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[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "Hey, uh, sorry about last night."
"Are you serious? You ran me over. Wait here, I'm calling the police."
"That's fair. But, uh... What if you didn't?" I suggested, as I dangled a fiver over the tip jar.
"You dumped my body in the lake. I'm definitely calling the police."
"Remind me, was that lake Lincoln? Or Hamilton?"
"Those aren't lakes."
"Oh you're right, how silly of me. I meant lake Jackson."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're a monster."
"A monster tipper." | As the barista approached John, he noticed something.
To explain what he saw, we need a near past history lesson.
John, as you may guess from the prompt title, was driving his car when he glanced at a text. There was a human male, blue eyes, blond hair, who was jogging up the road. He was hit by John's car and killed.
John, in a panic, dumped the body in a nearby lake, went home, and forgot about it. Later, he decided to get some coffee from the local cafe, where out story will continue.
"Wait a second, you look familiar..." said John to the barista.
The barista stared angrily at John. The others sitting in the coffee shop got out of their seats, revealing themselves to be exact duplicates of the barista. John ran, and witnessed the only other person in the cafe (who was the manager and an old friend) get touched by the clones, and later joined their ranks in a puff of smoke.
John ran like he had never ran before. There were clones everywhere. He later returned home once more. To the confusion of his wife, he boarded up all of the doors and windows and put the CCTV on before entering the master bedroom.
"Honey, what is going on?" said John's wife.
"It's... it's..." mumbled John, but before he could finish his sentence, the lights around the house started flickering. Electronics were turning on and off and on and off, the cat and the goldfish were acting odd, and soon enough, a figure, later revealed to be a barista clone as he got closer to the couple, appeared. They both jumped out the window, bashing down fences to escape the multiplying clones. But then, they were cornered. A circle of clones formed around them and...
John woke up. In his prison cell. It was just a dream, how cliche, he thought to himself.
As soon as the thought came to his head, the clones started appearing throughout the prison. Then, one appeared right next to him.
The only thing it said before murdering him was this:
"You did it, bastard..." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "what can I get you sir?" He said. "I recommend the frappuchino, it's so cold it gives you chills!"
I opened my mouth to speak, but any word eluded me. Just a small squeak left my throat.
"Oh geez, cat got your tongue? Lost your stones?" His face turned into a scowl. "Sir! What can I help you with? There are other customers waiting."
There weren't, it's just me and him. He is mocking me.
I turned around, ready to leave. he might just be rude, it's late. He probably just looks like the guy.
"I know what you're thinking. It couldn't possibly be him. I am dreaming or some random bullshit, to justify what you did."
I froze, it's him, it's fucking him, oh Jesus fucking Christ, I'm doomed.
"Now sir, could you follow me, I wil assign you a seat."
I followed, I don't know what else I should do. He points to a boot in the corner and I sit down.
"You made a mistake, you killed a man and dumped him instead of going to the authorities. Correct?"
I nod.
"And to get any sense of normality back, you decided to get a cup of coffee? Right?"
I nod again.
"So you get in your car, go to your favourite coffee place and behold, it is me! The man you killed!"
I look down, if it's fear or shame I don't know. It feels like a mixture of both.
"Yes it's confusing isn't it, but I have some news for you as well."
I feel my eyes well up.
"You never made it to the coffee shop. You decided to go after a three day bender. You were drunk and high off your ass and decided to drive towards your coffee place. Not thinking about anyone else on the road. You crashed your car within 5 minutes, never even left the suburbs. You hit a telephone pole and went straight through the windshield."
I look up, confused.
"Don't believe me? Look to your left, you're missing half your face."
I look, my face is unbelievably messed up, there is glass everywhere. My eye is gone and so is part of my jaw. Reality is setting in, or what is left of it. I hear a snicker.
"Ain't karma a bitch?" | Him: “Wait... I know you”
Me: “You’re making a mistake”
Him: "There's no mistake. You're a wanted man and it's time to pay for your crimes."
Me: “I don't have time for this. Do you?”
Him: "You know what? You're not worth the hassle. Go... be some other guard's problem."
| |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "Hey, uh, sorry about last night."
"Are you serious? You ran me over. Wait here, I'm calling the police."
"That's fair. But, uh... What if you didn't?" I suggested, as I dangled a fiver over the tip jar.
"You dumped my body in the lake. I'm definitely calling the police."
"Remind me, was that lake Lincoln? Or Hamilton?"
"Those aren't lakes."
"Oh you're right, how silly of me. I meant lake Jackson."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're a monster."
"A monster tipper." | Him: “Wait... I know you”
Me: “You’re making a mistake”
Him: "There's no mistake. You're a wanted man and it's time to pay for your crimes."
Me: “I don't have time for this. Do you?”
Him: "You know what? You're not worth the hassle. Go... be some other guard's problem."
| |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "Hey, uh, sorry about last night."
"Are you serious? You ran me over. Wait here, I'm calling the police."
"That's fair. But, uh... What if you didn't?" I suggested, as I dangled a fiver over the tip jar.
"You dumped my body in the lake. I'm definitely calling the police."
"Remind me, was that lake Lincoln? Or Hamilton?"
"Those aren't lakes."
"Oh you're right, how silly of me. I meant lake Jackson."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're a monster."
"A monster tipper." | "what can I get you sir?" He said. "I recommend the frappuchino, it's so cold it gives you chills!"
I opened my mouth to speak, but any word eluded me. Just a small squeak left my throat.
"Oh geez, cat got your tongue? Lost your stones?" His face turned into a scowl. "Sir! What can I help you with? There are other customers waiting."
There weren't, it's just me and him. He is mocking me.
I turned around, ready to leave. he might just be rude, it's late. He probably just looks like the guy.
"I know what you're thinking. It couldn't possibly be him. I am dreaming or some random bullshit, to justify what you did."
I froze, it's him, it's fucking him, oh Jesus fucking Christ, I'm doomed.
"Now sir, could you follow me, I wil assign you a seat."
I followed, I don't know what else I should do. He points to a boot in the corner and I sit down.
"You made a mistake, you killed a man and dumped him instead of going to the authorities. Correct?"
I nod.
"And to get any sense of normality back, you decided to get a cup of coffee? Right?"
I nod again.
"So you get in your car, go to your favourite coffee place and behold, it is me! The man you killed!"
I look down, if it's fear or shame I don't know. It feels like a mixture of both.
"Yes it's confusing isn't it, but I have some news for you as well."
I feel my eyes well up.
"You never made it to the coffee shop. You decided to go after a three day bender. You were drunk and high off your ass and decided to drive towards your coffee place. Not thinking about anyone else on the road. You crashed your car within 5 minutes, never even left the suburbs. You hit a telephone pole and went straight through the windshield."
I look up, confused.
"Don't believe me? Look to your left, you're missing half your face."
I look, my face is unbelievably messed up, there is glass everywhere. My eye is gone and so is part of my jaw. Reality is setting in, or what is left of it. I hear a snicker.
"Ain't karma a bitch?" | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I ordered my coffee, and looked around. It was early morning at this point, and I was surprised by how many people there were already. The woman taking orders knew most of their names, so they must be regulars.
Deep breath. Nobody knows. Nobody's looking at you.
"Serena. What an appropriate name."
I spun around, and the first thing I saw was my latte. That perfect golden color with a perfect ivory leaf on top. Then my gaze went upwards, to see the man behind it. Instantly, my eyes went wide, and my mouth hung open.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Here's your coffee."
I just kindof *blinked* at him for a minute. He set the coffee down, and stepped to the side to start making another drink.
He looked exactly like the man I had just run over. I absentmindedly took my coffee and sat in the nearest chair, facing the bar.
I was driving home from my mom's house. It was late, and it was dark. My phone kept going off. Text. Call. Call. Message tone. Text. Text. It was driving me crazy. When I left my mom's house, she was pissed for no good reason. This was just her harassing me. Typical mom.
I mean, maybe I shouldn't have left in the middle of her screaming at me. Maybe I should have calmed her down before I hopped in my car. But maybe she shouldn't have had a total goddamn meltdown about how I somehow *owe* her grandkids, and how I'm ruining my life, and *her* life by being infertile. *Again.*
Honestly, just driving away was better than what I wanted to do to that woman. Call. Text. Text. Ring, ring, bitch.
I was turning off the main road, and my phone finally stopped going off. I felt like I could breathe again. I relaxed into my chair, let my shoulders unbunch. Why do I even try to keep this relationship working? It's all about *her*, and what *she* wants, and what *she* thinks... Can't I understand how this makes *her* feel?
No. Just breathe. Let it go. She can't help but be an insufferable bitch. This isn't new. This is why you moved out in the first place. Just let it be, and move on without it.
Ding.
I turned to the passenger seat, and snatched up my phone.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU **WANT**, YOU HORRIBLE --"
Thump-up. Brakes. Oh shit. Shift into park. Pull the key. Some poor fucking kid is going to wake up to a dead dog. Fuck. Maybe it has a tag?
Open the flashlight app, look around. It takes me a second to see the bright orange jacket, covered in mud and tire tracks. Reflective shoes. This is not a dog. I didn't hit a dog.
Snap, back to now. My coffee is getting cold. I take a sip. Perfectly nutty, just sweet enough. This is exactly what I needed. I wrap my fingers around the cup, trying to pull out the last of the warmth. How long have I been lost in my own head?
A coin hits the table, and I gasp.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Same guy.
Maybe he had a twin brother? Maybe I'm seeing things? Maybe I'm just losing my mind.
"... You've barely touched the latte. Did I mess it up? Do you want me to make you another one?"
"What? Oh, no. The latte is fine. It tastes great, actually." Take a sip. Smile, like your world isn't crumbling down around you. "Thank you, though."
"Okay, well. My name is Balaan. Let me know if you need anything."
"Mhm. Thanks." What am I even doing? | "Hey man, the regular?" Steve asks from across the counter. I don't respond though, I can't. <<How is this happening? How is he here?>> I wonder. I see his eyes darting at the midnight crowd behind me. The impatience is settling in his eyes.
"Order up already man. I need my coffee." The guy behind me nearly shoves me into the counter and I can't even think of a response. Normally, I'd flip the bird and spill hot coffee on jerks like him but I don't. Steve's eyes show the irritation starting to settle in as he anticipates a fight to start . It doesn't even last a second though before surprise at my non-response takes over. <<What is going on>>, I bet he wonders. <<So do I, dude. So do I.>>
"Earth to Samuel. You there? I'm getting your usual. Clearly you're too much in need for some Java to even respond." He turns around and it is as if a spell breaks.
"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks Steve." I quickly pull my wallet and pay for the coffee. The jerk behind me grumbles something I can't hear and I don't really care what he said. I've got bigger problems right now.
Steve hands over my cup and I take a sip immediately, letting it burn my tongue and yet not feeling it. I'm tempted to make a run for it. To see if the car is still dented. To see if the blood stained shirt I stuffed in the trunk is still there.
I'm feeling the chill in the air, standing in this coffeeshop wearing formal shows, trousers and a tank top. I'm the definition of weird.
I turn around to find a seat and ... think, I guess. Before I can take a step though, Steve's phone rings. I freeze right there as Steve immediately picks up. "Hey Abby. Are the kids asleep yet? Good. Yeah, I'm still waiting for Shawn to show up. That idiot must be taking his time on the jog. It's been two hours since he left to come here. Seriously, that dodo brain twin of mine must be fooling around again. Where the hell is he? I'll call him again. I-oh man, Samuel, you ok?" I don't even realize I dropped my cup and my shoes and pants are ruined. Or that I burnt my skin. "I gotta go Abby, call you later."
I hear him jump the counter but still I jerk away when I feel his hand touch my bare shoulder. I hurry forward and slip. My head slams against the floor and I begin to pass out as people around me swear and laugh. And then, I feel my blood begin to freeze. My pocket has begun to vibrate. The phone inside is getting a call. A cracked phone, with bloodstains on it, is getting a call. A phone that's definitely not mine and I have a pretty good idea that it's this Abby person calling. "Your phone's ringing." Steve says as my vision fades. "Stay with me, man. I'll answer it and let them know you might have a concussion. I'll drive you to the hospital, okay? Stay with me, Sam. I..." He pauses. "Abby?"
I don't know what happens next as the darkness takes over. And though somehow I know I'm jostled and moved after I passed out, I never manage to completely wake up and respond. And then, the last things I feel is the cold shock and then, I'm sinking. My body is too weak to fight as I drown. The last thing I feel before dying is the skin of Shawn under me
| |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I stood in horror as the jolly man handed me my cup. I was absolutely certain it was him.
I was driving my car late at night, not expecting anyone to be awake, not paying that much attention, when the impact happened. I got out of the car and looked for the man I had just seen flying through the air like in a cartoon: Flailing his arms and everything. I walked out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was I going crazy? I don't remember drinking, smoking or eating anything weird that night. I stood there in confusion for a while before deciding not to tell anyone about what happened.
But here was, happily handing me my cup like there's nothing wrong. Was I still going crazy? A twin brother, perhaps, not yet knowing of his brother's death? I was standing there akwardly for way too long before uttering the phrase:
"Who... who are you?"
He answered immediately like he had done it thousands of times before.
"It's a me, Mario!" | "Hey man, the regular?" Steve asks from across the counter. I don't respond though, I can't. <<How is this happening? How is he here?>> I wonder. I see his eyes darting at the midnight crowd behind me. The impatience is settling in his eyes.
"Order up already man. I need my coffee." The guy behind me nearly shoves me into the counter and I can't even think of a response. Normally, I'd flip the bird and spill hot coffee on jerks like him but I don't. Steve's eyes show the irritation starting to settle in as he anticipates a fight to start . It doesn't even last a second though before surprise at my non-response takes over. <<What is going on>>, I bet he wonders. <<So do I, dude. So do I.>>
"Earth to Samuel. You there? I'm getting your usual. Clearly you're too much in need for some Java to even respond." He turns around and it is as if a spell breaks.
"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks Steve." I quickly pull my wallet and pay for the coffee. The jerk behind me grumbles something I can't hear and I don't really care what he said. I've got bigger problems right now.
Steve hands over my cup and I take a sip immediately, letting it burn my tongue and yet not feeling it. I'm tempted to make a run for it. To see if the car is still dented. To see if the blood stained shirt I stuffed in the trunk is still there.
I'm feeling the chill in the air, standing in this coffeeshop wearing formal shows, trousers and a tank top. I'm the definition of weird.
I turn around to find a seat and ... think, I guess. Before I can take a step though, Steve's phone rings. I freeze right there as Steve immediately picks up. "Hey Abby. Are the kids asleep yet? Good. Yeah, I'm still waiting for Shawn to show up. That idiot must be taking his time on the jog. It's been two hours since he left to come here. Seriously, that dodo brain twin of mine must be fooling around again. Where the hell is he? I'll call him again. I-oh man, Samuel, you ok?" I don't even realize I dropped my cup and my shoes and pants are ruined. Or that I burnt my skin. "I gotta go Abby, call you later."
I hear him jump the counter but still I jerk away when I feel his hand touch my bare shoulder. I hurry forward and slip. My head slams against the floor and I begin to pass out as people around me swear and laugh. And then, I feel my blood begin to freeze. My pocket has begun to vibrate. The phone inside is getting a call. A cracked phone, with bloodstains on it, is getting a call. A phone that's definitely not mine and I have a pretty good idea that it's this Abby person calling. "Your phone's ringing." Steve says as my vision fades. "Stay with me, man. I'll answer it and let them know you might have a concussion. I'll drive you to the hospital, okay? Stay with me, Sam. I..." He pauses. "Abby?"
I don't know what happens next as the darkness takes over. And though somehow I know I'm jostled and moved after I passed out, I never manage to completely wake up and respond. And then, the last things I feel is the cold shock and then, I'm sinking. My body is too weak to fight as I drown. The last thing I feel before dying is the skin of Shawn under me
| |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I stood in horror as the jolly man handed me my cup. I was absolutely certain it was him.
I was driving my car late at night, not expecting anyone to be awake, not paying that much attention, when the impact happened. I got out of the car and looked for the man I had just seen flying through the air like in a cartoon: Flailing his arms and everything. I walked out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was I going crazy? I don't remember drinking, smoking or eating anything weird that night. I stood there in confusion for a while before deciding not to tell anyone about what happened.
But here was, happily handing me my cup like there's nothing wrong. Was I still going crazy? A twin brother, perhaps, not yet knowing of his brother's death? I was standing there akwardly for way too long before uttering the phrase:
"Who... who are you?"
He answered immediately like he had done it thousands of times before.
"It's a me, Mario!" | I stared at him, he stared back. He seemed to almost smile. Then he smiled and he laughed and for the longest time I felt more lost than I'd ever been in my life. He stopped laughing and chuckled a bit before he said "Surprise!" and did the jazz hands thing.
"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Armada, oh wait.. in qui.. wait.. something like that anyway. So, here you are, wonderful you who killed me. You're a nasty sort aren't you? Dragged my bleeding and dismembered body into that lake, then casually drove away and no doubt spent all that time.. yup.. I can see it on your hands, you gave those puppies a good old *scrub* didn't you? Hah! This is fantastic! Look at you, you're like a new man!"
I just stood there and didn't know what to reply. How... how did he .. how? He put down a cup on the counter and motioned to it
"Oh cheer up son, here's a cup of tea to soothe your aching soul. No worries, I'm quite fine.. heheh, better than fine even!"
And he did this little merry dance as his smile impossibly grew wider. I looked down at the tea cup which for some absurd reason seemed to be the most utterly delicious thing ever.
"OK, uh, I think I need to sit down" I said, my head spinning. This all felt so surreal. Being offered a cup of tea, by a barista in a coffee shop. Who'd I'd ran down mere hours ago. Suddenly my stomach groaned loudly.
"Hehe, sure old boy, have yourself a nice sit down in that booth over there, I'll go grab you the most *delicious* piece of steak you've ever sunk your chompers into! Ho-ho!" and off he went into the kitchen.
I felt muted as I sat down in a booth and took a sip from the tea cup. It really was as delicious as I'd imagined. It was the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in my life. I looked up and out he sort of burst from the doors of the kitchen with a steak that made my mouth water.
"Ah, esteemed guest, here you go! The best steak this side of G--- Grant City!" he said and for a second I could see his smile kind of freeze. Very strange. But I still looked down at the impossibly delicious looking steak, it was amazing.
"Oh come now man! Eat up! Be health and merry! Killing people really does make you need a good solid meal you know? Heck, I've killed millons before and boy
\*here he lowered his voice to a lower almost menacing tone\*
"does that make you ever so hungry and.. you know... you might need a companion or two afterwards..."
"But come on! That steaks getting cold and we've got places to be don't we?"
Feeling an odd mix of feelings that this was somehow .. familiar, I took a bite and yes, it was like the best flavor I'd ever had in my mouth.
"This.. this is just fantastic. Thank you." I mumbled out through bites of the steak that just seemed to melt on my tongue. I quickly wolfed it down under the happy glances of my strange benefactor. I finally ate the last piece and sat back, feeling really full. But oddly enough I was still hungry.
He took notice and said "So, sonny boy.. this might be a very strange question, but have you been to any interesting places lately?"
"Nooo... I don't think so.." I replied with an uncertain sense of dread. It was like I knew where this was going. And then something in my mind came loose.
"Wait... you want to ask me about caves don't you? Why do I know that?"
"Yes YES!" the man said and grinned, he adjusted his tie and I noticed his hand went to almost pat a space right next to it on his chest. I *knew* this meant something. But what?
"You've definitely been to a cave recently haven't you? Do you remember where it was? Can you tell me? If you do, I promise I'll completely change your world!"
He giggled to himself a bit and I felt like punching him. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to. Then I realized I'd punched him many times over. In fact, I knew I NEEDED to punch him right then and there.
As my hand connected with his jaw, his face transformed, it became pale and rougher, his hair turned green and I gripped his throat and fought my way up.
"JOKER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"
I tore through the restraints of the gurney he'd secured me too and ripped out the IV pumping god knows what chemicals into my system. The Joker tore away from me and scampered away laughing to himself.
As I got up and cleared the last of the fog in my head I knew that I wasn't going to let him get away with this time.
"You'll never fool me Joker, that was a low trick even for you. But you slipped up, like you always do."
"Ohohohohahahahhahaaha!" came from the shadows around me. "But you were so close Bats! One more steak or maybe even a peach pie would have totally made you want to spill every little secret that you have! But you win this round.. but I'll be baaaaaaack!" and with a giggle that faded into the darkness, I knew he was gone. Again.
I sat down heavily on the gurney again and called Alfred.
"Sir? Are you alright Sir? Me and Robin have been worried sick, you've been gone for days!"
"The Joker dosed me with some kind of drug, I'm going to need to go through decon when I get back home again. I'm fine now, but knowing him, there could be more surprises in store."
"I'm relieved Sir. We'll await you home at the manor."
"Great, and Alfred"
"Yes master?"
"Please prepare a big dinner, I'm really starved."
"Right away Sir."
And with that, I exited the building and sat down in the Batmobile which bore the tell-tale marks of Jokers thugs. As it started and I turned down the street, one of it's wheels rattling, I thought to myself "Yep, that's one of those nights alright." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | We locked eyes, and my blood ran cold. I immediately took a step back, ready to head back out the door, but somehow his glare got even *harder* and I stopped with my foot in midair. Okay, no escape for me. I set my foot back in front of me and shuffled into the line.
Even as I tried to distract myself from the incoming encounter, my eyes kept flicking back to him. Wow, he looked rough. If the situation were different, I'd say he looked like death, but that's not a line of thought I wanted to go down. There was a big red bruise on the left side of his face, spreading over where his face hit the pavement, and one of those big rectangular bandages stuck right under his hairline. For a moment, I imagined him covered in blood, the way he had been last night-- last *night,* when I hit him with my *car--* and felt absolutely sick-- but the line moved forward.
It really was surreal. Just how many hours ago had I been pulling his lifeless body into my back seat? (Oh, no, those stains are going to be rough). I know I was panicking, but I can't have lost track of that much time, right? And yet here he was, behind the counter. He looked bone tired and shaky, but was very much *alive* as he made the lady in front of me her coffee. That wasn't possible. Not by natural means, at least. I *hit him* with my *car.* Now that I was closer to the front, I quickly looked over the packets of sugar to see if they had any with salt.
But then the lady walked away, and it was my turn. I didn't think I would be able to move ahead, but the line behind me pushed me forward. I stumbled a bit, then looked up to see *his* face looking down at me, glaring an intensity that I had never before imagined. He slammed a hand down on the counter, the sound muffled to a *thunk* by the thick cuff of his sweatshirt, and sniffed before leaning forward to say hoarsely,
*"You didn't even check for a f--king pulse, ---hole!"* | I stared at him, he stared back. He seemed to almost smile. Then he smiled and he laughed and for the longest time I felt more lost than I'd ever been in my life. He stopped laughing and chuckled a bit before he said "Surprise!" and did the jazz hands thing.
"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Armada, oh wait.. in qui.. wait.. something like that anyway. So, here you are, wonderful you who killed me. You're a nasty sort aren't you? Dragged my bleeding and dismembered body into that lake, then casually drove away and no doubt spent all that time.. yup.. I can see it on your hands, you gave those puppies a good old *scrub* didn't you? Hah! This is fantastic! Look at you, you're like a new man!"
I just stood there and didn't know what to reply. How... how did he .. how? He put down a cup on the counter and motioned to it
"Oh cheer up son, here's a cup of tea to soothe your aching soul. No worries, I'm quite fine.. heheh, better than fine even!"
And he did this little merry dance as his smile impossibly grew wider. I looked down at the tea cup which for some absurd reason seemed to be the most utterly delicious thing ever.
"OK, uh, I think I need to sit down" I said, my head spinning. This all felt so surreal. Being offered a cup of tea, by a barista in a coffee shop. Who'd I'd ran down mere hours ago. Suddenly my stomach groaned loudly.
"Hehe, sure old boy, have yourself a nice sit down in that booth over there, I'll go grab you the most *delicious* piece of steak you've ever sunk your chompers into! Ho-ho!" and off he went into the kitchen.
I felt muted as I sat down in a booth and took a sip from the tea cup. It really was as delicious as I'd imagined. It was the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in my life. I looked up and out he sort of burst from the doors of the kitchen with a steak that made my mouth water.
"Ah, esteemed guest, here you go! The best steak this side of G--- Grant City!" he said and for a second I could see his smile kind of freeze. Very strange. But I still looked down at the impossibly delicious looking steak, it was amazing.
"Oh come now man! Eat up! Be health and merry! Killing people really does make you need a good solid meal you know? Heck, I've killed millons before and boy
\*here he lowered his voice to a lower almost menacing tone\*
"does that make you ever so hungry and.. you know... you might need a companion or two afterwards..."
"But come on! That steaks getting cold and we've got places to be don't we?"
Feeling an odd mix of feelings that this was somehow .. familiar, I took a bite and yes, it was like the best flavor I'd ever had in my mouth.
"This.. this is just fantastic. Thank you." I mumbled out through bites of the steak that just seemed to melt on my tongue. I quickly wolfed it down under the happy glances of my strange benefactor. I finally ate the last piece and sat back, feeling really full. But oddly enough I was still hungry.
He took notice and said "So, sonny boy.. this might be a very strange question, but have you been to any interesting places lately?"
"Nooo... I don't think so.." I replied with an uncertain sense of dread. It was like I knew where this was going. And then something in my mind came loose.
"Wait... you want to ask me about caves don't you? Why do I know that?"
"Yes YES!" the man said and grinned, he adjusted his tie and I noticed his hand went to almost pat a space right next to it on his chest. I *knew* this meant something. But what?
"You've definitely been to a cave recently haven't you? Do you remember where it was? Can you tell me? If you do, I promise I'll completely change your world!"
He giggled to himself a bit and I felt like punching him. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to. Then I realized I'd punched him many times over. In fact, I knew I NEEDED to punch him right then and there.
As my hand connected with his jaw, his face transformed, it became pale and rougher, his hair turned green and I gripped his throat and fought my way up.
"JOKER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"
I tore through the restraints of the gurney he'd secured me too and ripped out the IV pumping god knows what chemicals into my system. The Joker tore away from me and scampered away laughing to himself.
As I got up and cleared the last of the fog in my head I knew that I wasn't going to let him get away with this time.
"You'll never fool me Joker, that was a low trick even for you. But you slipped up, like you always do."
"Ohohohohahahahhahaaha!" came from the shadows around me. "But you were so close Bats! One more steak or maybe even a peach pie would have totally made you want to spill every little secret that you have! But you win this round.. but I'll be baaaaaaack!" and with a giggle that faded into the darkness, I knew he was gone. Again.
I sat down heavily on the gurney again and called Alfred.
"Sir? Are you alright Sir? Me and Robin have been worried sick, you've been gone for days!"
"The Joker dosed me with some kind of drug, I'm going to need to go through decon when I get back home again. I'm fine now, but knowing him, there could be more surprises in store."
"I'm relieved Sir. We'll await you home at the manor."
"Great, and Alfred"
"Yes master?"
"Please prepare a big dinner, I'm really starved."
"Right away Sir."
And with that, I exited the building and sat down in the Batmobile which bore the tell-tale marks of Jokers thugs. As it started and I turned down the street, one of it's wheels rattling, I thought to myself "Yep, that's one of those nights alright." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I stumbled back in pure awe. Mouth ajar and everything, as my cash fell onto the ground. My skin went ghost white as the barista looked me up and down, then let out a slight sigh through his nostrils. I saw him quickly glance to the phone, then fixed his gaze on me.
"Can I help you, sir?" He'd ask. I'd start stumbling on my words. "O-One h-hot coffee...P-please." I managed to say, sweating. He tapped it into the register as I hopped down and grabbed my change. As I got up to hand it to him, I saw him put cash in the register, then look at me.
"You look stressed. Take a seat and I'll bring you your coffee. On the house." He said. I took a moment to collect half of myself before nodding. I was getting served by a zombie for free. Never thought I would say that sentence and actually mean it.
I went over to a table and took a seat, getting a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiping my brow. What would I say to someone that I killed? Just then, a tray was set in front of me. A coffee, some sugars, a hot chocolate and two brownies. The man sat next to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"You killed me." He said. I was scared pantsless. "I want you to answer a few questions for me. If you don't...I'll call the police." He continued. I nodded, sweating a bit more and about to tear up. He grabbed a napkin and dried my forehead.
"First question. Did you mean it...?" He asked me. I shook my head. "No...I didn't. I was stupid and looked at my phone. I had gotten a text." I explained.
"Now I have another question. Why? Why did you look at your phone?" He asked. I sighed. "It was my doctor. Something happened to my brother and he's in hospital. We're great friends and I wanted the doctors to keep me updated." I explained. I felt a bit calmer now. He looked a bit sorry for me.
"Next question. Do you regret it? Would you go back to that moment and change it...?" He asked. At that point, I broke down. "Yes...I-I-I would...I don't wanna be a c-criminal..." I said, crying my eyes out. He dried my tears.
"...Final question. Do you need a hug?" He asked. At that moment I looked up at him and immediately hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and patted my back. "I'll be brutally honest with you. This isn't the first time I died." He said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of 4 lines across his arm like a ladder. "Apparently, everyone's really clumsy. I died from a construction accident, a night out gone wrong, an elevator breaking and...a car accident." He said before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. "I tell ya...It isn't my time to go. I still got objectives to do, a family to care about. Apparently Heaven's Receptionist is a real softie. I die one more time, I get a free coffee mug!" He continued before chuckling.
I was starting to feel better. "So...You're not angry or annoyed at me? You're not going to call the police?" I asked. He shook his head.
"You were preoccupied with your brother. I don't blame you. We gotta care for our families. I can tell ya, though...When you're me, dieing then reviving the next day is like getting drunk. You wake up with a massive hangover." He explained. "No hard feelings?" He asked.
"...Yeah. No hard feelings. You got a name, man...?" I'd ask. He smirked. "Angus. Angus McCloud." He said. I introduced myself and we shook hands.
We finished our drink and snacks and I bid him farewell.
That was 3 years ago and we're still friends. I treat him to dinner occasionally and he was the best man at my wedding. He's considered a family friend now. We invite him over every Christmas and he has the free Heaven Mug every time he's over.
Last new years, I pulled him aside and we had some hot chocolate while watching the countdown, having a good discussion. I mentioned that my brother was healthy and living in Nevada with some virtual wife named Ashlyn. He chuckled, but seemed a bit down. That's when he dropped the bomb.
"...I don't have any objectives any more...The next time I die, it'll be for good." He said. I was taken aback. He gave me his Heaven Mug, placing it on my lap. "Keep it. And remember me. I may not be alive much longer..." He continued. And so, we watched the countdown in silence.
He died in the next month from natural causes. Since then, I switched from coffee to hot chocolate. Speaking of which...
...I need one right now. | I stared at him, he stared back. He seemed to almost smile. Then he smiled and he laughed and for the longest time I felt more lost than I'd ever been in my life. He stopped laughing and chuckled a bit before he said "Surprise!" and did the jazz hands thing.
"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Armada, oh wait.. in qui.. wait.. something like that anyway. So, here you are, wonderful you who killed me. You're a nasty sort aren't you? Dragged my bleeding and dismembered body into that lake, then casually drove away and no doubt spent all that time.. yup.. I can see it on your hands, you gave those puppies a good old *scrub* didn't you? Hah! This is fantastic! Look at you, you're like a new man!"
I just stood there and didn't know what to reply. How... how did he .. how? He put down a cup on the counter and motioned to it
"Oh cheer up son, here's a cup of tea to soothe your aching soul. No worries, I'm quite fine.. heheh, better than fine even!"
And he did this little merry dance as his smile impossibly grew wider. I looked down at the tea cup which for some absurd reason seemed to be the most utterly delicious thing ever.
"OK, uh, I think I need to sit down" I said, my head spinning. This all felt so surreal. Being offered a cup of tea, by a barista in a coffee shop. Who'd I'd ran down mere hours ago. Suddenly my stomach groaned loudly.
"Hehe, sure old boy, have yourself a nice sit down in that booth over there, I'll go grab you the most *delicious* piece of steak you've ever sunk your chompers into! Ho-ho!" and off he went into the kitchen.
I felt muted as I sat down in a booth and took a sip from the tea cup. It really was as delicious as I'd imagined. It was the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in my life. I looked up and out he sort of burst from the doors of the kitchen with a steak that made my mouth water.
"Ah, esteemed guest, here you go! The best steak this side of G--- Grant City!" he said and for a second I could see his smile kind of freeze. Very strange. But I still looked down at the impossibly delicious looking steak, it was amazing.
"Oh come now man! Eat up! Be health and merry! Killing people really does make you need a good solid meal you know? Heck, I've killed millons before and boy
\*here he lowered his voice to a lower almost menacing tone\*
"does that make you ever so hungry and.. you know... you might need a companion or two afterwards..."
"But come on! That steaks getting cold and we've got places to be don't we?"
Feeling an odd mix of feelings that this was somehow .. familiar, I took a bite and yes, it was like the best flavor I'd ever had in my mouth.
"This.. this is just fantastic. Thank you." I mumbled out through bites of the steak that just seemed to melt on my tongue. I quickly wolfed it down under the happy glances of my strange benefactor. I finally ate the last piece and sat back, feeling really full. But oddly enough I was still hungry.
He took notice and said "So, sonny boy.. this might be a very strange question, but have you been to any interesting places lately?"
"Nooo... I don't think so.." I replied with an uncertain sense of dread. It was like I knew where this was going. And then something in my mind came loose.
"Wait... you want to ask me about caves don't you? Why do I know that?"
"Yes YES!" the man said and grinned, he adjusted his tie and I noticed his hand went to almost pat a space right next to it on his chest. I *knew* this meant something. But what?
"You've definitely been to a cave recently haven't you? Do you remember where it was? Can you tell me? If you do, I promise I'll completely change your world!"
He giggled to himself a bit and I felt like punching him. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to. Then I realized I'd punched him many times over. In fact, I knew I NEEDED to punch him right then and there.
As my hand connected with his jaw, his face transformed, it became pale and rougher, his hair turned green and I gripped his throat and fought my way up.
"JOKER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"
I tore through the restraints of the gurney he'd secured me too and ripped out the IV pumping god knows what chemicals into my system. The Joker tore away from me and scampered away laughing to himself.
As I got up and cleared the last of the fog in my head I knew that I wasn't going to let him get away with this time.
"You'll never fool me Joker, that was a low trick even for you. But you slipped up, like you always do."
"Ohohohohahahahhahaaha!" came from the shadows around me. "But you were so close Bats! One more steak or maybe even a peach pie would have totally made you want to spill every little secret that you have! But you win this round.. but I'll be baaaaaaack!" and with a giggle that faded into the darkness, I knew he was gone. Again.
I sat down heavily on the gurney again and called Alfred.
"Sir? Are you alright Sir? Me and Robin have been worried sick, you've been gone for days!"
"The Joker dosed me with some kind of drug, I'm going to need to go through decon when I get back home again. I'm fine now, but knowing him, there could be more surprises in store."
"I'm relieved Sir. We'll await you home at the manor."
"Great, and Alfred"
"Yes master?"
"Please prepare a big dinner, I'm really starved."
"Right away Sir."
And with that, I exited the building and sat down in the Batmobile which bore the tell-tale marks of Jokers thugs. As it started and I turned down the street, one of it's wheels rattling, I thought to myself "Yep, that's one of those nights alright." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | We locked eyes, and my blood ran cold. I immediately took a step back, ready to head back out the door, but somehow his glare got even *harder* and I stopped with my foot in midair. Okay, no escape for me. I set my foot back in front of me and shuffled into the line.
Even as I tried to distract myself from the incoming encounter, my eyes kept flicking back to him. Wow, he looked rough. If the situation were different, I'd say he looked like death, but that's not a line of thought I wanted to go down. There was a big red bruise on the left side of his face, spreading over where his face hit the pavement, and one of those big rectangular bandages stuck right under his hairline. For a moment, I imagined him covered in blood, the way he had been last night-- last *night,* when I hit him with my *car--* and felt absolutely sick-- but the line moved forward.
It really was surreal. Just how many hours ago had I been pulling his lifeless body into my back seat? (Oh, no, those stains are going to be rough). I know I was panicking, but I can't have lost track of that much time, right? And yet here he was, behind the counter. He looked bone tired and shaky, but was very much *alive* as he made the lady in front of me her coffee. That wasn't possible. Not by natural means, at least. I *hit him* with my *car.* Now that I was closer to the front, I quickly looked over the packets of sugar to see if they had any with salt.
But then the lady walked away, and it was my turn. I didn't think I would be able to move ahead, but the line behind me pushed me forward. I stumbled a bit, then looked up to see *his* face looking down at me, glaring an intensity that I had never before imagined. He slammed a hand down on the counter, the sound muffled to a *thunk* by the thick cuff of his sweatshirt, and sniffed before leaning forward to say hoarsely,
*"You didn't even check for a f--king pulse, ---hole!"* | I try to avert his gaze, but his penetrating stare paralyzes me. After what feels like an eternity, he slides the mug across the counter, leaning towards me, and quietly whispers...
"I've seen your face before my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am.
Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes.
So you can wipe off that grin. I know where you've been.
It's all been a pack of lies." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I stumbled back in pure awe. Mouth ajar and everything, as my cash fell onto the ground. My skin went ghost white as the barista looked me up and down, then let out a slight sigh through his nostrils. I saw him quickly glance to the phone, then fixed his gaze on me.
"Can I help you, sir?" He'd ask. I'd start stumbling on my words. "O-One h-hot coffee...P-please." I managed to say, sweating. He tapped it into the register as I hopped down and grabbed my change. As I got up to hand it to him, I saw him put cash in the register, then look at me.
"You look stressed. Take a seat and I'll bring you your coffee. On the house." He said. I took a moment to collect half of myself before nodding. I was getting served by a zombie for free. Never thought I would say that sentence and actually mean it.
I went over to a table and took a seat, getting a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiping my brow. What would I say to someone that I killed? Just then, a tray was set in front of me. A coffee, some sugars, a hot chocolate and two brownies. The man sat next to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"You killed me." He said. I was scared pantsless. "I want you to answer a few questions for me. If you don't...I'll call the police." He continued. I nodded, sweating a bit more and about to tear up. He grabbed a napkin and dried my forehead.
"First question. Did you mean it...?" He asked me. I shook my head. "No...I didn't. I was stupid and looked at my phone. I had gotten a text." I explained.
"Now I have another question. Why? Why did you look at your phone?" He asked. I sighed. "It was my doctor. Something happened to my brother and he's in hospital. We're great friends and I wanted the doctors to keep me updated." I explained. I felt a bit calmer now. He looked a bit sorry for me.
