence enough to prove my murder to stop the murders before it began.
My hand on the knob I twisted it, my pistol behind the door and my hand with the phone on the door. The silencer would be able to be picked up by the phone.
Through the wide crack of the door I saw the man. Dressed in a green khaki uniform with a cap to top it off. I breathed a sigh of relief thankful I didn't shoot first.
"Delivery of flowers for Mr. Smith" he said in a stern voice
My wife got me something, strange she seemed to express concern instead of playfulness.
"Oh where do I sign" I said opening the door more
"Right here" he handed me a clip board out in front of me
I accepted it but my trust was repaid with pain. I fell to my knees, my hands immediately went to my stomach and what I saw stunned me. I looked into my attackers eyes, pleading with my gaze but his knee was all I saw for that moment. Pain was in my face and my stomach. His body towered over me with the barrel of the gun visible. I summoned all my strength and prop myself up. I saw the blood stain on my shirt and men getting out of the van in the street. I heard my wife crying and screaming. She heard it and can testify for me. I looked into my killer's eyes and smiled.
Edit: correction because of stupid mobile auto correct | |
[WP] Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings... by tearing them off the back of the weakest angel and casting them down to earth. | Azazael stepped into the arena, his sandaled feet kicked up clouds of grey dust. He lifted his glowing sword Daedrael to the roar of the gathered crowd. His powerful white wings stretched out to their full length, nearly thirty feet now.
His opponent was already standing inside the arena sixty paces across from him. Daneel, an ancient warrior whom had seen a thousand battles with the demon horde.
"Are you sure you wish to pursue this Azazael?" Daneel asked loud enough for the audience to hear.
In response Azazael placed his helmet over his head and lowered the silvery visor.
"Fool," Daneel muttered slamming the visor of his helmet down. He hefted his mace and shield, then waited.
The most valuable skill a warrior can have is patience. Something Daneel had learned the hard way, something that young Azazael had not. With a roar Azazael sprinted forward, wings tucked behind his back reducing drag.
Daneel lifted his shield so he could barely see over the edge. Azazael raised his blade above his head telegraphic a downward chop.
*Amature.* Daneel thought to himself as he lifted his shield to block the swing, but the shield blocked his view of his opponent for a brief second, and when the blade didn't strike his shield he knew he had under estimated his opponent.
Azazael flapped his powerful wings and jumped straight into the air, Daneel's shield provided the cover he needed as he shot upward. He imagined the surprised look on Daneel's face as he speared himself back down, his blade leading the way.
Daneel threw himself sideways rolling away from the plummeting Azazael. He grit his teeth as pain erupted in his left wing. Grey feathers and blood fell to the grey dirt.
Fury rose inside Daneel, he stood out of his roll and rushed Azazael who had yet to fully recover from his dive. He swung his mace out in whistling blur. Desperation and luck saved Azazael as he managed to bring his blade up to parry the first swing, but he was being driven back with each successive blow.
He was impressed with the old angel's strength, he parried another swing and threw himself backward using his wings to give him lift.
The two angels circled each other, newfound mutual respect had been earned in their brief skirmish.
They rushed forward weapons raised and clashed in the center of the arena with a deafening ring. Sparks flew as blade collided against shield and mace. Daneel swung his shield knocking Azazael's blade aside and stabbed out with his mace. It slammed into Azazael's ribs with a satisfying crunch. He knew his opponent would have trouble breathing with ribs stabbing into soft lung tissue.
"Do you concede?" Daneel asked.
With a roar Azazael launched himself forward blade lashing out with abandon. Daneel avoided and blocked the desperate swings with ease waiting for his opponent to slow, he let his shield arm drift a little giving Azazael an opening. Azazael thrust his blade forward hoping to land a killing blow.
In one quick motion Daneel released his shield and twisted his body, the blade coming within centimeters of his chest. He clamped down on Azazael's wrist with his free hand and squeezed. There was a brief second of resistance before the bones were crushed in his vice-like grip. He slammed the mace into Azazael's ribs again, sending the angel into a fit, coughing up blood into his helmet.
"You're done."
He picked up the fallen sword and looked up to the edge of the arena where He sat. He rose from his throne in all his glory, white hair cascaded around in his shoulders. The crowd fell silent waiting for his judgment. He simply nodded.
Daneel swung the sword hacking into the thick muscle connecting wing to back. Azazael's screams were muffled by his helmet, a small mercy.
The final tendons were cut and Daneel hefted the bloody wings for all to see.
"You were a fool Azazael," he said sadly and stepped backward.
The grey dirt beneath Azazael began to shift and turn. The bottom of the arena groaned as the stone beneath opened. Dirt cascaded out of the opening as it grew wider. Azazael lifted a desperate hand toward Daneel as the doorway opened enough to swallow him, sending him to the Earth below.
---
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| His mother sifted his hair and the shadows fell as bars as she knelt near the entrance.
"Do not cry my son," she said. "Have faith."
"But I cannot win, mother. I cannot survive. Jerod is too strong and he is much older."
"Do not give up hope. Hope is the true God."
"I hate Him! He is no true God! He is no..."
The shadows lifted and the gates opened.
"Shh," she said. "Have faith."
She kissed him and looked into his eyes as the roar of the crowd grew louder and she cried silently.
*It is a mother's burden,* she thought.
Anxi stepped into the sand and there was a chant as he bowed to the Lord.
"Off with it! Off with it! Tear it down!"
Jerod looked at him. He was an old veteran and he held his sword loosely at his feet and his bow was on his back. Anxi trembled and lifted his weapon.
"By the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," the Lord echoed.
*He is that kind of monster,* Anxi thought. *He thinks only of Himself.*
And Jerod was upon him. He moved but the veteran was agile and he turned. The sand flared in thin clouds and through them the sword came.
"Mother!" Anxi cried.
He fell clutching his chest and there was blood on the floor and Jerod pulled his sword again.
"My child!" his mother called.
Jerod looked behind and saw her standing there and he smiled. He held Anxi by the hair and Anxi's wings flapped in protest.
He hacked his sword and the crowd roared as Anxi's head fell. Then he hacked his wings and took them to the center of the arena and bowed low to the Lord above.
"Too short! Too short!" the crowd chanted.
Anxi's mother screamed and ran out but there were guards who restrained her and she fell to the floor and the sand was bitter and it cut her.
Anxi's dead face looked at her and she wished she was dead as well.
*I will kill myself,* she thought. *I will join my son.*
But she knew she couldn't. She was property of the Lord and the Lord would not allow it.
*I am his slave,* she thought. *I am his... concubine.*
And Anxi stared at her until his head was picked up and showed to the crowd.
*How they mock him. How they mock my son.*
And then: *Have faith, Ophelia. Hope is the true God.*
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Earth. It was a biblical place, one that many thought did not exist.
*The Bible is all lies,* she thought.
In her heart though, she did believe in it. She believed Anxi was in Earth, his suffering ended.
*Have faith. Have hope.*
That night was cold and cruel. A cool wind blew and the sky was purple with stars and all the heavens slept.
"The Good Lord wishes your company," Hiro said.
The day's activities had always left the Lord with a grand appetite. Ophelia wanted to collapse. She wished to spit in Hiro's face for even bringing the demand.
"I do not wish to go," she said.
"There is no choice," Hiro said.
She was led through the sands. The moon was large, white and offered a soft glimmer. The sands were a grey carpet that spread for eternity and the palace ahead was washed in a milk like glow.
The chamber doors were opened and the Lord stood naked. He had no modesty and time had taken what humanity he had had, and now he was all powerful and all cruel. He looked out the window, his back to her.
Even in her anger and grief, she could not help notice how perfect he was.
*It is said that he appears different to all.*
But it only intensified her hate.