"Next question. Do you regret it? Would you go back to that moment and change it...?" He asked. At that point, I broke down. "Yes...I-I-I would...I don't wanna be a c-criminal..." I said, crying my eyes out. He dried my tears.
"...Final question. Do you need a hug?" He asked. At that moment I looked up at him and immediately hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and patted my back. "I'll be brutally honest with you. This isn't the first time I died." He said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of 4 lines across his arm like a ladder. "Apparently, everyone's really clumsy. I died from a construction accident, a night out gone wrong, an elevator breaking and...a car accident." He said before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. "I tell ya...It isn't my time to go. I still got objectives to do, a family to care about. Apparently Heaven's Receptionist is a real softie. I die one more time, I get a free coffee mug!" He continued before chuckling.
I was starting to feel better. "So...You're not angry or annoyed at me? You're not going to call the police?" I asked. He shook his head.
"You were preoccupied with your brother. I don't blame you. We gotta care for our families. I can tell ya, though...When you're me, dieing then reviving the next day is like getting drunk. You wake up with a massive hangover." He explained. "No hard feelings?" He asked.
"...Yeah. No hard feelings. You got a name, man...?" I'd ask. He smirked. "Angus. Angus McCloud." He said. I introduced myself and we shook hands.
We finished our drink and snacks and I bid him farewell.
That was 3 years ago and we're still friends. I treat him to dinner occasionally and he was the best man at my wedding. He's considered a family friend now. We invite him over every Christmas and he has the free Heaven Mug every time he's over.
Last new years, I pulled him aside and we had some hot chocolate while watching the countdown, having a good discussion. I mentioned that my brother was healthy and living in Nevada with some virtual wife named Ashlyn. He chuckled, but seemed a bit down. That's when he dropped the bomb.
"...I don't have any objectives any more...The next time I die, it'll be for good." He said. I was taken aback. He gave me his Heaven Mug, placing it on my lap. "Keep it. And remember me. I may not be alive much longer..." He continued. And so, we watched the countdown in silence.
He died in the next month from natural causes. Since then, I switched from coffee to hot chocolate. Speaking of which...
...I need one right now. | I try to avert his gaze, but his penetrating stare paralyzes me. After what feels like an eternity, he slides the mug across the counter, leaning towards me, and quietly whispers...
"I've seen your face before my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am.
Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes.
So you can wipe off that grin. I know where you've been.
It's all been a pack of lies." | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | He smiled. That was the worst part I think. It wasn't smug or cold, it was warm and understanding. Somehow, that made it so much worse than if he simply hated me. I sat gripping the mug of black coffee, brewed to absolute perfection while trying not to look back at the counter. Hours passed and my coffee grew cold. Not that it mattered any since I hadn't even touched it.
I looked back at the counter again and accidentally made eye contact. He smiled again, politely, and helped the next customer, but all I could see was his mangled body stuck to the front of my bumper. His arms twisted in their sockets around backwards; his legs a chewed up mess from the slide and his face an unrecognizable mash of flesh. I quickly turned away and stared at my coffee. Why? Why did I do it?
"Oh, my feet hurt, but it looks like there's a break in the action." I nearly jumped out of my seat at his voice as he lowered himself into the seat across from me. "You should drink some coffee, you had a rough night last night." He reached across the table and touched my mug on the rim, causing the coffee to steam once again. He winked. "Drink it while it's hot."
I moved my mouth, but words refused to come out. It didn't help that I still couldn't get that image out of my head.
"Hey now, don't feel so bad. You're not the first person to kill me, or try anyway. I give you full marks for getting close though, that water was *freezing*, I tell you what." He grinned, but it faded when he saw I wasn't laughing.
"Alright, I guess I have some explaining to do. First off, as you can guess, I'm immortal. I'm sure you figured that out on your own, but I might as well confirm it. Second, ignore the nametag, my name isn't Todd. My name is Adranos, Sicilian God of Fire, at your service. Well, I *was* their God of Fire a long time ago, but times change. Now I'm Adranos, coffee brewer extraordinaire." He made a flourish with his hand and bowed his head in an exaggerated fashion.
"Geez. Tough crowd. Look, don't feel so down, I hate to see a pretty face look so sad and, disgusted? Is that disgust? Am I that bad looking. Come on I might be over twenty thousand years old, but I think I've aged well."
He was right. He didnt look a day over twenty and under different circumstances, I may have asked for his number. I was a sucker for redheads and he was definitely a looker, but I still felt like he should be yelling at me. Trying to kill me maybe; anything other than this easy going aura he had. My mouth finally made a word form.
"Why?" I croaked out, quieter than I intended, but he heard it all the same.
"Why don't I hate you? Easy. Life is far too long to fret over the little things. So you tried to kill me. My wife has tried to kill me at least a dozen times in the past decade. Though, if you meet her, don't tell her you tried to kill me, she's *very* protective of me. Seems to think I'm too soft on people. Pish posh I say. You humans are too unique and young to kill over something so small as attempted murder. You regret it don't you?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"I know you do. You haven't been able to look me in the eye without flinching. Yesterday is going to stick with you for the rest of your life; there's no getting around it. You're going to have nightmares about it for years to come and even months of therapy probably won't undo the psychological trauma from that event. But don't worry, there's a point to my rambling. You humans have a remarkable ability to keep moving. I've fought in wars, hunted with tribes and even leveled entire civilizations in my time, but not once have I been able to crush the human will. You will grow from this. You'll be stronger and better from it and years down the line, you may be able to forgive yourself for it. If it makes it any easier, just know that I've already forgiven you."
I pondered his words as I stared at the table and wondered if I ever really could forgive myself. But he was right. I learned a valuable lesson from it and I knew I'd be better for it.
"And seriously, drink your coffee! I'm telling you, its fucking delicious. I've been making coffee since it was invented. You think I'm gonna brew a bad cup of coffee after all this time?" He tapped my mug again and went back to the counter to help the customers who had walked in. After a few hours, and a truly delicious cup of coffee, I stood shakily to my feet and started walking home. "Oh, by the way." He called after me out the door, "I was serious about my wife. If you meet her, tell her we met at the coffee shop. She will actually kill you if she hears about this. Have a good day!" | I try to avert his gaze, but his penetrating stare paralyzes me. After what feels like an eternity, he slides the mug across the counter, leaning towards me, and quietly whispers...
"I've seen your face before my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am.
Well I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes.
So you can wipe off that grin. I know where you've been.
It's all been a pack of lies." | |
[WP] You discover a fantasy scoring system hidden on the internet. It includes every person on earth and tracks every possible statistic. Average time brushing teeth, total homicidal thoughts, net worth, hugs initiated; the data is endless. Humanity is a sport. Earth is the arena. But for who? | I clicked around on the site, it was 3 A.M. too late to be on the internet, but I had found something. A sort of scoring system, a tracker, a sheet; filled with endless amounts of knowledge and information on every single person on earth. You could type in any name and you would find hundreds of thousands of lines of information on a single person, for 8 billion people.
It's strange.
A slight ding emitted from the speakers.
I had gotten a message.
"Hello"
I didn't know who this was, who it could be.
"You've found out too much, son."
I hadn't responded, how did he know what I was-
"Child, we know everything, I can hear you think."
Figures.
"You've done well finding this; I admit that much. However, we cannot have such information out to the public. You should know that."
I was never a religious person, but I could sure use a blessing right now.
"However you are proven worthy of a role in this story. You live for now, but if you ever tell anyone about what you saw, the human race's extinction is on your hands."
A year passed. I had gotten together after that experience, I have a girlfriend, a dog, a roof over my head. Life was good.
My girlfriend and I were taking the dog for a walk when something happened.
A loud, booming voice came over every speaker, intercom and electronic on earth.
One voice spoke 2 words that would forever change the course of history.
"Roll initiative."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is my first story on here, sorry if it's a bit bad. | We used to laugh at jokes of *Big Brother*. We used to have talk shows debating the *existence* of life outside our planet. We used to trust the media. Then we called it *fake news*. And then we trusted it again. We used to trust the social media giants. Then we called them *invasive*. And then we trusted them again. We used to say *more* information is better. Then we got scared. And then we got complacent.
I always believed in the good of information. Statistical data sets could draw conclusions and assumptions about whatever we chose to accumulate it for. It’s hard to argue with numbers, and the more, *the better*.
Or so we thought.
This was all before *The Leak*. It came days before the 2020 U.S. Election. Statistics posted by an anonymous source, with charts of means, medians, and correlations for any characteristic, thought, or *action* you could think of.
Not only did someone know *who we were* and *what we did,* but they went as far as to post charts *comparing* all of our data. All *8 billion* of us. The world got picked apart overnight. Widespread paranoia was followed by total deletion. We went *offline.*
Some people shouted, “Aliens!” And others claimed government collusion. Most of the world pointed at America, who in return, pointed at Russia. The culprit wasn’t clear, but the *motive* was.
8 billion, 123 million, 343 thousand people and rising. Maybe you can guess whose name was on the *bottom*.
EDIT: Grammar | |
[WP] You discover a fantasy scoring system hidden on the internet. It includes every person on earth and tracks every possible statistic. Average time brushing teeth, total homicidal thoughts, net worth, hugs initiated; the data is endless. Humanity is a sport. Earth is the arena. But for who? | The only sound in the room was the whirr of the old air-conditioner, struggling to cool and keep the tropical weather out. A tomcat lay in the corner, snoring away in good kitty land. The only source of light in the room was from the computer screen, illuminating a poorly maintained room. There were clothes strewn everywhere on the floor, on the bed, underneath the tomcat, pictures of now disbanded bands adorned the walls, in front of the monitor was a large ashtray whose contents were spilling out and an empty mug with a now dried tea-bag. The man who was sitting in front of the computer was lying back in his chair, looking up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan. He played a tune from his childhood in his head, his fingers tapping the beat on the armrest of the chair. The air conditioner sputtered, choking like a dying man on his last breath. A vestige of the days when his family used to have money.
He reached for the packet of cigarettes on the desk, lighting one, as he inhaled the fumes he looked at the screen. The data kept coming in, it was an ever-changing field. He was incredulous at first when he had stumbled on to the site. It had been a regular Friday night, he had finished his last freelance assignment and had nothing to do for the rest of the night. He had found a thread on the conspiracy subreddit that talked about the government's massive surveillance program. The thread had long since been deleted and a back search of the user turned up nothing. He had followed the bread-crumbs from the thread, leading him to several websites, one of which was advertising sexual services, and had finally landed in an IRC channel, where there was only one other participant, whose nickname was - TheAd_juicator. The Judge? Why would someone name themselves as the Judge, the Judge of what?
Before he could type out a question to the other person in the chat, he saw that they were typing.
"Hello, Vikram." The message screen read.
His body reacted faster than his mind did. His breathing started to get increasingly quicker, a small shiver made its way through his body, starting from his head and reaching his foot. His mouth began to dry up, he tried to swallow, to get something down his throat to get rid of the choking sensation. Then came the pain, the pain of all the emotions that he had suppressed fighting their way to the surface, the pain which felt like it was physically constricting his heart. He wanted to tear at his face, to get rid of it. He wanted something, anything, to stop the pain. The walls of his room, his safe place, began to feel like the walls of a prison. He felt like the walls were closing in around him, choking him to death from within. He began to feel a presence around him, an unnamed and unseen entity who was watching him, judging him. He turned around to look around the place, even though he knew that it was just brain working on over time. His sane mind, which was slowly being swallowed by sounds of screaming and an increasing throbbing in his head, told him that it was only his anxiety which was acting up. His body started to release massive amounts of adrenaline to fight the threat that his brain perceived he was facing. He began to tremble, his fingers curling, his muscles tightening. He fell down from his chair, startling his cat. He groped his way around in the semi-darkness of his room towards his panic attack sos medicines. He tore open the medicine from the blister pack, the force of which caused two capsules to drop on the floor. He chewed four capsules as was instructed by his doctor and began to count his breathing, backward from one hundred. He sniffled, the part of his brain which had still not been wrecked couldn't understand why. He brought his hand to his face and found it wet. He had been crying, not too loudly he hoped.
The medicine worked, his breathing started to come under control. His clothes had become stuck to his body, the cool air in the room causing him to shiver. The room started to develop the lost familiarity. He gazed at the walls, trying to get his thoughts under order, to figure out what his next step should be. His cat had found him after he had collapsed and had curled into a little furball in his lap. He stroked his fur, thinking of all the possible reasons as to why a random internet stranger would know his name. He knew that none of his friends were technically proficient enough to plan this elaborate prank, if it was one. Which meant it was someone who knew him, but someone he did not know. He thanked his meds as the thought of having a stalker wound its way through his thought process. He knew that the stalker was not malicious, else he wouldn't have come forward this way, which meant this might be a form of misplaced affection. He could work with that, he could find the stalker the help he/she needed if that was the case. If that wasn't the case, then the stalker was a predator who wanted him to know that they knew him. He gently removed his cat from his lap and got up. Moving towards the computer he felt a sense of duty. He was going to confront them head-on.
"Hello," He typed back.
He saw that they were typing as soon as he had hit send.
"Sorry."
"For what?"
"For inducing a panic attack. Your medicines are strong, you will not be having one now."
The fear was back, telling him to run, telling him that this was a back idea. But, the medicines worked as intended and made him push forward.
"Who are you?"
"Ah. Yes."
A short pause before they resumed.
"I do not know how to introduce myself to you. Simply put, I am the Adjudicator."
"The adjudicator of what?"
"Of Humanity."
"What?" was all he could ask, it was a question that contained within it numerous questions that were forming every passing minute.
"I Judge humanity. I do not see what is so difficult to understand."
"Are you a terrorist?"
"I am not."
"An Anarchist?"
"I am not."
"A civil liberty fighter, a whistleblower, a journalist?"
"I am none of those things Vikram."
Seeing his name be read back to him gave him a shudder. Was the dosage not enough, he wondered.
"Then what are you? How do you know me?"
"I told you what I am, I am an adjudicator. As to how I know you, I have known you since you were born, You are special, did you know that? And not in the 'you are special' that has permeated every single form of media these days. No, you are special in the true way. It has been so long since I have met someone like you. Too long."
Vikram felt that the man, for he was sure that the user on the other end was a man, might be mentally unstable.
"How do you Judge humanity?" When you are stumped by the suspect ask him questions from answers he has already given, he remembered that line from one of those legal dramas that he had binged watched.
"I can't tell you my answer, rather I will show it to you. Please don't get alarmed. I will switch the screen back to the chat when you are satisfied with my answer."
Before Vikram could type - "What," into the chatbox, the room disappeared along with everything on his screen. The only thing he could see was a blinking cursor in the middle of the screen. He pushed the enter key on his keyboard, Immediately his screen was filled with numbers. Numbers that kept changing by the minute.
At first, he did not understand what he was seeing. Then slowly the numbers started to get a string of letters preceding it, details of what the numbers correspond to, as he read it he felt a cold shiver go down his spine. In front of him were numbers of people, the sum existence of humankind.
Numbers of people sleeping, who were awake, who were fucking, who were eating, who were pooping, who were dying, who were being born, who were being loved. It was like the statistic book of the entire human race in front of him. Like someone was keeping score of the human race.
_________________________
Contd. | We used to laugh at jokes of *Big Brother*. We used to have talk shows debating the *existence* of life outside our planet. We used to trust the media. Then we called it *fake news*. And then we trusted it again. We used to trust the social media giants. Then we called them *invasive*. And then we trusted them again. We used to say *more* information is better. Then we got scared. And then we got complacent.
I always believed in the good of information. Statistical data sets could draw conclusions and assumptions about whatever we chose to accumulate it for. It’s hard to argue with numbers, and the more, *the better*.
Or so we thought.
This was all before *The Leak*. It came days before the 2020 U.S. Election. Statistics posted by an anonymous source, with charts of means, medians, and correlations for any characteristic, thought, or *action* you could think of.
Not only did someone know *who we were* and *what we did,* but they went as far as to post charts *comparing* all of our data. All *8 billion* of us. The world got picked apart overnight. Widespread paranoia was followed by total deletion. We went *offline.*
Some people shouted, “Aliens!” And others claimed government collusion. Most of the world pointed at America, who in return, pointed at Russia. The culprit wasn’t clear, but the *motive* was.
8 billion, 123 million, 343 thousand people and rising. Maybe you can guess whose name was on the *bottom*.
EDIT: Grammar | |
[WP] You’re a cat who loves their owner so much that after dying, in all of your remaining eight lives you seek out your original owner to live with. | I don't have a story to share, but this prompt really got to me. I lost my best friend after 19 years together. I have wished and honestly prayed that her spirit would come back and I'd find her again. To help distract me from the pain, I adopted another cat 4 days later. I only got 2 1/2 years with him before he was diagnosed with an enlarged heart and had to be let go to ease his suffering. I loved him and he did help me deal with the loss of my baby girl. Losing him last week has really opened up that wound and I've been missing her terribly. I'm about to read through the submissions and I am prepared for the tears they will bring. I won't give up on my hope that I do find her again one day, that she is reborn and back in my arms. | Danny was the best owner in the whole world. I had to find him. I’d lost him when I wandered too far from home. Getting run over by a truck didn’t help either.
What they don’t tell you about a cat’s nine lives is that they aren’t lived out in the same body. It’s just one of those things where the meaning evolved over time. Cats are actually one of the only being in the universe that truly experience reincarnation.
When I got big enough to leave my second mom, I set off to find Danny. After looking him up, I was thankful to see he hadn’t moved, and I was just across the pond from him. It was too late that I realized I would be unable to swim the Atlantic.
My third mom must have thought I wouldn’t survive long because she ate me shortly after I was born. My fourth mom was much nicer. The neighbor’s dog was not.
I’d rather not talk about lives 5, 6, and 7. They were…embarrassing to say the least. Eighth time is the charm, though, right? That’s how it seemed for a time at least. I’d managed to make it to Danny’s front door. I was worried he wouldn’t recognize me. I was orange when he had me. Would he know it was me through the grey fur?
It didn’t matter, because a fucking hawk snatched me up from the porch. It’s not fun being eaten.
Now I only have one life left. Nothing will stop me this time! I am orange again, so I lucked out there. I feel a lot stronger this time, and everyone seems a little smaller than before. And now that I’m grown up enough to go find Danny I also have these nice big teeth and claws to fend off any dogs or hawks. I plan on heading out to find him tonight when security dies down around here.
I just hope that, when I can find a map, Danny doesn’t live far from the San Diego Zoo. | |
[WP] You’re a cat who loves their owner so much that after dying, in all of your remaining eight lives you seek out your original owner to live with. | I was finally there... This time, getting to my owners home was far more difficult than ever before, as I was reborn on another continent, but I was finally there! The old street looked just the way I remembered it from back when I was still a kitten for my first time. The old house still stood there, with a familiar vehicle parked in front of it. When, that meant he did not move houses in the meantime.
I jumped over a fence, landing in the garden. I looked over the green place where I have spent the happiest moments in all my six lives so far. The grass, the pavement heated up by sun... everything I remembered was there. Everything, and a fat white cat just laying there like he owned the place. Then, he noticed me.
"Hey! Get out of here, this is where MY bald monkey lives!"
No. No. "OK, calm down,..." I thought to myself, "maybe Matt moved..."
"What is their name?"
"Matt something, who cares?"
"Matt Newman?"
"Yep, that is probably it. Still, who cares? Now go away." said the new cat with an uninterested voice, and started to walk towards the house. Then, he froze in realisation. "Wait... how the hell did you know that name?"
"I´ve lived with him for six lives"
"Odd, what is a chance to be found by the same person six times."
"He didn´t find me. I found him. I ran away from my owners, just to find him. Nobody can replace my Matt."
The white cat seemd to think for a moment. Then, he looked at me again.
"OMFG Cleo?"
My name was not Cleo. Well, not in THIS life at least.
"I´m Felix! From your fourth life, I think! We grew up in a household with three hyper kids! You were always rambling about your first owner Matt, how you found him in your previous lives and how you are going to do it again!"
Felix... my brother from my fourth life. There was no way I was mistaken for some other cat. Everything he said was true. I love people, but I still have nightmares about those three little menaces.
"Yes, that was me! By the way, it´s Molly now, but feel free to call me Cleo if you want"
"Well, my name´s Snow now, but the same applies to you and using the name Felix"
"So, would you have a problem with me staying here if Matt decides so?"
"With a stranger cat, yes. With a proven other-life sibling, not at all!"
Matt suddenly opened the front door, probably curious what was all the meowing about. I quickly ran inside. I bet this is going to go as usuall: he will post photos of me just in case I was a lost cat, nobody is going to call, and I will get to spend another of my lives with my Matt. This time, with Felix as well. | All My Lives:
Desserts. Tundras. Savannahs. Beaches. Forests. Cities. I’ve been through them all. It’s not easy crossing the world when you’re a cat. It doesn’t matter - I’ll do anything to get back to my owner. They are the only person that matters, and nothing will stop me. Nothing will stop me… This may be my final life I’m about to use up, but nothing will stop me. Not even death. I can’t let it - I can’t let my owner be sad... | |
[WP] You’re a cat who loves their owner so much that after dying, in all of your remaining eight lives you seek out your original owner to live with. | Two passed quickly.
Three was wonderful, but not as fulfilling as the first.
Four is something that I try not to think about.
Five and Six were both long, but neither of them came even close to my third life and it was my first that I want to get back to.
Seven isn't as lucky as the name implies.
It was when I was in my eighth life that I found him. He came into the prison I was in and walked right past me. Nothing could have been more heartbreaking to me and I let out a wail that seemed to have stopped him in his tracks. I was just a kitten and I knew he didn't like kittens before. Why did it have to be now?
He came back to my cage and spoke to the person that was kind and fed me every day. It was then that the cage was opened and he held me close to his face and asked me that question that he asked me so many times. "Hey buddy, you happy to see me?" I could not help myself, I did what I always did. I licked the tip of his nose and he started crying. I don't know what I did wrong to make him cry. But it was how he held me close and when I heard my old name again I knew I was finally going home again.
I don't know how many years have passed, but this was the moment that I waited so very long for. It has been literally years and in my first life with him I lived to the age of 15.
I've heard the rumors from other cats that humans believe that we live 15 years in our first year of life. 10 more in the second and then 4 years after that. But the reality is that time passes for us the same way it does for everyone else. Humans just try to comprehend how we can mature so quickly in our first two years of life. Even I don't know, but I have another life to figure that out. All I know is that we can't be alive during another life.
I thought about all of the years that have passed for me since my first. In my fifth life I lived until I was 19. In my sixth life I only lived until I was 12. So needless to say, being in my eighth life meant it has been closer to 40 years since we last met. But he is the one I've searched for all of my lives and the one I've loved since my first life with him.
The most amazing part was when he got me home. He has had a family since our time together. Growing up with him was amazing, but now there are children to deal with. I don't like children like he doesn't like kittens. He gave me a chance so I guess I will give them one.
His oldest is a girl and she is the sweetest thing. Almost as wonderful to me as her father. His second oldest child was a different story. But a few good scratches taught that boy a lesson. The youngest child seemed somehow familiar to me. There was something about the way she held me that reminded me of someone else. It wasn't until my ninth year in my latest life that I realized who it was. It was number four.
I mentioned before that I wouldn't talk about this and I still refuse to. I know nothing I do now will change what happens, but it was her. Maybe I'll be ready to talk about it in my ninth life. I just know that I have to make her happy for the time that we have together. If it wasn't for how it ended... well, there is nothing that can prepare you for it. At least now I know where all the love came from. She learned it from her dad. I just wish I could tell her the future so that they could be better prepared for it.
This life passed even better than my first. I have never known love like his and I'm glad that I could bring joy to two of the greatest humans I have ever known. But nothing will ever prepare me for what came in my ninth life. It seems that once we get passed our hang ups we do not always come back as a cat. Weird right? | All My Lives:
Desserts. Tundras. Savannahs. Beaches. Forests. Cities. I’ve been through them all. It’s not easy crossing the world when you’re a cat. It doesn’t matter - I’ll do anything to get back to my owner. They are the only person that matters, and nothing will stop me. Nothing will stop me… This may be my final life I’m about to use up, but nothing will stop me. Not even death. I can’t let it - I can’t let my owner be sad... | |
[WP] You’re a cat who loves their owner so much that after dying, in all of your remaining eight lives you seek out your original owner to live with. | Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. | Callie Henderson.
Her name is Callie Henderson. She was my owner’s little daughter and my best friend. I was rather old when she came along, but she became so attached to me, that I dedicated my remaining three years to keep her happy.
And then, when she was three, I died from cancer.
That was life number one.
Now I’m on my second life, seven left to go.
I woke in a cold place, and in a matter of minutes, my life was over.
I was frozen, born to a dying mother in a cold, cold forest.
Life three. I made it for a while, and I almost made it to Callie’s house, but I got struck by a car.
Callie is fifteen now, and I have to find her.
Life four, coyotes when I was a kitten.
Life five, shot by pellets and died of infection.
Life six, I was born too far away from Callie, and I starved to death.
Life seven, life seven was probably my hardest to leave.
That’s when I met Alexander and Bryan.
Those two had adopted kitten me three days after they got married, saying if they can’t raise a child, they can raise a kitten. The two of them gave me a life of luxury, pampering, little hats, and Fancy Feast. And it was the happiest I had been in six lives. No matter how happy I was, Callie was always the center of my attention.
And as I died from old age, in Bryan’s warm arms, I thought of Callie.
As my eighth life began, thoughts of Callie began to flood my mind. I spent my eighth life trying to find out as much as I could about Callie.
But that didn’t happen, as I starved to death again.
Life nine. I have to do this.
Luckily, I was born in the same city as Callie, and I remembered the route I took to get to her home in Life three.
Dodging car after car, I finally made it to the two-story house. The little pink flowers that dotted the bushes in the front yard. Quickly, I ran up to the door and began to scratch it.
The sound of thumping feet got me excited. I could finally see Callie again! Get to cuddle with her again! Feel her warmth on my back!
The door freaked open, and a little boy stood at the door.
“You’re not Callie.” I said. But all the boy heard was a meow.
“Hi kitty.” He giggled, reaching to pick me up.
I was scared. This isn’t Callie! What should I do! I don’t want to harm this child but I’m so scared.
“Oscar, honey! Who’s at the door?” A voice asked from another room.
“Mommy! I found a kitty!”
The mommy walked out. She didn’t look familiar, her hair was blonde and her eyes were brown, like Callie, but her face wasn’t Callie’s.
“You’re not Callie! Who are you?” I yelled. But they only heard meows.
“Oh, honey! Don’t pick up that cat, it might have germs! Give it to me!” She reached over to pick me up.
She began to walk to the door, and put me down.
“I’m sorry, little buddy, you must be so scared.” She scratched me behind the ears and patted me on the back.
“Where’s Callie?!” I begged. Meows, once again.
She looked to my neck for a collar.
“Huh, no collar.”
I was so confused and scared. I just wanted to go lay down in Callie’s bed! I just want to cuddle with Callie! I just want to see Callie!
So I ran. I ran into the woman’s house, and into Callie’s room.
But it didn’t look like her room. Her room was pink, this room was an ugly beige, who even likes beige? I ran into the corner, where my bed should’ve been, and lied down.
I was so sad, I just wanted to see Callie.
So I started to cry. And cry I did.
The woman ran in and looked at me.
“What are you doing? Get out! No cats!”
I ignored her and kept crying.
“Shoo! Get out!”
I stopped crying, and looked deep into her eyes.
I should’ve realized it sooner. The eyes, the hair, the smell.
This was Callie.
Desperate to show her it was me, I ran away from her, up a table, and began to paw at a baby photo of her.
One with me on it.
“Get down from there! Don’t mess with that!”
I didn’t listen, I kept pawing at the cat specifically and meowing.
“This is me! Can’t you see! This! IS! ME!”
The woman calmed down and looked at me.
“What is wrong with you? You go into Oreo’s corner, and now you’re pawing at...”
Her eyes widened
“Oreo?”
| |
[WP] Geologists working in the Southwest discover tunnels leading to a vast underground city. They believe the city to belong to an ancient subset of the Pueblo people until they realize something. The tunnels weren’t dug from the surface. They were dug TO the surface. | Digging up digging up
Digging up dirt
This is shit, but this is work
Since we were born in the middle of the earth
We been looking up
And digging up dirt
&#x200B;
Digging up digging up
Digging up dirt
Is that light? Holy shit Bert!
We been doing this so long
Thought we'd never break the curse
Finally hit the damn surfare of this terra turf
&#x200B;
Digging up digging up
Digging up dirt
You people eat potatoes!?
Potato people!
Go berserk!
&#x200B;
War
War
War
&#x200B;
Four score
And a million years more
We're coming out the ground
To give ya what for
At night or with the sun
No more french fries bruh!
If you eat another one...
Your FAMILY DIES SON! | Out of all the kids we tried out, I'm still surprised it was Katie who made the first experimentally-proven connection with the fractal zones.
We'd dug her out of an abusive foster home a few months before the Painted Desert fiasco. Alcoholic parents, foster father on opioids like most everyone else in the country those days. She was a perfect age for the baseline tests: Seven, a malleable age, malleable grey matter. That's the key of it all, of course. Experiments on adults failed from the get-go, but get too young and the growing human mind can't fully process what it's seeing. Seven was the youngest age we'd experimented on that gave definite, provable results, so we grabbed seven year-olds.
Katie's first three trials with blackseed went mostly as expected. Vomiting and trouble keeping down oral input, so we switched to intravenous nutrition and hydration. Numbed extremities. Depersonalization and diminished sense of reality. Unlike every other subject we'd tried - except Aiden, but he'd suffered massive renal failure as a side effect of the blackseed input - Katie suffered from no amnesiac effects. In fact, she was fully able - in broken communication, of course, but we'd had four years' of experience by that point of putting together the kids' garbled, scrambled depictions of what they'd seen when the blackseed opened the first look into the fractal zones in their minds - to describe vivid sensations beyond simple sight. Sounds. Smells. Even taste. Fifteen further experiments over the next two months led to eleven additional positive results.
A seventy-seven percent positive test rate was the best we'd ever had with using blackseed on human subjects. Maybe the best we'd ever get. It was time to take her into the field, see if we could bring the fractal zones from the mind into reality.
To cover our bases, we hired a team of geologists who worked on contract with New Mexico State University and sent them into the field ahead of time. It was some story Tim had come up with, vital historical records for the Department of Interior regarding the Pueblo nation and whatnot. I don't know much more than the gist of it, but at the time it seemed solid cover to explain what would happen next. Jeez, what a stupid mistake.
We arrived in New Mexico a week after the geologists had set up camp. It didn't take us more than six hours to get all our equipment in place, the computers, the feed lines we'd hook into Katie, the sensory amplifiers. We'd never been able to replicate our results on such a grand scale like we imagined now, but we knew our goals:
1. Prove beyond a doubt that the fractal zones could be replicated on the physical plane, and not just in the mind,
2. Expand upon the first successful physical results, derived from the experiments on our twenty-fourth subject, Samantha, and
3. This time, make sure the subject stays alive to repeat the process sometime in the future.
An hour after we'd started pumping blackseed into Katie's carotid artery, she murmured in her drugged haze, "Like a big spider web. Big spider in the dirt all dirty all dirty it wants to get clean."
The zone opened up eight-point-three seconds later. For two-point-seventy-eight seconds it expanded as we'd seen on the limited scale with Samantha's experiment: A void bursting forth exponentially in all directions, as if some bored stellar god had blown open a black hole in the earth. This time it wasn't the size of a townhouse however - it could've swallowed a whole city in the vacuum, a hundred-thousand people. Matter sucked up and taken away into the other side. The dreamlands, as Katie called them when we tried to repeat the experiment a year later. The plane that leaked over into the kids' minds in every experiment.
More of a *who* rather than a *what* was on the other side, as we now know, but that's irrelevant to this report.
Then it stopped expanding, and started probing. Our computers picked up three tunnels racing towards the surface, evacuating earth and boring out soil and rock. Nebulous tendrils leaving behind perfect empty hollows. In twenty-two-point-nine seconds the tunnels formed, extended over three miles from the initial fractal zone, and made contact with the surface.
We don't know if they kept going, charged through the air and went off to space. Maybe something else. Our computers at the time weren't designed to test for such a thing. Our second test with Katie was much more promising in that regard, but I'll save those details for that report.
Unfortunately, the geologists stumbled across one of the tunnels the very next day, when we were still easing Katie off of her intravenous feed. We'd grown so excited about the developments, so baffled and intrigued like little kids with their minds blown, we'd forgotten all about our cover. We certainly hadn't imagined them furiously, frantically discussing Pueblo tunnels leading from some underground city.
Area 51 cleaned up that mess shortly thereafter and came up with the Painted Rock disaster claim for the feds to use. That's public access, so I won't re-iterate it.
Katie's eleven and still alive, albeit fully encased in a life preservation pod and hooked into a blackseed feed 24/7. She'll be that way for the rest of her life, so long as we can continue collecting data. | |
[WP] Your company jokingly offered apocalypse insurance. The world may have been nuked back to the stone age and you may be the only surviving employee, but that won't stop you from continuing to offer excellent customer service by tracking down surviving policyholders and paying out their claims. | Winchester, the old capital of England, lay in ruins. The cobbled streets, town walls and statues were spread like dandelion seeds. Henry Baxworth arched his leg and stepped over the remains of the Buttercross: a monument which had been a central meeting point for teenagers, a rest stop for the old and a touch of history for the tourists.
Henry wore a suit, accompanied by black loafers, a square knit tie and a Rolex Submariner. The business attire was a uniform required by FutureProof insurance. The ensemble could be seen as redundant given the hazmat suit he wore on top.
The Geiger counter in Henry's hand clicked gleefully. Henry pretended that the device was not detecting lethal amounts of radiation, but rather, a giddy metal detector in search of the cities treasures. Henry watched the needle creep forward with each step.
The address Henry had been given was a bookshop, which had sold second-hand books, antiques and first editions - if you came on the right day. Henry squinted through his hood's window, a worn wooden sign read: *Sally's B*. What had once been the front door was now just a steel frame, with its glass innards peppering the floor. Henry played a game of hopscotch and bounded his way into the shop.
'Sally Baker,' Henry called. 'I am Henry Baxworth, from FutureProof insurance. I am here because of your insurance policy with us; you were one of the few who took out our comprehensive apocalypse policy.' Henry waited thirty seconds. No response. *Another dead customer*. 'I'm going to leave a notice of my visit on the counter here. It's for legal purposes.'
Henry brushed away a layer of ash and left a double-sided document. Henry turned to leave, preparing to navigate the glass minefield when he heard something. Something other than the endless wind. Metal against metal.
A figure in a banana-yellow hazmat suit emerged from a door marked *Staff Only*. Henry looked for eyes, but the person in the suit was too short, and all he could see was a grey bun of hair.
'Took your time.' A muffled woman's voice said.
'Sally?' Henry asked, and the oversized hood rocked back and forth. 'You're alive?'
'You sound surprised,' Sally said. 'follow me.'
Like a Jehova's witness that had been invited in, Henry froze. Sally turned and disappeared through the staff door. It was the clicking of the Geiger counter than broke his stupor.
The staff room had the usual: sofas, a coffee machine, a table with dirty cups and a notice board with long-forgotten shifts. The staff room also had the *unusual*: a rolled back rug and a trap door.
'Welcome to Sally's bunker.'
Sally crouched by the square of metal, fiddled with her hood so that the slit lined up with her eyes and then lifted the lid. Henry watched as the small woman disappeared into the open mouth, and then followed.
'This is... amazing.' Henry stuttered.
There were enough books to last an apocalypse. Where there would be wall space or paintings, there were books. Henry saw a table, which was more of a wooden countertop propped up by four legs of books, and a bed that was more of a mattress resting on a mound of literature.
'So my dear,' Sally said and removed the hazmat hood to reveal a lined, hardy woman's face. 'What happens next?'
'Nothing.' Henry said.
Sally frowned. 'I don't understand.'
'I'm the only one left,' Henry said with a lump in his throat. 'I worked for FutureProof before the-' Henry swallowed. '-attack. I hoped that anyone with the policy would have been prepared. I visited *so many* customers.'
Henry's eyes shimmered and drew back his hood. His face was haggard, his skin taut, and his eyes were dark hollow pits.
---
/r/WrittenThought | Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm doing this for them, or doing this for me.. After the bombs went off, it was like the world was somehow back on track. There was balance. A very symmetrical sort of order to the chaos that followed. It was my day off and I was going to see the new Venom movie. I was so excited, I didn't know whether or not it would live up to my expectations. 2 years later, I honestly still have no idea.
&#x200B;
"Spring Special - FREE APOCALYPSE INSURANCE WITH EVERY NEW TERM EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY"
&#x200B;
It was a running gag at the office to see how many poor schmucks would buy the policy just because it included it. Dumbo insurance is what we called it. Oddly, I'm the only dumbo who bought into it. No one else purchased it. See it was only for new clients. And employees had to pay extra for it. Who would have thought it would be the only thing that saved me from dying in the wasteland.
&#x200B;
It wasn't an immediate wipeout. North Korea was the first to get hit. Trump just went crazy one day and pushed the button without telling anyone and by the time we realized it they sent 10 more our way.
We were able to stop 5 of them but 5 of them hit. And they hit hard. I worked at headquarters which was hit in the first blast in Memphis. The CEO of the company always talked about that policy. I had heard him talk about not honoring it on numerous occasions. "Like hell I'm going to honor it! Who's going to be around to pay it?" Funny how hindsight works. I would never have thought the answer to that question would have been me.
The benefits included $10 million cash to be paid the day any nuke touches American soil and a guaranteed spot at the nearest doomsday shelter. I was in charge of contacting local shelters at sign up and arranging the funds to be transferred for a ticket in the event of an emergency. So I knew exactly where to go.
The second I heard it on the radio.. No, the second I heard the ground tremble on the freeway, I knew it was over.
Luckily I was also in charge of paying out the policies and had online wire access for company funds so I did it straight from my iPhone in traffic, knowing I wouldn't have a chance to do it once the network went down.
The only reason I wasn't nuked is because I drove to a theatre that was 200 miles away from the blast to see an early premiere of the movie. Amazing how that movie changed my life and I never even got to see it.
I pulled off immediately at the next exit and speeded towards the nearest Chase location. .4 miles away. Those were the longest .4 miles I've ever driven. And also the fastest.
I walked into the bank, it was calm, like any normal day. This is "Middle of Nowhere, TN", I guess they didn't get the news yet. Lucky for me, being in the insurance payout division, I was able to use my credentials to withdraw all of the policy money without a hassle. In my line of work we usually send wires or write checks but occasionally we do pay in cash. So it wasn't that unusual. The manager asked me why I needed 10 million in cash and I just said we had a very strange client and the terms of his policy stated we had to pay him in cash. They only had 30k on hand but put me in contact with one of the main branches a few miles away that had the rest of it.
"Why wouldn't you just go to the shelter instantly?" you might be asking.
Well I thought logically. I could go to the shelter, ticket paid for, and just be a normal average person who gets told what to do by the security and have absolutely no idea who's in control... Be powerless and have no leverage in the new world... Or I could get my 10 million and hope that we would still use it as currency when the dust clears. Or at least be able to use it to barter for things before people start using clams and goats as currency again.
Honestly, looking back it was the right decision.
I moved so fast, literally minutes after the first blast hit, almost no one (aside from the people who got hit) had even known what happened before I got my money and head to the shelter.
It took a few months before all hell really broke loose. And in those few months, I was a king.
It was a huge shelter. Stocked for years and a thousand people, and I was the only one with money. Thurston Howell the third they called me. If you're reading this, you probably don't know but it Thurston Howell the third was a character on Gilligan's Island back before the fallout. He was a billionaire amongst a shipwrecked crew on a deserted island. And he would promise people the moon and the stars when he got back to civilization.
With those little green tickets, those little Benjamins in rubber bands I was able to make a lot of friends in that shelter. Believe it or not, we had a lot of fun times down there.
Then the asteroids hit. And they hit deeper than any nuclear fall out shelter was prepared to handle. We got word that 8 other shelters got destroyed by random rocks from the sky and because of those little green men I kept locked in my safe, I bought a ticket on the ship.
The government had a space ship getting ready to leave, it would orbit the planet until the war was over and the asteroids had stopped. It cost 5 million for the cheap seats. All the banks shut down and no one had any money except the elite. And by chance, I was now an elite.
The weird thing about world war 3 is that it only lasted a week. Everyone having the ability to kill everybody made the war a mutually assured destruction and a swift one at that.
We had to make an emergency landing in the escape pods as our ship got hit by one of the last asteroids. The pod was an extra million. It's insane how much money rules the world these days.. Even in an emergency like that aboard a space ship falling to their doom, I had to fork over a million dollars from my duffle bag just to get a ride.
When we touched down it was actually very serene. Quiet. No noise. Just the sound of the wind and the crackling of rocks burning and the smell of burnt rubber. But it was home. Finally after so long underground and then up in space, I was beginning to feel trapped.
I found an old abandoned warehouse, I've been living there for the last couple years as home base. I made a backup of all the policy holders before the war. I kept it on a thumb drive in my bag. It was the only thing keeping me sane, knowing I had a job to do once this was over.
I've just been seeking them out ever since, giving them their share of what money I have left. I was able to pay out 2 million so far to 20 people. $100k each. It's not the 10 million they were promised, but considering the circumstances, no one ever argued. | |
[WP]: A veteran vampire hunter does the unthinkable: he begs a vampire to turn a dying child relative. | “Papa, I don’t know how much longer I can be strong. I just wanted to tell you I love you”.
Parents shouldn’t lose their children. But, god damn, being a grandparent watching their grand child slowly drift away is even worse.
None of this is fair. I’ve spent my life fighting for humanity’s survival and now here I am hopeless against the fight of my own flesh and blood. The doctors gave up months ago. The cancers grip is too strong. How is a five year old with cancer fair?
We’ve done everything we can. We’ve spent all of our savings. Gabriel is just a shell of the lively boy he once was. The curious child asking a million questions a million miles per hour trying to learn about the family business. But all that’s clouded by his swallow skin and hoarse whispers of, “Papa. I love you”.
There is one thing left to try. But could I ever forgive myself? Could the family ever forgive me? Would the boy ever forgive me? Even with out their blessings... would a vampire even hear my pleas? I have to try. Damn the guilt to hell. I’ll deal with that later.
***
“Thank you for allowing me to seek counsel with you, Cain. I know that we’ve never had a good relationship”. What the hell was that? Of course we’ve never had a good relationship. I’m pretty sure I’m personally responsible for 100s of his clans death alone.
Cain stares at me. I’ve already been searched twice before they even let me get within 50 feet of him and once again before being allowed to see him. I did a lot of shady things to get this meeting. I can’t mess this up with a slip up now. Cain walks around me, making me feel like prey served on a platter.
“Tsk tsk, Robert. To ask me anything is in vain. But, hearing your desperation is bringing me joy that I no longer knew I could feel so, please, continue”.
That arrogant son of bitch. Every fiber of my being wants to slice his head clean off. Ending him would free the family business for a long long time. With his death alone the whole south east could rest easier. But it’s not about me right now. Or the south east. It’s about Gabriel. I flash back to Gabriel’s frail arms wrapped around my neck in his cold embrace and take a deep breath before continuing,
“Listen. Our war is our war and we can get back to that another day. But right now. Right now, I’m coming to you for a favor”.
“A favor?” He asks as he spits on the ground.
“A mutually beneficial favor” I say, seething now. How did I even think this was an idea worth perusing?
“I’m listening...” he says. With the same malice that’s always sent chills down the spines of unsuspecting victims.
“My grandson, Gabriel. He’s. He’s. He’s dying...” a tear slides down my face. I didn’t want to show weakness. He feeds off of it. Shit.
He’s laughing now. He sees me broken and finds it funny. I’m two seconds from walking out when suddenly he stops and booms, “AND YOU WANT ME TO TURN HIM?! HOW DARE YOU EVEN HAVE THE AUDACITY TO COME TO ME FOR SUCH TERMS?! YOU DISGUST ME!”
‘I disgust myself’ I think before I offer my proposal out loud. One I know I’ll regret for the rest of my life and after life. “You can turn him and ensure your safety from my family. And... have the chance to show victory to the other clans by having my own blood on your hands in return”.
Gabe is worth this. His life is worth this. But so much for humanity.
| I had just gotten home from Mississippi when I got the call. I had slaughtered a particularly nasty nest of hillbilly vampires, and I was wiping blood off my face and arms when my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Dark, thick vampire blood still stained my clothes. I hadn’t even had a chance to change.
“Mr. Springfield?” It was a female voice I didn’t recognize.
“Uh, yes? Who the hell is this?”
“My name is Melissa Jordan; I am a nurse in the ICU at Vanderbilt Hospital.”
I paused for a few moments before continuing. “Okay, how can I help you?”.
“Mr. Springfield…there’s been an accident. Abigail…she’s…well, she’s not doing so well. We ask that you come down as soon as you can.”
My heart skipped a beat and I felt dizzy. “What?” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Springfield. She was on her way to Nashville with her mother, and there was a terrible crash on I-40. Her mother is gone. And we’re not sure if Abigail is going to make it. We found your contact information in Abigail’s backpack. We ask that you get down here as soon as you can.”
“O-okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I shoved my phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys, and threw myself back into the front seat of my S10. I revved the engine, throwing it into gear and spewing gravel as I swerved onto the road. I had begun to cry without even realizing it, and I swiped the tears away with my arm and tried to blink my eyes clear. I turned the radio up to try to drown my thoughts.
*I see a bad moon rising. I see trouble on the way—*
What if she died? What if she died *before* I even got there? I couldn’t fathom it, and I hadn’t the slightest clue what I would do. I cared about her mother, of course, even though we had been divorced for three years. But it was nothing compared to the love I had for my daughter. She was my whole heart, and I had gotten into this very business because of an attempted vampire attack while I was riding horses with Abigail through the Smoky Mountains five years ago. What will I do?
Oh, what will I do?
I pressed the pedal against the floorboard, despite the rain-slick roads making it difficult for my old truck to gain traction.
Thirty minutes into my drive, she made herself known.
“Trouble, Jack?” A cold, grating voice said from the backseat.
I was miles away when she said it. It startled me, and that was saying something since it wasn’t exactly easy to sneak up on me.
“What the hell?!” I shouted.
“Oh, shut up. Don’t tell me the famous Jack Springfield was frightened by little old me.” She laughed, a low, guttural sound. I looked into my rearview mirror. There sat a petite woman, lounging with her legs across the seat, and I caught a glint of steel. *Fuck, the machete.* The very weapon that had slain her brethren. She toyed with it, flipping it over and over in her hands. “Sounds like your daughter is in a real pickle. I’m sorry, Jack.” It didn’t hold any genuine sentiment. She leaned forward with the machete still in hand. “It’s really ironic, you know.”
I glanced back at her and met her glowing crimson eyes with my blue ones. “Ironic? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well,” she began, and I could see her running her fingers along the blade. “You just slaughtered six of my children. And now fate has come after yours. The universe has a sick sense of humor, does it not?” She barked a cold laugh.
The head vampire. I hadn’t been able to find her during my hunt earlier, and I had assumed there would be months of searching before I tracked the vampire down to grant her the same fate as her “children.”
“How fucking dare you compare my daughter to your monsters?” I shouted, and then fell silent again. I tried very hard to maintain control of my emotions, but it proved to be quite difficult. I didn’t want her to mistake my fear for a fear of her. I wasn’t scared of the vampire. I was scared of my daughter’s fate. Fresh tears ran down my cheeks.
“I can help you, you know.”
I shook with anger and despair. “What the hell are you talking about?” And that’s when it dawned on me, a harsh realization of what she meant. “Oh, no. No, no, no…” But my voice had lost its anger and fallen to a whisper. “No…”
“She could be great. Powerful, strong, eternal. She could be alive.”
“I—I can’t let that happen to her.” My voice had lost more volume still, and it would have been impossible to hear me if not for the vampire’s superior hearing.
I felt frigid fingers brush my hair and my body shot awake with chills. I recoiled from the touch as much as I could.
“You can’t give your daughter the gift of eternal life?” Her fingers still swept through my hair. It was oddly sensual, despite the situation.
I fell silent. Was I actually…considering this? No. No way could I curse my sweet Abigail, damn her and steal her soul. But what was the alternative? Let her die? She was only ten. She had so much life ahead of her.
“What’s the catch?”
“I think you and I both know the answer to that,” she purred, and I felt the cold steel of the machete against the back of my arm. “Oh, my beautiful little Abigail could be so great.”
I couldn’t believe the next word that left my mouth, hardly even thinking. “Okay.”
There was a bit of surprise in her voice as well. “You’re a wonderful father, Jack. You are giving your daughter the best gift anyone could give.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks, faster than ever as I skidded into the parking lot of the hospital. I parked and opened the door.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast. Come here.”
This was it, then. I was going to sacrifice myself for my daughter. In that moment, though, I wasn’t scared. My daughter would be safe, and she would be strong. No one would ever be able to hurt her this way again. We had both stepped out of the truck, and I examined the tiny vampire, clad in a black dress. She couldn’t have been a day over eighteen when she was turned. I stepped toward her.
She closed the distance with one long gait and placed her hands on my face. I closed my eyes. “Keep her safe, please. Please keep my baby girl safe.”
She lifted my head so that my neck was exposed. And when she bit, I didn’t resist or even flinch. It seemed like several minutes of her sucking at my jugular until finally, I gave myself over to the darkness.
............
I had been eighteen for 75 years and humanity never changed. They were weak and fragile, and sometimes I wondered how they had maintained their place at the top of the food chain for so long. But the truth is, not all that human weakness had left me when I turned, attacked by three vampires in an alley on my way home from a club one night. I found that I still had the capacity to love.
He had taken everything from me. My children, my mate. And there was nothing I could do to bring them back. My cold heart ached, and I vowed to take my revenge.
“Can I help you?” A sweet-faced receptionist asked when I approached the front desk.
“Oh, yes. I’m here to see Abigail Springfield. Her father is on his way and he asked me to stay with her until he arrived. I’m his girlfriend.” I smiled a sad, despairing smile and the receptionist looked sympathetic.
“Of course, sweetheart. She’s in room 209.”
I took the elevator to the second floor and found her room easily. Wires and machines surrounded the small girl, and her angelic face looked serene. I approached her and looked down into her pale face.
He took from me what I loved most, and I would strike back twofold. I leaned over the dying child and pressed my lips into her neck. I bit, and drained the child of every drop of blood in her body.
When the machine noises consolidated into one long beep and the nurses burst into the room, I had already leapt out the window and to the ground below. I doubled over and vomited, a steady spout of blood. I wasn’t even close to hungry and the excess blood left me feeling bloated and heavy. I wiped my mouth off, smearing blood across the back of my hand. And I disappeared into the darkness. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "It's on backwards."
I looked at every single little piece of this thing for a solid day. The... hold-pin thingies, the springs, the trigger, and the only take I could have on it is, "Huh. Yeah, that's a trigger, alright."
I could see my spotter looking at me like I was a fucking moron. He, on the other hand, was sharp as a tack and kitted to the teeth: Pouches, zippers and camouflage galore, a pistol that had a silencer on it, everything. It was like The Punisher and James Bond had a baby, and this guy somersaulted out.
"You HAVE done this before, right? I'm not about to die looking like a complete ass?"
I fiddled around with the knobs on the scope after turning it around the right way. "Yeah, *definitely.* This is amateur stuff. I just need to... Wake up. Get some coffee in me." Fake it 'till you make it, right? 'Till I make it off this sopping wet rooftop, more like.
With raised eyebrows, he kept a doubtful look in his eyes as he slowly turned his sight back through the spotting scope. *He totally knows. He's gonna fuckin' call it in, The Agreement is gonna put a bullseye on my fuckin' head, that's it.* I almost had a mind to try and pop off a shot at this guy and get away, but I'd almost certainly end up missing that.
Just gotta try it out, take the shot. I didn't even hit the guy last time, some other asshole was shooting at him at the *same time.* Who knows, maybe I'm not the only one gunning for this guy?
"I've got eyes on. Four hundred meters."
And with that, my heart was off to the races. *German Iron Cross on his jacket, teardrop buzz, light him up when he lights up.* God, this place stinks like ass, even up here. Can't imagine what it smells like just standing down *there.* Wake up, focus up. He's there, right in your line of sight. Maybe you'll actually hit this guy? Maybe turning the knobs... Helped?
"He's stopping. Street corner, right under the streetlight, next to the mailbox. Sure didn't spare details."
Felt like someone put shock paddles on me and didn't let go. Like my body was trying to learn how to boogie and provide accurate fire at the same time. Let's try holding your breath. "Fire." Okay, he said shoot. So shoot. "Hey. Fire." DID YOU NOT HEAR ME, SHOOT. "The signal's up! Pull the fucking trigger!"
Here goes nothing.
With that, I pulled the trigger, and *boom.*
Not like "boom" as in the shot hit, but as in, "Holy shit a giant gout of flame just incinerated him".
"WHAT THE FUCK!" The spotter immediately winced in the wake of the fireball, the sudden pillar of fire blinding us both. We both scrambled to get the hell out of there, taking our gear apart piece by piece, stuffing it all haphazardly into our hard cases.
"You had me worried! I like the redundancy, you didn't feel good about the shot. C4. Well done, I'm sure the Agreement spooks'll be impressed."
"Hahahah, YEAH! What a... A firework show! He was there, and then... He wasn't!" I threw up my free hand in half-excitement as we scuttled down the fire escape.
Except there was no C4. No wonder this place stunk like ass; it was coming from the sewer lines. The asswipe lit up and ashed his cigarette over a manhole. If the giant cast iron frisbee didn't take him into the stratosphere, the jet of ignited gases sure was gonna fry him.
We hit the bottom of the fire escape. I eyed the shitty Ford Escort positioned at the end of the alley, and I couldn't have been more ready to scoot my ass out of that scene faster.
"You know, I'll be honest. I almost called it. But looks like you're the real deal. Maybe I'll see you around."
Maybe you will. Maybe I'll piss myself. | Not today. This time it would be different. Sighing, I got off the rancid motel bed and began to pack my belongings. As for my sniper rifle, I carefully packed it into a sturdy briefcase and ensured my knives were clean and sharp before holstering them to my thighs. I was good that way. Prepping that is. But definitely not assassinating. I don’t even know how this kept on happening to me, but ever since my first job, the Kurosawa incident, it seemed like my marks knew how to piss me off.
Sure a miraculous random heart attack at the start, then a random trip the second time around but this shit just wouldn’t stop. Was I the target of a kind Death God? Did I build up good karma as a saint in a past life? There just wasn’t any explanation but my Boss at the the 10 Evils guild just thought I was a once in a century assassin, and didn’t ask questions. Hey! If one of your underlings could murder while making it look like a random death would you get involved with the guy? Thought not.
| |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "It's on backwards."
I looked at every single little piece of this thing for a solid day. The... hold-pin thingies, the springs, the trigger, and the only take I could have on it is, "Huh. Yeah, that's a trigger, alright."
I could see my spotter looking at me like I was a fucking moron. He, on the other hand, was sharp as a tack and kitted to the teeth: Pouches, zippers and camouflage galore, a pistol that had a silencer on it, everything. It was like The Punisher and James Bond had a baby, and this guy somersaulted out.
"You HAVE done this before, right? I'm not about to die looking like a complete ass?"
I fiddled around with the knobs on the scope after turning it around the right way. "Yeah, *definitely.* This is amateur stuff. I just need to... Wake up. Get some coffee in me." Fake it 'till you make it, right? 'Till I make it off this sopping wet rooftop, more like.
With raised eyebrows, he kept a doubtful look in his eyes as he slowly turned his sight back through the spotting scope. *He totally knows. He's gonna fuckin' call it in, The Agreement is gonna put a bullseye on my fuckin' head, that's it.* I almost had a mind to try and pop off a shot at this guy and get away, but I'd almost certainly end up missing that.
Just gotta try it out, take the shot. I didn't even hit the guy last time, some other asshole was shooting at him at the *same time.* Who knows, maybe I'm not the only one gunning for this guy?
"I've got eyes on. Four hundred meters."
And with that, my heart was off to the races. *German Iron Cross on his jacket, teardrop buzz, light him up when he lights up.* God, this place stinks like ass, even up here. Can't imagine what it smells like just standing down *there.* Wake up, focus up. He's there, right in your line of sight. Maybe you'll actually hit this guy? Maybe turning the knobs... Helped?
"He's stopping. Street corner, right under the streetlight, next to the mailbox. Sure didn't spare details."
Felt like someone put shock paddles on me and didn't let go. Like my body was trying to learn how to boogie and provide accurate fire at the same time. Let's try holding your breath. "Fire." Okay, he said shoot. So shoot. "Hey. Fire." DID YOU NOT HEAR ME, SHOOT. "The signal's up! Pull the fucking trigger!"
Here goes nothing.
With that, I pulled the trigger, and *boom.*
Not like "boom" as in the shot hit, but as in, "Holy shit a giant gout of flame just incinerated him".
"WHAT THE FUCK!" The spotter immediately winced in the wake of the fireball, the sudden pillar of fire blinding us both. We both scrambled to get the hell out of there, taking our gear apart piece by piece, stuffing it all haphazardly into our hard cases.
"You had me worried! I like the redundancy, you didn't feel good about the shot. C4. Well done, I'm sure the Agreement spooks'll be impressed."
"Hahahah, YEAH! What a... A firework show! He was there, and then... He wasn't!" I threw up my free hand in half-excitement as we scuttled down the fire escape.
Except there was no C4. No wonder this place stunk like ass; it was coming from the sewer lines. The asswipe lit up and ashed his cigarette over a manhole. If the giant cast iron frisbee didn't take him into the stratosphere, the jet of ignited gases sure was gonna fry him.
We hit the bottom of the fire escape. I eyed the shitty Ford Escort positioned at the end of the alley, and I couldn't have been more ready to scoot my ass out of that scene faster.
"You know, I'll be honest. I almost called it. But looks like you're the real deal. Maybe I'll see you around."
Maybe you will. Maybe I'll piss myself. | Buckling up my leather shoes. Put on a white dress shirt. Part the hair and look myself in the bathroom mirror. Striking a few poses to psych myself up. I dance my way back into my living room of the condo. And pull out of small kit from a backpack. Strode my way the fridge and pull out a vial of liquid and place it on the counter. One spin in time with the music and I unzip the small leather case. A device with similar design to an EpiPen. I pull out the back compartment and slip the vial into the device.
"Poison at the ready. Time to go party." I say to myself.
Im out the door and walking down the steps. Once outside I make may to the MTA stop. I stand next to all different types of people. This time is going to be different. I know I can do this. I have everything I need to pull this off. No more lucky breaks this is all me.
The train comes to a stop a few stations away. And one I exit onto the street level there is a massive gala. All sorts of gowns and men dressed to kill. I make my way down the alley. There men dressed just like me having a smoke. Faking out of breath when I approach the guys.
"So sorry i'm late new to the city."
"Who are you?
"I'm roger, the new guy. Interviewed last week and was told if I do a good enough job I can stay. If not I'm here to help this event."
"Cool man. Go inside and take a right and you will see the kitchen."
"Awesome, thanks man"
I head inside and I see it all coming together. The hors d'oeuvres all being prepped for the event. I stand at the back of the group for the meeting before we start. My adrenaline is pumping. Everything is about to begin. Taking a tray I head to the main ballroom and dish out food as I survey for my target. After about 40 minutes still cant find him. I cannot afford to fuck this up again. And finally I spot him. He with his grey hair and moustache. That is him no doubt. I head back into kitchen and simmy the device from earlier down my left sleeve. I grab a tray with my hand and lay a towel over my left. Finally. It is about to happen.
I head back out there. Focused, transfixed on his location. About twenty feet away now. I start to stroll closer and closer. 15 feet. I lower the device into the palm of my hand. 10 feet. My pace quickens. 7 feet... the front of my shoes catches something on the floor. My forward momentum flinging my foward. As I instictually attempt to brace myself with my right hand the tray flies forward. The hors d'oeuvres sliding off in all directions. I fucked it up again. Third time trying to off this guy. I fall to the ground and everyone turns and stairs in my direction. And all the sudden a surge through my entire body. I look down. My poison delivery device needle protruding lay next to my leg. With a sudden realization I poisoned myself. My body slowly convulsing and I scream out in pain and I attempt to fumble something out of my pocket. The room becomes hysteric. Screaming calls for doctor. And mass confusion. I grab the small syringe out of pocket and jam it into my other leg. He's choking he needs help I hear. People clamoring to my to check on me and I lay there in pain from my muscles spasming. Catching my breath. Someone makes an assumption that I may have had allergic reactions and the epipen was for me. They sat me up. I notice another group of people helping another person not far from me. A woman is ranting, "there was a loud scream then when I turned out harold was choking and laying on the ground. I didnt know what to do and everyone was in a panic" as she starts to cry.
**flashback to the tray**
The tray launched from my right hand as a fell. Slowly it spun to the right scattering the hors d'oeuvres onto the people in its path. A grey haired man was facing away from the tray. He just placed an entire stuffed button mushroom in his mouth as the tray slammed into the back of his head. The sudden jerk and reaction slipped the mushroom down his throat and lodged there. He started to choke as everyone was focused on me
**end flashback**
Still coughing from the pain. Someone is asking if I'm okay. I slip the device back into my pocket.
"Allergic to shellfish." I manage to cough out my words. Paramedics on the scene. They pronouce Harold Scornos dead on scene. They were saying if he had been helped he may not of died but in the confusing and fumbling of the crowd he choked to death. They approach me and question what had happened. I say that im allergic shellfish and I thought I was more careful in my food handling. They release me. I groggily make my way to the kitchen. I start getting berated by my manager. I just walk out. Take a breathe of air. I DID IT. Well kind of. The job got done. I walk my way to the MTA and back home. Once I am at my stoop a phone beeps in my pocket. "Bitcoin transfer confirmed."
Atleast rents paids. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "It's on backwards."
I looked at every single little piece of this thing for a solid day. The... hold-pin thingies, the springs, the trigger, and the only take I could have on it is, "Huh. Yeah, that's a trigger, alright."
I could see my spotter looking at me like I was a fucking moron. He, on the other hand, was sharp as a tack and kitted to the teeth: Pouches, zippers and camouflage galore, a pistol that had a silencer on it, everything. It was like The Punisher and James Bond had a baby, and this guy somersaulted out.
"You HAVE done this before, right? I'm not about to die looking like a complete ass?"
I fiddled around with the knobs on the scope after turning it around the right way. "Yeah, *definitely.* This is amateur stuff. I just need to... Wake up. Get some coffee in me." Fake it 'till you make it, right? 'Till I make it off this sopping wet rooftop, more like.
With raised eyebrows, he kept a doubtful look in his eyes as he slowly turned his sight back through the spotting scope. *He totally knows. He's gonna fuckin' call it in, The Agreement is gonna put a bullseye on my fuckin' head, that's it.* I almost had a mind to try and pop off a shot at this guy and get away, but I'd almost certainly end up missing that.
Just gotta try it out, take the shot. I didn't even hit the guy last time, some other asshole was shooting at him at the *same time.* Who knows, maybe I'm not the only one gunning for this guy?
"I've got eyes on. Four hundred meters."
And with that, my heart was off to the races. *German Iron Cross on his jacket, teardrop buzz, light him up when he lights up.* God, this place stinks like ass, even up here. Can't imagine what it smells like just standing down *there.* Wake up, focus up. He's there, right in your line of sight. Maybe you'll actually hit this guy? Maybe turning the knobs... Helped?
"He's stopping. Street corner, right under the streetlight, next to the mailbox. Sure didn't spare details."
Felt like someone put shock paddles on me and didn't let go. Like my body was trying to learn how to boogie and provide accurate fire at the same time. Let's try holding your breath. "Fire." Okay, he said shoot. So shoot. "Hey. Fire." DID YOU NOT HEAR ME, SHOOT. "The signal's up! Pull the fucking trigger!"
Here goes nothing.
With that, I pulled the trigger, and *boom.*
Not like "boom" as in the shot hit, but as in, "Holy shit a giant gout of flame just incinerated him".
"WHAT THE FUCK!" The spotter immediately winced in the wake of the fireball, the sudden pillar of fire blinding us both. We both scrambled to get the hell out of there, taking our gear apart piece by piece, stuffing it all haphazardly into our hard cases.
"You had me worried! I like the redundancy, you didn't feel good about the shot. C4. Well done, I'm sure the Agreement spooks'll be impressed."
"Hahahah, YEAH! What a... A firework show! He was there, and then... He wasn't!" I threw up my free hand in half-excitement as we scuttled down the fire escape.
Except there was no C4. No wonder this place stunk like ass; it was coming from the sewer lines. The asswipe lit up and ashed his cigarette over a manhole. If the giant cast iron frisbee didn't take him into the stratosphere, the jet of ignited gases sure was gonna fry him.
We hit the bottom of the fire escape. I eyed the shitty Ford Escort positioned at the end of the alley, and I couldn't have been more ready to scoot my ass out of that scene faster.
"You know, I'll be honest. I almost called it. But looks like you're the real deal. Maybe I'll see you around."
Maybe you will. Maybe I'll piss myself. | This room was different. It was quieter than the others. Something was missing. I turned on the TV. American Dad was on TBS. It was the episode where Stan had never actually killed anyone, despite being a well respected, elite assassin. He had no idea what he was doing. The funniest parts of the show were when his targets seemed to die of natural causes. I like American Dad. Watching TV beats reading any day.
-The End- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | When I first started this job, I knew there needed to be a way for me to track all of my targets. So I do what anyone else would do I go to Target and buy myself a notebook. I saw the usual marble composition books that reminded me of my failed education. If I didn't choose this lifestyle of crime then perhaps in another situation I could have become a fireman or even just explore the world. I saw spiral notebooks, binders, planners, and various other school supplies. I had just decided that I was just going to get a basic marble notebook when this beautiful leathered exterior notebook caught my attention. It looked used but to my surprise when I opened it it was blank. I felt strange when I touched it. To my luck when I brought it up to the cash register the lady could not find a barcode so she just let me take it assuming it wasn't from the store. After all, I don't think target wants to keep a old looking notebook around that doesn't even have a barcode.
Not long after buying the book I received my first client. It was a man who needed a hit on his ex wife. When we met up in person, he told me she ruined his life and in the divorce got all his money, legal rights to the kids, house, etc despite being faithful and his wife actually cheating. I told himself something along the lines of I don't care what she did to you, as long as you have the money for me we can talk business. He handed me a suitcase with $15,000 in it,
"half the pay now the other half after the job is complete".
I asked for his wife's name so I could write it down in my new notebook and we parted ways.
I take my job seriously and am a perfectionist. Skills needed to be a good assassin. I was brainstorming all day on how to kill the man's wife. A serious of thoughts entered my head; as if someone else was feeding these ideas into my head. Was I going to stage a car accident? Was she going to "accidentally" overdose on medication? Maybe she even had a secret drug problem that I could exploit. I decided that I was going to induce a stroke by injecting an artery with oxygen. The air bubble from the syringe will eventually get caught in her blood stream and cause a stroke. In my book I just wrote down the name of the man's wife and right next to it I wrote stroke. I decided to also write the time I was planning to do it, ideally at night when she is sleeping.
I was following this lady around the whole day and the time I wrote down was approaching. However, I must have chosen the wrong day because this was the day she decided to go party all night with her girlfriends. "No worries" I told myself. I'll just get her when she's black out drunk. I couldn't explain it but I came to find out that the following events were more than a coincidence. It was 11 pm, the time I had expected to make a move. I was inside the club keeping an eye on the man's wife, trying to drug her drink to make the job easier. I didn't even put the drugs anywhere near her and to my knowledge I'm sure that no one else put anything in her drink. But at exactly 11 pm she dropped down on the ground in the club having a stroke, the ambulance was called.
When you have a job like this you need connections. Every organization can be exploited if you can get in contact with the right people. The police, the hospital, insurance companies, these were fairly easy to find connections. I asked my doctor and police connections about what happened to the lady. She supposedly actually died of natural causes.
When I met up with the husband again I received the rest of the payment. I asked him if he might have work for me in the future and he did. He told me to keep in contact so I asked for his name and wrote it down in my notebook.
Later that day I went back to my notebook to mark my first job as complete. My fingers glided across the smooth exterior of the notebook to find a bump in the center of the notebook. Confused, I turn the book over to be met with the words "DEATH NOTE". I chuckled, that was the perfect book for an assassin to keep. I crossed out the lady's name when. I heard a familiar voice around me. I saw a shadowy figure in the corner of my room. He sounded like the voice in my head when I was formulating ideas to kill off the lady. It didn't look natural. It looked like a demon, but I actually didn't feel any fear towards this deity. But then it spoke.
"Don't forget, you wrote your employers name in the deathnote hyukhyukhyuk"
Edit: wrote this in 15 minutes,sorry for the grammar. | The plain manilla envelope came through the door; unlabelled, anonymous. I never saw who posted it; I'd wait for ages for someone to come, hide along the corridor from my apartment, and I would see no one, but when I walked back to my apartment and opened the door, the envelope would be there.
This time, I didn't even need to see the name on the back of the photograph to know the target. You couldn't live in England and not be familiar with this blonde haired, slightly portly, buffoon like politician. Doing the hit on him should have been hard, but as usual the accompanying notes contained a list of his movements for the week; the intelligence gathered by my agency was nothing short of uncanny in its accuracy.
He had a new lover, I saw, and her name and location hadn't appeared in the papers, so he must have kept it a secret so far. As he was obviously stealing away from the public eye, even his security detail weren't aware of these assignations. Her home would be the perfect place.
I loaded my small Beretta into a discrete shoulder holster; I'd become an assassin from my love of certain secret agent novels, and chose this gun as my homage to that fact. Factors in my decision were its small size, its small calibre not a serious disadvantage for a precision shot like myself.
I walked to the home, my dark coat and hat hiding my image from the ubiquitous security cameras. I was 10 yards from her front door, when it opened and my target came out, turning to give his mistress a slobbering kiss with his porcine features. I closed my eyes for a moment to compose myself for the moment of action needed.
A high pitched scream forced my eyes to open from my moment of reverie. My target had collapsed , holding his head in agony for a second before collapsing awkwardly on the granite step. His mistress was frantically running her fingers over her mobile phone, but like the others, I knew he was head.
HE BELONGS TO ME NOW, a voice sounded sonorously in my head, a voice I'd heard at the end of each assignment. I turned, and walked away; my services completed. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | I am the worlds most famous assassin. My face is plastered all over the internet, yet I am technically not a criminal.
You see I haven't actually killed anyone, despite always fulfilling my contract.
It all started when I accidentally got a mafia boss killed. I worked in a restaurant at the time and mixed up some orders. Turns out the guy was allergic to nuts and choked to death. His rival mistook me for a professional assassin and hired me for many other assignments afterwards. I still haven't gotten around to telling him that I actually am just a regular guy.
At first I was very careful and planned out my hits very carefully, but no plan ever worked, my targets always died through some twisted turn of fate rather than my genuine attempts.
And today would be no different.
I walked up to the house of my target. Then I simply rang the bell.
The door opened and a tall, broad man in his 30s looked at me.
His face turned into a mask of terror when he recognized who I was. He turned on his heels and started running trough the house aiming for the stairs. I followed him upstairs and saw him jump out of an open window. The fall wouldn't have been high enough to kill him, so I walked up to the window and watched him run across the street, turning around to see if I was following him.
It was at that moment a car caught him. His body crashed into the car's hood and rolled off onto the street.
Another assignment completed wihtout getting my hands dirty. | Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much.
I didn't think they were serious. They didn't say outright to kill the dude, but they used all the right movie quotes. But I showed up because I had nothing better to do.
He died, and I got paid. Now that I know the symptoms better, I think he had a heart attack. My google search history is ... interesting.
The thing is, it keeps happening. I don't know anything about my victims. I get a name and they die, whether or not I show up for the event. And the paycheck keeps getting bigger.
I've tried hiding, but they always seem to find me. Another name, another death.
Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The man in front of me was terrified. "Please! Don't do this! I--I have a wife! And children!"
"I know," I growled, moving in closer. My grip on the pistol was poised, steady. If I shot it now, I would pierce him directly through the heart, killing him instantly.
"Who--who told you to do this?" he begged, backing up against an apartment block. It was the perfect scenario: 3 am in the morning, lamplights too dim to see, only passerby were gaggles of teenagers who were either too intoxicated or too stupid to tell what was going on.
My fingertips tightened. Adrenaline coursed up my spine, anticipation shot through every vein like a drug.
I pulled the trigger, and a body slumped to the floor, shot.
"Damnit!" I shouted, as the wounded pigeon flapped its wings helplessly, feathers falling everywhere as it tried to fly. Through sheer luck, the dumb bird had flown in front of my bullet right before it would have entered the man's body.
I pulled the trigger again. Suddenly, a van roared out of nowhere and knocked me down. The gun flew out of my hand and landed a few metres away, while the driver, a young woman, jumped out of the van, her hands clapped over her face. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
I stood up, picked up the gun, and fired for the third time. This time, a random Frisbee thrown by one of those stupid teenagers blocked the shot and sent it ricocheting into the pavement. The Frisbee clattered onto the floor, dented.
I fired, but the woman standing next to me fainted from shock and slumped into my hand, causing the shot to miss.
I heaved her body off of me and fired again. The shot rebounded off of a nearby lamppost and hit a parked car.
I fired again, but my gun simply clicked, telling me that it was out of ammo. I reloaded and took aim. By now, my target was running away, screaming "Help! Help! I'm being attacked!"
I fired again, but the bullet hit a jumping cat instead. It howled as it fell back down to the ground and died.
I fired again, but tripped on a pebble in the ground and I missed.
I fired again, but another pigeon knocked the gun out of my hand, and I missed.
I fired again, and I actually hit, but the man's wristwatch blocked the shot.
I fired again, but a sudden earth tremor shook the ground, and I missed.
I fired again, but a Dumpster rolled into my path due to the earth tremor, and I missed.
I fired again, but lightning struck the bullet mid-flight, and I missed.
I fired again, but a nearby car radio started blaring songs, so I turned around to listen for a while.
I fired again, but another gunshot rang out at the same time. The two bullets intercepted each other and missed.
I fired again, but a speck of dust blocked the bullet.
I fired again, but the bullet was blown off course by a light breeze and smashed into a shop window.
I fired again, but the shopkeeper ran outside to check for damages and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but a random stranger came to check on the shopkeeper and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but my phone buzzed to notify me of a nearby Pokémon, so I spent a good three minutes catching that Magnemite.
I fired again, but the city was suddenly nuked, and I missed.
After crawling out of the smoking, radiated wreckage and coughing a few times, my vision cleared just enough to see a refrigerator fall from the sky and crush the man in the distance. | Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much.
I didn't think they were serious. They didn't say outright to kill the dude, but they used all the right movie quotes. But I showed up because I had nothing better to do.
He died, and I got paid. Now that I know the symptoms better, I think he had a heart attack. My google search history is ... interesting.
The thing is, it keeps happening. I don't know anything about my victims. I get a name and they die, whether or not I show up for the event. And the paycheck keeps getting bigger.
I've tried hiding, but they always seem to find me. Another name, another death.
Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "I've had enough!" Williams yelled, slamming his fists onto his desk and rising to his feet.
"Boss, please. Take it easy. You know your blood pressure can't handle it." Calm and unshakable as always, Johnny Gun was a perfect foil to the boss' more...volatile moods. Even though he was a hitman, he sometimes felt like his job was more akin to that of a babysitter.
"They have disrespected us for the last time!" Williams got up and started pacing, which was always a bad thing. It meant that he was starting to think, and think crazy. Johnny Gun prayed it wasn't something like--
"I've got it! We'll just kill their Godfather!"
Like that, for instance.
**************
Five weeks later, a few countries away, Johnny Gun sat (nondescriptly, he hoped) outside a fancy hipster cafe. He hadn't been able to talk the Boss out of his insane, crazy idea; Williams hadn't seemed to understand that killing the leader of a powerful mafia was far, far more difficult than simply tossing a few bullets their way. Nevertheless, the Boss' word was law, and so Johnny Gun had set out to find someone who could do the job.
Honestly, there hadn't been much of a choice. The mafia in question was rich, powerful, and had their fingers in pretty much every nook and cranny of both the legal and black markets. The godfather, Jean Louis, was notoriously skilled in both fighting and manipulation. In the underground, they called him the Shadow King. No one had confronted him and lived to tell the tale.
However, there was an assassin who was equally as notorious. They had never failed a hit, no matter how difficult. The United States president? Done without so much as a blink. Half of England's royal family? Gone by the light of dawn. The executives of Interpol? Dead before the sun rose. High level operatives of the CIA? They never even stood a chance.
It was this assassin that Johnny Gun had been trying to find for the past few weeks, because if there was anything they did better than killing, it was hiding. It had taken over a month of constant searching and scrutiny before they had come up with a lead on where the assassin was.