"What's your name again?" He asked.
"Ophelia, my Lord."
He turned and the doors closed and they were alone. The room was burgundy and regal and He was middle aged with long hair.
"Your son died today," he said. "He was weak. He was a disgrace."
"Yes, my Lord."
"You made a scene when he died. Why is that?"
What could she say?
*Tell the truth, it cannot get worse.*
"I loved him, my Lord. He was my son and I loved him like a mother should."
The Lord stepped forward and kissed her and held her and she tensed and wanted to struggle.
"And I love you like a Man should," he said.
*You are no man,* she thought.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Tell me then, why do you not struggle? Why do you not hate me as a mother should?"
"I do not hate you, my Lord."
He slapped her.
"Do not lie to your God," He said. "Why do you not hate me?"
"I do hate you, my Lord."
"Then why are you so calm?"
She wanted to claw at Him, scratch out His perfect eyes.
"Because I believe Anxi is in a better place now. I believe he is in Earth, the paradise that you had created."
The Lord looked at her and laughed.
"Earth is not real," He said. "It is only a tale the angels tell. Why would you believe such nonsense?"
"I believe it because I have hope, my Lord. I have faith."
"Faith," he mocked. "Hope! What nonsense. Why would I ever create such a place? Why would I create a paradise so that my kingdom would seem like hell?"
Ophelia had nothing to lose.
*He is already going to take you hard and violent tonight. Hurt him if you can. Hurt him with your words. The truth often hurts the worse.*
"Because I do not believe any being could be so evil, my Lord. I do not believe you have always been so cruel. I cannot believe. You must have been good once. You must have been just. I believe you created Earth so that we would have a paradise after you have tortured us so gladly."
The Lord was quiet and his eyes left hers.
"What do you know of me?" He whispered as if to Himself.
"I know what the Bible says, my Lord. I know you were not always a Devil."
He made as if to slap her but she did not flinch. His hands trembled and for the first time in a long time heaven seemed too quiet for Him.
"What was your son's name again?" He asked.
"Anxi, my Lord."
He nodded.
"Perhaps he is in a better place," He said.
There was a bitterness in His voice, an internal hatred.
Ophelia's heart rose at His pain and at the admittance of Earth's existence.
"Yes, perhaps it was for the best," the Lord said. "And perhaps you should go now too. It is getting late and today has been difficult."
"You do not want to take me, my Lord?"
He looked at her and looked away.
"No," he said. "Not tonight. Not tonight."
"My Lord, that is surprising."
He forced His eyes to meet hers.
"Yes, yes it is," He said. "Perhaps there is yet hope remaining."
"Hope is God, my Lord."
"Yes, and perhaps there is yet a God somewhere here remaining. Perhaps He is still around."
"I will have hope, my Lord."
She left the chambers and all was quiet. The sands of heaven sighed momentarily as she passed and then all was still.
*There is still good in the world,* she thought. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | Inspired by, but not faithful, to the prompt.
-----------------------------------------
The Queen's folly, a lost colony.
Ahead we must go, afore we know.
Only silence comes from Queen's lands past
What overcame the land, we nae know.
To the ships! And off you go!
Commanded came thick and so we rowed.
Saying our goodbyes to merry England.
Saying our prayers to Royal shores.
What was once a bustling towne,
full of people and mirth.
Now is full of bones and tumbleweed,
the air thick with ash and dirt.
Whence came this dread, fell wind
cold with malice, alive with hate?
What hath the natives brought to life?
What hath awakened this eidolion nightmare?
No answers to be found, upon this newly found land.
Mayhaps it be nothing, but providence by divine hand.
Or might it be something much, much more sinister?
We've left those answers behind, in dark lands, to fester.
Back to England we go, we row, we row, we row, for Royal shore.
Back we go, with no answers to the silence,
Back to England we go. | "Are you fucking serious?"
Taylor looked up from his mission briefing. "Look, all they told me is that the whole bloody place has gone dark, and they haven't heard shit since."
I finished strapping on my gear and stood up. I slowly walked to where Williams was standing in the back of the plane.
"You ready for this?" I asked tentatively.
"Yeah, I'm ready. It's just... I've been through all the training, but nothing can prepare you for what's out there. And to have this much weight resting on my first field operation? It's ain't exactly calming."
"I'm sure you'll do fine. And remember, you got 4 of the most skilled operators Britain has ever seen right by you."
Turning, I smiled and nodded at Evans, Price, and Taylor.
"Alright boys, ETA is 8 minutes. We'll be landing about 3 kilometers north of DC. Our mission is to infiltrate DC and find the source of the outage, as well as to secure the POTUS from the bunker underneath the White House. Now we don't what in God's name caused this, but we've been led to believe it was some sort of terrorist attack, so your safeties better not be on. Williams, you sure you're good to go?"
"Yes sir, I'll be fine."
"Alright then. Let's get this show on the road."
Walking to the back of the plane, I made sure everything was hooked in as the cargo bay doors lowered. After the signal from Taylor, I sprinted forward and hurled myself out of the plane, once again experiencing the thrill you get every time you do an air jump. As we dropped toward the LZ, I checked my meter, ready to deploy my chute. As we reached the correct height, I pulled my chute and felt my body jerk as the velocity rapidly decreased.
I slowly guided my way to the ground and looked towards the dark city in front of us.
To be continued... | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | Sitting at the edge of the helicopter looking ahead at the dark coastline looming through the rain, I can't help but reflect over the events of the past 72 hours.
At exactly 04:00 hours, three days ago, the United States went dark. Any and all communication with the outside world stopped. Upon closer inspection there were no broadcasts of any kind found emanating from the U.S. Radio, television, internet, all was quiet on the western front.
For the first few hours, no one really cared. It was really weird, but there were things to do, places to go, and people to see. However, by the end of the first 24 hours of silence, it seemed like everybody was worried. What the public didn't know would have only caused more panic. Throughout the day there were countless amounts of data collected. There were no unusual weather patterns, no indications of a catastrophic earthquake or volcanic eruption, and most people figured no terrorist attack, cyber or otherwise, could have completely silenced the United States. The most disturbing data was the satellite imagery, after consulting with multiple other nations, it was confirmed that the pictures showed nothing. There was no one getting forgotten milk, nobody rushing down the interstate late for work, not even anyone at the park playing with their kids. Apparently the whole nation, 300 million people, was missing.
After the next 24 hours, every means of contacting the US were exhausted. Emergency sessions of government were convened world wide, and the United Nations met to discuss this issue specifically. It was decided that Canada and Mexico were to make what would be known as "well-being" incursions. To keep people with ill intentions for interfering, and to assist in checking on her ally, the United Kingdom decided to send in several SAS squads.
For us the last 24 hours consisted of briefings, planning, equipment checks, and using our fastest aircraft to leap frog ship to ship across the Atlantic for some more last minute briefing, planning, and equipment checks. Shortly after the break of dawn on this cold, dismal morn, our chopper left the carrier for shore.
**This is where I leave it for now, will continue in the morning, especially if there is interest.** | "Are you fucking serious?"
Taylor looked up from his mission briefing. "Look, all they told me is that the whole bloody place has gone dark, and they haven't heard shit since."
I finished strapping on my gear and stood up. I slowly walked to where Williams was standing in the back of the plane.
"You ready for this?" I asked tentatively.
"Yeah, I'm ready. It's just... I've been through all the training, but nothing can prepare you for what's out there. And to have this much weight resting on my first field operation? It's ain't exactly calming."
"I'm sure you'll do fine. And remember, you got 4 of the most skilled operators Britain has ever seen right by you."
Turning, I smiled and nodded at Evans, Price, and Taylor.