So now Johnny Gun had been waiting idly for over two hours in front of this cafe, and this legendary killer had still not shown. If he was being honest, he was mildly giddy with excitement at the thought of meeting one of his heroes. Every contract killer in the world looked up to this assassin, and Johnny Gun was no different. Would they be tall? Muscular? Deadened, steel-bright eyes that could pierce your soul?
"Excuse me," a soft voice said. "You're the one who wanted to meet with me, right?"
Johnny Gun snapped out of his daze (bad form, Johnny!) and his eyes landed on a short, skinny teen with very large sunglasses in an oversized sweater. For a second, Johnny Gun thought it was a girl until he saw the facial structure and very prominent Adam's apple.
"You've got the wrong guy, kid," he rumbled. The boy shook his head, long hair swishing to cover his eyes.
"Uh, you wanted a tilapia catch from the Indian Sea, right?"
Johnny Gun's eyes widened. No way. Only the assassin would know that code. He had made sure of it.
"You--really? You?" The kid was scrawny! Johnny Gun's bicep was probably bigger than his entire torso.
"Yeah, it's me--look, can we just get down to business? I'm really busy; I've got like three projects and two tests next week and I'm just really stressed out, so..."
"Uh--" Johnny Gun was tempted to test him to make absolute sure he was the assassin he'd been searching for, but then he noticed that all three of his guns were no longer on his body and decided against it. "Here." He handed a dossier over to the boy, who immediately read it and nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay," he said. "Looks good."
"I'll buy you a coffee," Johnny Gun said. "As an extra treat." And also because he wanted to pick the boy's brains for killing methods.
*****
"So, how do you do it all? Take down all those high priority targets?" Johnny Gun asked eagerly as they sat in a (very) secluded area, sipping his drink with as much finesse as he could muster. The boy shifted his eyes away.
"I--ah--"
"Come on, just a little tip between friends."
"It's--it's not like that; you've got the wrong idea..."
"You've done so many high-level jobs--"
"Okay, thanks for the coffee, Ihavetogobye!" The boy rushed away, leaving his unfinished drink behind him. Johnny Gun furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn't finished asking.
Two days later, Jean Louis went skydiving. On his first jump, his parachute failed and he fell three kilometers from the air into a ravine. There weren't even enough bits left to make half a human.
"Amazing," Johnny Gun breathed. Countries away, the boy shivered. He hadn't even left his dorm.
| Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much.
I didn't think they were serious. They didn't say outright to kill the dude, but they used all the right movie quotes. But I showed up because I had nothing better to do.
He died, and I got paid. Now that I know the symptoms better, I think he had a heart attack. My google search history is ... interesting.
The thing is, it keeps happening. I don't know anything about my victims. I get a name and they die, whether or not I show up for the event. And the paycheck keeps getting bigger.
I've tried hiding, but they always seem to find me. Another name, another death.
Oh god. It's so heavy. Hurts so much. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | I am the worlds most famous assassin. My face is plastered all over the internet, yet I am technically not a criminal.
You see I haven't actually killed anyone, despite always fulfilling my contract.
It all started when I accidentally got a mafia boss killed. I worked in a restaurant at the time and mixed up some orders. Turns out the guy was allergic to nuts and choked to death. His rival mistook me for a professional assassin and hired me for many other assignments afterwards. I still haven't gotten around to telling him that I actually am just a regular guy.
At first I was very careful and planned out my hits very carefully, but no plan ever worked, my targets always died through some twisted turn of fate rather than my genuine attempts.
And today would be no different.
I walked up to the house of my target. Then I simply rang the bell.
The door opened and a tall, broad man in his 30s looked at me.
His face turned into a mask of terror when he recognized who I was. He turned on his heels and started running trough the house aiming for the stairs. I followed him upstairs and saw him jump out of an open window. The fall wouldn't have been high enough to kill him, so I walked up to the window and watched him run across the street, turning around to see if I was following him.
It was at that moment a car caught him. His body crashed into the car's hood and rolled off onto the street.
Another assignment completed wihtout getting my hands dirty. | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The man in front of me was terrified. "Please! Don't do this! I--I have a wife! And children!"
"I know," I growled, moving in closer. My grip on the pistol was poised, steady. If I shot it now, I would pierce him directly through the heart, killing him instantly.
"Who--who told you to do this?" he begged, backing up against an apartment block. It was the perfect scenario: 3 am in the morning, lamplights too dim to see, only passerby were gaggles of teenagers who were either too intoxicated or too stupid to tell what was going on.
My fingertips tightened. Adrenaline coursed up my spine, anticipation shot through every vein like a drug.
I pulled the trigger, and a body slumped to the floor, shot.
"Damnit!" I shouted, as the wounded pigeon flapped its wings helplessly, feathers falling everywhere as it tried to fly. Through sheer luck, the dumb bird had flown in front of my bullet right before it would have entered the man's body.
I pulled the trigger again. Suddenly, a van roared out of nowhere and knocked me down. The gun flew out of my hand and landed a few metres away, while the driver, a young woman, jumped out of the van, her hands clapped over her face. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
I stood up, picked up the gun, and fired for the third time. This time, a random Frisbee thrown by one of those stupid teenagers blocked the shot and sent it ricocheting into the pavement. The Frisbee clattered onto the floor, dented.
I fired, but the woman standing next to me fainted from shock and slumped into my hand, causing the shot to miss.
I heaved her body off of me and fired again. The shot rebounded off of a nearby lamppost and hit a parked car.
I fired again, but my gun simply clicked, telling me that it was out of ammo. I reloaded and took aim. By now, my target was running away, screaming "Help! Help! I'm being attacked!"
I fired again, but the bullet hit a jumping cat instead. It howled as it fell back down to the ground and died.
I fired again, but tripped on a pebble in the ground and I missed.
I fired again, but another pigeon knocked the gun out of my hand, and I missed.
I fired again, and I actually hit, but the man's wristwatch blocked the shot.
I fired again, but a sudden earth tremor shook the ground, and I missed.
I fired again, but a Dumpster rolled into my path due to the earth tremor, and I missed.
I fired again, but lightning struck the bullet mid-flight, and I missed.
I fired again, but a nearby car radio started blaring songs, so I turned around to listen for a while.
I fired again, but another gunshot rang out at the same time. The two bullets intercepted each other and missed.
I fired again, but a speck of dust blocked the bullet.
I fired again, but the bullet was blown off course by a light breeze and smashed into a shop window.
I fired again, but the shopkeeper ran outside to check for damages and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but a random stranger came to check on the shopkeeper and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but my phone buzzed to notify me of a nearby Pokémon, so I spent a good three minutes catching that Magnemite.
I fired again, but the city was suddenly nuked, and I missed.
After crawling out of the smoking, radiated wreckage and coughing a few times, my vision cleared just enough to see a refrigerator fall from the sky and crush the man in the distance. | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The target was right where I was told he would be: the Lighthouse Bar & Grill. An ordinary place, small town, empty roads, a dinky hotel just across the street he’s probably been staying in. This was likely going to be his last night here, whether or not I even showed up. I guessed that’s why he was letting loose.
The old wooden door let out a nostalgic creak that let everyone know I was here. They all looked at me like I was just another ordinary guest and resumed their drinking and talking and laughing.
As if by providence, the target was sat up in the front with an open seat right next to him.
“Howdy.” I said, both to the target and the bartender, although the former didn’t quite notice.
The bartender acknowledged my greeting. “What can I get you?”
“Whiskey. Dry.”
He set off to make my drink.
I tossed out a question to the guy slouched over the bar counter next to me. “So, by any chance, might you be Sean Hayden?”
“Yeah. What about it?” He sounded relaxed and a bit irritated, but his ears quickly perked up and his expression carried a tinge of concern.
“I assume that’s an alias, correct?”
“Why’d you think that?” He clutched his glass a little tighter.
“Ah, well, I don’t know for sure. It’s just what my client told me.”
He fell silent. The bartender returned with my drink, passed it over, and sauntered off.
I took a sip. “You see, I’ve received a request to prevent you from waking up tomorrow morning. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
Sean twitched, and turned to me with a perplexed look on his face. “So, what’re you gonna do now?”
I didn’t respond.
“Actually, you think you could tell me your name?” He lowered his tone.
I did the same. “Yeah, yeah. It’s, ah, Richard Theeves.” My professional alias. It was pretty well known and feared.
He took a breath, and loosened his expression. “Let’s head outside, yeah?”
“I’m all for it.” I downed the rest of my drink, left a $20 on the counter, and headed for the door. Sean followed.
As I walked, I neared too close to a dining table, where a couple was sitting. I accidentally kicked the guy’s chair as he was taking a drink, and his glass fell right onto the smooth wooden floor.
“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna pay for that, right?”
I sighed. “Here.” I handed him a $20, and continued walking.
Sean surveyed the ground, stepped over the mess, and continued to the door way.
As he stepped through the door behind me, he glanced back at the red wine and shattered glass all over the floor. His foot caught on the ledge in the doorway, and he fell, slamming his head into the sidewalk.
Target: Eliminated.
| My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The body’s on the floor, mangled from a bad fall. Surrounding it are hundreds of empty bags of potato chips, like the dude stayed up all night munching them. Certainly looks like he forced himself into a heart attack—but I know he did, because he *always* does.
I plop onto a barstool, tapping my fingers against my knees as I take a deep breath. Last week he was a contractor, and now he’s a bartender. What next? I pull out my phone, the money’s already in my account, and even though I’m rich, I wish I wasn’t. Life would be so much easier if I never became an assassin.
Things used to be so…simple. Client pays me, I kill target. That was it. At one point, I was even the best in the business. Maybe everyone still thinks I am…
But this.
Standing up, I bend down, inspecting the body. One of the fingers is always bent toward a clue, and this one’s pointing into the backroom. I don’t know who this man is, or what exactly I did to piss him off. My guess is that I killed someone he loved, and he’s pissed off.
But how does he keep dying and coming back? Why is every client asking me to kill the same person?
I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but there’s no answer. Tonight I’ll go home and have another contract to kill him. For somebody seeking revenge, he sure seems to be enjoying this, almost like it’s a game. But dammit, it isn’t a game. Not since he took *her.*
Wandering into the backroom, I search the bottles of booze, batting cobwebs out the way as I try to find the small piece of paper. This has happened four times. First clue was that she’s trapped in a warehouse, second was that it’s big, third was that I’ve worked for the person who owns it, and fourth was that I kill innocent people. Three about location, one about the past. Something gives me a feeling this isn’t a game I’m gonna win, but rather a game he’s gonna draw out.
Turning a corner, I find a half-open safe covered in clawmarks. This must be where the clue is. When I pull the thing open, my eyes go wide, and I fall back onto my ass. This…it can’t…*no…*
A piece of paper’s taped to the wall, reading: *You’re not the best assassin, I am. I’ve been killing people for centuries, and you’ve become my newest victim. This is a cruel world, and you’re a cruel man. This isn’t about a grudge, it’s about making someone evil suffer. I said you kill innocents, and maybe I do too—but at least I do it to prove a point.*
And underneath it…
Covered in blood…
Is her finger, still donning our wedding ring.
My screams fill the room as I slam the safe shut.
***
This my go a little off-prompt, but this idea popped into my head the second I read it. Thanks for the great prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "I've had enough!" Williams yelled, slamming his fists onto his desk and rising to his feet.
"Boss, please. Take it easy. You know your blood pressure can't handle it." Calm and unshakable as always, Johnny Gun was a perfect foil to the boss' more...volatile moods. Even though he was a hitman, he sometimes felt like his job was more akin to that of a babysitter.
"They have disrespected us for the last time!" Williams got up and started pacing, which was always a bad thing. It meant that he was starting to think, and think crazy. Johnny Gun prayed it wasn't something like--
"I've got it! We'll just kill their Godfather!"
Like that, for instance.
**************
Five weeks later, a few countries away, Johnny Gun sat (nondescriptly, he hoped) outside a fancy hipster cafe. He hadn't been able to talk the Boss out of his insane, crazy idea; Williams hadn't seemed to understand that killing the leader of a powerful mafia was far, far more difficult than simply tossing a few bullets their way. Nevertheless, the Boss' word was law, and so Johnny Gun had set out to find someone who could do the job.
Honestly, there hadn't been much of a choice. The mafia in question was rich, powerful, and had their fingers in pretty much every nook and cranny of both the legal and black markets. The godfather, Jean Louis, was notoriously skilled in both fighting and manipulation. In the underground, they called him the Shadow King. No one had confronted him and lived to tell the tale.
However, there was an assassin who was equally as notorious. They had never failed a hit, no matter how difficult. The United States president? Done without so much as a blink. Half of England's royal family? Gone by the light of dawn. The executives of Interpol? Dead before the sun rose. High level operatives of the CIA? They never even stood a chance.
It was this assassin that Johnny Gun had been trying to find for the past few weeks, because if there was anything they did better than killing, it was hiding. It had taken over a month of constant searching and scrutiny before they had come up with a lead on where the assassin was.
So now Johnny Gun had been waiting idly for over two hours in front of this cafe, and this legendary killer had still not shown. If he was being honest, he was mildly giddy with excitement at the thought of meeting one of his heroes. Every contract killer in the world looked up to this assassin, and Johnny Gun was no different. Would they be tall? Muscular? Deadened, steel-bright eyes that could pierce your soul?
"Excuse me," a soft voice said. "You're the one who wanted to meet with me, right?"
Johnny Gun snapped out of his daze (bad form, Johnny!) and his eyes landed on a short, skinny teen with very large sunglasses in an oversized sweater. For a second, Johnny Gun thought it was a girl until he saw the facial structure and very prominent Adam's apple.
"You've got the wrong guy, kid," he rumbled. The boy shook his head, long hair swishing to cover his eyes.
"Uh, you wanted a tilapia catch from the Indian Sea, right?"
Johnny Gun's eyes widened. No way. Only the assassin would know that code. He had made sure of it.
"You--really? You?" The kid was scrawny! Johnny Gun's bicep was probably bigger than his entire torso.
"Yeah, it's me--look, can we just get down to business? I'm really busy; I've got like three projects and two tests next week and I'm just really stressed out, so..."
"Uh--" Johnny Gun was tempted to test him to make absolute sure he was the assassin he'd been searching for, but then he noticed that all three of his guns were no longer on his body and decided against it. "Here." He handed a dossier over to the boy, who immediately read it and nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay," he said. "Looks good."
"I'll buy you a coffee," Johnny Gun said. "As an extra treat." And also because he wanted to pick the boy's brains for killing methods.
*****
"So, how do you do it all? Take down all those high priority targets?" Johnny Gun asked eagerly as they sat in a (very) secluded area, sipping his drink with as much finesse as he could muster. The boy shifted his eyes away.
"I--ah--"
"Come on, just a little tip between friends."
"It's--it's not like that; you've got the wrong idea..."
"You've done so many high-level jobs--"
"Okay, thanks for the coffee, Ihavetogobye!" The boy rushed away, leaving his unfinished drink behind him. Johnny Gun furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn't finished asking.
Two days later, Jean Louis went skydiving. On his first jump, his parachute failed and he fell three kilometers from the air into a ravine. There weren't even enough bits left to make half a human.
"Amazing," Johnny Gun breathed. Countries away, the boy shivered. He hadn't even left his dorm.
| My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | They call me the best assassin in the world. I'm praised by thousands of shady, back alley, black market dealers as the most efficient, undetectable, and ruthless assassin available. I've even had undercover government agents bribe their way to finding me, paying me massive sums to take down notorious politicians and celebrities.
None of them know the truth, though. Honestly, I've never done anything to any of my targets. I get a letter in the mail; a picture, a name, and a paycheck. I spend the night thinking about that person, memorizing their name and face, and the next morning, they're dead. Car accident, heart attack, brain aneurysm, toaster in the bathtub. Doesn't matter to me. They die, and I get paid, but it doesn't end there.
Whenever I take a target's life, I receive some of their memories, and the emotions that come with them. Expecting wives, sons and daughters, recent promotions. Funerals, grievances, long-lasting depression, extreme stress. I take these lives, and with them, I take their hopes and sorrows, too. It all makes me guilty, even if I never really did anything. Somehow, I just ended someone's life. And all for what? Some pointless cash? No money should be worth the soul of another. But my soul is worthless. Weighed down and crushed by the lives I've taken. It's too much for a mortal man to bear.
Tonight, I'll be thinking of myself. | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | (My first writing outside of high school i just thought it would be fun to participate, please be gentle)
My movements were fluid and precise. A hallowed dance of creation, bringing the symbol of my will to bear. A sleek and elegant rifle soon lay before me. Custom made, every piece. It was the instrument I played, the needle of my tapestries.
We are all dominated by chance, whether you are a congressman or a truck driver. Any day you could trip down stairs and break your neck, or be struck by lightning. Accidents were easy to create. The game was in using a gun to trigger the accident. The ultimate test of skill. My skill. Using a lethal weapon to simply start a chain of events, resulting in a purely "natural" death.
I had studied my target for months, learning his habits, his environment, every single detail I could discover. The trap was set, his fate was sealed. I readied my rifle. A single perfect bullet was chambered, the familiar metallic click a death knell.
This was my most intricate plan yet, a shot on the second floor of a building along the route to his favorite coffee shop would startle a mouse. The mouse would set it all in motion. I was rather proud of this one.
I waited with bated breath for my target's arrival. After what seemed like an eternity I saw him, rounding the corner with a hot dog. Not the best last meal, but i know he loved his street vendors.
I melted into my rifle, letting it be an extension of myself. Just as was the street, the buildings around me, and my target. It was time to exercise my will on the world.
I went absolutely still, awaiting the right moment.
Almost...
Almost...
NO! NOT AGAIN, NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My world crumbled around me as I watched my target choke on his hot dog. I didn't need to check to know he was dead. It happened every goddamn time.
Why is it so hard to get a single well earned kill!?
Edit: I am shocked at how much love this got. I love reading and always have, but never really written anything. I have wanted to write a prompt for awhile but was scared it would sound good in my head and by awful. This was really outside my comfort zone so I appreciate all the love, I may write more based on the reception.
Also, changed baited to bated, from a comment | My next target was the pretty, blonde girl regaling the entire bar with her adventures as a female rogue.
Apparently, she had also pissed someone else off enough for them to hire an assassin - me - to kill her. Bet she didn't know that story, though.
Either way, my plan was to ask her out (you know, get her alone, not for sex or anything like that, nooooo sir, not me!) and then do what I had to do (kill her, I mean, not actually...*do* her or anything like that...heh...).
But when I asked her out, she died laughing. Literally laughed until she actually died. And that concluded my assignment.
So. In the end, I got paid, my reputation as a feared assassin grew, and oh! I'm still a virgin...yup.
Whoopee. -.- | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | The man in front of me was terrified. "Please! Don't do this! I--I have a wife! And children!"
"I know," I growled, moving in closer. My grip on the pistol was poised, steady. If I shot it now, I would pierce him directly through the heart, killing him instantly.
"Who--who told you to do this?" he begged, backing up against an apartment block. It was the perfect scenario: 3 am in the morning, lamplights too dim to see, only passerby were gaggles of teenagers who were either too intoxicated or too stupid to tell what was going on.
My fingertips tightened. Adrenaline coursed up my spine, anticipation shot through every vein like a drug.
I pulled the trigger, and a body slumped to the floor, shot.
"Damnit!" I shouted, as the wounded pigeon flapped its wings helplessly, feathers falling everywhere as it tried to fly. Through sheer luck, the dumb bird had flown in front of my bullet right before it would have entered the man's body.
I pulled the trigger again. Suddenly, a van roared out of nowhere and knocked me down. The gun flew out of my hand and landed a few metres away, while the driver, a young woman, jumped out of the van, her hands clapped over her face. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
I stood up, picked up the gun, and fired for the third time. This time, a random Frisbee thrown by one of those stupid teenagers blocked the shot and sent it ricocheting into the pavement. The Frisbee clattered onto the floor, dented.
I fired, but the woman standing next to me fainted from shock and slumped into my hand, causing the shot to miss.
I heaved her body off of me and fired again. The shot rebounded off of a nearby lamppost and hit a parked car.
I fired again, but my gun simply clicked, telling me that it was out of ammo. I reloaded and took aim. By now, my target was running away, screaming "Help! Help! I'm being attacked!"
I fired again, but the bullet hit a jumping cat instead. It howled as it fell back down to the ground and died.
I fired again, but tripped on a pebble in the ground and I missed.
I fired again, but another pigeon knocked the gun out of my hand, and I missed.
I fired again, and I actually hit, but the man's wristwatch blocked the shot.
I fired again, but a sudden earth tremor shook the ground, and I missed.
I fired again, but a Dumpster rolled into my path due to the earth tremor, and I missed.
I fired again, but lightning struck the bullet mid-flight, and I missed.
I fired again, but a nearby car radio started blaring songs, so I turned around to listen for a while.
I fired again, but another gunshot rang out at the same time. The two bullets intercepted each other and missed.
I fired again, but a speck of dust blocked the bullet.
I fired again, but the bullet was blown off course by a light breeze and smashed into a shop window.
I fired again, but the shopkeeper ran outside to check for damages and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but a random stranger came to check on the shopkeeper and took the shot instead.
I fired again, but my phone buzzed to notify me of a nearby Pokémon, so I spent a good three minutes catching that Magnemite.
I fired again, but the city was suddenly nuked, and I missed.
After crawling out of the smoking, radiated wreckage and coughing a few times, my vision cleared just enough to see a refrigerator fall from the sky and crush the man in the distance. | I am the worlds most famous assassin. My face is plastered all over the internet, yet I am technically not a criminal.
You see I haven't actually killed anyone, despite always fulfilling my contract.
It all started when I accidentally got a mafia boss killed. I worked in a restaurant at the time and mixed up some orders. Turns out the guy was allergic to nuts and choked to death. His rival mistook me for a professional assassin and hired me for many other assignments afterwards. I still haven't gotten around to telling him that I actually am just a regular guy.
At first I was very careful and planned out my hits very carefully, but no plan ever worked, my targets always died through some twisted turn of fate rather than my genuine attempts.
And today would be no different.
I walked up to the house of my target. Then I simply rang the bell.
The door opened and a tall, broad man in his 30s looked at me.
His face turned into a mask of terror when he recognized who I was. He turned on his heels and started running trough the house aiming for the stairs. I followed him upstairs and saw him jump out of an open window. The fall wouldn't have been high enough to kill him, so I walked up to the window and watched him run across the street, turning around to see if I was following him.
It was at that moment a car caught him. His body crashed into the car's hood and rolled off onto the street.
Another assignment completed wihtout getting my hands dirty. | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "I've had enough!" Williams yelled, slamming his fists onto his desk and rising to his feet.
"Boss, please. Take it easy. You know your blood pressure can't handle it." Calm and unshakable as always, Johnny Gun was a perfect foil to the boss' more...volatile moods. Even though he was a hitman, he sometimes felt like his job was more akin to that of a babysitter.
"They have disrespected us for the last time!" Williams got up and started pacing, which was always a bad thing. It meant that he was starting to think, and think crazy. Johnny Gun prayed it wasn't something like--
"I've got it! We'll just kill their Godfather!"
Like that, for instance.
**************
Five weeks later, a few countries away, Johnny Gun sat (nondescriptly, he hoped) outside a fancy hipster cafe. He hadn't been able to talk the Boss out of his insane, crazy idea; Williams hadn't seemed to understand that killing the leader of a powerful mafia was far, far more difficult than simply tossing a few bullets their way. Nevertheless, the Boss' word was law, and so Johnny Gun had set out to find someone who could do the job.
Honestly, there hadn't been much of a choice. The mafia in question was rich, powerful, and had their fingers in pretty much every nook and cranny of both the legal and black markets. The godfather, Jean Louis, was notoriously skilled in both fighting and manipulation. In the underground, they called him the Shadow King. No one had confronted him and lived to tell the tale.
However, there was an assassin who was equally as notorious. They had never failed a hit, no matter how difficult. The United States president? Done without so much as a blink. Half of England's royal family? Gone by the light of dawn. The executives of Interpol? Dead before the sun rose. High level operatives of the CIA? They never even stood a chance.
It was this assassin that Johnny Gun had been trying to find for the past few weeks, because if there was anything they did better than killing, it was hiding. It had taken over a month of constant searching and scrutiny before they had come up with a lead on where the assassin was.
So now Johnny Gun had been waiting idly for over two hours in front of this cafe, and this legendary killer had still not shown. If he was being honest, he was mildly giddy with excitement at the thought of meeting one of his heroes. Every contract killer in the world looked up to this assassin, and Johnny Gun was no different. Would they be tall? Muscular? Deadened, steel-bright eyes that could pierce your soul?
"Excuse me," a soft voice said. "You're the one who wanted to meet with me, right?"
Johnny Gun snapped out of his daze (bad form, Johnny!) and his eyes landed on a short, skinny teen with very large sunglasses in an oversized sweater. For a second, Johnny Gun thought it was a girl until he saw the facial structure and very prominent Adam's apple.
"You've got the wrong guy, kid," he rumbled. The boy shook his head, long hair swishing to cover his eyes.
"Uh, you wanted a tilapia catch from the Indian Sea, right?"
Johnny Gun's eyes widened. No way. Only the assassin would know that code. He had made sure of it.
"You--really? You?" The kid was scrawny! Johnny Gun's bicep was probably bigger than his entire torso.
"Yeah, it's me--look, can we just get down to business? I'm really busy; I've got like three projects and two tests next week and I'm just really stressed out, so..."
"Uh--" Johnny Gun was tempted to test him to make absolute sure he was the assassin he'd been searching for, but then he noticed that all three of his guns were no longer on his body and decided against it. "Here." He handed a dossier over to the boy, who immediately read it and nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay," he said. "Looks good."
"I'll buy you a coffee," Johnny Gun said. "As an extra treat." And also because he wanted to pick the boy's brains for killing methods.
*****
"So, how do you do it all? Take down all those high priority targets?" Johnny Gun asked eagerly as they sat in a (very) secluded area, sipping his drink with as much finesse as he could muster. The boy shifted his eyes away.
"I--ah--"
"Come on, just a little tip between friends."
"It's--it's not like that; you've got the wrong idea..."
"You've done so many high-level jobs--"
"Okay, thanks for the coffee, Ihavetogobye!" The boy rushed away, leaving his unfinished drink behind him. Johnny Gun furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn't finished asking.
Two days later, Jean Louis went skydiving. On his first jump, his parachute failed and he fell three kilometers from the air into a ravine. There weren't even enough bits left to make half a human.
"Amazing," Johnny Gun breathed. Countries away, the boy shivered. He hadn't even left his dorm.
| The target was right where I was told he would be: the Lighthouse Bar & Grill. An ordinary place, small town, empty roads, a dinky hotel just across the street he’s probably been staying in. This was likely going to be his last night here, whether or not I even showed up. I guessed that’s why he was letting loose.
The old wooden door let out a nostalgic creak that let everyone know I was here. They all looked at me like I was just another ordinary guest and resumed their drinking and talking and laughing.
As if by providence, the target was sat up in the front with an open seat right next to him.
“Howdy.” I said, both to the target and the bartender, although the former didn’t quite notice.
The bartender acknowledged my greeting. “What can I get you?”
“Whiskey. Dry.”
He set off to make my drink.
I tossed out a question to the guy slouched over the bar counter next to me. “So, by any chance, might you be Sean Hayden?”
“Yeah. What about it?” He sounded relaxed and a bit irritated, but his ears quickly perked up and his expression carried a tinge of concern.
“I assume that’s an alias, correct?”
“Why’d you think that?” He clutched his glass a little tighter.
“Ah, well, I don’t know for sure. It’s just what my client told me.”
He fell silent. The bartender returned with my drink, passed it over, and sauntered off.
I took a sip. “You see, I’ve received a request to prevent you from waking up tomorrow morning. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
Sean twitched, and turned to me with a perplexed look on his face. “So, what’re you gonna do now?”
I didn’t respond.
“Actually, you think you could tell me your name?” He lowered his tone.
I did the same. “Yeah, yeah. It’s, ah, Richard Theeves.” My professional alias. It was pretty well known and feared.
He took a breath, and loosened his expression. “Let’s head outside, yeah?”
“I’m all for it.” I downed the rest of my drink, left a $20 on the counter, and headed for the door. Sean followed.
As I walked, I neared too close to a dining table, where a couple was sitting. I accidentally kicked the guy’s chair as he was taking a drink, and his glass fell right onto the smooth wooden floor.
“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna pay for that, right?”
I sighed. “Here.” I handed him a $20, and continued walking.
Sean surveyed the ground, stepped over the mess, and continued to the door way.
As he stepped through the door behind me, he glanced back at the red wine and shattered glass all over the floor. His foot caught on the ledge in the doorway, and he fell, slamming his head into the sidewalk.
Target: Eliminated.
| |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | "I've had enough!" Williams yelled, slamming his fists onto his desk and rising to his feet.
"Boss, please. Take it easy. You know your blood pressure can't handle it." Calm and unshakable as always, Johnny Gun was a perfect foil to the boss' more...volatile moods. Even though he was a hitman, he sometimes felt like his job was more akin to that of a babysitter.
"They have disrespected us for the last time!" Williams got up and started pacing, which was always a bad thing. It meant that he was starting to think, and think crazy. Johnny Gun prayed it wasn't something like--
"I've got it! We'll just kill their Godfather!"
Like that, for instance.
**************
Five weeks later, a few countries away, Johnny Gun sat (nondescriptly, he hoped) outside a fancy hipster cafe. He hadn't been able to talk the Boss out of his insane, crazy idea; Williams hadn't seemed to understand that killing the leader of a powerful mafia was far, far more difficult than simply tossing a few bullets their way. Nevertheless, the Boss' word was law, and so Johnny Gun had set out to find someone who could do the job.
Honestly, there hadn't been much of a choice. The mafia in question was rich, powerful, and had their fingers in pretty much every nook and cranny of both the legal and black markets. The godfather, Jean Louis, was notoriously skilled in both fighting and manipulation. In the underground, they called him the Shadow King. No one had confronted him and lived to tell the tale.
However, there was an assassin who was equally as notorious. They had never failed a hit, no matter how difficult. The United States president? Done without so much as a blink. Half of England's royal family? Gone by the light of dawn. The executives of Interpol? Dead before the sun rose. High level operatives of the CIA? They never even stood a chance.
It was this assassin that Johnny Gun had been trying to find for the past few weeks, because if there was anything they did better than killing, it was hiding. It had taken over a month of constant searching and scrutiny before they had come up with a lead on where the assassin was.
So now Johnny Gun had been waiting idly for over two hours in front of this cafe, and this legendary killer had still not shown. If he was being honest, he was mildly giddy with excitement at the thought of meeting one of his heroes. Every contract killer in the world looked up to this assassin, and Johnny Gun was no different. Would they be tall? Muscular? Deadened, steel-bright eyes that could pierce your soul?
"Excuse me," a soft voice said. "You're the one who wanted to meet with me, right?"
Johnny Gun snapped out of his daze (bad form, Johnny!) and his eyes landed on a short, skinny teen with very large sunglasses in an oversized sweater. For a second, Johnny Gun thought it was a girl until he saw the facial structure and very prominent Adam's apple.
"You've got the wrong guy, kid," he rumbled. The boy shook his head, long hair swishing to cover his eyes.
"Uh, you wanted a tilapia catch from the Indian Sea, right?"
Johnny Gun's eyes widened. No way. Only the assassin would know that code. He had made sure of it.
"You--really? You?" The kid was scrawny! Johnny Gun's bicep was probably bigger than his entire torso.
"Yeah, it's me--look, can we just get down to business? I'm really busy; I've got like three projects and two tests next week and I'm just really stressed out, so..."
"Uh--" Johnny Gun was tempted to test him to make absolute sure he was the assassin he'd been searching for, but then he noticed that all three of his guns were no longer on his body and decided against it. "Here." He handed a dossier over to the boy, who immediately read it and nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay," he said. "Looks good."
"I'll buy you a coffee," Johnny Gun said. "As an extra treat." And also because he wanted to pick the boy's brains for killing methods.
*****
"So, how do you do it all? Take down all those high priority targets?" Johnny Gun asked eagerly as they sat in a (very) secluded area, sipping his drink with as much finesse as he could muster. The boy shifted his eyes away.
"I--ah--"
"Come on, just a little tip between friends."
"It's--it's not like that; you've got the wrong idea..."
"You've done so many high-level jobs--"
"Okay, thanks for the coffee, Ihavetogobye!" The boy rushed away, leaving his unfinished drink behind him. Johnny Gun furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn't finished asking.
Two days later, Jean Louis went skydiving. On his first jump, his parachute failed and he fell three kilometers from the air into a ravine. There weren't even enough bits left to make half a human.
"Amazing," Johnny Gun breathed. Countries away, the boy shivered. He hadn't even left his dorm.
| The body’s on the floor, mangled from a bad fall. Surrounding it are hundreds of empty bags of potato chips, like the dude stayed up all night munching them. Certainly looks like he forced himself into a heart attack—but I know he did, because he *always* does.
I plop onto a barstool, tapping my fingers against my knees as I take a deep breath. Last week he was a contractor, and now he’s a bartender. What next? I pull out my phone, the money’s already in my account, and even though I’m rich, I wish I wasn’t. Life would be so much easier if I never became an assassin.
Things used to be so…simple. Client pays me, I kill target. That was it. At one point, I was even the best in the business. Maybe everyone still thinks I am…
But this.
Standing up, I bend down, inspecting the body. One of the fingers is always bent toward a clue, and this one’s pointing into the backroom. I don’t know who this man is, or what exactly I did to piss him off. My guess is that I killed someone he loved, and he’s pissed off.
But how does he keep dying and coming back? Why is every client asking me to kill the same person?
I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but there’s no answer. Tonight I’ll go home and have another contract to kill him. For somebody seeking revenge, he sure seems to be enjoying this, almost like it’s a game. But dammit, it isn’t a game. Not since he took *her.*
Wandering into the backroom, I search the bottles of booze, batting cobwebs out the way as I try to find the small piece of paper. This has happened four times. First clue was that she’s trapped in a warehouse, second was that it’s big, third was that I’ve worked for the person who owns it, and fourth was that I kill innocent people. Three about location, one about the past. Something gives me a feeling this isn’t a game I’m gonna win, but rather a game he’s gonna draw out.
Turning a corner, I find a half-open safe covered in clawmarks. This must be where the clue is. When I pull the thing open, my eyes go wide, and I fall back onto my ass. This…it can’t…*no…*
A piece of paper’s taped to the wall, reading: *You’re not the best assassin, I am. I’ve been killing people for centuries, and you’ve become my newest victim. This is a cruel world, and you’re a cruel man. This isn’t about a grudge, it’s about making someone evil suffer. I said you kill innocents, and maybe I do too—but at least I do it to prove a point.*
And underneath it…
Covered in blood…
Is her finger, still donning our wedding ring.
My screams fill the room as I slam the safe shut.
***
This my go a little off-prompt, but this idea popped into my head the second I read it. Thanks for the great prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | They call me the best assassin in the world. I'm praised by thousands of shady, back alley, black market dealers as the most efficient, undetectable, and ruthless assassin available. I've even had undercover government agents bribe their way to finding me, paying me massive sums to take down notorious politicians and celebrities.
None of them know the truth, though. Honestly, I've never done anything to any of my targets. I get a letter in the mail; a picture, a name, and a paycheck. I spend the night thinking about that person, memorizing their name and face, and the next morning, they're dead. Car accident, heart attack, brain aneurysm, toaster in the bathtub. Doesn't matter to me. They die, and I get paid, but it doesn't end there.
Whenever I take a target's life, I receive some of their memories, and the emotions that come with them. Expecting wives, sons and daughters, recent promotions. Funerals, grievances, long-lasting depression, extreme stress. I take these lives, and with them, I take their hopes and sorrows, too. It all makes me guilty, even if I never really did anything. Somehow, I just ended someone's life. And all for what? Some pointless cash? No money should be worth the soul of another. But my soul is worthless. Weighed down and crushed by the lives I've taken. It's too much for a mortal man to bear.
Tonight, I'll be thinking of myself. | The body’s on the floor, mangled from a bad fall. Surrounding it are hundreds of empty bags of potato chips, like the dude stayed up all night munching them. Certainly looks like he forced himself into a heart attack—but I know he did, because he *always* does.
I plop onto a barstool, tapping my fingers against my knees as I take a deep breath. Last week he was a contractor, and now he’s a bartender. What next? I pull out my phone, the money’s already in my account, and even though I’m rich, I wish I wasn’t. Life would be so much easier if I never became an assassin.
Things used to be so…simple. Client pays me, I kill target. That was it. At one point, I was even the best in the business. Maybe everyone still thinks I am…
But this.
Standing up, I bend down, inspecting the body. One of the fingers is always bent toward a clue, and this one’s pointing into the backroom. I don’t know who this man is, or what exactly I did to piss him off. My guess is that I killed someone he loved, and he’s pissed off.
But how does he keep dying and coming back? Why is every client asking me to kill the same person?
I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but there’s no answer. Tonight I’ll go home and have another contract to kill him. For somebody seeking revenge, he sure seems to be enjoying this, almost like it’s a game. But dammit, it isn’t a game. Not since he took *her.*
Wandering into the backroom, I search the bottles of booze, batting cobwebs out the way as I try to find the small piece of paper. This has happened four times. First clue was that she’s trapped in a warehouse, second was that it’s big, third was that I’ve worked for the person who owns it, and fourth was that I kill innocent people. Three about location, one about the past. Something gives me a feeling this isn’t a game I’m gonna win, but rather a game he’s gonna draw out.
Turning a corner, I find a half-open safe covered in clawmarks. This must be where the clue is. When I pull the thing open, my eyes go wide, and I fall back onto my ass. This…it can’t…*no…*
A piece of paper’s taped to the wall, reading: *You’re not the best assassin, I am. I’ve been killing people for centuries, and you’ve become my newest victim. This is a cruel world, and you’re a cruel man. This isn’t about a grudge, it’s about making someone evil suffer. I said you kill innocents, and maybe I do too—but at least I do it to prove a point.*
And underneath it…
Covered in blood…
Is her finger, still donning our wedding ring.
My screams fill the room as I slam the safe shut.
***
This my go a little off-prompt, but this idea popped into my head the second I read it. Thanks for the great prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | (My first writing outside of high school i just thought it would be fun to participate, please be gentle)
My movements were fluid and precise. A hallowed dance of creation, bringing the symbol of my will to bear. A sleek and elegant rifle soon lay before me. Custom made, every piece. It was the instrument I played, the needle of my tapestries.
We are all dominated by chance, whether you are a congressman or a truck driver. Any day you could trip down stairs and break your neck, or be struck by lightning. Accidents were easy to create. The game was in using a gun to trigger the accident. The ultimate test of skill. My skill. Using a lethal weapon to simply start a chain of events, resulting in a purely "natural" death.
I had studied my target for months, learning his habits, his environment, every single detail I could discover. The trap was set, his fate was sealed. I readied my rifle. A single perfect bullet was chambered, the familiar metallic click a death knell.
This was my most intricate plan yet, a shot on the second floor of a building along the route to his favorite coffee shop would startle a mouse. The mouse would set it all in motion. I was rather proud of this one.
I waited with bated breath for my target's arrival. After what seemed like an eternity I saw him, rounding the corner with a hot dog. Not the best last meal, but i know he loved his street vendors.
I melted into my rifle, letting it be an extension of myself. Just as was the street, the buildings around me, and my target. It was time to exercise my will on the world.
I went absolutely still, awaiting the right moment.
Almost...
Almost...
NO! NOT AGAIN, NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My world crumbled around me as I watched my target choke on his hot dog. I didn't need to check to know he was dead. It happened every goddamn time.
Why is it so hard to get a single well earned kill!?
Edit: I am shocked at how much love this got. I love reading and always have, but never really written anything. I have wanted to write a prompt for awhile but was scared it would sound good in my head and by awful. This was really outside my comfort zone so I appreciate all the love, I may write more based on the reception.
Also, changed baited to bated, from a comment | The body’s on the floor, mangled from a bad fall. Surrounding it are hundreds of empty bags of potato chips, like the dude stayed up all night munching them. Certainly looks like he forced himself into a heart attack—but I know he did, because he *always* does.
I plop onto a barstool, tapping my fingers against my knees as I take a deep breath. Last week he was a contractor, and now he’s a bartender. What next? I pull out my phone, the money’s already in my account, and even though I’m rich, I wish I wasn’t. Life would be so much easier if I never became an assassin.
Things used to be so…simple. Client pays me, I kill target. That was it. At one point, I was even the best in the business. Maybe everyone still thinks I am…
But this.
Standing up, I bend down, inspecting the body. One of the fingers is always bent toward a clue, and this one’s pointing into the backroom. I don’t know who this man is, or what exactly I did to piss him off. My guess is that I killed someone he loved, and he’s pissed off.
But how does he keep dying and coming back? Why is every client asking me to kill the same person?
I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but there’s no answer. Tonight I’ll go home and have another contract to kill him. For somebody seeking revenge, he sure seems to be enjoying this, almost like it’s a game. But dammit, it isn’t a game. Not since he took *her.*
Wandering into the backroom, I search the bottles of booze, batting cobwebs out the way as I try to find the small piece of paper. This has happened four times. First clue was that she’s trapped in a warehouse, second was that it’s big, third was that I’ve worked for the person who owns it, and fourth was that I kill innocent people. Three about location, one about the past. Something gives me a feeling this isn’t a game I’m gonna win, but rather a game he’s gonna draw out.
Turning a corner, I find a half-open safe covered in clawmarks. This must be where the clue is. When I pull the thing open, my eyes go wide, and I fall back onto my ass. This…it can’t…*no…*
A piece of paper’s taped to the wall, reading: *You’re not the best assassin, I am. I’ve been killing people for centuries, and you’ve become my newest victim. This is a cruel world, and you’re a cruel man. This isn’t about a grudge, it’s about making someone evil suffer. I said you kill innocents, and maybe I do too—but at least I do it to prove a point.*
And underneath it…
Covered in blood…
Is her finger, still donning our wedding ring.
My screams fill the room as I slam the safe shut.
***
This my go a little off-prompt, but this idea popped into my head the second I read it. Thanks for the great prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) | |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | (My first writing outside of high school i just thought it would be fun to participate, please be gentle)
My movements were fluid and precise. A hallowed dance of creation, bringing the symbol of my will to bear. A sleek and elegant rifle soon lay before me. Custom made, every piece. It was the instrument I played, the needle of my tapestries.
We are all dominated by chance, whether you are a congressman or a truck driver. Any day you could trip down stairs and break your neck, or be struck by lightning. Accidents were easy to create. The game was in using a gun to trigger the accident. The ultimate test of skill. My skill. Using a lethal weapon to simply start a chain of events, resulting in a purely "natural" death.
I had studied my target for months, learning his habits, his environment, every single detail I could discover. The trap was set, his fate was sealed. I readied my rifle. A single perfect bullet was chambered, the familiar metallic click a death knell.
This was my most intricate plan yet, a shot on the second floor of a building along the route to his favorite coffee shop would startle a mouse. The mouse would set it all in motion. I was rather proud of this one.
I waited with bated breath for my target's arrival. After what seemed like an eternity I saw him, rounding the corner with a hot dog. Not the best last meal, but i know he loved his street vendors.
I melted into my rifle, letting it be an extension of myself. Just as was the street, the buildings around me, and my target. It was time to exercise my will on the world.
I went absolutely still, awaiting the right moment.
Almost...
Almost...
NO! NOT AGAIN, NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My world crumbled around me as I watched my target choke on his hot dog. I didn't need to check to know he was dead. It happened every goddamn time.
Why is it so hard to get a single well earned kill!?
Edit: I am shocked at how much love this got. I love reading and always have, but never really written anything. I have wanted to write a prompt for awhile but was scared it would sound good in my head and by awful. This was really outside my comfort zone so I appreciate all the love, I may write more based on the reception.
Also, changed baited to bated, from a comment | They call me the best assassin in the world. I'm praised by thousands of shady, back alley, black market dealers as the most efficient, undetectable, and ruthless assassin available. I've even had undercover government agents bribe their way to finding me, paying me massive sums to take down notorious politicians and celebrities.
None of them know the truth, though. Honestly, I've never done anything to any of my targets. I get a letter in the mail; a picture, a name, and a paycheck. I spend the night thinking about that person, memorizing their name and face, and the next morning, they're dead. Car accident, heart attack, brain aneurysm, toaster in the bathtub. Doesn't matter to me. They die, and I get paid, but it doesn't end there.
Whenever I take a target's life, I receive some of their memories, and the emotions that come with them. Expecting wives, sons and daughters, recent promotions. Funerals, grievances, long-lasting depression, extreme stress. I take these lives, and with them, I take their hopes and sorrows, too. It all makes me guilty, even if I never really did anything. Somehow, I just ended someone's life. And all for what? Some pointless cash? No money should be worth the soul of another. But my soul is worthless. Weighed down and crushed by the lives I've taken. It's too much for a mortal man to bear.
Tonight, I'll be thinking of myself. | |
[WP] Two writers, having never met but fallen in love with each other's words, begin to exchange subtle love letters through their short stories. | It was interesting to be a top supernatural thriller writer as I could finally indulge in my worlds of fantasy plus it had the added bonus of getting paid for them. Sure I wrote other stuff but the supernatural is what paid the bills and made me a minor celebrity. I struck it big when my book *Bloody Mary had a Bloody Lamb* was made into a number one movie. I had it figured that if I stopped writing today I could live off the residuals quite comfortably for the rest of my life. Or I could continue writing and become filthy rich. I chose the latter.
I had heard of Monica Glenn before I met her. She was the top selling romance author in the country so when we got paired together to do a Q&A at Read Con we finally met. She was shorter than I expected, then again she was prettier than I expected. Most impressive was that she was not impressed with me at all. Why should she be? She sold twice what I did in any given year. She was recently divorced and when I asked her out for a drink after the session she said "What the hell."
We talked for several hours and I left feeling I had bored her to tears. She seemed extremely unimpressed and if she wasn't looking at her phone she was looking at her watch. I excused myself and stopped trying. I found out later that she has severe anxiety disorder but then and there I thought I had struck out.
Her short story, "The Man with the Blue Eyes" appeared on her website a week later. It was about a recently divorced lady police detective who meets a "hack writer" of "paltry dime store murder mysteries" and they fall in love but circumstances force them to part. I looked at my blue eyes in the mirror and grinned at the cheap shots. Hell, that was if that was a message to me at all. I've been told I do have a hell of an ego.
I penned "The Romance Novelist" that same night and put it on my website. The short story was about, of course, a top selling recently divorced romance novelist that discovers that she has no soul. I'm not talking coolness, I'm talking an actual soul. Her mother had sold her soul to the devil when she was born. I imagined her reading it and smiled.
"The Jerk" appeared the next day on her website. It was about a man that was so full of himself that he couldn't believe that anyone could ever top him, despite his obviously low intellect. Of course, his secretary reveals him for the moron he is in front of a big client and he is furious with her. They somehow fall in love as a plot twist.
I wrote "The Day the Dead Returned" in reply. I was sure we were communicating now. Just what we were communicating I don't know. My short story was about the same police detective from her original short story as she teams up with the hack writer in Haiti to fight the local voodoo priest. In this one, the police detective admits what a jerk she's been and the hack writer graciously accepts her humble apology. If that didn't raise her hackles, I didn't know what would.
When the night passed without a call from her lawyer I knew I was on to something. There was a minor buzz on the internet and rumors started to fly. "The Day the Dead Returned 2 - The Asshole"
was very unlike her usual writing. As a matter of fact, I learned it was her first foray into the world of the supernatural. She actually wasn't bad. The hack writer became the hacked-apart writer (by the daughter of the above voodoo priest) after loving and leaving the police detective. No one on the internet was sure who the asshole in the title referred to, but I knew.
"The Day the Dead Returned 3 - The Apology" had the soul of the hacked hack returning from the land of the dead in an attempt to apologize to the police detective for being such a fool. She accepts and in a twist ending dies and they are together forever.
A week had passed since we started our story exchange and the internet was taken by storm. Our book sales increased twenty five percent that week so our publishers were more than okay with it.
How did this end, you ask?
Well, our supernatural romance collaborations are now almost a guaranteed number one spot on the New York Times bestseller list. We've signed a contract for the first three books in the series to become movies. Best of all, we're expecting our first child in July. She's hoping for a girl, I'm hoping for a demon. Everyone is also invited to the wedding. It's in Haiti this June. | If you’re calling on some one, i hope they respond
For lovers lost in context, are dreams that are gone
If your some one calls back, i pray the return
The feelings you’ve gained, and the feelings they’ve earned
When two lovers cross, the thought of love is divine
Only in those moments it difficult to find
A stranger whose love has yet to begin
Is filled by another’s creativity, and comfort within
The rhythm, the rhyme, the slant, and their hope
Is what makes my heart reach, grab and grope.
| |
[WP] You are a terrible human being, you only do bad things. But that's because your plan is going to hell and killing Satan. | I knew why he did it. My beloved. He slit his own throat seventeen summers ago.
It was his favourite season, the time when the world burned. So of course, he wished to rule the flames in hell.
I would have been his queen. His Harley to my Joker. Our crime dynasty was like no other. The pentagram of the Five Families was perfect for our spells, and the mindless addicts were perfect experiments.
Alas, he reached hell without me. Apparently hell is to be ruled alone.
I took that to heart. I trained my mind and body. For seventeen winters I razed, I stole, I killed. I barely remember who, what, when because all I wanted was to see my beloved again.
And now I am.
Looking him in the eyes as I plunge my favourite dagger on his heart.
Hellfire is mine now, sweetheart.
| I grew up a hell child myself. I was thrown into a world of secrets, lies and pain. As I grew through my adolescent years into my teen years, I always wondered what I was thinking. I found a few interests and made a few friends. As my life grew into adulthood, I was thrown into responsibilies so unbearable I had to leave the situation entirely all while hurting myself so the shame would end quicker. I hurt myself because I didn't have someone to love anymore. I felt defeated. I knew how deep I gotten myself down my chosen path. I asked for the strength and he gave me what I need to get up and showed me my proper destiny.
I chose that path and it has made all the difference.
| |
[WP] You are a terrible human being, you only do bad things. But that's because your plan is going to hell and killing Satan. | I knew why he did it. My beloved. He slit his own throat seventeen summers ago.
It was his favourite season, the time when the world burned. So of course, he wished to rule the flames in hell.
I would have been his queen. His Harley to my Joker. Our crime dynasty was like no other. The pentagram of the Five Families was perfect for our spells, and the mindless addicts were perfect experiments.
Alas, he reached hell without me. Apparently hell is to be ruled alone.
I took that to heart. I trained my mind and body. For seventeen winters I razed, I stole, I killed. I barely remember who, what, when because all I wanted was to see my beloved again.
And now I am.
Looking him in the eyes as I plunge my favourite dagger on his heart.
Hellfire is mine now, sweetheart.
| Satan stands above Jason has his paralyzed body lays on the floor. Satan raises his hand and pulls James soul of out of his body. You start to yell hysterically. With his last amount of energy, James turns around to look at you one more time.
He looks like he just saw a ghost.
He uses the last amount of energy he has to open his mouth, but he loses consciousness before he can say anything to you. Satan finishes and turns to see you.
He laughs, "You'll have to kill me to get him back".
You realize your still screaming, and it suddenly turns into a screeching pitch.
You wake up and turn to James. He's not there.
You get up and turn the lights on. You quickly spot his funeral flower arrangements in the living room... | |
[WP] You are a terrible human being, you only do bad things. But that's because your plan is going to hell and killing Satan. | A golden sun, framed by wispy and delicate clouds adrift in a deep azure sky. Something had gone terribly wrong.
"Welcome, John," he said.
White robes. Long beard. Definitely *not* the guy I was looking for.
"Ahh yes," he smiled, and took a step forward. With gentle hands he rested his palm on my forehead for a moment, and I could *feel* him experience all of my life at once. Every moment I was ever alone, every dark thought, every choice I ever made and all of the indescribable feelings in my mind that influenced them.
All of them experienced in an instant.
"Oh John," his face contorted in horror. "What have you *done*?"
"I stole, I lied, I killed," I rubbed a hand along my arm, taking comfort that my tattoos were still there. *MERC 169*, *INREMEDIABILIS*, a half-dozen skulls...
"Indeed. You are a sinner, through and through," his eyes turned dark and the skies followed. "And you know perfectly well what we do with sinners."
"And *you* know that I'm counting on it," my muscles began to clench, wary of what could happen next. And somehow, despite having no need for a pulse up here, my heart thumped loudly in my skull. "So what am I still doing here?"
"I want to give you a choice."
My eyes narrowed. "I've already *made* my choice."
"You can choose," he continued, "to start over. To live your life again, peacefully this time. You can take all of the knowledge of your choices back with you, and live them all a second time." His eyes softened. "You can *save* her this time."
My body softened. For the first time, in what felt like forever, my mind stopped *aching*, like all of the drive and fury and anger in my heart had finally forgiven me.
I could get used to this.
"Why me?" I asked. "How could *I* of all people have earned this?"
"Heaven has no need for soldiers," he said. "And the best way to cheat the Devil is to refuse to see him."
*Like all of the drive and fury and anger in my heart was gone*. My hands trembled. The pain was gone, but so was the drive. So was the *purpose*. A soul, *adrift* in the heavens, without a breeze to sail on. A mere taste of *eternity*.
Rage was painful. Rage was corrosive. But Rage was *comfortable*.
"Send me back," I said.
He sighed in relief. "Thank you, John."
"Send me back," I continued, "so that I may train again. So that I can build an even *stronger* body, a *sharper* mind, and a resolve that won't be *tempted* by this petty bargain." A savage grin carved itself across my face. "Send me back until even *you* can't find reason to save me."
For a moment, his face froze. He seemed surprised, confused. *Disappointed*.
"I cannot let you go back. You are unfit for that world."
Lightning arced across the heavens, and the soft breeze turned to fiery sleet.
"I will let you go to Hell. And though they are rage, brutal, and without mercy - you will be *worse*."
Flames licked at the edge of my vision. My head began once more to throb, and my heart filled itself once more with anger. Fury. Rage.
"And in your eons of conflict, for every horrible soul that you claim, for every mighty demon that falls by your hand, you will never find peace where you are going."
I could feel it wrapping itself around me. Soon I was encased within unyielding exotic metals, armor for the future battles to come.
"I can think of no worse punishment for your sins, John."
But my heart was still alight with ravenous flame, and I could not heed his warnings.
"Rip and tear, until it is done." | I’ve spent a life killing. From my first kill to my suicide, but for what? Why do I commit such awful crimes? What is my cause? My mission is to kill Satan.
From a young age we are all told it’s wrong to kill. Every religion tells us so and for those who commit the atrocious sin it’s a one way trip to Hell. And that’s what I want. From the age of seven Satan would visit me every night. He would torment me and curse me. By age ten I had worked out my plan. Be as evil as possible in this life and once I die, go to Hell and finally kill Satan. My first experience of death was with my grandfather. Aged eleven I was alone with him in his hospital bed. He had terminal lung cancer and I remembered hearing my mother say he only had another month or two left. It was simple really. Nothing fancy. Just a pillow over his face. No one even noticed. The excitement of killing and the rush of getting away with certainly did not wear off.
That’s how I started my life of sin and eternal damnation. After grandfather, killing became an addiction, however I never got to reckless. My early kills were often years apart. I would volunteer to visit lonely old people at their houses and when they slept I would smother them.
At this point you may be asking why I was doing this if I did not even know Satan was real, but I knew. It’s just that no one else understands.
Anyway back to the story. By eighteen I had killed ten people and not been caught. I decided it was time to pay Satan a visit but I wanted to go out bloody. Something I hoped would impress Satan. To cut a long story short a battered a homeless person to death with a brick and then hopped of a bridge offing myself.
When I woke up I was in a white waiting room, sat on a metal chair. I looked towards the empty reception desk. Above it a sigh read, ‘Welcome to Purgatory. Please proceed through the gates of judgment. Have a lovely day’. I then proceeded towards the only door in the room which had a small sign saying, ‘Gates of Judgment’. I twisted the warm copper handle and went on in.
On the other side I found myself in an office, with red walls and a large mahogany desk.
‘Oh, hello. I didn’t see ya there.’ Said a voice. Satan then entered the office, his hooves clicking on the floor as he wandered towards the desk.
‘Please have a seat,’ he said kindly as he looked at his computer, ‘make yourself at home. Now then guest 1045683578 you’re in here for multiple murders. I like your work.’
‘Thank you?’ I said confused. At this point I was more confused at how timid Satan was rather than the fact he was congratulating me for murder.
‘Will you follow me,’ he said, ‘I just need to unlock the gates of Hell for you so that you can begin your eternal suffering’. I followed him, but as I passed the desk I saw my opportunity. I picked up pitch fork balanced against the desk. Satan bent down to unlock the gates. I raised his pitch fork high. His head began to turn. I plunged it down into his neck. His body crumpled onto the floor. I began to stab repeatedly until his hooves stopped shaking.
And that’s my story. I killed Satan with his own pitch fork in his own office and now I’m stuck here. I’ve actually had to do some of his work for him with the new ‘guests’. I don’t even think that anyone’s noticed he’s gone.
I do hope someone got his email and I look forward to hearing from you.
Many thanks,
Mr Smith, killer of Satan.
| |
[WP] You are a shape-shifter with a personality disorder. The way you cope with that is by having a set of hats/accessories to help you transition between personalities; but there is one hat you fear putting on. What is the hat and why are you so afraid of it? | My fingers traveled along the brims of the various hats resting on the shelves in my bedroom. Each felt different, each evoked a different stirring within me, a siren call to shift into a new body and a new life.
Top hats. Russian ushankas. Ball caps.
A man. A woman. A child.
A hat for every occasion. For every person I might desire to be. Each allowed me to inhabit the skin of a separate individual. To experience things in a different light with a different perspective. It was a simple thing, to become someone else. I simply removed a hat and replaced it with another. The person I was would be cast off, and a new me would be there instead.
Or maybe a different me.
I often wondered if I was the same person. If I had shifted in mind along with my appearance. Everything always felt so different after I transitioned. My memories would fragment and dissipate, reforming along side my body into a gestalt that seemed somehow unconnected to what came before.
Was I me?
Or was I someone else?
I would always reach up to my face after a shift, trying to get a sense of this strange body. As if the act of touching myself would anchor this new person in reality. It always felt jarring and comforting at the same time. The process of self-acquaintance oddly reassuring as my new identity would begin to assert itself.
But still the question nagged.
Who am I?
Or was I?
I found it so hard to remember, so hard to piece the fragments of my past into a cognizable whole. I could form an identity, but not a past. There were gaps. And there were rules. Unspoken but understood. I could not say where they came from. Or even why they were there. I simply knew that they were important and must be followed.
There was a hat I must not wear. Not ever again. It was a rule. Perhaps the only rule. Or the rule that gave meaning to all other rules. Do not wear that hat.
Was I protecting myself from the memories? Did the hat fill in the gaps?
Why did I know not to wear the faded Yankee cap in the dusty, dark corner? If I must not wear it, why did I keep it? What was its purpose?
A reminder?
Of what? How could I be reminded of something I was not supposed to remember?
Could I not remember because I was someone new? Did I lose my mind when I left my body behind? I wondered, not for the first time, whether I was insane. Could you be insane if you asked yourself whether you were insane?
Why were there so many gaps?
Why must I not wear the Yankee cap? What had I done? Who had I been?
Was the person who wore the Yankee cap the same as me?
There were other caps for people I did not know. They did not say I mustn't wear them, they simply waited to be worn when the time was right. I could not explain how I knew when it was time for a new hat, the moment simply presented itself and I was called to something different.
But I was never called to the hat in the corner. I could not even bear to look at it for more than a moment. My eyes would settle on it and then slide off, eager for anything else.
Those brief glimpses afforded me some opportunity to delve though. Painstakingly assembled through the discomfort. I knew I had worn the hat before. I was responsible for its frayed and faded state. I had been that person before, though when and how and why eluded me. Consigned to the gaps in my past, never to return.
I shuddered and turned to the full length mirror in the opposite corner of the room. A woman stared back, full figured with the lines of a hard life etched across my face. I wondered whether the body was a manifestation of my mental state, whether I had control over it.
Whether I had any control over anything at all.
"Hello, who are you?" I asked the woman in the mirror, tilting my head to the side before turning in a slow circle. The woman in the mirror gave a small bow, "I'm Mary."
I frowned.
I did not like the name Mary. "Are you sure you aren't Suzie?" I asked. But the woman in the mirror shook her head vigorously.
"Oh no no, I've been Mary all of my life."
I had never worn this hat before, so all of her life should amount to a few minutes. It seemed odd for this newcomer to be so comfortable, to assert herself so forcefully. "I think you would make a wonderful Suzie."
"Then it is a shame that I am Mary. Besides, what does a name matter? We are who we are, and we are much more than a name." Mary replied.
"Are we?" I asked, confused. I was losing track of who was talking to whom. Was I talking to myself?
Was she still me? Who am I?
"Oh yes, a name is a tag, but it is not the thing itself. We're so much more. There just needed to be some time to recover. To allow the healing process to follow it's course."
"Recover?" My voice was a whisper now.
Mary simply nodded, a coy smile appearing in the mirror.
"Recover from what?"
She was quiet for a moment and then her eyes drifted over her shoulder, to something behind her. To a dark corner of the room. To the home of the hat I mustn't wear. Her eyes did not dart away from the hat though. She did not seek to run or hide from it. She simply stared at it for a long while before continuing, "Recover from what we've done."
"Who am I?" I asked aloud for the first time.
"That is a very good question," Mary replied. "But we must not find out." Her eyes never moved from the corner.
"We must not?"
"We must not." She replied.
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
&#x200B; | Now is the time.
I hear the banging on the door and I know exactly who it is and why he’s here.
The unadulterated fear coursing through my veins is so strong it feels like lava and my hand shakes with the force of an 8 on the Richter Scale.
In my shaking hand is a tattered black bowler hat.
I can almost hear his voice in my head, a demonic echoey whisper repeating the words, “do it, let me free.”
I shouldn’t.
But what other choice do I have?
*CRASH*
I hear the door break down and panic. I raise up the hat and place it on my head.
I instantly snap.
I’d only used this hat once before, but I don’t remember the untamed *NEED* for carnage and chaos.
“This man doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
The voice is no longer in my head, but all around me like it’s speaking through headphones.
I hear the man yelling out, braking stuff.
Searching.
I blend in with the shadows, becoming one with the darkness. The voice is right, this man really *DOESN’T* know what he’s in for.
I turn the corner and see him.
“Let’s make him suffer. Go ahead, make him pay for what he’s done.”
| |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | She sits in silence, a well of despair surrounding her. A morbidly depressed look on her face as she stares into oblivion. And I can't blame her. She is in the Maelstrom, the pocket universe prison for super-powered criminals. And for a moment i almost feel a smidgen of pity for her. Then I notice that she has orange hair and eyes. A Colour Girl she is, a manufactured supervillian, and the moment passes.
&#x200B;
"Nine years have I worked here. She has been in that cell for all of them. They age slow, those Colour Girls did you know that?"
&#x200B;
I did
&#x200B;
"That's why they always look so young. Four times slower then a normal human they say. Lucky little cunts." My companion gets close and spits through the bars at the girl, hitting her square on the cheek. She doesn't react. She seems to have lost all hope. Serves her right. The only thing Colour Girls are good for is giving Law Enforcement jobs as far as I'm concerned.
&#x200B;
"And to think I heard rumours of one of them was on the *Redemption Program."* He sneers as he says this. In mockery a the very thought.
&#x200B;
"That's impossible." I interject "No Colour has *ever* been let in the Redemption Program, let alone passed it." Suddenly the girl turns her head and stares directly into my eyes. Her own blazing with determination. A sense of duty exemplified in them that I simply lack. And it is then that I know that this apparent Rumour is true, and it is the Colour Girl in front of me that is the subject.
&#x200B;
Yet still she stays silent. Not correcting me for my mistake.
&#x200B;
"Amen to that my man." My companion quips, not noticing the girl look at me. "Come on, I still have several blocks to show you. Lets leave this filth here to rot." I give a small nod and silently follow the man away from her cell. And I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, a colour could pass the Redemption Program and become a hero in her turn.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Little did I know how right I was.
&#x200B;
| "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He opened the viewing slot. Meleto peeked through to see a young teen who looked no older than 16. She was sitting in a chair while a multitude of tubes stuck out of her back. Her eyes were moving while closed, indicating that she was dreaming.
"I'm sorry, is this a joke? What is a kid doing in a maximum security prison?"
The old guard sighed. He knew this was going to happen, and he practiced for this moment, but it didn't make it any easier.
"You see, this kid, Valala's her name, isn't here because she commited a crime. She's here because she's been, how do I say this... contacted."
Meleto adopted an expression of confusion. "Contacted? By whom? And why is that enough to warrant being sent to this miserable place?"
The guard sighed again. He hated this. "What do you think, how big is the galaxy?"
Meleto was even more confused. "What does that have to do wi-"
"Please, answer the question."
Meleto paused, then said: "A couple hundred stars?"
"100 billion. More stars than there are grains of sand in the world. And circling those stars are even more planets, and among those planets is Urha, where we Petpens live."
Meleto interrupted him: "I'm sorry, what does this have to do with the kid in there?"
"What do you think are the chances that Urha isn't the only planet with life?"
Silence reigned for a moment.
"Zero. Ifo made Urha just for us Petpens, it is paradise, perfect for us all. Why would he make other worlds have life when Urha will always supply for us? The assumption that we are not the center of the universe is illogical."
The old guard was taken aback. He wasn't expecting this answer. "Oh, an Ifo's Witness, eh? I thought you all moved to Koboret."
Meleto smirked. "Well, some of us stayed. I never really believed much in the whole 'nation for the followers of Ifo' stuff."
The two shared a laugh. Meleto turned to the girl in the room.
"So, what does the false assumption that we are not the center of the universe have to do with the girl?"
The old guard walked to a nearby lever, and pulled it. A whirring sound was heard from the tubes as the girl's chest began to open. When it did, it revealed a machine unlike any Meleto had ever seen. It had a gray body in the shape of a cube with lines scattered across it that glowed the colour of gold.
"As you can see," spoke the old guard, "that life which you claim does not exist has paid a little visit to Urha."
Meleto was speechless. Since his birth, hs was always told that the Petpen form was unique, that it was a gift from Ifo that they could think in abstracts and control their impulses, instincts and emotions. Appearently, they were all wrong. *He* was wrong, and it made him feel uneasy.
"W-why her?", he uttered as he looked to the old guard, who sighed. "We don't actually know, in fact we don't even know if they intended to, as her parents said she found it in the forest and tried to figure out how it works. We think she figured out that it was some sort of heart stimulator, and tried using it on herself. Unfortunately, it backfired, and she has been in a coma ever since. But the fact remains, aliens exist, and they've been here. We can only guess when they will return."
Before Meleto could say anything, he saw a shimmer of light appear inside the room with the girl. The old guard saw it too, and moved closer to the glass to get a better look. The light got brighter until it literally bent itself into a form. It sported a gray military uniform with gold details, just like the device.
"E, to je bilo napeto!", it said as it turned to the girl and proceeded to press something on the device. It stopped glowing and, without any effort, detached itself from the girl. She started waking up, and the creature took out a rectangular device, pressed its surface, and spoke: "Domjanovich Tesli, imam kardio-regenerator, chini se da ga je jedan od domachih stavio u sebe, mislite li da ce biti dobro?"
Then, another voice was hears from the device. "The native will be fine, we checked its biosigns, it has a remarkable regenerative ability. Anyway, come back."
"Razumio. Evo me."
It put the device away, and began shimmering until it deformed itself into thin air. Meleto and the old guard just stood there, silent.
***
November 30th, 2118: *After weeks of trying, we have finally managed to recover the cardio-regenerator we lost on the surface of Tau Ceti V. The natives, some elf-like tirquize-skinned humanoids, seem to have taken note of our activities, but have not said anything to the public, so our presence has been successfully hidden. I should also note that the natives(who call themselves Petpens, by the way) are at a level of technology similar to Earth just before the launch of Sputnik, but they don't seem to have any satellite launches planned.* | |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | [Part 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e80j1bs/)
**Part 3A**
“My god, how old are you?” John asked in disbelief.
Zero passed by name after name, the writings along the walls, ceiling, and floor of his cell. Each one was memorized, each someone special to him, a name burned into his memory. The prisoner did not even need his eyes open to know which name was here, Zero knew all.
The prisoner opened his eyes, and again… John saw it. Not just the weariness but the despair. A bottomless abyss hidden deep within the eyes of this forever young figure. A silent pain.
Zero looked at him, empty hollow eyes that pierced the soul.
“How old am I? How can I answer that when I don’t know when I was born?”
John opened his mouth but found no words.
“My friend… you asked me once ‘what happened’ to me? Well, do you believe in myths? The old fables and fairy tales? Impossible stories people told each other to explain a world that they *could not understand.*
John listened as Zero sat atop his withered prison bed, and at long last, told his tale.
…
*Several Thousand Years B.C.E.*
The Father and the boy moved with the others, spears in hand and dressed in pelts. Together, they walked the hostile lands away from their tribe’s cave.
The men stuck together, the beasts in the wild were stronger, faster, but there is strength in number.
The Father grunted a series of sounds, the beginnings of a language.
The boy listened and grunted in turn.
Four others stood with them, men taller and older than the boy.
Together, they spotted pray, a fine creature with lean meat to feed the tribe for some time. They chased after it with stick and stone. Herding the creature onto the cliffs that the men and the boy had learned of.
The Father urged the boy to keep up. The boy ran, his lungs breathing hard as he pushed himself further and soon was running past the father.
The Father laughed, an act of pride in one’s offspring.
Time past and the hunt was over. The men and the boy had captured their prey, they hauled the creature off. The tribe in the cave would have fresh meat soon.
The sun was hiding its face again, the sky above was turning dark, and so the hunters made camp for the night. A day’s journey ahead.
The boy stayed close to his father and grunted in the beginnings of language. A desire for approval, a want to impress the figure who had raised him.
The Father patted the boy on the head and gripped his shoulder hard.
The boy smiled.
SCREETCH
The hunters leaped from their camp and watched in terror as the sky itself light up. The sun may have hidden its face, but something **else** had taken its place. Smaller and moving towards them, it left a trail of colors in its wake.
Like a spear tearing through the wind, the object crashed through the night sky. A sound erupted that threatened to make their ears bleed, and the hunters grunted in freight.
The Father clutch the boy and hauled him up. Together, they ran with the others. Safety? Where is there safety in the wilds?
The cave was too far off. Their prey abandoned in their haste.
BOOM
Something hit the ground and shook the world. A flash of light, brighter than any fire the boy could remember seeing, erupted into existence.
The boy knew no more. His world turned dark.
…
When the boy awoke, his world was in ashes. Though he did not understand it, a crater had formed after the impact. Earth had been expended from the ground and sent spiraling in all directions, dark clouds of burnt dirt hovered above.
The boy tried to scream as his sight returned to him. His body… his body was wrong.
His skin was burned and blackened, his insides lay exposed and littered about, his skull was open, and his lungs were crushed, and no breath came.
The boy lay there for quite some time. And in some trickery that he knew not, his body returned to him. His skin closed itself around his wounds. His bones mended themselves, and his skull resealed itself encasing the innards once again.
There, in the ashes of the impact, the boy wheezed as his lungs came back. He rose on slow unsteady feet. He glanced down at his limbs, never quite grasping what had happened.
Where was the Father? Where were the other hunters?
The boy stumbled on uneasy legs, looking for them. He cried out to them, and none answered. He searched and searched among the ruins and found himself alone.
…
Sun cycles later and the crestfallen boy found his way back to the cave, and discovered the gathers huddled close by their fires.
The Mother came to him, smothering him with worry, and the boy collapsed into her embrace. The Sister came to him as well. The Family pointed above to the skies outside the cave, and the boy had no answer for them.
How could he explain what had happened?
When the Elders came to him, grunting for the others, the boy answered them.
He made the symbol for death. The tribe held hands and bowed their heads for the fallen.
…
More time past and the boy lived with the Mother and the Sister. The tribe struggled to live on with the loss of so many men, but the gathers found them food.
The boy could not say when it started, for his tribe did not count the days often, he could only say that it did. Curious gazes and looks of fear.
It started small. One or two of the Elders, eying him with distrust.
The Mother stayed by his side, the Sister kept her distance.
The boy did not change. Frozen, and never aging whilst all around him others moved through life.
Their tribe distrusted him. And so, the boy fought harder than ever before, hunting with the men or else on his own, at times coming back with wounds as well as prey.
But he never fell. His wounds never took hold.
The Sister grew to womanhood and bore children of her own, but the boy remained the same.
The Mother passed, and the boy buried her.
Time passed, the Sister’s children grew to be men, and yet the boy remained a ‘boy’.
…
One fateful day, the tribe cast him out.
The boy shouted at them when they tried to leave camp without him. To slip away under the cover of night.
The Elders snapped at him. Grunting that he was wrong, that he was some creature in disguise.
The boy turned to the Sister, the newest Elder with wrinkles along her face, for support but found none.
A fight broke out. It was never meant to go that far, he only defended himself when the others tried to run him off.
SPLAT.
The boy was speared through the back. Another hunter shouted a war chant and did the same.
With a blood-curdling scream, the boy fell to his knees. The Elders cursed and stepped back as the boy did not fall. No, the boy **stood.**
With trembling hands, the boy pulled the spears from his chest. The tribe gasped and cowered in terror as the bloody holes closed themselves. The blood ran down his pelt, and yet the boy stood.
He turned to the Sister but she shied away from him as all the others did. The men held their clubs and spears, moving to protect the women and children.
The boy tried to speak, to ask for forgiveness. To swear no harm to the tribe. But they only looked away, only cowered or raised their weapons.
With a heavy heart, the boy ran. He left the tribe and the Sister, tears running down his face.
….
The boy journeyed alone for more days than he could count. He became a wanderer, a silent figure who did not age.
Other tribes found him, some let him join them for a time. Others were violent and often cursed him after discovering his secret.
Always, he ended up alone. Driven off or else leaving on his own. The man who was always a boy.
*Countless generations later.*
The boy lived on. Long past the days of his tribe. He saw many things and witnessed the world itself change before his eyes.
He saw ice come and last for days without counting. He starved out there alone in the white with no food, and yet he still did not die.
The boy tried to help other tribes that he ran into. But in the end, they all fell. And he buried them, all of them he could find.
He witnesses the sun show its face again, and he breathed easier as the warmth once again touched his skin.
…
Once, he wandered further than ever before. He found distant lands, a strange fertile place in-between two rivers. The gathers ruled, and the hunters followed in this camp.
The tribe was the largest the boy had ever seen.
He did not know their words, but he traded with them. He hunted and brought his services to them, and in time they taught him things.
How to speak in their tongue. How to put words to the stone.
He never stayed long, never lingered in this valley. He learned lifetimes ago that he was not welcome once his secret was discovered.
[Part 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84e2uh/)
| "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He opened the viewing slot. Meleto peeked through to see a young teen who looked no older than 16. She was sitting in a chair while a multitude of tubes stuck out of her back. Her eyes were moving while closed, indicating that she was dreaming.
"I'm sorry, is this a joke? What is a kid doing in a maximum security prison?"
The old guard sighed. He knew this was going to happen, and he practiced for this moment, but it didn't make it any easier.
"You see, this kid, Valala's her name, isn't here because she commited a crime. She's here because she's been, how do I say this... contacted."
Meleto adopted an expression of confusion. "Contacted? By whom? And why is that enough to warrant being sent to this miserable place?"
The guard sighed again. He hated this. "What do you think, how big is the galaxy?"
Meleto was even more confused. "What does that have to do wi-"
"Please, answer the question."
Meleto paused, then said: "A couple hundred stars?"
"100 billion. More stars than there are grains of sand in the world. And circling those stars are even more planets, and among those planets is Urha, where we Petpens live."
Meleto interrupted him: "I'm sorry, what does this have to do with the kid in there?"
"What do you think are the chances that Urha isn't the only planet with life?"
Silence reigned for a moment.
"Zero. Ifo made Urha just for us Petpens, it is paradise, perfect for us all. Why would he make other worlds have life when Urha will always supply for us? The assumption that we are not the center of the universe is illogical."
The old guard was taken aback. He wasn't expecting this answer. "Oh, an Ifo's Witness, eh? I thought you all moved to Koboret."
Meleto smirked. "Well, some of us stayed. I never really believed much in the whole 'nation for the followers of Ifo' stuff."
The two shared a laugh. Meleto turned to the girl in the room.
"So, what does the false assumption that we are not the center of the universe have to do with the girl?"
The old guard walked to a nearby lever, and pulled it. A whirring sound was heard from the tubes as the girl's chest began to open. When it did, it revealed a machine unlike any Meleto had ever seen. It had a gray body in the shape of a cube with lines scattered across it that glowed the colour of gold.
"As you can see," spoke the old guard, "that life which you claim does not exist has paid a little visit to Urha."