"Alright boys, ETA is 8 minutes. We'll be landing about 3 kilometers north of DC. Our mission is to infiltrate DC and find the source of the outage, as well as to secure the POTUS from the bunker underneath the White House. Now we don't what in God's name caused this, but we've been led to believe it was some sort of terrorist attack, so your safeties better not be on. Williams, you sure you're good to go?"
"Yes sir, I'll be fine."
"Alright then. Let's get this show on the road."
Walking to the back of the plane, I made sure everything was hooked in as the cargo bay doors lowered. After the signal from Taylor, I sprinted forward and hurled myself out of the plane, once again experiencing the thrill you get every time you do an air jump. As we dropped toward the LZ, I checked my meter, ready to deploy my chute. As we reached the correct height, I pulled my chute and felt my body jerk as the velocity rapidly decreased.
I slowly guided my way to the ground and looked towards the dark city in front of us.
To be continued... | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | Sitting at the edge of the helicopter looking ahead at the dark coastline looming through the rain, I can't help but reflect over the events of the past 72 hours.
At exactly 04:00 hours, three days ago, the United States went dark. Any and all communication with the outside world stopped. Upon closer inspection there were no broadcasts of any kind found emanating from the U.S. Radio, television, internet, all was quiet on the western front.
For the first few hours, no one really cared. It was really weird, but there were things to do, places to go, and people to see. However, by the end of the first 24 hours of silence, it seemed like everybody was worried. What the public didn't know would have only caused more panic. Throughout the day there were countless amounts of data collected. There were no unusual weather patterns, no indications of a catastrophic earthquake or volcanic eruption, and most people figured no terrorist attack, cyber or otherwise, could have completely silenced the United States. The most disturbing data was the satellite imagery, after consulting with multiple other nations, it was confirmed that the pictures showed nothing. There was no one getting forgotten milk, nobody rushing down the interstate late for work, not even anyone at the park playing with their kids. Apparently the whole nation, 300 million people, was missing.
After the next 24 hours, every means of contacting the US were exhausted. Emergency sessions of government were convened world wide, and the United Nations met to discuss this issue specifically. It was decided that Canada and Mexico were to make what would be known as "well-being" incursions. To keep people with ill intentions for interfering, and to assist in checking on her ally, the United Kingdom decided to send in several SAS squads.
For us the last 24 hours consisted of briefings, planning, equipment checks, and using our fastest aircraft to leap frog ship to ship across the Atlantic for some more last minute briefing, planning, and equipment checks. Shortly after the break of dawn on this cold, dismal morn, our chopper left the carrier for shore.
**This is where I leave it for now, will continue in the morning, especially if there is interest.** | "ALRIGHT MATES YOU KNOW THE DRILL! WE MOVE OUT AT 0430!"
*aboard the* *H.M.S Royal Dolphin*
"Kasper you get any word from you uncle?"
"No sir, to be a bit 'onest I am bloody scared sir, I mean what could have done this? Could it 'ave been the Russians?"
"Leftenant Kasper I can assure you it was not the Russians, 'owever I must inform you that our satellites have no eyes on the ground."
"Now you know what to do mates let's roll out."
*Predesignated Landing Zone, Washington D.C.*
"Bloody 'ell boys, look what happened here, *Kasper moves up to a school bus and forces the door open, he notices a group of 12 schoolchildren, dead.*
what the fuck could 'ave done this?"
"Captain Mitchell over hear", remarks Corporal Xander. We got a live one!"
*Xander motions to a man in a grey uniform who happened to be hiding in a dumpster.*
"Please it wasn't our fault, PLEASE DON"T SHOOT ME, I-I DIDN"T KNOW WHAT WE WERE WORKING ON HERE JUST PLEASE SPARE ME"
*Xander grabs him by the collar and slams him against the dumpster*
"OI Xander let our Yankee friend 'ere explain it to us!"
*A nametag reads "John Westcliff/Project Pentagon"*
*As Xander and Mitchell interrogate "John Westcliff" Kasper walks towards a local drinking fountain and fills his canteen*
"TELL US NOW!" *The but of Mitchells MP5 hits John in the chest, cracking a rib*
*Kapser drinks from his canteen*
"ughn no...ah...shit *spits up blood*...not the water *as if his voice is suddenly repaired, Westcliff shouts "NOT WHILE IT"S ACTIVATED!"
*As if on cue, Kasper slumps to the ground as a seizure racks his body*
"Help me with him SHIT HELP ME WHAT DO I DO MITCHELL!?"
*Mitchell watches silently as Kaspers eyes fill with blood, then gracefully he draws his .45*
"NO DON-" *BANG*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | Sitting at the edge of the helicopter looking ahead at the dark coastline looming through the rain, I can't help but reflect over the events of the past 72 hours.
At exactly 04:00 hours, three days ago, the United States went dark. Any and all communication with the outside world stopped. Upon closer inspection there were no broadcasts of any kind found emanating from the U.S. Radio, television, internet, all was quiet on the western front.
For the first few hours, no one really cared. It was really weird, but there were things to do, places to go, and people to see. However, by the end of the first 24 hours of silence, it seemed like everybody was worried. What the public didn't know would have only caused more panic. Throughout the day there were countless amounts of data collected. There were no unusual weather patterns, no indications of a catastrophic earthquake or volcanic eruption, and most people figured no terrorist attack, cyber or otherwise, could have completely silenced the United States. The most disturbing data was the satellite imagery, after consulting with multiple other nations, it was confirmed that the pictures showed nothing. There was no one getting forgotten milk, nobody rushing down the interstate late for work, not even anyone at the park playing with their kids. Apparently the whole nation, 300 million people, was missing.
After the next 24 hours, every means of contacting the US were exhausted. Emergency sessions of government were convened world wide, and the United Nations met to discuss this issue specifically. It was decided that Canada and Mexico were to make what would be known as "well-being" incursions. To keep people with ill intentions for interfering, and to assist in checking on her ally, the United Kingdom decided to send in several SAS squads.
For us the last 24 hours consisted of briefings, planning, equipment checks, and using our fastest aircraft to leap frog ship to ship across the Atlantic for some more last minute briefing, planning, and equipment checks. Shortly after the break of dawn on this cold, dismal morn, our chopper left the carrier for shore.
**This is where I leave it for now, will continue in the morning, especially if there is interest.** | Inspired by, but not faithful, to the prompt.
-----------------------------------------
The Queen's folly, a lost colony.
Ahead we must go, afore we know.
Only silence comes from Queen's lands past
What overcame the land, we nae know.
To the ships! And off you go!
Commanded came thick and so we rowed.
Saying our goodbyes to merry England.
Saying our prayers to Royal shores.
What was once a bustling towne,
full of people and mirth.
Now is full of bones and tumbleweed,
the air thick with ash and dirt.
Whence came this dread, fell wind
cold with malice, alive with hate?
What hath the natives brought to life?
What hath awakened this eidolion nightmare?
No answers to be found, upon this newly found land.
Mayhaps it be nothing, but providence by divine hand.
Or might it be something much, much more sinister?
We've left those answers behind, in dark lands, to fester.
Back to England we go, we row, we row, we row, for Royal shore.
Back we go, with no answers to the silence,
Back to England we go. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | Sitting at the edge of the helicopter looking ahead at the dark coastline looming through the rain, I can't help but reflect over the events of the past 72 hours.
At exactly 04:00 hours, three days ago, the United States went dark. Any and all communication with the outside world stopped. Upon closer inspection there were no broadcasts of any kind found emanating from the U.S. Radio, television, internet, all was quiet on the western front.