Meleto was speechless. Since his birth, hs was always told that the Petpen form was unique, that it was a gift from Ifo that they could think in abstracts and control their impulses, instincts and emotions. Appearently, they were all wrong. *He* was wrong, and it made him feel uneasy.
"W-why her?", he uttered as he looked to the old guard, who sighed. "We don't actually know, in fact we don't even know if they intended to, as her parents said she found it in the forest and tried to figure out how it works. We think she figured out that it was some sort of heart stimulator, and tried using it on herself. Unfortunately, it backfired, and she has been in a coma ever since. But the fact remains, aliens exist, and they've been here. We can only guess when they will return."
Before Meleto could say anything, he saw a shimmer of light appear inside the room with the girl. The old guard saw it too, and moved closer to the glass to get a better look. The light got brighter until it literally bent itself into a form. It sported a gray military uniform with gold details, just like the device.
"E, to je bilo napeto!", it said as it turned to the girl and proceeded to press something on the device. It stopped glowing and, without any effort, detached itself from the girl. She started waking up, and the creature took out a rectangular device, pressed its surface, and spoke: "Domjanovich Tesli, imam kardio-regenerator, chini se da ga je jedan od domachih stavio u sebe, mislite li da ce biti dobro?"
Then, another voice was hears from the device. "The native will be fine, we checked its biosigns, it has a remarkable regenerative ability. Anyway, come back."
"Razumio. Evo me."
It put the device away, and began shimmering until it deformed itself into thin air. Meleto and the old guard just stood there, silent.
***
November 30th, 2118: *After weeks of trying, we have finally managed to recover the cardio-regenerator we lost on the surface of Tau Ceti V. The natives, some elf-like tirquize-skinned humanoids, seem to have taken note of our activities, but have not said anything to the public, so our presence has been successfully hidden. I should also note that the natives(who call themselves Petpens, by the way) are at a level of technology similar to Earth just before the launch of Sputnik, but they don't seem to have any satellite launches planned.* | |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | [Part 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e80j1bs/)
**Part 3A**
“My god, how old are you?” John asked in disbelief.
Zero passed by name after name, the writings along the walls, ceiling, and floor of his cell. Each one was memorized, each someone special to him, a name burned into his memory. The prisoner did not even need his eyes open to know which name was here, Zero knew all.
The prisoner opened his eyes, and again… John saw it. Not just the weariness but the despair. A bottomless abyss hidden deep within the eyes of this forever young figure. A silent pain.
Zero looked at him, empty hollow eyes that pierced the soul.
“How old am I? How can I answer that when I don’t know when I was born?”
John opened his mouth but found no words.
“My friend… you asked me once ‘what happened’ to me? Well, do you believe in myths? The old fables and fairy tales? Impossible stories people told each other to explain a world that they *could not understand.*
John listened as Zero sat atop his withered prison bed, and at long last, told his tale.
…
*Several Thousand Years B.C.E.*
The Father and the boy moved with the others, spears in hand and dressed in pelts. Together, they walked the hostile lands away from their tribe’s cave.
The men stuck together, the beasts in the wild were stronger, faster, but there is strength in number.
The Father grunted a series of sounds, the beginnings of a language.
The boy listened and grunted in turn.
Four others stood with them, men taller and older than the boy.
Together, they spotted pray, a fine creature with lean meat to feed the tribe for some time. They chased after it with stick and stone. Herding the creature onto the cliffs that the men and the boy had learned of.
The Father urged the boy to keep up. The boy ran, his lungs breathing hard as he pushed himself further and soon was running past the father.
The Father laughed, an act of pride in one’s offspring.
Time past and the hunt was over. The men and the boy had captured their prey, they hauled the creature off. The tribe in the cave would have fresh meat soon.
The sun was hiding its face again, the sky above was turning dark, and so the hunters made camp for the night. A day’s journey ahead.
The boy stayed close to his father and grunted in the beginnings of language. A desire for approval, a want to impress the figure who had raised him.
The Father patted the boy on the head and gripped his shoulder hard.
The boy smiled.
SCREETCH
The hunters leaped from their camp and watched in terror as the sky itself light up. The sun may have hidden its face, but something **else** had taken its place. Smaller and moving towards them, it left a trail of colors in its wake.
Like a spear tearing through the wind, the object crashed through the night sky. A sound erupted that threatened to make their ears bleed, and the hunters grunted in freight.
The Father clutch the boy and hauled him up. Together, they ran with the others. Safety? Where is there safety in the wilds?
The cave was too far off. Their prey abandoned in their haste.
BOOM
Something hit the ground and shook the world. A flash of light, brighter than any fire the boy could remember seeing, erupted into existence.
The boy knew no more. His world turned dark.
…
When the boy awoke, his world was in ashes. Though he did not understand it, a crater had formed after the impact. Earth had been expended from the ground and sent spiraling in all directions, dark clouds of burnt dirt hovered above.
The boy tried to scream as his sight returned to him. His body… his body was wrong.
His skin was burned and blackened, his insides lay exposed and littered about, his skull was open, and his lungs were crushed, and no breath came.
The boy lay there for quite some time. And in some trickery that he knew not, his body returned to him. His skin closed itself around his wounds. His bones mended themselves, and his skull resealed itself encasing the innards once again.
There, in the ashes of the impact, the boy wheezed as his lungs came back. He rose on slow unsteady feet. He glanced down at his limbs, never quite grasping what had happened.
Where was the Father? Where were the other hunters?
The boy stumbled on uneasy legs, looking for them. He cried out to them, and none answered. He searched and searched among the ruins and found himself alone.
…
Sun cycles later and the crestfallen boy found his way back to the cave, and discovered the gathers huddled close by their fires.
The Mother came to him, smothering him with worry, and the boy collapsed into her embrace. The Sister came to him as well. The Family pointed above to the skies outside the cave, and the boy had no answer for them.
How could he explain what had happened?
When the Elders came to him, grunting for the others, the boy answered them.
He made the symbol for death. The tribe held hands and bowed their heads for the fallen.
…
More time past and the boy lived with the Mother and the Sister. The tribe struggled to live on with the loss of so many men, but the gathers found them food.
The boy could not say when it started, for his tribe did not count the days often, he could only say that it did. Curious gazes and looks of fear.
It started small. One or two of the Elders, eying him with distrust.
The Mother stayed by his side, the Sister kept her distance.
The boy did not change. Frozen, and never aging whilst all around him others moved through life.
Their tribe distrusted him. And so, the boy fought harder than ever before, hunting with the men or else on his own, at times coming back with wounds as well as prey.
But he never fell. His wounds never took hold.
The Sister grew to womanhood and bore children of her own, but the boy remained the same.
The Mother passed, and the boy buried her.
Time passed, the Sister’s children grew to be men, and yet the boy remained a ‘boy’.
…
One fateful day, the tribe cast him out.
The boy shouted at them when they tried to leave camp without him. To slip away under the cover of night.
The Elders snapped at him. Grunting that he was wrong, that he was some creature in disguise.
The boy turned to the Sister, the newest Elder with wrinkles along her face, for support but found none.
A fight broke out. It was never meant to go that far, he only defended himself when the others tried to run him off.
SPLAT.
The boy was speared through the back. Another hunter shouted a war chant and did the same.
With a blood-curdling scream, the boy fell to his knees. The Elders cursed and stepped back as the boy did not fall. No, the boy **stood.**
With trembling hands, the boy pulled the spears from his chest. The tribe gasped and cowered in terror as the bloody holes closed themselves. The blood ran down his pelt, and yet the boy stood.
He turned to the Sister but she shied away from him as all the others did. The men held their clubs and spears, moving to protect the women and children.
The boy tried to speak, to ask for forgiveness. To swear no harm to the tribe. But they only looked away, only cowered or raised their weapons.
With a heavy heart, the boy ran. He left the tribe and the Sister, tears running down his face.
….
The boy journeyed alone for more days than he could count. He became a wanderer, a silent figure who did not age.
Other tribes found him, some let him join them for a time. Others were violent and often cursed him after discovering his secret.
Always, he ended up alone. Driven off or else leaving on his own. The man who was always a boy.
*Countless generations later.*
The boy lived on. Long past the days of his tribe. He saw many things and witnessed the world itself change before his eyes.
He saw ice come and last for days without counting. He starved out there alone in the white with no food, and yet he still did not die.
The boy tried to help other tribes that he ran into. But in the end, they all fell. And he buried them, all of them he could find.
He witnesses the sun show its face again, and he breathed easier as the warmth once again touched his skin.
…
Once, he wandered further than ever before. He found distant lands, a strange fertile place in-between two rivers. The gathers ruled, and the hunters followed in this camp.
The tribe was the largest the boy had ever seen.
He did not know their words, but he traded with them. He hunted and brought his services to them, and in time they taught him things.
How to speak in their tongue. How to put words to the stone.
He never stayed long, never lingered in this valley. He learned lifetimes ago that he was not welcome once his secret was discovered.
[Part 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84e2uh/)
| I had mentally prepared myself for my new job. I had to. I had never been off-world before; hell, the colony I lived on was completely spotless. The most heinous crimes that happened back home were petty theft, so I had no real experience with "real" criminals, let alone non-humanoids. Even then, what I had seen up to this point didn't surprise me. That is, until I peeked through the little peep-hole of cell fourty-one D slash four.
"Excuse me, mister... Gus, was it?" I asked.
"That's my name..." Gus answered. "What's wrong?"
"Exactly *how* long did you say you'd been working here?"
"Thirty-eight years," Gus proudly answered.
I pointed at the pale, white-haired girl that lay sleeping on her prison cot. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.
"She's just a kid," I said bluntly.
Gus chuckled. "She's older than *you*. She's almost as old as I am. Her incept date was March 21, 2148."
I couldn't help but stare. She appeared so... young and frail. What was she doing in a maximum security prison? I had so many questions, but I was speechless at the moment and unable to properly articulate anything.
Instead, I stared at the deceptively old, pale prisoner as she slept peacefully in her nest composed of what seemed to be rolled-up prison sheets.
"I'm pretty sure she's not supposed to do that with her sheets," I pointed out.
During my orientation, I had been told that prisoners in solitary will often tie sheets together as either "fishing line" to make illicit exchanges, or as rope to commit suicide.
Gus chuckled.
"She's not allowed to have sheets," Gus explained. "That's her tail."
My mind was completely blown, for lack of a better term. I stared at Gus, slack-jawed.
"You really are a collie, aren't you?" He teased. "You're gonna see a lot weirder things, kid. You better get used to it. And you're gonna be spending a lot of time with her."
I turned back to the cell. Nothing had changed; the prisoner in 41-D/4 still laid motionless, nestled inside what I now understood to be an extremely long, white tail of some kind.
"We call her Aida."
"That's her name?"
"Sort of. She didn't have one when they first brought her here, and one of the prisoners noticed her cell spelled out A-I-D-A, so that's what we've always called her."
I furrowed my eyebrows; prisoners were terrible at names.
Gus pulled out his key-card.
"All right, kid, we're going in. Don't make any sudden movements, and keep your hands out of your pockets. If you talk to her, use a low voice and talk slowly. Enunciate your words. But don't expect too much in terms of conversation."
"You want me to go in there? With a potentially dangerous prisoner?"
"She's not dangerous," Gus corrected me. "Just shy. You're gonna be doing hands-on stuff with Aida for the rest of your time here, so we have to get you two acquainted before I leave this week."
Gus gently tapped on the door twice.
"Aida, it's Gus!"
I watched through the view slot as the small girl begun to stir, her tail uncoiling like a giant white snake.
"Gus," I heard a soft voice chirp from inside the cell.
"You stay here until I call you," Gus instructed me. I nodded.
Gus opened the door with a loud creek and slipped into the cell. I watched as Aida ran towards Gus and tackled the old man, nearly causing him to fall over.
"Gus! Snack!" I heard Aida chirp as Gus pried her off of him.
"Someone else is here to give you your snack today, Aida," Gus told her.
Gus motioned for me to come in.
Anxiety kicked in. I was already on-edge today from meeting the other inmates on my wing, but this would be my first time meeting one face-to-face. And I wasn't even sure this one was human. Gus described her as "moody," so did that mean she could potentially snap and shove a shank in my stomach if I looked at her the wrong way? There was only one way to find out...
I cautiously stepped into the cell. I slowly raised my hand to wave at Aida, but our eyes locked. Her maroon-colored eyes paralyzed me. I completely froze up, unable to do anything but stare back at the strange girl. I briefly broke our staring match to get a better look at the girl. She was clothed in only a dangerously short, baby-blue hospital gown. Blood red splotches on the sides of her face pulsed like goo in a lava lamp.
I cleared my throat.
"Hello there, I'm-"
Aida interrupted my greeting with an inhuman hiss, her face splotches transforming into rapidly-pulsing star-shapes. She bared her teeth at me and retreated to the far corner of her cell. Her sudden movements caused me to reflexively step back and reach for my stun baton.
Gus saw the alarm on my face and raised his hand to calm me down.
"It's all right. She'll have to get used to you."
Gus reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear pill bottle housing a large cockroach. He opened the bottle and handed me the squirming bug.
"Give her this."
I shifted my eyes between the writhing insect and Gus.
I then turned my attention to Aida, who seemed to have taken an interest in the roach squirming between my fingers.
Gus smirked. "See?"
I cautiously approached the reptilian girl with my arm outstretched. Aida took a cautious step closer to me, her eyes locked on the insect.
"Easy," Gus instructed me. "No sudden movements."
Aida stuck her nose up to my fingers. I could hear her inhaling heavily as she smelled the bug. Before I could release it, she snatched the cockroach and greedily devoured it in one bite. I involuntarily smiled as I watched Aida devour my gift. I felt very proud of myself.
"It's like they told you in orientation," Gus explained. "Most prisoners here just want to spend their time in peace here. You make their time easy, they'll make your job easy."
"What did she do?"
"Nothing. She's an illegally created artificial humanoid. Aside from roughing up a few of the other inmates when they first brought her here, her only real crime was being born."
I turned my attention back to Aida, who had slowly crept up behind me while my attention was turned to Gus. She hissed at me again and crawled under her cot.
"Most of the prisoners you'll be guarding here are easy-going and low-maintenance. Aida, however, will require most of your attention. Her cell has to be kept at exactly twenty-eight degrees Celsius. Make sure to stock up on roaches. You'll need 'em. If you want her to cooperate, you'll have to spend a lot of time earning her trust."
I looked under Aida's cot; sure enough, she was still under there, glaring back at me with those red eyes of hers. Her tail coiled around the entire perimeter of the cot, almost like a fence intended to keep me out.
Gus put his stiff, calloused hand on my shoulder.
"So, you still up for the job?"
I immediately started to have second thoughts. There was no way I was ready for any of this, the dangerous prisoners, the long hours, *Aida*... But then, I remembered my fiancé back home, the debt we were in, and the painfully small paychecks from the eight different jobs between the two of us. There was no way we could survive if I didn't keep this job.
I buried my fears and doubts and nodded back at Gus. Gus smiled and handed me his key-card.
"I think you're gonna do just fine, kid."
\*edited for mistakes | |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | She sits in silence, a well of despair surrounding her. A morbidly depressed look on her face as she stares into oblivion. And I can't blame her. She is in the Maelstrom, the pocket universe prison for super-powered criminals. And for a moment i almost feel a smidgen of pity for her. Then I notice that she has orange hair and eyes. A Colour Girl she is, a manufactured supervillian, and the moment passes.
&#x200B;
"Nine years have I worked here. She has been in that cell for all of them. They age slow, those Colour Girls did you know that?"
&#x200B;
I did
&#x200B;
"That's why they always look so young. Four times slower then a normal human they say. Lucky little cunts." My companion gets close and spits through the bars at the girl, hitting her square on the cheek. She doesn't react. She seems to have lost all hope. Serves her right. The only thing Colour Girls are good for is giving Law Enforcement jobs as far as I'm concerned.
&#x200B;
"And to think I heard rumours of one of them was on the *Redemption Program."* He sneers as he says this. In mockery a the very thought.
&#x200B;
"That's impossible." I interject "No Colour has *ever* been let in the Redemption Program, let alone passed it." Suddenly the girl turns her head and stares directly into my eyes. Her own blazing with determination. A sense of duty exemplified in them that I simply lack. And it is then that I know that this apparent Rumour is true, and it is the Colour Girl in front of me that is the subject.
&#x200B;
Yet still she stays silent. Not correcting me for my mistake.
&#x200B;
"Amen to that my man." My companion quips, not noticing the girl look at me. "Come on, I still have several blocks to show you. Lets leave this filth here to rot." I give a small nod and silently follow the man away from her cell. And I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, a colour could pass the Redemption Program and become a hero in her turn.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Little did I know how right I was.
&#x200B;
| "Now, you probably think I'm just hazing the new guy here. But no. I'm serious about this."
"I still think you're hazing me."
"Really. Just don't interact with him for about a week, then an FBI guy'll show up and be all intimidating about it. Then you'll believe me. Just be hazed for the week, alright?"
"Well... how long has this guy been here?"
"Longer than me, and longer than the guy before me too. The guy before that talked to this guy against instructions, and ended up 'killing himself', before he could tell us anything."
"Why were there quotes around that?"
"I DON"T KNOW! And I don't want to know. You either!"
At this, Tom began to realize that either this was real (which was impossible and dumb), and asking questions could be dangerous, or the old man was *really* good at hazing. Getting all subtle and in his head and shit. And Tom was going to be damned if he was going to lose.
His plan was this:
1. Continue to play this straight, and act like he buys it.
- Wait for the old man to crack. He was retiring, there is no way in hell he'd walk out on his last day and leave this unresolved.
Two days later, a ragtag band of misfit youths came out of nowhere, spirited away the mystery kid, and left a nearly implausible amount of property damage in their wake.
The old man had found a way out of his devious trap. *Now*, the old man could walk away, and leave Tom with apparently no option but to believe that this complete nonsense was somekind of magical bullshit. NO. Not Today. Tom would double down on this. Track them down himself and rub that mystery kid's normalness in the old man's face.
"NOT TODAY OLD MAN!"
And with that, Tom's mission began.
(please give me writing critiques)
| |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | [Part 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e80j1bs/)
**Part 3A**
“My god, how old are you?” John asked in disbelief.
Zero passed by name after name, the writings along the walls, ceiling, and floor of his cell. Each one was memorized, each someone special to him, a name burned into his memory. The prisoner did not even need his eyes open to know which name was here, Zero knew all.
The prisoner opened his eyes, and again… John saw it. Not just the weariness but the despair. A bottomless abyss hidden deep within the eyes of this forever young figure. A silent pain.
Zero looked at him, empty hollow eyes that pierced the soul.
“How old am I? How can I answer that when I don’t know when I was born?”
John opened his mouth but found no words.
“My friend… you asked me once ‘what happened’ to me? Well, do you believe in myths? The old fables and fairy tales? Impossible stories people told each other to explain a world that they *could not understand.*
John listened as Zero sat atop his withered prison bed, and at long last, told his tale.
…
*Several Thousand Years B.C.E.*
The Father and the boy moved with the others, spears in hand and dressed in pelts. Together, they walked the hostile lands away from their tribe’s cave.
The men stuck together, the beasts in the wild were stronger, faster, but there is strength in number.
The Father grunted a series of sounds, the beginnings of a language.
The boy listened and grunted in turn.
Four others stood with them, men taller and older than the boy.
Together, they spotted pray, a fine creature with lean meat to feed the tribe for some time. They chased after it with stick and stone. Herding the creature onto the cliffs that the men and the boy had learned of.
The Father urged the boy to keep up. The boy ran, his lungs breathing hard as he pushed himself further and soon was running past the father.
The Father laughed, an act of pride in one’s offspring.
Time past and the hunt was over. The men and the boy had captured their prey, they hauled the creature off. The tribe in the cave would have fresh meat soon.
The sun was hiding its face again, the sky above was turning dark, and so the hunters made camp for the night. A day’s journey ahead.
The boy stayed close to his father and grunted in the beginnings of language. A desire for approval, a want to impress the figure who had raised him.
The Father patted the boy on the head and gripped his shoulder hard.
The boy smiled.
SCREETCH
The hunters leaped from their camp and watched in terror as the sky itself light up. The sun may have hidden its face, but something **else** had taken its place. Smaller and moving towards them, it left a trail of colors in its wake.
Like a spear tearing through the wind, the object crashed through the night sky. A sound erupted that threatened to make their ears bleed, and the hunters grunted in freight.
The Father clutch the boy and hauled him up. Together, they ran with the others. Safety? Where is there safety in the wilds?
The cave was too far off. Their prey abandoned in their haste.
BOOM
Something hit the ground and shook the world. A flash of light, brighter than any fire the boy could remember seeing, erupted into existence.
The boy knew no more. His world turned dark.
…
When the boy awoke, his world was in ashes. Though he did not understand it, a crater had formed after the impact. Earth had been expended from the ground and sent spiraling in all directions, dark clouds of burnt dirt hovered above.
The boy tried to scream as his sight returned to him. His body… his body was wrong.
His skin was burned and blackened, his insides lay exposed and littered about, his skull was open, and his lungs were crushed, and no breath came.
The boy lay there for quite some time. And in some trickery that he knew not, his body returned to him. His skin closed itself around his wounds. His bones mended themselves, and his skull resealed itself encasing the innards once again.
There, in the ashes of the impact, the boy wheezed as his lungs came back. He rose on slow unsteady feet. He glanced down at his limbs, never quite grasping what had happened.
Where was the Father? Where were the other hunters?
The boy stumbled on uneasy legs, looking for them. He cried out to them, and none answered. He searched and searched among the ruins and found himself alone.
…
Sun cycles later and the crestfallen boy found his way back to the cave, and discovered the gathers huddled close by their fires.
The Mother came to him, smothering him with worry, and the boy collapsed into her embrace. The Sister came to him as well. The Family pointed above to the skies outside the cave, and the boy had no answer for them.
How could he explain what had happened?
When the Elders came to him, grunting for the others, the boy answered them.
He made the symbol for death. The tribe held hands and bowed their heads for the fallen.
…
More time past and the boy lived with the Mother and the Sister. The tribe struggled to live on with the loss of so many men, but the gathers found them food.
The boy could not say when it started, for his tribe did not count the days often, he could only say that it did. Curious gazes and looks of fear.
It started small. One or two of the Elders, eying him with distrust.
The Mother stayed by his side, the Sister kept her distance.
The boy did not change. Frozen, and never aging whilst all around him others moved through life.
Their tribe distrusted him. And so, the boy fought harder than ever before, hunting with the men or else on his own, at times coming back with wounds as well as prey.
But he never fell. His wounds never took hold.
The Sister grew to womanhood and bore children of her own, but the boy remained the same.
The Mother passed, and the boy buried her.
Time passed, the Sister’s children grew to be men, and yet the boy remained a ‘boy’.
…
One fateful day, the tribe cast him out.
The boy shouted at them when they tried to leave camp without him. To slip away under the cover of night.
The Elders snapped at him. Grunting that he was wrong, that he was some creature in disguise.
The boy turned to the Sister, the newest Elder with wrinkles along her face, for support but found none.
A fight broke out. It was never meant to go that far, he only defended himself when the others tried to run him off.
SPLAT.
The boy was speared through the back. Another hunter shouted a war chant and did the same.
With a blood-curdling scream, the boy fell to his knees. The Elders cursed and stepped back as the boy did not fall. No, the boy **stood.**
With trembling hands, the boy pulled the spears from his chest. The tribe gasped and cowered in terror as the bloody holes closed themselves. The blood ran down his pelt, and yet the boy stood.
He turned to the Sister but she shied away from him as all the others did. The men held their clubs and spears, moving to protect the women and children.
The boy tried to speak, to ask for forgiveness. To swear no harm to the tribe. But they only looked away, only cowered or raised their weapons.
With a heavy heart, the boy ran. He left the tribe and the Sister, tears running down his face.
….
The boy journeyed alone for more days than he could count. He became a wanderer, a silent figure who did not age.
Other tribes found him, some let him join them for a time. Others were violent and often cursed him after discovering his secret.
Always, he ended up alone. Driven off or else leaving on his own. The man who was always a boy.
*Countless generations later.*
The boy lived on. Long past the days of his tribe. He saw many things and witnessed the world itself change before his eyes.
He saw ice come and last for days without counting. He starved out there alone in the white with no food, and yet he still did not die.
The boy tried to help other tribes that he ran into. But in the end, they all fell. And he buried them, all of them he could find.
He witnesses the sun show its face again, and he breathed easier as the warmth once again touched his skin.
…
Once, he wandered further than ever before. He found distant lands, a strange fertile place in-between two rivers. The gathers ruled, and the hunters followed in this camp.
The tribe was the largest the boy had ever seen.
He did not know their words, but he traded with them. He hunted and brought his services to them, and in time they taught him things.
How to speak in their tongue. How to put words to the stone.
He never stayed long, never lingered in this valley. He learned lifetimes ago that he was not welcome once his secret was discovered.
[Part 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84e2uh/)
| "Now, you probably think I'm just hazing the new guy here. But no. I'm serious about this."
"I still think you're hazing me."
"Really. Just don't interact with him for about a week, then an FBI guy'll show up and be all intimidating about it. Then you'll believe me. Just be hazed for the week, alright?"
"Well... how long has this guy been here?"
"Longer than me, and longer than the guy before me too. The guy before that talked to this guy against instructions, and ended up 'killing himself', before he could tell us anything."
"Why were there quotes around that?"
"I DON"T KNOW! And I don't want to know. You either!"
At this, Tom began to realize that either this was real (which was impossible and dumb), and asking questions could be dangerous, or the old man was *really* good at hazing. Getting all subtle and in his head and shit. And Tom was going to be damned if he was going to lose.
His plan was this:
1. Continue to play this straight, and act like he buys it.
- Wait for the old man to crack. He was retiring, there is no way in hell he'd walk out on his last day and leave this unresolved.
Two days later, a ragtag band of misfit youths came out of nowhere, spirited away the mystery kid, and left a nearly implausible amount of property damage in their wake.
The old man had found a way out of his devious trap. *Now*, the old man could walk away, and leave Tom with apparently no option but to believe that this complete nonsense was somekind of magical bullshit. NO. Not Today. Tom would double down on this. Track them down himself and rub that mystery kid's normalness in the old man's face.
"NOT TODAY OLD MAN!"
And with that, Tom's mission began.
(please give me writing critiques)
| |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | [Part 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e80j1bs/)
**Part 3A**
“My god, how old are you?” John asked in disbelief.
Zero passed by name after name, the writings along the walls, ceiling, and floor of his cell. Each one was memorized, each someone special to him, a name burned into his memory. The prisoner did not even need his eyes open to know which name was here, Zero knew all.
The prisoner opened his eyes, and again… John saw it. Not just the weariness but the despair. A bottomless abyss hidden deep within the eyes of this forever young figure. A silent pain.
Zero looked at him, empty hollow eyes that pierced the soul.
“How old am I? How can I answer that when I don’t know when I was born?”
John opened his mouth but found no words.
“My friend… you asked me once ‘what happened’ to me? Well, do you believe in myths? The old fables and fairy tales? Impossible stories people told each other to explain a world that they *could not understand.*
John listened as Zero sat atop his withered prison bed, and at long last, told his tale.
…
*Several Thousand Years B.C.E.*
The Father and the boy moved with the others, spears in hand and dressed in pelts. Together, they walked the hostile lands away from their tribe’s cave.
The men stuck together, the beasts in the wild were stronger, faster, but there is strength in number.
The Father grunted a series of sounds, the beginnings of a language.
The boy listened and grunted in turn.
Four others stood with them, men taller and older than the boy.
Together, they spotted pray, a fine creature with lean meat to feed the tribe for some time. They chased after it with stick and stone. Herding the creature onto the cliffs that the men and the boy had learned of.
The Father urged the boy to keep up. The boy ran, his lungs breathing hard as he pushed himself further and soon was running past the father.
The Father laughed, an act of pride in one’s offspring.
Time past and the hunt was over. The men and the boy had captured their prey, they hauled the creature off. The tribe in the cave would have fresh meat soon.
The sun was hiding its face again, the sky above was turning dark, and so the hunters made camp for the night. A day’s journey ahead.
The boy stayed close to his father and grunted in the beginnings of language. A desire for approval, a want to impress the figure who had raised him.
The Father patted the boy on the head and gripped his shoulder hard.
The boy smiled.
SCREETCH
The hunters leaped from their camp and watched in terror as the sky itself light up. The sun may have hidden its face, but something **else** had taken its place. Smaller and moving towards them, it left a trail of colors in its wake.
Like a spear tearing through the wind, the object crashed through the night sky. A sound erupted that threatened to make their ears bleed, and the hunters grunted in freight.
The Father clutch the boy and hauled him up. Together, they ran with the others. Safety? Where is there safety in the wilds?
The cave was too far off. Their prey abandoned in their haste.
BOOM
Something hit the ground and shook the world. A flash of light, brighter than any fire the boy could remember seeing, erupted into existence.
The boy knew no more. His world turned dark.
…
When the boy awoke, his world was in ashes. Though he did not understand it, a crater had formed after the impact. Earth had been expended from the ground and sent spiraling in all directions, dark clouds of burnt dirt hovered above.
The boy tried to scream as his sight returned to him. His body… his body was wrong.
His skin was burned and blackened, his insides lay exposed and littered about, his skull was open, and his lungs were crushed, and no breath came.
The boy lay there for quite some time. And in some trickery that he knew not, his body returned to him. His skin closed itself around his wounds. His bones mended themselves, and his skull resealed itself encasing the innards once again.
There, in the ashes of the impact, the boy wheezed as his lungs came back. He rose on slow unsteady feet. He glanced down at his limbs, never quite grasping what had happened.
Where was the Father? Where were the other hunters?
The boy stumbled on uneasy legs, looking for them. He cried out to them, and none answered. He searched and searched among the ruins and found himself alone.
…
Sun cycles later and the crestfallen boy found his way back to the cave, and discovered the gathers huddled close by their fires.
The Mother came to him, smothering him with worry, and the boy collapsed into her embrace. The Sister came to him as well. The Family pointed above to the skies outside the cave, and the boy had no answer for them.
How could he explain what had happened?
When the Elders came to him, grunting for the others, the boy answered them.
He made the symbol for death. The tribe held hands and bowed their heads for the fallen.
…
More time past and the boy lived with the Mother and the Sister. The tribe struggled to live on with the loss of so many men, but the gathers found them food.
The boy could not say when it started, for his tribe did not count the days often, he could only say that it did. Curious gazes and looks of fear.
It started small. One or two of the Elders, eying him with distrust.
The Mother stayed by his side, the Sister kept her distance.
The boy did not change. Frozen, and never aging whilst all around him others moved through life.
Their tribe distrusted him. And so, the boy fought harder than ever before, hunting with the men or else on his own, at times coming back with wounds as well as prey.
But he never fell. His wounds never took hold.
The Sister grew to womanhood and bore children of her own, but the boy remained the same.
The Mother passed, and the boy buried her.
Time passed, the Sister’s children grew to be men, and yet the boy remained a ‘boy’.
…
One fateful day, the tribe cast him out.
The boy shouted at them when they tried to leave camp without him. To slip away under the cover of night.
The Elders snapped at him. Grunting that he was wrong, that he was some creature in disguise.
The boy turned to the Sister, the newest Elder with wrinkles along her face, for support but found none.
A fight broke out. It was never meant to go that far, he only defended himself when the others tried to run him off.
SPLAT.
The boy was speared through the back. Another hunter shouted a war chant and did the same.
With a blood-curdling scream, the boy fell to his knees. The Elders cursed and stepped back as the boy did not fall. No, the boy **stood.**
With trembling hands, the boy pulled the spears from his chest. The tribe gasped and cowered in terror as the bloody holes closed themselves. The blood ran down his pelt, and yet the boy stood.
He turned to the Sister but she shied away from him as all the others did. The men held their clubs and spears, moving to protect the women and children.
The boy tried to speak, to ask for forgiveness. To swear no harm to the tribe. But they only looked away, only cowered or raised their weapons.
With a heavy heart, the boy ran. He left the tribe and the Sister, tears running down his face.
….
The boy journeyed alone for more days than he could count. He became a wanderer, a silent figure who did not age.
Other tribes found him, some let him join them for a time. Others were violent and often cursed him after discovering his secret.
Always, he ended up alone. Driven off or else leaving on his own. The man who was always a boy.
*Countless generations later.*
The boy lived on. Long past the days of his tribe. He saw many things and witnessed the world itself change before his eyes.
He saw ice come and last for days without counting. He starved out there alone in the white with no food, and yet he still did not die.
The boy tried to help other tribes that he ran into. But in the end, they all fell. And he buried them, all of them he could find.
He witnesses the sun show its face again, and he breathed easier as the warmth once again touched his skin.
…
Once, he wandered further than ever before. He found distant lands, a strange fertile place in-between two rivers. The gathers ruled, and the hunters followed in this camp.
The tribe was the largest the boy had ever seen.
He did not know their words, but he traded with them. He hunted and brought his services to them, and in time they taught him things.
How to speak in their tongue. How to put words to the stone.
He never stayed long, never lingered in this valley. He learned lifetimes ago that he was not welcome once his secret was discovered.
[Part 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84e2uh/)
| She sits in silence, a well of despair surrounding her. A morbidly depressed look on her face as she stares into oblivion. And I can't blame her. She is in the Maelstrom, the pocket universe prison for super-powered criminals. And for a moment i almost feel a smidgen of pity for her. Then I notice that she has orange hair and eyes. A Colour Girl she is, a manufactured supervillian, and the moment passes.
&#x200B;
"Nine years have I worked here. She has been in that cell for all of them. They age slow, those Colour Girls did you know that?"
&#x200B;
I did
&#x200B;
"That's why they always look so young. Four times slower then a normal human they say. Lucky little cunts." My companion gets close and spits through the bars at the girl, hitting her square on the cheek. She doesn't react. She seems to have lost all hope. Serves her right. The only thing Colour Girls are good for is giving Law Enforcement jobs as far as I'm concerned.
&#x200B;
"And to think I heard rumours of one of them was on the *Redemption Program."* He sneers as he says this. In mockery a the very thought.
&#x200B;
"That's impossible." I interject "No Colour has *ever* been let in the Redemption Program, let alone passed it." Suddenly the girl turns her head and stares directly into my eyes. Her own blazing with determination. A sense of duty exemplified in them that I simply lack. And it is then that I know that this apparent Rumour is true, and it is the Colour Girl in front of me that is the subject.
&#x200B;
Yet still she stays silent. Not correcting me for my mistake.
&#x200B;
"Amen to that my man." My companion quips, not noticing the girl look at me. "Come on, I still have several blocks to show you. Lets leave this filth here to rot." I give a small nod and silently follow the man away from her cell. And I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, a colour could pass the Redemption Program and become a hero in her turn.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Little did I know how right I was.
&#x200B;
| |
[WP]You're a new prison guard being shown around by the old man you're replacing. When showing you the last cell in solitary, he says, "And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started." He then opens the viewing slot and you look through to see a young teen who looks no older than 16. | Part 1
*New Arcadia*
*2623 A.D.*
"Welcome to 'the pit'. If there's a light in this corner of the Milky Way, you're the furthest from it."
*Jez. What a way to greet someone* John thought.
"Place isn't so bad. We got a compound a way's off from the prison. Just a pit stop for us guards in-between leave and pick up off this godforsaken rock." Carlos the prisonguard continued.
John followed the man as they explored the prison. He was being given 'the tour' it seemed, most of the prison was automated but by law certain jobs required human hands. For the most part, the prison was much nicer than he expected.
Money was decent, but the benefits were better. The government needed incentives to keep guards at 'the pit' of all places.
The Pit, as it was called by the staff was a prison colony enclosed in a small biosphere on a hostile world. The worst of the worst were often sent here and if they tried to make a break for it... there was nowhere to run to. The entire planet was unliveable outside the biosphere, and all ships in and out of the prison colony were closely monitored.
Tracking chips were inserted into all prisoners, and the guards were all scanned with a variety of bio-verification markers when changing shifts off world.
All in all, it was pretty safe for the human crew. They mostly watched over the bots as the automated drones saw to the basic universal human needs that the government bothered entertaining for their prisoners.
"You start off with nine months here, and the rest of the solar year on leave. Not a bad start. As for the prisoners, just remember everybody is here for a reason. No one gets released, they're here until they die." Carlos droned on and on.
John followed his new coworker down the halls of the prison block; all the rooms were sealed with physical walls as well as a fully powered energy field. Cameras watched the prisoners at all times in their cells, and the guards could inspect them at any time.
No names. Only nine-digit numbers.
John peered into the display panels beside the cells. Each prisoner was an enemy of the republic. A traitor to the galactic state. They ranged from old men and women of every economic class, some from Mother Earth herself, and others from the Main Colonies in the core. Most were political prisoners from the most recent civil war, others were old war criminals from the expansion days, and a few were blacklisted with no need to know status.
John read off some of the crimes on the displays as they passed through the cells. Automated drones drove by, and John stepped aside as Carlos did the same. Tall, with thin but durable mechanical limbs propelled the drones onward.
Another drone emerged and came to a halt before Carlos.
"Unit A7 reporting in," the machine chimed.
Carlos groaned and waved his hand saying, "go on then. What is it this time?"
The machine spoke again, the default auto-generated voice coming out of an unseen pair of speakers.
"Prisoner 000000000 is resisting sustenance again."
Carlos swore under his breath. John raised an eyebrow.
"I'll look into it. Continue with your duties, bot," Carlos said.
The drone tried to issue its common goodbye, but Carlos shoved passed the thing, and John followed awkwardly. Not sure what to do, he waved at the drone.
The machine did not respond; it moved on without them.
Carlos led him to the far end of the prison, down to an elevator and into the deepest layer of the compound. The very bottom of the livable space on this prison colony.
John frowned as he followed Carlos to a lone cell. Prisoner 000000000 had an entire floor to themselves it seemed.
The lone cell was the oldest piece of equipment in the entire compound it seemed. There was no display panel, no force field surrounding the physical structure, but the walls themselves were thicker here. Old metal alloy walls that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in decades.
It was like stepping back in time. As if they were stepping into a museum for prison cells from before the expansion, from before FTL was discovered.
Carlos saw the curious expression on his face, and the old man let out a bark of laughter.
"And don't worry about this one, they were here when I started. He don't cause any trouble, at worst he throws these tantrums every now and then. Refuses his food." Carlos added suddenly.
John nodded and watched as Carlos banged on the cell walls and slid the viewing slot open.
"Hey! Prisoner Zero! Frank or whatever your name is today, you gotta eat your food. Don't make us send in the drone again." Carlos shouted.