For the first few hours, no one really cared. It was really weird, but there were things to do, places to go, and people to see. However, by the end of the first 24 hours of silence, it seemed like everybody was worried. What the public didn't know would have only caused more panic. Throughout the day there were countless amounts of data collected. There were no unusual weather patterns, no indications of a catastrophic earthquake or volcanic eruption, and most people figured no terrorist attack, cyber or otherwise, could have completely silenced the United States. The most disturbing data was the satellite imagery, after consulting with multiple other nations, it was confirmed that the pictures showed nothing. There was no one getting forgotten milk, nobody rushing down the interstate late for work, not even anyone at the park playing with their kids. Apparently the whole nation, 300 million people, was missing.
After the next 24 hours, every means of contacting the US were exhausted. Emergency sessions of government were convened world wide, and the United Nations met to discuss this issue specifically. It was decided that Canada and Mexico were to make what would be known as "well-being" incursions. To keep people with ill intentions for interfering, and to assist in checking on her ally, the United Kingdom decided to send in several SAS squads.
For us the last 24 hours consisted of briefings, planning, equipment checks, and using our fastest aircraft to leap frog ship to ship across the Atlantic for some more last minute briefing, planning, and equipment checks. Shortly after the break of dawn on this cold, dismal morn, our chopper left the carrier for shore.
**This is where I leave it for now, will continue in the morning, especially if there is interest.** | *meanwhile, in a conference room in the new UN HQ in geneva*
Secretary:major martinez, i hope you and your squad will find some answers to this shit. Everyone wants to know what happened to the US. The very last message we got was a distress call from a bunker in the new world trade center, that is your objective.
General lewis:remember major, do a quick recon and get out of there.
Major martinez:affirmative, we're departing now from the tatcher memorial airfield in alberta right now, ETA to new york 7 hours.
*7 hours later*
Maj. Martinez:echo 2 and 3, disembark! Go go go! Form a defence perimeter around the helis, we'll go on foot from here, echo 1, contact HQ and tell them we entered the OZ.
Colonel lewis:*major.....comms...dis..urbed....*
Lt. Beck:sir, the radio is malfunctioning. Trying to reconnect.
Ok squad, we need to move in and find out what happened. Right now we're in queens, and we're heading for the new world trade center. Activate your field cameras.
*roughly 20 kilometers from the drop zone, near the trump tower*
Captain handerson:this is pretty fucking creepy. Where's everyone?
Maj. Martinez:that's what we're trying to find out. Echo 1 and 2, move in the trump tower and check if the electricity is still going, echo 3, guard the entrance. Call me if anything happens. Beck, how's the radio?
Lt. Beck:i managed to contact the helicopters, although it was very disturbed. We agreed on them making periodical flybys of the city every 5 hours. Heard nothing from HQ though.
Echo 3:sir, there's something weird here, you might want to come here.
Major martinez: copy that, on my way.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to be?"
Said the major looking through the binoculars.
The weird huge pink, red and black mass was coming towards them at great speed.
"We don't really know, but ETA is 2 minutes, considering how fast that thing is moving."
Echo 3 said.
"Ok then, everyone in the trump tower now!" Shouted the major as the weird large object was approaching them surprisingly fast.
"Sir, everything is locked up, a perimeter has been set in the lobby and we're ready to shoot everything that comes through that door."
Lt. Beck said while thinkering with the radio.
"Leave that thing, it won't help us. Everyone ready to shoot!" Major martinez shouted as he proceeded to find cover and aim at the door.
"ETA for the object 3....."
"2....."
"1....."
*video violently stops followed by still images of what seem to be body fat, red hair dye, a XXXL size t-shirt with "no, you make me a sandwich!" On the front and a sign with "not my president" written on it.*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | As we trenched our way through international waters, the navigation system's needles and numbers started churning-dropping drastically, but reaching up to as high as the stakes of our mission.
"What the hell is going on with the navigation system?!", bellowed Peter as we were nearing the elusive American contact we desperately needed to secure.
"We don't know Sir." I repeated back in a choked voice, "It seems that we might have to map our way over to the Canadians for further guidance."
"Well you God Damn better do," he screeched, "before we lose where w-"
The slowly receding fog inched away to reveal an American ship bloom out of the dreary fog.
No one was able to utter a word as we were suddenly lifted off of the minuscule boat onto the massive ship.
"What in the bloody tarnation-" Peter started, but was quickly silenced by the American Captain's authoritative voice.
"We'll explain as soon as we get back to Washington."
We were soon whisked away to the Captain's room before any inquiries could be asked, but there was nearly none to be said-as the stony faces of the American navy men silenced them like a conductor steadily slowing an orchestra. | *meanwhile, in a conference room in the new UN HQ in geneva*
Secretary:major martinez, i hope you and your squad will find some answers to this shit. Everyone wants to know what happened to the US. The very last message we got was a distress call from a bunker in the new world trade center, that is your objective.
General lewis:remember major, do a quick recon and get out of there.
Major martinez:affirmative, we're departing now from the tatcher memorial airfield in alberta right now, ETA to new york 7 hours.
*7 hours later*
Maj. Martinez:echo 2 and 3, disembark! Go go go! Form a defence perimeter around the helis, we'll go on foot from here, echo 1, contact HQ and tell them we entered the OZ.
Colonel lewis:*major.....comms...dis..urbed....*
Lt. Beck:sir, the radio is malfunctioning. Trying to reconnect.
Ok squad, we need to move in and find out what happened. Right now we're in queens, and we're heading for the new world trade center. Activate your field cameras.
*roughly 20 kilometers from the drop zone, near the trump tower*
Captain handerson:this is pretty fucking creepy. Where's everyone?
Maj. Martinez:that's what we're trying to find out. Echo 1 and 2, move in the trump tower and check if the electricity is still going, echo 3, guard the entrance. Call me if anything happens. Beck, how's the radio?
Lt. Beck:i managed to contact the helicopters, although it was very disturbed. We agreed on them making periodical flybys of the city every 5 hours. Heard nothing from HQ though.
Echo 3:sir, there's something weird here, you might want to come here.
Major martinez: copy that, on my way.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to be?"
Said the major looking through the binoculars.
The weird huge pink, red and black mass was coming towards them at great speed.
"We don't really know, but ETA is 2 minutes, considering how fast that thing is moving."
Echo 3 said.
"Ok then, everyone in the trump tower now!" Shouted the major as the weird large object was approaching them surprisingly fast.
"Sir, everything is locked up, a perimeter has been set in the lobby and we're ready to shoot everything that comes through that door."
Lt. Beck said while thinkering with the radio.
"Leave that thing, it won't help us. Everyone ready to shoot!" Major martinez shouted as he proceeded to find cover and aim at the door.
"ETA for the object 3....."
"2....."
"1....."
*video violently stops followed by still images of what seem to be body fat, red hair dye, a XXXL size t-shirt with "no, you make me a sandwich!" On the front and a sign with "not my president" written on it.*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Say again, Dav?"
"No mistake, Colonel. The entire bloody country."
"Surely, they can't all be that daft."
"They are sir. But, they did manage to set a record. I suppose now we can put this whole 'Mannequin Challenge' bit to bed?" | *meanwhile, in a conference room in the new UN HQ in geneva*
Secretary:major martinez, i hope you and your squad will find some answers to this shit. Everyone wants to know what happened to the US. The very last message we got was a distress call from a bunker in the new world trade center, that is your objective.
General lewis:remember major, do a quick recon and get out of there.
Major martinez:affirmative, we're departing now from the tatcher memorial airfield in alberta right now, ETA to new york 7 hours.
*7 hours later*
Maj. Martinez:echo 2 and 3, disembark! Go go go! Form a defence perimeter around the helis, we'll go on foot from here, echo 1, contact HQ and tell them we entered the OZ.
Colonel lewis:*major.....comms...dis..urbed....*
Lt. Beck:sir, the radio is malfunctioning. Trying to reconnect.
Ok squad, we need to move in and find out what happened. Right now we're in queens, and we're heading for the new world trade center. Activate your field cameras.
*roughly 20 kilometers from the drop zone, near the trump tower*
Captain handerson:this is pretty fucking creepy. Where's everyone?
Maj. Martinez:that's what we're trying to find out. Echo 1 and 2, move in the trump tower and check if the electricity is still going, echo 3, guard the entrance. Call me if anything happens. Beck, how's the radio?
Lt. Beck:i managed to contact the helicopters, although it was very disturbed. We agreed on them making periodical flybys of the city every 5 hours. Heard nothing from HQ though.
Echo 3:sir, there's something weird here, you might want to come here.
Major martinez: copy that, on my way.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to be?"
Said the major looking through the binoculars.
The weird huge pink, red and black mass was coming towards them at great speed.
"We don't really know, but ETA is 2 minutes, considering how fast that thing is moving."
Echo 3 said.
"Ok then, everyone in the trump tower now!" Shouted the major as the weird large object was approaching them surprisingly fast.
"Sir, everything is locked up, a perimeter has been set in the lobby and we're ready to shoot everything that comes through that door."
Lt. Beck said while thinkering with the radio.
"Leave that thing, it won't help us. Everyone ready to shoot!" Major martinez shouted as he proceeded to find cover and aim at the door.
"ETA for the object 3....."
"2....."
"1....."
*video violently stops followed by still images of what seem to be body fat, red hair dye, a XXXL size t-shirt with "no, you make me a sandwich!" On the front and a sign with "not my president" written on it.*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Do you think now is the time to be handing me electric bills?" I yelled over the roar of the chopper.
"Johnson, just *look*" prompted Commander Hughes, shoving the screen towards me with impatience. The screen immediately blinded me in the dark. It was set up to full brightness, but it didn't need to be- outside of the dim indicator lights from within the cabin of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter we were flying in, there was only darkness. Outside the window, even at a night like this, we should've seen *thousands* of lights beneath us. Car lights, buildings, streetlights, *anything* but the complete emptiness that greeted us. It messed with your eyes.
My eyes adjusted. "How..." I squinted "...is this possible?" Despite no person, activity, or communication of any kind being recorded from the continental US for a full 7 days, here was an electric bill showing-
"This country may be vacated, but *something's* running up the power bill around here," remarked Commander Hughes. I scanned the items on the screen. Every single house's power consumption hadn't just failed to go the way of their occupants and disappear - they'd *increased*. It didn't make sense.
One of the pilot's voices cracked over the PA system "Prepare to land, sixty seconds to touchdown."
"But we haven't seen signs of anyone in a full week! And now you're saying somebody's still using electricity at every home? What does it mean?" I asked in desperation.
Commander Hughes jerked a leather-gloved finger to one of the addresses in question. "It means we're going here to find out."
The entire chassis of the CH-47 flared up abruptly before coming back to rest on the ground. I peered out the window, but it might as well have been painted flat black. If it weren't for the dim glint of moonlight reflecting off of curtained windows, I wouldn't have seen anything at all.
Hughes threw the door open, clicked his helmet's light on, and jumped to the ground wordlessly. He marched toward the door of the nearest house, helmet light bouncing up and down the surface of a closed front door. I clicked mine on and did the same, peering around the neighborhood. As we walked by, I couldn't help but notice the smell of the garbage can. It was full, but rotten, even for a garbage can. Like it had been taken out days ago, never picked up, and promptly forgotten about. Looking down the block, I saw that every house had a similar one. I picked up the pace to catch up with Hughes as he strode up to the door. I couldn't help but notice that every window on the building was blocked off with curtains or blinds. If anybody *was* here, they sure as hell didn't want to be bothered. "Commander, I-"
Commander Hughes wheeled toward me with a snarl and his index finger over his lips. He motioned back towards the door and placed his ear on it. I did the same.
Screams. Over and over, there were screams. Horrifying, unthinkable in their despair and suffering. Some human. Some... not. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. If it could be.
Reflexively, before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was pounding against the old wooden door. "Open up! For the love of God and country! Open this door!" Commander Hughes looked as if he was about to shoot me on the spot, when suddenly... "It's stopped" he whispered in disbelief. I nodded in agreement. Whatever was making those noises, it was done now. Or, at least, silenced. Instead, the sound that replaced it was one of footsteps. Slowly, inching, step by step, as if with great difficulty, was one heavy footstep after another. Hughes reached for his gun. I felt cold on my fingers and realized I'd done the same without thinking.
A dull rattle sounded, metallic and hollow. The first lock on the door, the deadbolt above the handle, started to quiver. It was accompanied by a panicked wheezing sound, like a trapped animal taking its final breaths. Or was that just me?
**THUD**
The deadbolt slipped into the door. A second clank sounded, the door handle being unlocked. Hughes seemed unable to move, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen him, seen any man's eyes go.
With a slow, agonizing creek, the old door began to pivot, throwing shadows in all directions. I turned my gaze away from it into the hallway it opened. My headlamp moved with me, revealing, to my utter horror, a deathly pale, emaciated human with pupils the size of two pound coins. I tried to react, to grab my gun, to yell, even to flee, but my horror had me frozen in place. Commander Hughes seemed to be hyperventilating, his eyes reflecting the light in strange ways.
The pale being blinked slowly, squinted straight at me, and gradually raised its menacing clenched fist. I couldn't handle it, I had to do *something*, say *anything* before I died. "WH-WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" I gasped.
The sickly, thin pale thing looked me dead in the eye, and unfurled his hand to reveal an Xbox controller.
It whispered "Half-Life 3". | *meanwhile, in a conference room in the new UN HQ in geneva*
Secretary:major martinez, i hope you and your squad will find some answers to this shit. Everyone wants to know what happened to the US. The very last message we got was a distress call from a bunker in the new world trade center, that is your objective.
General lewis:remember major, do a quick recon and get out of there.
Major martinez:affirmative, we're departing now from the tatcher memorial airfield in alberta right now, ETA to new york 7 hours.
*7 hours later*
Maj. Martinez:echo 2 and 3, disembark! Go go go! Form a defence perimeter around the helis, we'll go on foot from here, echo 1, contact HQ and tell them we entered the OZ.
Colonel lewis:*major.....comms...dis..urbed....*
Lt. Beck:sir, the radio is malfunctioning. Trying to reconnect.
Ok squad, we need to move in and find out what happened. Right now we're in queens, and we're heading for the new world trade center. Activate your field cameras.
*roughly 20 kilometers from the drop zone, near the trump tower*
Captain handerson:this is pretty fucking creepy. Where's everyone?
Maj. Martinez:that's what we're trying to find out. Echo 1 and 2, move in the trump tower and check if the electricity is still going, echo 3, guard the entrance. Call me if anything happens. Beck, how's the radio?
Lt. Beck:i managed to contact the helicopters, although it was very disturbed. We agreed on them making periodical flybys of the city every 5 hours. Heard nothing from HQ though.
Echo 3:sir, there's something weird here, you might want to come here.
Major martinez: copy that, on my way.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to be?"
Said the major looking through the binoculars.
The weird huge pink, red and black mass was coming towards them at great speed.
"We don't really know, but ETA is 2 minutes, considering how fast that thing is moving."
Echo 3 said.
"Ok then, everyone in the trump tower now!" Shouted the major as the weird large object was approaching them surprisingly fast.
"Sir, everything is locked up, a perimeter has been set in the lobby and we're ready to shoot everything that comes through that door."
Lt. Beck said while thinkering with the radio.