John looked inside through what space was available through the viewing slot, and he stared at what he saw.
There in the oldest cell on this godforsaken colony, stood a lone figure sitting in a dirty grey prison uniform. The man was no man at all, but a boy.
No older than 16. Prisoner 000000000 or 'Prisoner Zero' for short.
Writing littered the walls of his cell, in multiple languages, and save for the bare bones bed the cell was empty. The writings spanned even the floors and ceilings, organized, and neatly done with a handwritten skill that had been lost in this day and age.
Prisoner Zero glanced up at them, pale white skin that was a rarity in the current age of humanity, framed by long dirty blond hair. The boy was thin, with not a scar or mark on him, but his eyes... his eyes were haunted.
Eyes that no child should have. The eyes of the elderly.
Carlos banged on the cell door again.
"You gonna eat your food?"
Prisoner Zero glanced from Carlos to John, and they both grew silent.
"... you're new," the boy rasped suddenly. A low quiet voice that eeked out a sound like rusted machinery.
John shifted uncomfortably.
"Eat your food, Zero. Let's not do this again," Carlos warned.
Then he closed the viewing slot with an audible thud, and the meeting was over. They continued the rest of the tour, but John couldn't get the eyes out of his head.
Prisoner Zero...
-------
[Part 2a](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e81fe0j/)
[Part 2b](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e81fit6/)
[Part 3A and 3B](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9p814y/wpyoure_a_new_prison_guard_being_shown_around_by/e84df3c/) | “How long have you been here?”
“What?”, He asked mockingly.
“How. Long. Have. You. Been. Here.” I repeated.
“Do I have to answer?”
“How long?” I said through gritted teeth.
“Ever since yesterday,” The old man nonchalantly replied, “I hated the guy in 16b.”
“God...” I muttered, walking away from the man’s bellowing laughter.
(This is my first time posting so please give me comments) | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | A cool breeze stirs the leaves on the pavement. All but the fully saturated surrender to the force and are carried away. I’ve heard there’s a smell when it rains. Maybe my nose doesn’t work proper, maybe it’s because it rains with a such a frequency that overcast is blissful while the sun becomes a nuisance; another force prompting me to replace my sunglasses for the third time this year. I was told that I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. I don’t think a hit man was what they had in mind. I know I didn’t and it definitely wasn’t what I wanted. Yet here I am. Fiddling with the knife in my pocket. A Swiss army knife. It’s about 3.5” long and I have it hooked to my key ring. My boss gave me gun, but it didn’t take me long before I realized that I didn’t need it.
&#x200B;
People just seem to die when I’m around them. Which is what I what I would expect from someone of my profession. What no one expects (myself included) is how my targets will die. Like the poor soul I’ve been observing for the past few minutes. I can’t help but smirk as I watch him barge into the gas station’s convenience store. I guess no amount of drug money can dissuade someone from buying Loto tickets once the habit has formed. That and needing a new pack to replace the empty one he threw on the ground on his way in. Transaction completed he returns to his vehicle. An unassuming grey sedan. The only noteworthy features being the heavily tinted windows and the fact that it’s taking up two spots. He decides to fuel up and that now would also be a good time to start working on that new pack of his. He inserts the pump and lights up. I question how he was smart enough to cause enough stir in the market that he became my mark. The wind stirs. No leaves this time. A shopping bag. My target isn’t looking up as he’s removing the pump with his lit cigarette hanging out his mouth. Imagine that being the last thing you see? A fucking shopping bag. He spits the cigarette out of his mouth in surprise as the litter collides with the side of his head. I watch this poetry of chaos play out from the warmth of the convenience store. Sipping on the herbal tea I had purchased moments just moments a go. I watch as the cigarette falls towards the open gas port. I feel the warmth of the cup against my palms and the warmth of the fireball through the glass.
&#x200B;
With a half-hearted attempt of being shocked I pull out a phone and take a brief video. I type out a brief message, hit send and then wait. “Message failed to send.” Fucking Sprint. Retry. “Message sent.” I let out an exasperated sigh and place the phone back in my pocket. The phone will be disposed later. A new phone is always part of the contract. The message is the same as always “The task has been completed. I’ll expect my payment through the usual channels. - Omen” I didn’t come up with that moniker. Rumors about me started floating around after my third “kill.” There was a new hit man whom you’d never see coming and would always make your demise seem like an accident. If only they knew. News of him being in town became a bad omen. Within time that became my name, Omen. Thank God they didn’t keep the “bad.”
&#x200B;
A midst the confusion I saunter out of the store, herbal tea in hand. Taking the phone I drop it in the cup and throw them both in the bin. A bin mind you that is literally two feet away from the empty cigarette pack that belonged to the now smoldering corpse. A cool breeze brushes across me, a bag tumbles across my feet. I take one last glance as I walk away from the scene. Smoke wafting from the remains, the air filled with acrid smoke that smells of gasoline, tobacco, and burnt flesh that I can’t help but compare to the smell of bacon. Perhaps the tissue bank could get some use out of the bones, assuming the guy even was a donor. Probably wouldn’t pass the screening anyways.
&#x200B;
As I walk I fiddle with the little knife. My poor excuse of a weapon. I wonder if this ability, this “gift” of mine will ever stop. What would happen to me then? I don’t think my reputation will take me that far. I’ve purposefully kept myself from being too well known, but even then I’m already in too deep. I didn’t want this. I should have known that “just one job” would not be enough to clear my name and now the only retirement that awaits me is another hit man getting their start. They are right to call me Omen, because one was placed on me first. | “I’m losing my shit.” I said to myself. How could I have let this happen. My whole life is the worst joke possible.
The next week I received a call.... it was a want to be widow. Husband has been treating her like shit. I message to meet up with her.
“I’m done,” she said, “he doesn’t pay attention to me. My son says he hates him. Do what you can.” I refuse to let this one get the best of me...
I watch his every move. Monday-he goes to the bar after work with his friends. Tuesday-afternoon jog. Wednesday-goes to the bank and drops off money. Thursday- goes to sons little league game. Friday-goes to a gala for the cancer fundraiser... Saturday-this one is different... he goes to his neighbors house... his wife is there with another man... I don’t know how I feel about this one. Maybe I should pay more attention to the wife.... Sunday.... I need to make a decision... | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | A cool breeze stirs the leaves on the pavement. All but the fully saturated surrender to the force and are carried away. I’ve heard there’s a smell when it rains. Maybe my nose doesn’t work proper, maybe it’s because it rains with a such a frequency that overcast is blissful while the sun becomes a nuisance; another force prompting me to replace my sunglasses for the third time this year. I was told that I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. I don’t think a hit man was what they had in mind. I know I didn’t and it definitely wasn’t what I wanted. Yet here I am. Fiddling with the knife in my pocket. A Swiss army knife. It’s about 3.5” long and I have it hooked to my key ring. My boss gave me gun, but it didn’t take me long before I realized that I didn’t need it.
&#x200B;
People just seem to die when I’m around them. Which is what I what I would expect from someone of my profession. What no one expects (myself included) is how my targets will die. Like the poor soul I’ve been observing for the past few minutes. I can’t help but smirk as I watch him barge into the gas station’s convenience store. I guess no amount of drug money can dissuade someone from buying Loto tickets once the habit has formed. That and needing a new pack to replace the empty one he threw on the ground on his way in. Transaction completed he returns to his vehicle. An unassuming grey sedan. The only noteworthy features being the heavily tinted windows and the fact that it’s taking up two spots. He decides to fuel up and that now would also be a good time to start working on that new pack of his. He inserts the pump and lights up. I question how he was smart enough to cause enough stir in the market that he became my mark. The wind stirs. No leaves this time. A shopping bag. My target isn’t looking up as he’s removing the pump with his lit cigarette hanging out his mouth. Imagine that being the last thing you see? A fucking shopping bag. He spits the cigarette out of his mouth in surprise as the litter collides with the side of his head. I watch this poetry of chaos play out from the warmth of the convenience store. Sipping on the herbal tea I had purchased moments just moments a go. I watch as the cigarette falls towards the open gas port. I feel the warmth of the cup against my palms and the warmth of the fireball through the glass.
&#x200B;
With a half-hearted attempt of being shocked I pull out a phone and take a brief video. I type out a brief message, hit send and then wait. “Message failed to send.” Fucking Sprint. Retry. “Message sent.” I let out an exasperated sigh and place the phone back in my pocket. The phone will be disposed later. A new phone is always part of the contract. The message is the same as always “The task has been completed. I’ll expect my payment through the usual channels. - Omen” I didn’t come up with that moniker. Rumors about me started floating around after my third “kill.” There was a new hit man whom you’d never see coming and would always make your demise seem like an accident. If only they knew. News of him being in town became a bad omen. Within time that became my name, Omen. Thank God they didn’t keep the “bad.”
&#x200B;
A midst the confusion I saunter out of the store, herbal tea in hand. Taking the phone I drop it in the cup and throw them both in the bin. A bin mind you that is literally two feet away from the empty cigarette pack that belonged to the now smoldering corpse. A cool breeze brushes across me, a bag tumbles across my feet. I take one last glance as I walk away from the scene. Smoke wafting from the remains, the air filled with acrid smoke that smells of gasoline, tobacco, and burnt flesh that I can’t help but compare to the smell of bacon. Perhaps the tissue bank could get some use out of the bones, assuming the guy even was a donor. Probably wouldn’t pass the screening anyways.
&#x200B;
As I walk I fiddle with the little knife. My poor excuse of a weapon. I wonder if this ability, this “gift” of mine will ever stop. What would happen to me then? I don’t think my reputation will take me that far. I’ve purposefully kept myself from being too well known, but even then I’m already in too deep. I didn’t want this. I should have known that “just one job” would not be enough to clear my name and now the only retirement that awaits me is another hit man getting their start. They are right to call me Omen, because one was placed on me first. | I watched silently as my target took his last breath. He choked on a glass of water. His name is Randal Smith, and I tailed him to this restaurant because someone offered me a million dollars for his death. I did have a detailed plan – when to strike, what weapon to use, cleaning up, how to get away…I even had an alibi planned. But, like all the other plans I’ve previously made for other jobs, I never got to execute it. The target had died before my very eyes, just before I’m about to make my move. It’s like clockwork at this point.
For a hitman, this power is both a blessing and a curse. By now there’s no one in the trade who doesn’t know me. “White Death”, they call me. The hitman with a 100% success rate without dirtying his hands. The assassin who doesn’t kill. I’d received the proper training to kill, of course, and I’m perfectly willing to – given the right price.
I just never seem to get the chance to.
It all started as a coincidence. My first job was a woman named Emily Grey. I’d planned to follow her back to her apartment when she was hit by a truck trying to chase her Chihuahua. The dog jumped out of her bag and onto the road after being startled by a loud noise made from a nearby construction site. She died instantly. I explained this to my client, who was still happy to pay me because “Dead is dead.” Whatever, I got lucky and I got the cash. I’ll get a chance to work next time.
But then it happened again.
Johnny Tailor died slipping on a banana peel and hitting the back of his head. Died instantly. Received payment.
And then it happened again.
And then it happened again.
Coincidence after coincidence, stacked together, until they became a pattern. A certainty. I don’t even know why I bother making plans anymore, at this point it’s just a formality. I’m no psychopath who lives to kill, but after all the training I’ve endured, having every target delivered to me dead on a silver platter is extremely underwhelming. Can I just have at least 1 kill under my belt? Is it too much to ask? Maybe I still make plans every time in the vain hopes that, maybe, just maybe, this time would be my chance to shine. This time would be the time I finally get to put my training to use. Next time would be the time I finally get to put my training to use.
At least the job pays well. And I don’t have to worry about evading law enforcement.
I should get a hobby. | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | As always a new year had begun and to start it off; a psych evaluation. Garrett O'Malley, a master of his craft, former IRA member, and now hitman waited for his name to be called. Five years now... Five years he's been through these evals and it's all been reassuring at the most. 355 contracts, 100% success rating, but yet technically Garret has never killed anyone. All accidental deaths, unexplained causes that have only killed his confidence as an assassin. He was going on his fifth year now, five years of dealing with the same problems over and over again.
"Garrett? Are you ready?" Dr, Lyndsey Allison, stepped out of the Organization office-- clipboard in hand. She was ready; as always.
"Doc, new year same me it seems." Garret stated, walking in the office as Dr. Allison followed in behind. She gestured him to take a seat in a soft small maroon chair, while she sat across from him.
"It's happening again now? Five years and still down about not technically fulfilling your contracts?"
Garrett nodded. The Organization was a secret groups of hired assassins, or "contractors" as they were coded out. From high-tier grade-a contractors who were hired for the top paid dealings; politicians, world leaders, army generals, celebrities, pop idols, presidents, and whatever else needed to cause a shock to the entire world. Garrett was no where near that level yet, and he doubt he'd ever be able to be up to that level in this profession.
"I just can't seem to do it doc, as much as i want to, as close as i get to... Something unusual happens."
"I see.... Can you tell me about your first contract?"
"My very first one, or the first one of last year doc?" he asked, as he watched her head tilt slightly in curiosity.
"Very first."
"Of course, a broker in New York, tracked him to a eight foot parking garage, cornered him at his car, poor bastard literally had a heart attack and died."
Doctor Allison nodded, scribbling something on some paper that was clipped to her clipboard, and then looked up at Garrett. "And how about some others that you can name for me, any ones that you remember."
It was the same routine as last year, Garrett thought silently to himself. She'll tell me that everything's okay, and that although these contracts were accidental deaths, i still played a part in causing the accident, and was still "entitled" to the kill.
"Old man Jones, fell out of a 14 foot window, the lawyer who ran a stop sign when i was tailing her, got hit by a semi-truck. The three lieutenants from the Antollucci Crime Family choked on their canolis... Let's see what else."
"That's enough." Doctor Allison stated, as she watched Garrett ponder other contracts that had happen in a 5 year span. "Like i've said many times now Garrett, you are a great hitman for the organization, the only member here who's had a 100% success rate-- even with it being accidental deaths is still quite remarkable. In fact my bosses have gone over what you've done in a five year span, and believe it's time you got yourself a promotion."
"A wha-- you mean?"
Doctor Allison nodded. "That's right Garrett, when you leave this office, you'll be a top tier hitman, even be able to rival the finest assassin's The Illuminati would have in their organization."
Garrett let out a smile, kept his excitement in, but let out a satisfied smile. He couldn't believe it but didn't want to over-extend his emotions-- it would be unprofessional. However here he was once again thinking that he was a failure to the organization, and every year they prove that it was just his mind playing tricks upon him. "Thank you Dr. Allison."
"Don't thank me Garrett, my bosses will be sending you a messenger with the first contract, so be available. And go relax Garrett." Doctor Allison stated, as she pointing her finger ushering Garrett to leave the room.
"I will Doctor, same time next year?" Garrett asked with a smile, as he stood up from his chair, and watched as Doctor Allison let a small smirk be revealed before he left the office.
\--
He waited until Garrett O'Malley had left his beloved's office room before he slithered from the shadows and into the room himself. Booker Thomas had been plotting for years about a way that The Organization could surpass the Illuminati and be the dominant key figure in conquering the world. With Garrett's constant peculiar ways of bringing bad luck to every contract he's ever taken, Booker had finally realized his plans would be coming to fruition. "He's a peculiar one, but loyal." Booker said as Doctor Allison lit a cigarette and turned to face him in her office.
"With him now at the top tier of our organization, and with a perfect success rate even if accidental Booker. We can finally dominate the world from the shadows." She replied to him, lighting the cigarette in her fingers, and coldly stared as he meandered around the office room.
"It's amazing... You know others call him Mr. Bad luck, or the Accidental Assassin. Which I have to say is my favorite nickname ever given to a member of the organization," Booker chuckled-- stopped before his laughter overwhelmed him, and walked in front of Doctor Allison. "Soon my love, we'll finally have what we've always wanted. The Illuminati wouldn't even dare try and stop us, whole countries would fall to our feet, and the world...." He stopped, She took a drag of her cigarette as his arms wrapped around her...
"The world would fall into our hands accidentally..."
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | I hate waiting rooms. I'm staring at an American Impressionism piece of a small child picking flowers in front of a modest cottage. That loose brushwork pisses me off.
"Mr. Morderca. Mr. Morderca please follow me." Greeted by the most lovely man I've ever laid eyes on, I fumble for my briefcase and follow the receptionist down the hall, veer left past the bathrooms, then right as we approach a large oak door.
*That was a nice treat.*
"Would you like me to take your coat and brief case?"
*Angelic.*
"No, thank you."
He opens the door into a large, comfortable office. Very contemporary, with a modest desk and two large brown leather sofas facing one another. More paintings. From behind the desk comes Dr. Allen, she reaches out to shake my hand.
"Hello Mr. Morderca, I'm Dr. Allen. Thank you for finding the courage to come talk to me. I understand this can be difficult if it is your first time in therapy, so I want our first session to be casual. Let's get to know one another, how does that sound?"
"Sure, but I'm not paying $150 an hour to make friends."
She lets out an honest laugh, smiling "Of course not. Please sit wherever you're comfortable, may I offer you some water or coffee? I make the best coffee."
"Only if it doesn't cost extra."
This time she only smiles. I take a seat on the sofa as she sets down the coffee. I place my briefcase on my lap and watch as she sips her own. She sits on the sofa opposite of me. She's very polite, obviously doing well for herself, and exceptionally beautiful. What got her into this mess?
"So, I understand your employers have referred you to me, what is it that you do for a living?"
"Well, I mostly attempt to kill seemingly innocent people, but when business is slow I turn to racketeering and petty theft."
"Very funny. How about your family, are you married? Children?"
"Never had the time or patience."
"Does that bother you?" but I don't respond.
She's looking at me now like I might take a little more warming up. Is she already slightly annoyed with me?
*That didn't take long.*
"Look, the reason why I've come see you is there's something that's been eating me up inside. I can't help but feel like I'm worthless, because you see, I'm really no good at anything, I mean everything, that I- "
Dr. Allen interrupts me "Okay. Let's skip the bullshit. I know why you're here, and you need to know whoever sent you is full of shit. I didn't mean for Mr. Belladonna to die, we were only trying to send him a message. It wasn't even my idea."
I'm spinning the dial to unlock my briefcase.
"Look, I can send you the names and addresses of who put me up to it. I know these people, and this information would be much more valuable to you than killing me!"
I pull out my Beretta M9A3, it still smells of Hoppe's No. 9 lubricant.
*This is so exciting, it's finally going to happen!*
"We're in an office park for Christ's sake! You'll never get away with it! Jeremy will hear you and call the police immediately! Please stop and think for a fucking second!"
I take my time attaching the silencer while trying to hold back my own excitement.
"What are they paying you? Please! Just tell me-"
She's livid, shaking uncontrollably at this point and she can no longer speak. Her jaw is moving but no sounds are coming out. Suddenly, her eyes bulge, I think they're going to pop out. She stares at me as if seeing right through me. Just as I raise my gun to finish this, she falls over, slides off the couch, and slumps on the floor.
*No freakin' way.*
"Dr Allen, is everything ok?" I wheel around and see Jeremy at the door. Before I can think I fire off a shot, but the silencer wasn't on properly and the bullet rips through a painting. He flees down the hall to escape or call the police.
"HOLY HELL!" I turn the gun on myself, it clicks, and I remember I always leave just one round in the chamber. Why?!
*I think it's time to update my resume.* | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | As always a new year had begun and to start it off; a psych evaluation. Garrett O'Malley, a master of his craft, former IRA member, and now hitman waited for his name to be called. Five years now... Five years he's been through these evals and it's all been reassuring at the most. 355 contracts, 100% success rating, but yet technically Garret has never killed anyone. All accidental deaths, unexplained causes that have only killed his confidence as an assassin. He was going on his fifth year now, five years of dealing with the same problems over and over again.
"Garrett? Are you ready?" Dr, Lyndsey Allison, stepped out of the Organization office-- clipboard in hand. She was ready; as always.
"Doc, new year same me it seems." Garret stated, walking in the office as Dr. Allison followed in behind. She gestured him to take a seat in a soft small maroon chair, while she sat across from him.
"It's happening again now? Five years and still down about not technically fulfilling your contracts?"
Garrett nodded. The Organization was a secret groups of hired assassins, or "contractors" as they were coded out. From high-tier grade-a contractors who were hired for the top paid dealings; politicians, world leaders, army generals, celebrities, pop idols, presidents, and whatever else needed to cause a shock to the entire world. Garrett was no where near that level yet, and he doubt he'd ever be able to be up to that level in this profession.
"I just can't seem to do it doc, as much as i want to, as close as i get to... Something unusual happens."
"I see.... Can you tell me about your first contract?"
"My very first one, or the first one of last year doc?" he asked, as he watched her head tilt slightly in curiosity.
"Very first."
"Of course, a broker in New York, tracked him to a eight foot parking garage, cornered him at his car, poor bastard literally had a heart attack and died."
Doctor Allison nodded, scribbling something on some paper that was clipped to her clipboard, and then looked up at Garrett. "And how about some others that you can name for me, any ones that you remember."
It was the same routine as last year, Garrett thought silently to himself. She'll tell me that everything's okay, and that although these contracts were accidental deaths, i still played a part in causing the accident, and was still "entitled" to the kill.
"Old man Jones, fell out of a 14 foot window, the lawyer who ran a stop sign when i was tailing her, got hit by a semi-truck. The three lieutenants from the Antollucci Crime Family choked on their canolis... Let's see what else."
"That's enough." Doctor Allison stated, as she watched Garrett ponder other contracts that had happen in a 5 year span. "Like i've said many times now Garrett, you are a great hitman for the organization, the only member here who's had a 100% success rate-- even with it being accidental deaths is still quite remarkable. In fact my bosses have gone over what you've done in a five year span, and believe it's time you got yourself a promotion."
"A wha-- you mean?"
Doctor Allison nodded. "That's right Garrett, when you leave this office, you'll be a top tier hitman, even be able to rival the finest assassin's The Illuminati would have in their organization."
Garrett let out a smile, kept his excitement in, but let out a satisfied smile. He couldn't believe it but didn't want to over-extend his emotions-- it would be unprofessional. However here he was once again thinking that he was a failure to the organization, and every year they prove that it was just his mind playing tricks upon him. "Thank you Dr. Allison."
"Don't thank me Garrett, my bosses will be sending you a messenger with the first contract, so be available. And go relax Garrett." Doctor Allison stated, as she pointing her finger ushering Garrett to leave the room.
"I will Doctor, same time next year?" Garrett asked with a smile, as he stood up from his chair, and watched as Doctor Allison let a small smirk be revealed before he left the office.
\--
He waited until Garrett O'Malley had left his beloved's office room before he slithered from the shadows and into the room himself. Booker Thomas had been plotting for years about a way that The Organization could surpass the Illuminati and be the dominant key figure in conquering the world. With Garrett's constant peculiar ways of bringing bad luck to every contract he's ever taken, Booker had finally realized his plans would be coming to fruition. "He's a peculiar one, but loyal." Booker said as Doctor Allison lit a cigarette and turned to face him in her office.
"With him now at the top tier of our organization, and with a perfect success rate even if accidental Booker. We can finally dominate the world from the shadows." She replied to him, lighting the cigarette in her fingers, and coldly stared as he meandered around the office room.
"It's amazing... You know others call him Mr. Bad luck, or the Accidental Assassin. Which I have to say is my favorite nickname ever given to a member of the organization," Booker chuckled-- stopped before his laughter overwhelmed him, and walked in front of Doctor Allison. "Soon my love, we'll finally have what we've always wanted. The Illuminati wouldn't even dare try and stop us, whole countries would fall to our feet, and the world...." He stopped, She took a drag of her cigarette as his arms wrapped around her...
"The world would fall into our hands accidentally..."
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
“Shit, not again,” I grunted and sat up, resting the heavy calibre rifle across my lap and shaking out my shoulders. I’d been sitting too long in, bent over and hunched in the crawl space of an unfinished condo. All my careful plans were for nothing. The days spent at the public records office pulling up permits and building plans, the 6k I spent bribing the nurse at his doctors office to take a look at his medical records, gone up in smoke, all because this bastard had to up and die on me before I could kill him. Sure, he was a fat, morbidly so, and I was really only speeding up the inevitable, but I’d gotten the call–big money–he just had to go and ruin it by stuffing his nose full of cocaine. I looked at my target again, one eye shut while the other squinted through the high powered scope. “Disgusting…What a fuckin’ waste. You’d think someone with his heart condition would know better.”
‘Big’ Jim O’hanlon, lay face down 500 meters away on the floor of his penthouse apartment, the shattered glass of an coffee table spread around him like a constellation, glimmering under the light of the pompous chandelier that hung 15ft above his bloated body. I started to pack up my things, unscrewing the silencer, breaking apart the rifle, pulling out the barrel, and finally removing the stock, tucking them all carefully in the case laid out besides me. I took a eep breath, sigh and grabbed my burner from my pocket.
Two rings and then someone picked up, but didn’t speak, just like the instructions.
“It’s done.”
“Good.” The line went dead.
I gathered up my things, slid out of the crawl-space and took the stairs down to the street. I was a block away when the sirens blared past me. I didn’t look. I dumped the phone in a trashcan near diner and went inside, to sit at the counter and order the usual: two eggs and corn-beef hash. Sure, it was late, but I’d always eaten breakfast after a job, even though I hadn’t actually killed anyone in months. It was starting to wear on me. Some might call it lucky, I guess, but I was beginning to feel like a that fairy-tale cobbler, the one who never gets to make any damn shoes. Must be some fuckin elves, eh?
“You alright hon? You look like shit.” Molly said, while she poured me water. The water came out too fast, spilling onto the counter. She wiped it up lazily with a damp rag.
“Just another day at the office.” I said, as friendly as I could manage.
“That bad?” She frowned. “Why don’t I go get your eggs?”
“Sure, and a coffee–black”
“Yeah,” She called back. I’ll admit, I stared at her ass, but even that didn’t make me feel much better. What kind of hitman doesn’t kill? It’s not like I didn’t have the skills–I did–and more, but lately, all my contracts were dying before I’d even got the chance to do them the favor. I mean I was getting paid, but I wasn’t *earning* it and that makes a man low. I had a job, one I liked, but the thing was I couldn’t do it, and not for lack of trying.
I checked my work phone, while I waited, opening up the VPN and checking the money had transferred. There it was, large as the man I was supposed to have killed, $150k. I clicked out of the screen, messaged the back of my neck, still sore and kinked from the hours I’d wasted screwed up in that hole, when my phone vibrated. Another job had come through. This time it was some Realestate mogul, guess he stole a contract from the wrong family. It didn’t matter. I just hoped this time I’d actually get to pull the trigger. | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | "I don't know how you do it and I'm not sure I want to."
I stare impassively at the chuckling man across me, all too aware of the tick of the watch on my hand.
Just a little longer.
"Oh I know you're dangerous alright, I've heard the whispers. All those unfortunate accidents and tragic natural causes. Every vow that refutes any claim of your involvement. I can't say I'm not intrigued."
Seeing the knowing smirk on his face I wondered if my perceived abilities would finally be exposed for the sheer dumb luck that it is.
"I have no interest in these games of yours, Mr Miller. If there is nothing else, I should be on my way."
Miller merely reached for his dessert after taking a long sip of his tea. I was so close. So very close.
He opened his mouth to take a bite only to release a choked gasp as the fork fell through the grasp of his fingers and onto the table with a noisy clatter. His hands reached up his throat as he choked on his tea instead. The staff rushed over, futilely trying to save him.
I closed my eyes in defeat before standing up to leave. Knowing they wouldn't check on the uneaten piece of dessert.
No, maybe someday it'll be laid bare for the world to see. Someday not today.
| In baseball, if you get hit by a pitch, you never get credited for the at-bat, but you do get scored for on base percentage. That's what I am zero for zero with a 1.000 on-base percentage. I even have a few runs scored if you want to overwork the metaphor. But what kind of a career is that? Sure, small-ball wins baseball. But no one ever made it into Cooperstown by being the best and being hit by a pitch. And it isn't what fans want either. They want the big sluggers cracking the bases loaded home run in the bottom of the ninth. They want heroes.
And that's what I want too. I put time and effort into my hits. I want everyone to duck and look in shock when a car bomb lifts some competing drug lord's car two stories into the air. I want shoot him in the head through an open window across the crowded plaza while his mistress is freshening up in the restroom. I don't want him to die of anaphylaxis due to an un-diagnosed almond allergy.
How do I get to develop a style, a renowned trademark of my craft, if they keep winding up dead from "natural causes" and "freak accidents"?
And will no one think of the journalists? Where do they get the poetry for their headlines? They want to write live-by-the-gun-die-by-the-gun stories filled with excitement, a build, and a climax. What do I give them? A dull punchline with all the joy of a mealy apple and a cold cup of coffee.
But, it's a living. | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | 'This time,' I thought to myself. 'This time, I'll be the one. I'll do it myself.'
I acted calm, chomping away on some peanuts I'd bought from a snack stand as I strolled down the boardwalk, my long jacket fluttering in the salty breeze. My target was a middle-aged man leaning against a railing, looking out over the ocean. Some sweetheart decades younger than him enjoyed the view alongside him.
'This time the death will be at my own hands,' I promised myself, determined.
I was one of the highest paid hitmen in the land, and yet I had a body count of 0. Call it luck, or divine intervention, or coincidence, but no matter who my mark was, they always died right before I reached them, of some unrelated cause. Traffic accident, random mugging, natural disaster; I'd seen it all happen through the crosshairs of my scoped rifle. That's why this time I was going to use a knife, up close and personal. I wouldn't give the universe a chance to rob me of my kill.
I dropped my peanuts in a trash can, licked my fingers, and began to draw the knife hidden in my jacket as I approached the mark, just coming within earshot.
"Look! See? There!" my target said to his date, leaning over the railing, pointing at something on the horizon. I smirked. Both of their attentions where captured; I might have even been able to make my escape before they realized what happened.
And then the railing broke, and my target went plunging down into the sea. He cried out wordlessly, and his date shrieked. My jaw dropped. It was happening again. 'But... but he'll swim to shore and I can stab him then... we aren't that far out on the boardwalk... this is fine.'
"Someone help! He can't swim!" cried the girl.
"You're kidding me!" I cried angrily, startling the woman. 'No! I won't let this happen again!' I slid my half-drawn knife back down into it's sheath, whipped off my coat, and ran for the broken area of the railing. "Move!" I yelled at the girl. She side-stepped out of the way, and I dove off the boardwalk.
The cool, salty water enveloped me as I landed in the water. I quickly broke the surface, and began treading water as I looked for the man. He was maybe 10 feet away from me, flailing, struggling to keep his head above water. "Help me! I can't swim!" he begged. I snorted, and then began swimming towards him, just as he sunk below the surface with an "Aaahhhhhrblublublub!"
I sucked in a breath of air and ducked below the surface myself, my eyes locking onto his body. I wrapped my arms around him, and then pulled him along as I swam towards the shore.
By the time I reached the beach, he had already sucked in some water, and was unconscious. "No! No no no NO!" I grumbled angrily as I set him down on his back. 'No way... not this time. He's MINE!' I screamed in my head.
I began performing CPR on the fellow, but the chest compressions weren't working. "Dammit! No!" I cried, and then attempted mouth to mouth. Between breaths I noticed the girl approaching at a run, coming to see if her sugar daddy was alive. She was also carrying the jacket I'd tossed aside.
Finally, the man coughed up a mouthful of water, and came to, retching several times and rolling onto his side. I sighed with relief. The universe hadn't been able to kill him. This time, I would be the one. I lifted a fist into the air victoriously.
"Thank you so much! You saved him!" the woman cried as she reached us. My target stopped coughing and just made some grumbling and grunting noises as he caught his breath. I stood and faced the woman.
"No problem! Thank you for bringing my jacket," I thanked her with a smirk. She had no idea she was also delivering a murder weapon to me.
"It was the least I could do. You ran and jumped in to help without hesitation. You're a hero," she told me.
"Uh... yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my head and blushing a little. 'Stay on track,' I though. 'Kill the mark.'
I turned towards the man, who I noticed still hadn't stood up. He'd stopped making grunting noises, too, and as I laid eyes on him, he seemed unnaturally still. "... Hey," I started. "... Mister..." I stepped back to the man and squatted down. I put one hand on the hilt of my knife, and with the other, I rolled him towards me.
The man's face was all puffed up and deformed. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and he wasn't breathing. The woman shrieked again. "Oh my God! What happened to him?"
"It... it looks like anaphylactic shock..." I observed. "Is he allergic to-?"
"Peanuts! He's allergic to peanuts! But we didn't-" the girl began.
"FUCK!" I screamed as I stood. Then I just walked off down the beach.
The man had lost his Epi-pen in the ocean. He died there in the sand, lungs full of the peanut particles I had breathed into him during mouth to mouth.
I decided it counted as a kill. I mean, it was my fault after all, right?
But it didn't help me sleep at night.
---
https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCornerStories/ | In baseball, if you get hit by a pitch, you never get credited for the at-bat, but you do get scored for on base percentage. That's what I am zero for zero with a 1.000 on-base percentage. I even have a few runs scored if you want to overwork the metaphor. But what kind of a career is that? Sure, small-ball wins baseball. But no one ever made it into Cooperstown by being the best and being hit by a pitch. And it isn't what fans want either. They want the big sluggers cracking the bases loaded home run in the bottom of the ninth. They want heroes.
And that's what I want too. I put time and effort into my hits. I want everyone to duck and look in shock when a car bomb lifts some competing drug lord's car two stories into the air. I want shoot him in the head through an open window across the crowded plaza while his mistress is freshening up in the restroom. I don't want him to die of anaphylaxis due to an un-diagnosed almond allergy.
How do I get to develop a style, a renowned trademark of my craft, if they keep winding up dead from "natural causes" and "freak accidents"?
And will no one think of the journalists? Where do they get the poetry for their headlines? They want to write live-by-the-gun-die-by-the-gun stories filled with excitement, a build, and a climax. What do I give them? A dull punchline with all the joy of a mealy apple and a cold cup of coffee.
But, it's a living. | |
[WP] You are a hitman. However, before you can do the deed, your victim always dies another way (accident, natural causes, unrelated murder, etc.) Your employers don't care; "Dead is dead." However, you're starting to feel self-conscious about being the only hitman to never kill anyone. | His head bobs like a duck as I watch him through the scope, tracing his path along the street far below. A bead of sweat drips off my chin and explodes onto tile by my knee.
He's almost in range.
My hand is shaking so I grip the gun harder, as if it's a crucifix. I even whisper a little prayer as my target wanders obliviously nearer to his death. *Lord, help me through this.*
His name is Alex. He is to be my first. I've visualised, every night, what'll happen as the bullet rips through the air at 3400 feet per second, and collides with its mark. It'll have barely slowed as it exits Alex's head. My dreams have been painted red as of the contract, just as the sidewalk will soon be. Every thump of my boots up the building's stairwell, as I got into this position, was the sound of his body thudding against the asphalt.
I cannot stop thinking about it.
Just a few more steps... Then it will be a reality.
A few more steps...
"Michael? Are you even listening to me? Michael?!"
For a second I resist returning to the present and let my mind dwell. How differently things would have turned out, if I'd just been allowed to do my job.
"Michael! I swear to--"
I raise a hand apologetically. "I'm sorry, Marie. Occasionally I get flashbacks and... they're so vivid. It's hard for me to snap out of them."
Her face droops sympathetically in that mothering way that comes instinctively to so many women. Empathy. The need to make it all better. To take away the pain.
"From when you were in"--she lowers her voice as if the next word she is to say is taboo and someone in the restaurant might object--"Afghan?"
I nod solemnly. That's all you have to do, to pretend you're a veteran. That and show a little knowledge of guns. People are so willing to believe if you are just willing to convince.
"That's okay," she croons. "You can let that pain out, if you want. I'm of the belief it's okay for a man to cry. More than okay! I mean, we're all the same on the inside anyway. Right? Just, social pressures change us and..."
Her voice drifts over me like waves over the sand: It's there, but it's not saying anything. Just a murmur. I drag my eyes up to her face and study it. There are lines marking her eyes and forehead. She's tried to hide them, but to someone trained in seeing what most people do not, it doesn't work. She's older than her profile stated. Maybe five years older.
The world won't miss this liar when she's gone.
As the waves keep crashing against the shore, I let myself reminisce once again
Alex pauses and looks up at the building I'm hidden inside of, and for a moment, I think he sees me. Maybe sees the glint of the gun through the open window. I feel an impulse to pull away; to flee the building and forget about the money. I'll go back to flipping burgers for the rest of my life, if I have to.
But it must have been a bird, or a person in another window that caught his attention, as Alex then looks away and continues ambling down the street.
I bring my lips to the rifle and kiss it once. *Thank you.*
Fifteen more feet before I pull the trigger.
Alex crosses the road. Why he chooses to cross here, I don't know. There are lights up ahead, if he'd just continued. Safety.
But he crosses here.
The taxi comes out of nowhere; Alex sees it just in time. He stumbles out of its trajectory and it misses him by an inch. Angry shouting leaks out of the open window.
My heart is stuck in my throat and Alex is stuck dazed in the middle of the road.
My arms are trembling. I need to fire. I need to shoot right now. Before...
The truck beeps but Alex doesn't look, let alone move.
I pull the trigger.
The road is painted red.
But not by my bullet.
"... And how about you? Is there anything you still want to accomplish in life?" Marie asks, as she shoves a forkful of salmon into her mouth.
"So much," I answer, truthfully.
I was paid for Alex's death. I told them that my shot disorientated him, and that's how he wandered into the vehicle. I didn't mention the taxi and they didn't ask.
That was the first time I got paid to fail. But it wasn't the last.
Failure.
Always failure.
"Yeah?" She speaks with her mouth full. Chew. Chew. Chew. "So, what else do you want to do?" Chew. Fucking. Chew.
I so badly want to kill you. And I will, later tonight. "I never really got job satisfaction in the army," I say. "So I'm looking to get it through a hobby instead."
"You religious?" she asks as she shovels in another mouthful of pink flesh. I raise my eyebrows in confusion, until I realise she's looking at the crucifix dangling around my shirt.
I shrug. "Not really. Just brought up by a religious parent. Still find myself saying prayers occasionally."
"That's sweet," she says.
My mind wanders back to Alex. To the prayer I said just before he died.
"I'm a little relig--" She begins to cough.
Her face is becoming as red as a cherry.
She falls out of her seat and onto the floor. Her hands and eyes are both trying to find me. To find salvation.
I take the crucifix between two fingers and stare at it for a moment.