"Leave that thing, it won't help us. Everyone ready to shoot!" Major martinez shouted as he proceeded to find cover and aim at the door.
"ETA for the object 3....."
"2....."
"1....."
*video violently stops followed by still images of what seem to be body fat, red hair dye, a XXXL size t-shirt with "no, you make me a sandwich!" On the front and a sign with "not my president" written on it.*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What do you mean, it's empty?"
I winced at the tone that Jaspers used as he rounded on the poor technician, rising up on his tiptoes to intimidate with every one of his sixty-four inches of height. A guy that short shouldn't be able to loom so well, but Jaspers managed it, bearing down on the bespectacled nerd.
"I mean, it's empty," the nerd repeated, one hand creeping up to adjust the glasses. I noticed that they now had a few specks of mist on them - Jaspers' spittle, most likely. "We sent in drones, did a sweep of everything, and we didn't see a single person."
"But how?" I interjected, stepping forward. I tried to keep my tone calmer, defuse some of the tension hanging in the air. "New York had what, a million people in it?"
"More," the tech agreed. He shrugged his shoulders, looking as confused as I felt. "But they're all gone. And the drones didn't pick up anything."
Jaspers wasn't having it. "So why the bloody hell are we going in there?"
The tech flicked his eyes over to me. "Shouldn't there be some sort of officer in charge, briefing you on this?"
I winced. "It's kind of tricky."
"Why?"
"Why?" Jaspers snarled back, clearly annoyed that we weren't looping him in on the conversation. "Because Texas Rick over there is on loan to us, and his commanders are currently MIA, off in the big black camp-out that all of the goddamn You Ess of Ayy decided to take! So he's floating here in organizational limbo, and since he's currently the leader of our squad, the rest of us are stuck here cooling our bloody heels along with him!"
Jaspers' summary of the situation, although colorful, wasn't actually inaccurate. My name was Richards, Brian Richards, but I was over here on a "loan" (inter-agency exchange program for sharing of strategies and training initiatives), in month four out of six.
And even though I was stationed in England, I was supposed to report to my superiors back home in Bragg - but no one there was returning my calls.
I didn't take it personally, at least. It seemed like my whole home country was having problems.
"Sorry about him," I said to the tech, trying to regain control of the situation after Jaspers' outburst. "But really, we need every bit of info that you can provide. There really weren't any people? Signs of them fleeing? Cars broken down, out of place, any sort of damage? Bodies?"
The tech shook his head. "Nothing that I could see, while the drones were up, at least."
Jaspers growled and turned away, probably headed off to go inform the rest of the team. I, however, paused for a minute on the tech's last words.
"What do you mean, while the drones were up?"
"They went down after an hour," he said, swallowing. Probably at the thought of covering the high price of a state-of-the-art surveillance drone from his meager salary, I guessed. "We haven't been able to connect to them again. That's why the government's got the quarantine up."
Well, that was different. The quarantine, I added inside my head, that we were currently involved with, sitting with our thumbs up our butts on a destroyer in a flotilla parked a dozen miles from shore. We had all our cameras pointed over at my homeland, and we weren't getting anything back.
Except, it seemed, that now they'd brought down our ally's drones.
Someone had.
I left the tech alone, stalked back over to where Jaspers sat with Sergei, another member of our team. The short, bushy bearded Brit looked up and scowled at me. I didn't take it personally; a scowl seemed to be Jaspers' only method of showing emotion.
"So?" he asked pointedly.
"So, nothing. No one knows what's going on. And we're in the dark; our drones are gone, no word on what brought them down."
"Words from the command?" Sergei asked, his accent clipping his words.
I shook my head. "Stand and report, await further instructions. Not that there will be any, not any time soon. You know as well as I do that England's the only one who can launch an investigation without risking a declaration of war, and they're going to hem and haw until they're all blue in the face without making a decision." I glanced over at Jaspers. "No offense."
He just held up his hands, as Sergei frowned. "Brian," he said, standing up and looking more closely at me. "What is matter? You have some problem, weighing on you. What is wrong?"
"Nothing," I said, looking away.
He stepped closer. "Come, now. Jaspers is blowhard, but you can tell the rest of us."
Ah, what the hell. "My wife," I said, wincing at how the word came out. "She was in Fort Hood, planning on flying out to see me in a few days."
"And you are worried," Sergei concluded.
I shot him a hot glare. "Yeah, no shit. God, why the hell can't I just hop on a boat and haul my ass over there, figure out what we're facing?"
For a minute, Sergei and Jaspers stood silently beside me. And then, suddenly, the Russian started.
"Why not?" he asked.
"What?"
He turned to look at me. "You have no commanding officer now, da?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "But I can't just duck off and go into a potentially dangerous zone-"
"Why not?" he insisted. "What if you were searching for orders? Commanding officer is on the mainland, so is where you go."
"What, and steal a boat?"
Sergei grinned, flashing strangely perfect teeth. "Corinne can."
That brought me up short. My unit, if the loose collection of soldiers could be called as such, held a grab bag of soldiers from other countries, all on "loan" to the Brits. Along with Jaspers, representing England, and Sergei from Russia, we also had a nimble, mustachioed French explosives expert, a Chinese sniper who'd only spoken perhaps a hundred words in the three months she'd been with us... and Corinne.
I considered telling the slender, blonde, supermodel-looking Swede that we needed to steal a boat. Commandeer, I corrected my thought. Would she go along with it?
Probably. Hell, they all would. Somehow, although I still wasn't quite sure how, I'd earned their trust and respect. And I knew that they were just as curious as I felt.
"We'll get court-martialed," I said, although my heart wasn't in the denial.
Sergei shrugged. "Mixed signals, crossed wires, whatever else you people say when chain of command falls apart," he replied easily. "It will work. What do you say?"
I glanced over at the Brit. "Jaspers?"
He pursed his lips, making his beard twitch. "Ach, why bloody not? I'm curious, now, dammit."
One last breath. One last second to consider all the rules I might be breaking.
Oh, what the hell. I thought of Alexis, possibly lost and scared, wishing that I was there to save her. She'd chosen the hard life of a soldier's wife, and I couldn't even be there to keep her safe.
"Go get Corinne," I told Sergei, and he grinned.
"Oh, finally," he said aloud as he dashed off. "This will be *fun.*" | *meanwhile, in a conference room in the new UN HQ in geneva*
Secretary:major martinez, i hope you and your squad will find some answers to this shit. Everyone wants to know what happened to the US. The very last message we got was a distress call from a bunker in the new world trade center, that is your objective.
General lewis:remember major, do a quick recon and get out of there.
Major martinez:affirmative, we're departing now from the tatcher memorial airfield in alberta right now, ETA to new york 7 hours.
*7 hours later*
Maj. Martinez:echo 2 and 3, disembark! Go go go! Form a defence perimeter around the helis, we'll go on foot from here, echo 1, contact HQ and tell them we entered the OZ.
Colonel lewis:*major.....comms...dis..urbed....*
Lt. Beck:sir, the radio is malfunctioning. Trying to reconnect.
Ok squad, we need to move in and find out what happened. Right now we're in queens, and we're heading for the new world trade center. Activate your field cameras.
*roughly 20 kilometers from the drop zone, near the trump tower*
Captain handerson:this is pretty fucking creepy. Where's everyone?
Maj. Martinez:that's what we're trying to find out. Echo 1 and 2, move in the trump tower and check if the electricity is still going, echo 3, guard the entrance. Call me if anything happens. Beck, how's the radio?
Lt. Beck:i managed to contact the helicopters, although it was very disturbed. We agreed on them making periodical flybys of the city every 5 hours. Heard nothing from HQ though.
Echo 3:sir, there's something weird here, you might want to come here.
Major martinez: copy that, on my way.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to be?"
Said the major looking through the binoculars.
The weird huge pink, red and black mass was coming towards them at great speed.
"We don't really know, but ETA is 2 minutes, considering how fast that thing is moving."
Echo 3 said.
"Ok then, everyone in the trump tower now!" Shouted the major as the weird large object was approaching them surprisingly fast.
"Sir, everything is locked up, a perimeter has been set in the lobby and we're ready to shoot everything that comes through that door."
Lt. Beck said while thinkering with the radio.
"Leave that thing, it won't help us. Everyone ready to shoot!" Major martinez shouted as he proceeded to find cover and aim at the door.
"ETA for the object 3....."
"2....."
"1....."
*video violently stops followed by still images of what seem to be body fat, red hair dye, a XXXL size t-shirt with "no, you make me a sandwich!" On the front and a sign with "not my president" written on it.*
| |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Say again, Dav?"
"No mistake, Colonel. The entire bloody country."
"Surely, they can't all be that daft."
"They are sir. But, they did manage to set a record. I suppose now we can put this whole 'Mannequin Challenge' bit to bed?" | As we trenched our way through international waters, the navigation system's needles and numbers started churning-dropping drastically, but reaching up to as high as the stakes of our mission.
"What the hell is going on with the navigation system?!", bellowed Peter as we were nearing the elusive American contact we desperately needed to secure.
"We don't know Sir." I repeated back in a choked voice, "It seems that we might have to map our way over to the Canadians for further guidance."
"Well you God Damn better do," he screeched, "before we lose where w-"
The slowly receding fog inched away to reveal an American ship bloom out of the dreary fog.
No one was able to utter a word as we were suddenly lifted off of the minuscule boat onto the massive ship.
"What in the bloody tarnation-" Peter started, but was quickly silenced by the American Captain's authoritative voice.
"We'll explain as soon as we get back to Washington."
We were soon whisked away to the Captain's room before any inquiries could be asked, but there was nearly none to be said-as the stony faces of the American navy men silenced them like a conductor steadily slowing an orchestra. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Do you think now is the time to be handing me electric bills?" I yelled over the roar of the chopper.
"Johnson, just *look*" prompted Commander Hughes, shoving the screen towards me with impatience. The screen immediately blinded me in the dark. It was set up to full brightness, but it didn't need to be- outside of the dim indicator lights from within the cabin of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter we were flying in, there was only darkness. Outside the window, even at a night like this, we should've seen *thousands* of lights beneath us. Car lights, buildings, streetlights, *anything* but the complete emptiness that greeted us. It messed with your eyes.
My eyes adjusted. "How..." I squinted "...is this possible?" Despite no person, activity, or communication of any kind being recorded from the continental US for a full 7 days, here was an electric bill showing-
"This country may be vacated, but *something's* running up the power bill around here," remarked Commander Hughes. I scanned the items on the screen. Every single house's power consumption hadn't just failed to go the way of their occupants and disappear - they'd *increased*. It didn't make sense.
One of the pilot's voices cracked over the PA system "Prepare to land, sixty seconds to touchdown."
"But we haven't seen signs of anyone in a full week! And now you're saying somebody's still using electricity at every home? What does it mean?" I asked in desperation.
Commander Hughes jerked a leather-gloved finger to one of the addresses in question. "It means we're going here to find out."
The entire chassis of the CH-47 flared up abruptly before coming back to rest on the ground. I peered out the window, but it might as well have been painted flat black. If it weren't for the dim glint of moonlight reflecting off of curtained windows, I wouldn't have seen anything at all.
Hughes threw the door open, clicked his helmet's light on, and jumped to the ground wordlessly. He marched toward the door of the nearest house, helmet light bouncing up and down the surface of a closed front door. I clicked mine on and did the same, peering around the neighborhood. As we walked by, I couldn't help but notice the smell of the garbage can. It was full, but rotten, even for a garbage can. Like it had been taken out days ago, never picked up, and promptly forgotten about. Looking down the block, I saw that every house had a similar one. I picked up the pace to catch up with Hughes as he strode up to the door. I couldn't help but notice that every window on the building was blocked off with curtains or blinds. If anybody *was* here, they sure as hell didn't want to be bothered. "Commander, I-"
Commander Hughes wheeled toward me with a snarl and his index finger over his lips. He motioned back towards the door and placed his ear on it. I did the same.
Screams. Over and over, there were screams. Horrifying, unthinkable in their despair and suffering. Some human. Some... not. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. If it could be.
Reflexively, before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was pounding against the old wooden door. "Open up! For the love of God and country! Open this door!" Commander Hughes looked as if he was about to shoot me on the spot, when suddenly... "It's stopped" he whispered in disbelief. I nodded in agreement. Whatever was making those noises, it was done now. Or, at least, silenced. Instead, the sound that replaced it was one of footsteps. Slowly, inching, step by step, as if with great difficulty, was one heavy footstep after another. Hughes reached for his gun. I felt cold on my fingers and realized I'd done the same without thinking.
A dull rattle sounded, metallic and hollow. The first lock on the door, the deadbolt above the handle, started to quiver. It was accompanied by a panicked wheezing sound, like a trapped animal taking its final breaths. Or was that just me?
**THUD**
The deadbolt slipped into the door. A second clank sounded, the door handle being unlocked. Hughes seemed unable to move, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen him, seen any man's eyes go.
With a slow, agonizing creek, the old door began to pivot, throwing shadows in all directions. I turned my gaze away from it into the hallway it opened. My headlamp moved with me, revealing, to my utter horror, a deathly pale, emaciated human with pupils the size of two pound coins. I tried to react, to grab my gun, to yell, even to flee, but my horror had me frozen in place. Commander Hughes seemed to be hyperventilating, his eyes reflecting the light in strange ways.
The pale being blinked slowly, squinted straight at me, and gradually raised its menacing clenched fist. I couldn't handle it, I had to do *something*, say *anything* before I died. "WH-WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" I gasped.
The sickly, thin pale thing looked me dead in the eye, and unfurled his hand to reveal an Xbox controller.
It whispered "Half-Life 3". | As we trenched our way through international waters, the navigation system's needles and numbers started churning-dropping drastically, but reaching up to as high as the stakes of our mission.
"What the hell is going on with the navigation system?!", bellowed Peter as we were nearing the elusive American contact we desperately needed to secure.
"We don't know Sir." I repeated back in a choked voice, "It seems that we might have to map our way over to the Canadians for further guidance."
"Well you God Damn better do," he screeched, "before we lose where w-"
The slowly receding fog inched away to reveal an American ship bloom out of the dreary fog.
No one was able to utter a word as we were suddenly lifted off of the minuscule boat onto the massive ship.
"What in the bloody tarnation-" Peter started, but was quickly silenced by the American Captain's authoritative voice.
"We'll explain as soon as we get back to Washington."
We were soon whisked away to the Captain's room before any inquiries could be asked, but there was nearly none to be said-as the stony faces of the American navy men silenced them like a conductor steadily slowing an orchestra. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Do you think now is the time to be handing me electric bills?" I yelled over the roar of the chopper.
"Johnson, just *look*" prompted Commander Hughes, shoving the screen towards me with impatience. The screen immediately blinded me in the dark. It was set up to full brightness, but it didn't need to be- outside of the dim indicator lights from within the cabin of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter we were flying in, there was only darkness. Outside the window, even at a night like this, we should've seen *thousands* of lights beneath us. Car lights, buildings, streetlights, *anything* but the complete emptiness that greeted us. It messed with your eyes.
My eyes adjusted. "How..." I squinted "...is this possible?" Despite no person, activity, or communication of any kind being recorded from the continental US for a full 7 days, here was an electric bill showing-
"This country may be vacated, but *something's* running up the power bill around here," remarked Commander Hughes. I scanned the items on the screen. Every single house's power consumption hadn't just failed to go the way of their occupants and disappear - they'd *increased*. It didn't make sense.
One of the pilot's voices cracked over the PA system "Prepare to land, sixty seconds to touchdown."
"But we haven't seen signs of anyone in a full week! And now you're saying somebody's still using electricity at every home? What does it mean?" I asked in desperation.
Commander Hughes jerked a leather-gloved finger to one of the addresses in question. "It means we're going here to find out."
The entire chassis of the CH-47 flared up abruptly before coming back to rest on the ground. I peered out the window, but it might as well have been painted flat black. If it weren't for the dim glint of moonlight reflecting off of curtained windows, I wouldn't have seen anything at all.
Hughes threw the door open, clicked his helmet's light on, and jumped to the ground wordlessly. He marched toward the door of the nearest house, helmet light bouncing up and down the surface of a closed front door. I clicked mine on and did the same, peering around the neighborhood. As we walked by, I couldn't help but notice the smell of the garbage can. It was full, but rotten, even for a garbage can. Like it had been taken out days ago, never picked up, and promptly forgotten about. Looking down the block, I saw that every house had a similar one. I picked up the pace to catch up with Hughes as he strode up to the door. I couldn't help but notice that every window on the building was blocked off with curtains or blinds. If anybody *was* here, they sure as hell didn't want to be bothered. "Commander, I-"
Commander Hughes wheeled toward me with a snarl and his index finger over his lips. He motioned back towards the door and placed his ear on it. I did the same.
Screams. Over and over, there were screams. Horrifying, unthinkable in their despair and suffering. Some human. Some... not. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. If it could be.
Reflexively, before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was pounding against the old wooden door. "Open up! For the love of God and country! Open this door!" Commander Hughes looked as if he was about to shoot me on the spot, when suddenly... "It's stopped" he whispered in disbelief. I nodded in agreement. Whatever was making those noises, it was done now. Or, at least, silenced. Instead, the sound that replaced it was one of footsteps. Slowly, inching, step by step, as if with great difficulty, was one heavy footstep after another. Hughes reached for his gun. I felt cold on my fingers and realized I'd done the same without thinking.
A dull rattle sounded, metallic and hollow. The first lock on the door, the deadbolt above the handle, started to quiver. It was accompanied by a panicked wheezing sound, like a trapped animal taking its final breaths. Or was that just me?
**THUD**
The deadbolt slipped into the door. A second clank sounded, the door handle being unlocked. Hughes seemed unable to move, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen him, seen any man's eyes go.
With a slow, agonizing creek, the old door began to pivot, throwing shadows in all directions. I turned my gaze away from it into the hallway it opened. My headlamp moved with me, revealing, to my utter horror, a deathly pale, emaciated human with pupils the size of two pound coins. I tried to react, to grab my gun, to yell, even to flee, but my horror had me frozen in place. Commander Hughes seemed to be hyperventilating, his eyes reflecting the light in strange ways.
The pale being blinked slowly, squinted straight at me, and gradually raised its menacing clenched fist. I couldn't handle it, I had to do *something*, say *anything* before I died. "WH-WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" I gasped.
The sickly, thin pale thing looked me dead in the eye, and unfurled his hand to reveal an Xbox controller.
It whispered "Half-Life 3". | "Say again, Dav?"
"No mistake, Colonel. The entire bloody country."
"Surely, they can't all be that daft."
"They are sir. But, they did manage to set a record. I suppose now we can put this whole 'Mannequin Challenge' bit to bed?" | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "Do you think now is the time to be handing me electric bills?" I yelled over the roar of the chopper.
"Johnson, just *look*" prompted Commander Hughes, shoving the screen towards me with impatience. The screen immediately blinded me in the dark. It was set up to full brightness, but it didn't need to be- outside of the dim indicator lights from within the cabin of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter we were flying in, there was only darkness. Outside the window, even at a night like this, we should've seen *thousands* of lights beneath us. Car lights, buildings, streetlights, *anything* but the complete emptiness that greeted us. It messed with your eyes.
My eyes adjusted. "How..." I squinted "...is this possible?" Despite no person, activity, or communication of any kind being recorded from the continental US for a full 7 days, here was an electric bill showing-
"This country may be vacated, but *something's* running up the power bill around here," remarked Commander Hughes. I scanned the items on the screen. Every single house's power consumption hadn't just failed to go the way of their occupants and disappear - they'd *increased*. It didn't make sense.
One of the pilot's voices cracked over the PA system "Prepare to land, sixty seconds to touchdown."
"But we haven't seen signs of anyone in a full week! And now you're saying somebody's still using electricity at every home? What does it mean?" I asked in desperation.
Commander Hughes jerked a leather-gloved finger to one of the addresses in question. "It means we're going here to find out."
The entire chassis of the CH-47 flared up abruptly before coming back to rest on the ground. I peered out the window, but it might as well have been painted flat black. If it weren't for the dim glint of moonlight reflecting off of curtained windows, I wouldn't have seen anything at all.
Hughes threw the door open, clicked his helmet's light on, and jumped to the ground wordlessly. He marched toward the door of the nearest house, helmet light bouncing up and down the surface of a closed front door. I clicked mine on and did the same, peering around the neighborhood. As we walked by, I couldn't help but notice the smell of the garbage can. It was full, but rotten, even for a garbage can. Like it had been taken out days ago, never picked up, and promptly forgotten about. Looking down the block, I saw that every house had a similar one. I picked up the pace to catch up with Hughes as he strode up to the door. I couldn't help but notice that every window on the building was blocked off with curtains or blinds. If anybody *was* here, they sure as hell didn't want to be bothered. "Commander, I-"
Commander Hughes wheeled toward me with a snarl and his index finger over his lips. He motioned back towards the door and placed his ear on it. I did the same.
Screams. Over and over, there were screams. Horrifying, unthinkable in their despair and suffering. Some human. Some... not. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. If it could be.
Reflexively, before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was pounding against the old wooden door. "Open up! For the love of God and country! Open this door!" Commander Hughes looked as if he was about to shoot me on the spot, when suddenly... "It's stopped" he whispered in disbelief. I nodded in agreement. Whatever was making those noises, it was done now. Or, at least, silenced. Instead, the sound that replaced it was one of footsteps. Slowly, inching, step by step, as if with great difficulty, was one heavy footstep after another. Hughes reached for his gun. I felt cold on my fingers and realized I'd done the same without thinking.
A dull rattle sounded, metallic and hollow. The first lock on the door, the deadbolt above the handle, started to quiver. It was accompanied by a panicked wheezing sound, like a trapped animal taking its final breaths. Or was that just me?
**THUD**
The deadbolt slipped into the door. A second clank sounded, the door handle being unlocked. Hughes seemed unable to move, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen him, seen any man's eyes go.
With a slow, agonizing creek, the old door began to pivot, throwing shadows in all directions. I turned my gaze away from it into the hallway it opened. My headlamp moved with me, revealing, to my utter horror, a deathly pale, emaciated human with pupils the size of two pound coins. I tried to react, to grab my gun, to yell, even to flee, but my horror had me frozen in place. Commander Hughes seemed to be hyperventilating, his eyes reflecting the light in strange ways.
The pale being blinked slowly, squinted straight at me, and gradually raised its menacing clenched fist. I couldn't handle it, I had to do *something*, say *anything* before I died. "WH-WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" I gasped.
The sickly, thin pale thing looked me dead in the eye, and unfurled his hand to reveal an Xbox controller.
It whispered "Half-Life 3". | Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. |
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