Then I get up and leave the restaurant.
| In baseball, if you get hit by a pitch, you never get credited for the at-bat, but you do get scored for on base percentage. That's what I am zero for zero with a 1.000 on-base percentage. I even have a few runs scored if you want to overwork the metaphor. But what kind of a career is that? Sure, small-ball wins baseball. But no one ever made it into Cooperstown by being the best and being hit by a pitch. And it isn't what fans want either. They want the big sluggers cracking the bases loaded home run in the bottom of the ninth. They want heroes.
And that's what I want too. I put time and effort into my hits. I want everyone to duck and look in shock when a car bomb lifts some competing drug lord's car two stories into the air. I want shoot him in the head through an open window across the crowded plaza while his mistress is freshening up in the restroom. I don't want him to die of anaphylaxis due to an un-diagnosed almond allergy.
How do I get to develop a style, a renowned trademark of my craft, if they keep winding up dead from "natural causes" and "freak accidents"?
And will no one think of the journalists? Where do they get the poetry for their headlines? They want to write live-by-the-gun-die-by-the-gun stories filled with excitement, a build, and a climax. What do I give them? A dull punchline with all the joy of a mealy apple and a cold cup of coffee.
But, it's a living. | |
[WP] In ancient times, great objects were imbued with magical power. This power was passed to similar items throughout the ages. In present time, the "belt of strength" is a WWE championship belt, and the "cloak of invisibility" is a unique hoodie, etc. You come to possess a magically imbued item. | “Well shoot, how do we continue now?” David complained at what seemed to be the result of a landslide.
“I guess we climb over it?” I glanced at the rocks and took a guess.
“I don’t think so. This thing looks freaking unstable. Plus, there’s a chance of sharp rocks on the other side.” Joshua objected.
“Then does anyone have something to help? Maybe some flying item?” David asked.
“I don’t remember. Let’s search through our belongings again.” I said, putting my backpack down. The other two quickly did the same.
“Oh, I got something... oh wait a minute, junk.” Joshua said, throwing out an old hoodie.
“Why are you bringing that old Cloak of Invisibility again?” David asked.
“I never took it out of the backpack, apparently.”
“Well I’m bringing the tent so I have nothing. Walker, buddy, got anything?”
“I’m still looking, but aside from this bottomless pot and bottle of water I’m not... wait a minute, I think I put it in here somewhere...” I kept digging deeper into the backpack, remembering something important that I brought.
“There we go, got it!” I happily said, pulling out a set of kitchen knives.
“Your... cooking set?” Both of them asked with a confused look.
“Well, kind of. Let me check...” I answered and took one out.
As I drew out the knife, its blade immediately caught fire.
“Nope, Blazing Durandal. Wrong one.”
I tried another, this time it glew a bright blue light.
“Oh, wait, that’s Arondight. Wrong again.”
The third knife had a very narrow blade.
“Probably Kiku-Ichimonji. Pass.”
“What about this one?” David pulled out a grater.
“Nah, that’s just a normal grater. Why did I leave it in here though?” I wondered as I put the grater back in the backpack.
“You put this in by mistake as well.” Joshua said, a bent spoon in his hand.
“I was wondering why my Spoon of Destiny set was missing one... Oh, here it is.” I said while pulling out the knife I’ve been looking for.
“Another sword?” Both of them asked again.
“Not just any sword. Stand aside, I’ll show you.” I said, the knife pointing towards the sky.
“The breath of the planet gathers...” I started chanting, the knife started glowing a warm yellow light.
“The torrent of life shines...” Bits of light from the scenery started flowing towards me, making the knife glow brighter.
“EX...” The knife then formed a massive pillar of light pointing towards the sky.
“CALIBUR!” I swung my knife down, the light pillar collided with the rock formation, creating a massive explosion.
After the dust settled, the road had been completely clear. My two friends were unharmed, although they also got blasted aside a bit.
“Uh... you... cook with this?” They got up, dusting off their clothes.
“What? Of course not! I use Durandal for that.” I answered.
“O...kay. I think you’re off cooking duty.” They said simultaneously.
| Milan stared at the road ahead as Linda drove him home, trying not to think. The chain round his neck seemed to burn, this inocuous worm of gold. Linda asked him about the funeral, in her best mock therapist voice, and some things about his late dad. He answered absent-mindedly.
"Come on, what kind of issue did you have with him to talk like that?"
"None, I'm just tired and had a helluva flight"
"Darling, you can tell me..."
"Linda, please, you have no idea what a Croatian funeral is like. I feel like I was drunk the last 3 days and ate more than I usually do in 3 weeks"
"Darling, what made you? We talked about saying no recently"
Milan sighed inaudibly and faked falling asleep. It would be a one hour drive, or even longer if there was traffic jam. Probably he doozed off for real for a while, because next time he looked under his eyelashes they were closing in the 'burbs. He had an idea.
"I heard the Joneses finally got their chicken. Did you already see them?"
"Yes and no" Linda didn't seem happy with him chickening out of the previous conversation.
"You think we can go see them?"
Linda seemed startled.
"You know my dad was a chicken nerd and some of my cousins still are. I've seen so many priced chicken of late, I think I'm infected"
"Oh well, why not, then? Lizz has invited me over for tonight anyway"
She reached for the satnav, but he waved her to stop. "please, let me do this. I'm also texting Lizzy"
They were silent for the rest of the drive, althpugh it took them half an hour to get throug the usual rush hour jam.
Lizz and Jack greeted them in the frontyard, Lizzy embraced Milan, Jack patted his back what he wouldn't usually do, but they said nothing about his loss save a short "condolences".The girls went straight to the kitchen, were probably the champagne bottle was already open, Jack invited Milan to the backyard as soon as he mentioned the chicken.
They were nothing fancy, grey with little white spots, somewhat smaller than the production landrace his father had. The Joneses wanted eggs and needed a race that would lay in such a confined and noisy city backyard. They immediately flocked to Milan, begging for food.
"Please Jack, can I feed them?" Milan said, trying to sound mocking enough to not make Jack uncomfortable.
While Jack went to get some chicken pellets, Milan opened the chain round his neck and slipped the darn ring on his finger. The he concentrated on the chicken and pointed to a spot half a yard left to him. They gathered there at once, making a lot of noise and loosing a few feathers because the spot they tried to be at was too small for
10 chicken. He forced his thoughts to relax and waved then back to himself. He now gestured them to go left and right, with only the softest hints of commanding thoughts. Worked like a charm. When Jack came back, he quickly let the ring slip into a pocket of his jacket.
"Heh, what are you doing to my girls?" Jack had heard them.
"Nothing, they are just wild for food, and maybe smell my family's chicken" Milan fed them andthen dismissed them, which worked even without the ring.
He followed Jack into the living room, they heard the Women giggling in the kitchen. Jack offered beer. "No thanks, I guess I will have to drive the rest of the way. Jack laughed " I guess you're right, damn them". They spend another half hour on smalltalk, but Jack seemed to sense that Milan's thoughts were elsewere. So he soon found a polite reason to suggest he collect Linda and go home.
Milan drove, and Linda had had enough to make her too tired to annoy him. The Joneses had been a great idea, Milan made a mental note to keep in tough with Jack more consistently from now on. For all other intents and purposes, he was still too shocked to think. | |
[WP] In ancient times, great objects were imbued with magical power. This power was passed to similar items throughout the ages. In present time, the "belt of strength" is a WWE championship belt, and the "cloak of invisibility" is a unique hoodie, etc. You come to possess a magically imbued item. | I had certain expectations when the Archangel told me I was to wield the Spear of Longinus in the coming conflict.
Of course, my expectations haven't had the best track record so far.
The first surprise was when Archangel Gabriel descended from Heaven to inform me I was the sole child of his brother Michael, and my inner strength would be needed in the coming end times. Gabriel was actually exactly what I would expect an angel to look like, almost remarkably similar to the Renaissance depictions of him. Only problem was, I happened to have been a die hard atheist. To that point, I'm still pretty skeptical about all of this and still haven't quite ruled out insanity as the chief perpetrator.
So I was sent to meet with my father, the Archangel Michael, and receive a divine weapon to wield as a champion of God against the armies of Hell. In a Denny's parking lot.
Right....
So there I was, waiting in an empty parking lot of a boarded up Denny's at 11 AM on a Sunday morning. I think I could be excused for wondering exactly what in the world was going on. Was this all some elaborate joke, like for a game show? Am I going to get jumped by a bunch of dudes in a van who want my kidney? As a supposed child of heaven, shouldn't I be in church right now or something? Actually, can Angels even have kids? That doesn't sound quite right, but then again... How the hell would I know?
My thoughts were interrupted by a large, noisy, military issue Humvee pulling up beside me. A man in his forties jumped out, dressed like he'd just strolled off the set of Top Gun and with a long bag slung over his shoulder.
"Good to see you James, how's your mother?" The Archangel said in a carefree voice distinctly different from the unfamiliar accent of his brother Gabriel.
"You? You're Michael? Where are your wings? Or your Halo? Or the spear?!" I spat out, exasperated by both the current situation and the lack of sleep from the night before.
Michael just looked at me flatly from over the rims of his aviator glasses. He shouldered off the bag and set it on the hood of my car with a thud.
"What, no 'Hi dad! It's great to meet you dad! We should go to a baseball game, dad!' Seriously, no respect for the divine or paternal these days." He grumbled, unzipping the long bag.
By then I had guessed the contents to be the famed Spear of legend, and decided to lean in to look rather than reply to the man who was dubiously both father and angel.
Inside was a modern looking .50 caliber rifle.
"Uh, that don't look like no spear, either." I stated flatly, looking up with eyes half lidded.
"What, you expected a pointy stick? Boy, back in the day a well made spear was cutting edge technology. If we never updated our equipment, we'd still be slinging big rocks like we did to the dinosaurs. And now? A high caliber rifle is the modern spear, just like the jet engine I traded my bird wings for."
"But Gabriel.."
"Your uncle Gabriel is a smarmy prick who doesn't get his hands dirty and spends all his time lying on clouds and playing with his harp. He's too stuck in the past. Terrible influence for you."
I looked at him incredulously for a moment before reaching for the gun. No sooner had I touched it when a series of earthshaking booms reverberated through the sky. They were drums. The horizon darkened.
Michael looked at me, a smirk on his face. He pulled a machine gun from his Humvee and flipped the safety.
"Buckle up, buttercup. It's Armageddon." | "Doesn't look like much, does it?"
&#x200B;
Booker scowled. "Give it up kid. You're going to get hurt."
&#x200B;
The kid laughed, holding his arms wide. One hand was covered in a ratty black glove, gripping a kite by the string. Drug crazed eyes followed the string up to the diamond of faded cloth. Sail cloth by Booker's guess.
&#x200B;
"It's not a kite you know. The old man told me. It's actually-"
&#x200B;
"Shut up kid! You'll take down half the building!"
&#x200B;
"Who the fuck cares! Just a bunch of shitheads like me down there, and I know no one gives a fuck about us! Doing the world a favor is what I'm doing! You think that star is going to help you out? You think it'll help, Sheriff ?"
&#x200B;
Booker flinched. "Who's the old man?"
&#x200B;
"Who's the old man? Hah! You don't know fuck do you? He's gonna change the world you know, and this is how it starts, Sheriff. Right here, with just one word." The wind whipped up, the kite snapping and twisting in the wind.
&#x200B;
"Don't say it kid. You've got more to live for than this."
&#x200B;
The drug craze faded from the kid's eyes and Booker saw the scared kid underneath. The wind died down and the kite felt into the kid's outstretched hands.
&#x200B;
"Sheriff. We both know that's not true."
&#x200B;
"Kid!"
&#x200B;
"*Mjölnir*."
&#x200B;
Booker's eyes saw white. His ears heard ringing. His nose smelled sulfur, charcoal and...cooked meat. There was a sensation of movement, a sense of large movements. When the white finally receded Booker found himself looking up at the sky. The sheriff's star, Justice, hovered above him for a moment then dropped on his nose painfully, as if to chide him for his failure. Around was the rubble of the building, the screams of the trapped. And still clutched in the hands of the smoking corpse was the kite.
&#x200B;
It was going to be a long night. | |
[WP] Each day, as you sleep, your IQ and EQ exponentially increases, you surpassed the world’s smartest minds within a week, solved all Millennium Prize Problems within two, and a photographic memory was a nice bonus during week three. Its now 5 years later. | Its not too late. I recheck my calculations, run diagnositics. This time, is sure to be the charm. It has to be.
The machine begins to buzz, and whir. LED lights start flashing in syncopated waves. I check my stopwatch, make sure it's set to count-down for another 48 hours, get up, and stretch and leave.
\-- 48 hours later --
my nerves are completely abuzz. if my calculations are correct, this is it! Show-time.
I step back into my lab, and quickly run to the other side of machine, where the results of five years of super-genius obsession have finally come to fruition!
&#x200B;
There it is, I skip over and pick up the caraffe and take the longest, most sinful sip.
Finally, the perfect, cup of coffee!
Aaaah. Just right.
&#x200B; | Numbness. A tingly feeling ran through her body as though she had forgotten something. But she knew she hadn't. At first the knowledge has been a blessing. Within a week she understood things in an instant better than any expert. She put her best foot forward and used her understanding to save as many lives as she could. About two weeks in, during her spare time, she solved what was considered unsolvable. She was pretty much set for life at the age of only 23. About her third week something interesting happened. She had developed a photographic memory. Every moment of everyday she could recall in an instant. It was so very useful that she needn't refer to books or the internet to remind her of something she had read the previous week.
&#x200B;
Now, with her money in place and her knowledge dedicated to the betterment of mankind, at only four weeks in, she thought she had surely found her place in the world. But then more time passed. At about three months, as her knowledge and intelligence continued to increase, something changed. Someone might cough in a diner and she was instantly able to diagnose at least three possible causes. She'd set the thought aside and leave the world to its own devices, only to hear about their death at a later date. Not a few days later or anything like that, but with her memory it *felt* as though it was yesterday. That's when the numbness started to set in. If you've ever seen Groundhog Day, you'll know about the old man that Phil tries to save. However, no matter how hard he tries, all his knowledge of the future, everything he'd learnt during his time in that timeless window, had showed him how powerless he really was.
&#x200B;
And so it was that each day she grew a little bit more numb to the world around her. The knowledge of just how somebodies body was shutting down at a given moment. Knowing exactly what the outcome would be, knowing how little time that they had left in the world, and knowing there was nothing she could do, just made her more numb as the days went by. No psychiatrist could help. She had such a full grasp of the field by that point that it often devolved into her evaluating them. And while it was a welcomed distraction, the numbness never truly left.
&#x200B;
For five years she waded through her numbness. Eventually becoming a recluse to avoid as much human interaction as possible. She still reviewed scientific studies that were sent to her. Correcting improper correlations and find the occasional algorithmic error. All she could do now was muddle from day to day, but after a certain point a thought occurred to her. It was a passing thought at first. More a thought to the void above than anything else. But then it took hold of her. Why did people have to die? Surely death could be treated just like any other disease, right? That thought ignited her, just a bit, slightly pushing away the numbness. So, she set to work to do the impossible. Cure death. | |
[WP] Each day, as you sleep, your IQ and EQ exponentially increases, you surpassed the world’s smartest minds within a week, solved all Millennium Prize Problems within two, and a photographic memory was a nice bonus during week three. Its now 5 years later. | **I focus.** I sit at the edge of a high rise building. My legs dance over my impending doom. I am one shortfall towards death. That was the only problem that I had no solution to. No, not solving death, I could solve that thousands of times over, it was what was after death that tugged at me. I knew everything in the world. Cures, Diseases, Solutions, Problems.
**All except for one thing.** I have gained a near perfect amount of control over my mind. Emphasis on near. I'm smart enough to not tell anyone everything I know. I'm smart enough to know that everything will go downhill if I do. I'm smart enough not to start a technological revolution. I'm smart enough to know that wars will start anew. But I'm not smart enough. I've spent months, transferring my mind into a new body and dying with it over and over and over again. All that work, just to have a glimpse of the void that everyone fears.
**Not Me.** I learned nothing. My curiosity eats at me. I know that if I find myself, love, I wouldn't even look at this building. I wouldn't even think about it. I'm too smart for that. I'm too smart to not fall for that trap that was set by whatever created me.
**Whatever Cursed Me.** I know something started this all and I know that if I die I'll be able to meet it. I'm too impatient to wait for death. I am curious. I will always be. And I will always find the answer to every problem under the damn sky. No note telling people I love them. Nothing to leave behind. No will to pass on my belongings. I've not spoken to anybody for years just so that this moment won't affect anyone. I've been waiting for this moment. The sky is beautiful. The clear sky, with the clouds scattered below me. I let myself fall into my emotions one last time. To enjoy this moment.
**Big Mistake.** It creeps inwards. A hole. A darkness that envelopes me. Terror. The last thing I need right now. I scramble away from the ledge. My emotions are flooding into my mind. I don't want to die. The thought is almost drowning me. I can't lose this moment. I have waited for too long. I jump before my body stops me. My mind has control. My will pushes me onward.
**My patience has been rewarded.**
**Curiosity Killed the Cat.** | I walk slowly, my steps faltering a little. My hands are shaking and I struggle to hold on to the card. The letter said that I should show it at the front desk. Not to lose it. And I don't intend to. I've seen him on the television so many times. But to see this great man in person. Very few people have ever had such a chance.
I wonder a little about the letter though. It was handwritten. Beautiful hand writing. A certain force behind the words. It had been simple and curt. Addressing me by my name, it asked me to come see Mr. Bertans between two and four the next day. I would be paid a thousand bucks for just the meeting. Hopefully enough to cover for the day of work I would miss. Enough? That was half of what I made in a month. But even if no money was on the line, I would have gone. This man was the smartest and the wealthiest man in the world. Perhaps the greatest man that ever lived.
I pass under the massive DB sign that is the logo he uses. My heart skips a beat as I walk up to the receptionist. She fixes me with a sweet smile.
"Welcome to DB Corporation. How may I help you?"
"I want to meet... Well, see I had this letter and I'm..." I take a deep breath to compose myself. But to my surprise she understands my attempts at a coherent sentence and holds out her hand.
"Ah Ms Reynolds. I was told you would be arriving today. Can I see the letter?"
She takes a cursory glance at the letter and gives me a keycard. She points me to the lift. "Just tap it at the panel and it will take you where you need to go." She fixes me with another smile. "Don't be afraid. He's just a guy."
I return her smile awkwardly and move to the elevator. *Just a guy.* Except he is literally the reason I am alive today. The cure he developed for my disease was the reason I am able to walk in here today. He may not know it, but I owe my life to him. How often do you meet somebody who saved your life?
The elevator stopped at the seventeenth floor which was kind of weird. I always thought that all the higher ups took the top floors. But this was a fifty two story building. But I got out and straight into a beautifully designed lobby. A massive wooden double door stood open a few feet away. I entered.
The room, contrary to the lobby was furnished very simply. One side was an entire bookcase with more books than my local library. On the other was a massive TV with some gaming consoles. In the middle was a big wooden desk with two screens and a simply dressed man sitting on a chair. He got up as I came in and almost tripped on his chair as he came forward to greet me.
"Ms Reynolds. Hi I'm Davis."
"Mr. Bertrans. I'm so glad to meet you. I am, like, one of your biggest fans."
"Oh please. I..." To my surprise he blushed. I didn't know famous people did that. That's when I realized that he was indeed just a guy. "I, just call me Davis please. Mr Bertrans was my old man."
"Hi Davis. I am Lily."
"Yes, I... Yeah. Hi. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, I'm good."
"You sure. We have coffee, or cold drinks. I myself can never drink coffee and am lactose intolerant so my preferred drinks are sodas. Or lemonade. We have excellent lemonade. Would you like some?"
Lactose intolerant? I again was finding it difficult to believe that celebrities faced the same issues I associated with common people.
"Uh... yeah sure. I could go for some lemonade."
To my surprise, instead of calling someone or ringing a bell or whatever, he went to a corner and started cutting lemons in half.
"Would you like some mint or sugar in it?"
"You, you are making it?"
"Well yeah. Don't worry, I have practice in this."
"I don't want to trouble you. You're probably a busy man."
He laughed. "Not really Ms Reynolds. This will just take a minute."
"Some mint and a small amount of sugar please."
"Got it. I noticed your admiring my library so feel free to browse while I get this done."
Awkwardly, I moved towards the rows of bookcases. In front was a massive touchscreen with the ability to search for books by genre, authors, year of publication by decades, series and everything else imaginable. I felt like an idiot as I fangirled over a book management software while the world's smartest/richest man made me lemonade. This was stupid. What was I even doing here?
"Uh, Ms Reynolds. Your lemonade."
Startled, I turned around and he stood there. His arm extended and a glass in his hand.
"Thank you. Just Lily please. Ms Reynolds was my mother." I smiled.
He went back to his desk and I took a seat opposite him.
"So Ms Reynolds, Lily, I know you are probably wondering why you are here?"
"Well, yes. The thought has crossed my mind. But before anything. I'd like to thank you. The I3742 Medicine basically saved my life."
"I... oh. Right that. Well, you're welcome. I'm glad you are alive."
"Sorry to interrupt. Yes, why am I here?"
| |
[WP] Each day, as you sleep, your IQ and EQ exponentially increases, you surpassed the world’s smartest minds within a week, solved all Millennium Prize Problems within two, and a photographic memory was a nice bonus during week three. Its now 5 years later. | And I'm so...goddamn...lonely.
You know what makes life worth living? My partner.
When I present the long-term consequences of global warming to the U.S. Senate, they yawn and bow to the will of their constituents. When I tell this to my partner, he smiles and kisses me.
When I warn of the long-term economic bubble we're in, economists laugh nervously knowing I'm right but not wanting to admit it out loud. My partner nuzzles his head in my shoulder and tells me how much he loves me.
I have learned how incredibly stupid I am, not in terms of data, but in terms of human emotion. You see, I'm a prodigy of IQ. He's a prodigy of emotional intelligence. I influence international economic policy, and yet I have the deep-seated instinct that he will probably have done more good in the world than I have by the end. And I love him for it. | "STEP AWAY FROM HIM!" The guard stopped short once he saw the silver I placed against His neck. "Would you kindly step out so that I may speak to him in private?" They looked at Him for an answer, but simply received a stare in return. Nodding, they slowly stepped back through the door, closing it gently. I removed the blade from His neck and slowly paced around his chair. "So this is where You live? It's a lot smaller than I expected." The room was roughly 20 feet long and 15 feet wide. One bed, one bookshelf and a desk. Nothing adorned the the dark burgundy walls. No pictures. No awards. God knows He had plenty of those. He probably kept them in their own room along with a statue of Himself. The selfserving prick.
I looked back at Him, but He continued staring smugly at the wall. He was looking down on me in the way a person would ignore a child throwing a tantrum. No threat. My anger was at it's tipping point. I had practiced the perfect speech, one that would have reached into His soul and unraveled it with one tug, but I was too angry for that now. "You might be a genius, but you're still only human." I pointed my blade at his chest through the opening of his robe. I could see His collarbone. He has probably never felt this vulnerable in His life. But it was protruding so awkwardly, like a dull knife trying to poke through a balloon. I pushed aside His robe with my blade. Ribs. Did He not eat? Was food not good enough for Him? I slowly looked up from His thin abdomen. He was looking into my eyes. Cheekbones. Although we were making eye contact it was as if he was looking at something behind me. I began to open my mouth, but He began to speak. "i'm" His eyes were glazed and dull. "only" He looked... "human."
-----------
I forgot how much I hate writing. I was getting a bit impatient so I gutted some stuff and cut it short. | |
[WP] The ocean calls. For decades you've buried the feelings, yet they grow. Standing next to the ocean you submit, letting the currents take you out to sea. Yet you live. You are Neptune reincarnated! You know you must find your brothers Jupiter and Pluto. | And I knew just where to find him.
"Paper or plastic?" Chad Bradwell, NFL superstar, asked.
The story has it that, though Chad was the highest paid NFL player ever in the history of the sport, it still wasn't enough to cover all the child support payments he had managed to accumulate during his carreer.
At last count, it was estimated that he had at least 50 kids by almost as many women. When the judge heard, he shook his head in disbelief. But the judge was a fan of Chad's team, and he told him, "Either community service bagging groceries so you'll learn humility, or prison. You pick."
And here Chad was. And by the paper he had taken fom the attractive brunette and slipped into his pocket, he still hadn't learned his lesson.
"Chad, it's me."
We had been fraternity brothers for a year. I was leaving, just as he was coming in. But we did everything together -- mostly drink, chase women, and get in fights. He was like my little brother. Then we had lost contact.
His eyes slowly cleared with recognition and his face broke into a broad smile. "What's up, bro?!" And grabbed me in a bear hug.
"Chad, I need to talk to you about something. Have you been...Do you feel like this urge to, you know...Are you like drawn to - feel yourself drawn to, I mean - high places and things like that?" I inquired lamely.
But I could see that my words had struck a cord.
"It was weird," he answered. "I was in Greece on vay-kay. And I heard that the tallest mountain there was called Mount Olympus, like from Greek Mythology. And when I heard that, I felt like this...*urge* or something. I snuck out one night and hiked to the top of it. And the clouds grew thick and dark, it started to rain, I heard thunder, and I raised my arms and got hit with lightning." He paused as if visualizing himself back there. "I thought I was going to die. But instead, I felt...*powerful.*"
I nodded. "Same for me when I went into the ocean." I told him my story and my theory about finding him and Pluto.
"Oh, I found him already. And I was coming to find you, too, when I got caught by the authorities."
I was ecstatic. "Where is he?!"
"The cemetary."
I laughed. "Of course! I'll go see him now and I'll be back."
Chad shook his head and said in a low voice, "He's dead."
| *I wish I had gills.*
*So I could walk free,*
*Beneath the sea.*
Like a blackbird on my fence,
Chirping at me.
I would swim with glee.
Hair black with salt and vinegar,
The wash and wave of water.
First, I'd wander to my river.
Take my face and kiss the rills,
Letting them tickle me.
Then, the sprint to the sea.
Ocean azures,
Cloud-crushed whites,
the blackbird cries from her sky.
Oh, how I'd dive,
Deep to see ships dancing,
Depthless to see orcas lancing.
Till the only light is my skin,
Luminous nothing-night;
And the maw of Charybdis swallows me.
Once I tasted the touch of trenches,
Had the pressure squeeze my heart,
I would rise up.
Balloon set adrift.
Human and swollen,
Letting currents cradle me.
I would love to never touch another shore.
Drop from Dover's cliffs,
Ravaged by riptide.
But I am here,
Dry and dangerous,
Waiting for the rain.
How I drown in my
dream.
Leaving me shivering.
&#x200B;
Oh Saturn,
Mercury,
Pluto!
&#x200B;
Brothers of the heavens,
I saw you swimming next to me.
Fall with the angels.
&#x200B;
Dive into this world with me.
The salt.
The sting.
&#x200B;
*I wish I had gills.*
*So I could walk free,*
*Beneath the sea.*
| |
[WP] 2327 A.D under Pluto's ice an ancient gate is found that connects galaxies. We learn that we're just one of many human "tribes" across the universe, but forgot our mission - and with it we lost the right to vote. Our fate is not in our own hands anymore. | The woman laid two sheets of paper on the desk in front of her, one under each hand then leaned over and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Brown. It says here that we sent a representative to your branch a little over two millennia ago."
"Yes, I understand that, but you're not listening to me. When we cross-referenced your communications with our," Mr. Brown searched for the right word- best not to sound any more like a bumpkin than necessary- "records, it's clear that branch 316A suffered some sort of catastrophic disaster that severely impacted our project schedule."
The woman didn't look up. Her lips pursed as she continued to scan the text in front of her. Then, a gasp as she nudged the first page over and her eyes jumped to the top of the second.
"Please, Ms. Clearwater," he said as he reached into his bag and retrieved a leather-bound book. "Here, I have with me our own report of the incident you're referring too." He held it over the desk, but again the woman didn't look up. After a moment, Mr. Brown sat it down in between them.
"My word," she whispered to herself, a hand coming up to her chin.
"Yes, I'm afraid it's a little violent." Mr. Brown said, apologetically. "But I assure you, we've changed. Matured, rather. And according to our experts, we are no more than 600 years off schedule. A blip, in the grand scheme of things, really."
Ms. Clearwater looked up, her mouth hung open. But now it was Mr. Browns head that hung low.
"For heavens sakes," she said, the irony lost on her he was certain, "why not just kill him outright at least?"
"Like I said ma'am, something terrible must have happened to set us back so far. We aren't even able to locate our flagship, Atlantis, despite the detailed summary of our initial mission report provided by your office."
"I'm afraid I simply cannot approve your application, Mr. Brown. This is simply unacceptable!"
"If it helps, your-uh representative had quite the following after his departure. His name is still well known today."
"He had to undergo full nano-reconstruction, for three days. Without the use of any anesthetic?" Her voice rose to a near shriek, "While you buried him alive!"
Mr. Brown straightened in his chair, his shoulders back, his chin high. "Ms. Clearwater, I'll ask once more, please reconsider. We would much prefer to join you on your quest for galactic peace."
The woman scoffed, her mouth still gapping. "Mr. Brown, surely you must have known this would have never been approved. What exactly were you thinking when you came here today? And, forgive me, what did you say your role was at your branch? A politician of some sort perhaps?"
Mr. Brown sighed. "I'm a- I was a priest, ma'am."
"I see," she flashed a sad smile as she tried to sympathize with the man. Then, her brow furrowed, and she reached for the Holy Book that sat opposite of her and thumbed the pages. "Why would your people send a priest?"
Mr. Brown pulled a small communicator from his pocket and began typing. "There were a few of us that had hoped this could be done peacefully. Given our alleged mission and all."
"I'm sorry?" Ms. Clearwater said, puzzled.
"No, Ms. Clearwater- you're not. Not yet anyway." A tremor shook the desk, and Mr. Brown stood and collected the book from the desk, inspecting it in one hand. Mr. Clearwater gripped the desk, and her attention flitted around the room as the other furniture shook despite her efforts. "As I was saying, we've matured, but not the way a children who struggle in a controlled safe environment. We matured from children who were left to fend for themselves for millennia. We clawed and scraped and fought to survive. And as a result developed a bit of a chip on our shoulder. And well," he tossed the book into a small wastebasket next to the desk. "Sometimes children grow up unable to follow the paths laid laid out by their parents."
Mr. Brown turned and walked through the trembling door, letting it slam behind him. Pulling the communicator once more from his pocket, he pressed a button on its side and spoke into an invisible earpiece. "Everest. This is Brown Bear. Mom and Dad say we can't come out to play, but they forgot to lock the back door. How does a bonfire sound to you boys?"
"Roger that Brown Bear. Let's light her up!"
*Edit: corrected the passive/weak voice that weaseled its way into my final monologue. Bad habits die hard! | The year is 2385, and the glory of humanity had dwindled. Mere decades before, humans made what they believed to be the most important discovery in History. Whilst space travel was possible centuries before this event, humans had never made it as far as the out reaches of our galaxy. A mission was launched and led by a small group of astronauts with the purpose of setting up a mining colony on Pluto, but upon arrival they learned that they had a bigger task at hand.
After a couple of days on the dwarf planet, a man named Peter Burkhart uncovered an ancient artifact under the mantle of the celestial body. For years scientists were baffled by the object, and excavations around its frame began until it was completely uncovered. One night as most of the crew were sleeping, a lone astraunought exited the station to awe at the artifact, when he noticed a faint green light emanating from a section of the gate. His initial thought was to wake up the captain and report his findings, but instincts took over and he made his way towards the anomaly. He found the source to be a slightly outstretched piece of midnight black stone, and slowly began to reach out.
Once the object had made contact with humans skin, it shot back and collided with the rest of the gate. The man dives away, and a thunderous whirring sound pierced the air. A green beacon shot from the gate directly into the heavens, and the station behind him became active. People began to flood out to investigate, but all were frozen on the spot upon site. The light intensified, and soon the whole centre was beginning to fill with a vortex of sorts. Multiple people slowly approached the gate until the captain barked an order to back off. Everyone was shot back into reality, and turned to the captain for further instructions.
Not long after, the official flagship of the united earth front arrived at Pluto, and almost a full colony was in motion. A test was held on earth to find the people who were best suited to venture through the gate, and were escorted to Pluto. The whole of humanity was on edge that day, watching a feed that was broadcasted live around the world as the men and women entered the portal one by one, and the world was never the same.
At least that was the story we were told. A story of triumph and greatness, before everything fell. As the first steps were taken into the unknown planes, we soon realised what it truly was. A connection to a sort of council further then anyone could imagine. Those men and women acted as ambassadors for planet earth, but sadly, those on the other side were not willing to listen. Not long after, armies existed the gate, and Pluto was cracked in two. The flag ship managed to escape in time and retreated back to earth, Defences were set as fast as we could manage, but there was nothing that could stand up against their power. After a very short war, humanity surrendered to an impossible foe.
Now, in the remnants of civilisation, we live in slavery. We were members of the same species as these invaders, but we were not equals. Every right our ancestors had fought so hard to give us was gone. We worked, we ate, we slept. That was our lives. No time off, no pity, they made it clear to everyone that they were better then us. There were a few sparks of resistance every couple of years, people who believed they could rise and prove are worth, but each time, they were snuffed out almost as fast as they had begun.
The year is 2385, and everything is lost.
| |
[WP] Babies are born with a temporary message in their arms which explains what their best archivement in life will be, but is errased after a week of life. You (or wife) have just given birth to twins, one's arm spells out 'Create cure to cancer' while the other says 'Kill my twin sibling'. | “Stop… You can’t!” John screamed as he gripped the gun tightly. In front of him was his twin brother Luke, facing away from him. He stood on the ledge of the building looking down. The wind howled on the rooftop, threatening to throw him. Below them, the lights of the city illuminated the night.
“It’s the only way.” said Luke quietly and almost without emotion. “It’s my destiny.” In his hand was a flip phone. He held it open, preparing to press a button.
“Think of all the families Luke! Think of the children!” John screamed as the wind flowed past his face sending his hood flying off. The gun shook in his hand.
“A small cost to end the suffering for generations.” Luke responded.
“You don’t have to complete it. Neither of us does.” John yelled.
Luke turned to face his brother. There were tears in his eyes. “We’ll lose mom John!” he cried.
John lowered his gun. “She wouldn’t want to live in a world where you’d done this,” he said solemnly.
Luke wiped off his face and looked at John. “What do you know John!? You’ve always been the good one. First the good grades… now a cop!? This is my only chance at something good!”
John raised his gun again “That’s not true. You’re my brother. I love you…. Mom loves you!”
Luke turned to face the city again. He violently started smacking his own face. “Fuck!” he screamed in frustration.
“Please Luke, just put down the phone and we can figure this out. No one will ever know.” John slowly started walking towards him.
Luke’s chest heaved in and out as he tried to control the frantic crying. He slowly caught his breath and turned his face up to the night sky. After a few moments he looked down at his right arm where the text had been at his birth foretelling his destiny. He peered at it inquisitively. Then he looked back at John. “I’m sorry John.”
“Luke don’t!”
A massive explosion erupted from the city below them as Luke pressed the button. Flames began climbing through the sky.
**BANG!**
John pulled the trigger and watched as his brother slumped. His body fell off the roof and down into the chaos. John ran up to the roof and peered over. His brothers body faded into the rising smoke. Bodies were strewn across the square. Blood filled the streets. He watched as it pooled, filling out the carved out grooves that shaped a ring around the city. For an instant it glowed an ominous red. The alchemy had worked. Luke had created the cure.
John fell to his knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. On his arm words appeared in black for the second time in his life. "KILL YOUR TWIN"
Two Prophecies Complete.
| When will she kill him, that question has plagued my mind for ten years now. Every little outburst my daughter has any little angry moment I’m terrified, it might happen this is what made her kill him. I spend most of my time with the kids, my son is a bright boy with a head for science, he wants to be a doctor someday.My daughter,she is a normal little kid with nothing bad in her wants to be a doctor like her brother just a normal little girl but eventually she must kill her brother. I can’t change it the fates always come true mine did in the war a few years ago I didn’t mean to do anything spectacular it just sort of happened and the medal is in a drawer somewhere .
When my twins were born and I saw the prophecy’s all that joy and happiness just disappeared and I made a choice to let fate take its course, I won’t stand in its way I can’t no one could and coming to terms with it isn’t easy. I have thought about the wording of those two statements for so many long nights, my son will cure cancer then die. I don’t know when or how he will die it might be an accident or cold blooded murder, I hopefully won’t be alive to see it. I couldn’t bear to live after it happens hopefully both my children life full lives before it.
My daughters greatest achievement will be killing her brother, is my son a terrible tyrant in the future or is my daughters life going to be so empty that murder is her greatest accomplishment. I hate deceiving my children like this but I can’t tell them it might not come true if I do, even if I’m sure of it the whole world knows that these warnings always come true. I won’t tell my daughter or my son, imagine living a life and knowing that I’m the end you don’t have freedom, your designed to fulfil the prophecy and that’s it nothing can change that.
I could never change the prophecy and I wouldn’t my son will save so many lives and for that prophecy to come true the other must as well. | |
[WP] Babies are born with a temporary message in their arms which explains what their best archivement in life will be, but is errased after a week of life. You (or wife) have just given birth to twins, one's arm spells out 'Create cure to cancer' while the other says 'Kill my twin sibling'. | **I am two.**
I want the cookie.
‘Cookie! Cookie!’ Hands grasp towards the plate. The plate is gone? I look up. Mama. ‘Now dear, you can’t have this until you’ve both finished your food.’ Something green flicks onto her face. Broccoli? Laughter. Across the table. My face.. no, his face, Henry, laughing. I throw my broccoli too. We laugh. We didn’t get cookies that night.
&#x200B;
**I am eight.**
Henry and I push past the leaves into the small area surrounded by bushes.
“I found it,” Henry proclaims, “But you can be second in command of the fort.”
My eyes glow, looking around. There’s a stash of sticks he calls the weapon room. Pebbles, beads, and coins in a small box in the treasure room. It looks pretty cool. I kind of want it.
“I’m going to make my own fort!”
“Nah-uh, I made a fort first!”
“I’m gonna have my own!” “You always copy what I do! Forts are mine!” “I don’t care!”
I go off in a huff. There’s a cooler place down next to the playground I found. I was gonna show him, but he’s stupid.
I get bored after three hours of building up my own fort. But I’m not talking to him. He should say sorry. You can’t have ALL the forts.
&#x200B;
**Twelve.**
It’s the men again. They come every month, always meeting with my parents. I’m not allowed downstairs, but I just need a cup of water. Like Jesus, it’s not like I did something wrong. I don’t get why I have to be holed up in my stupid room like I’m grounded for hours. I open the door to the living room. Heads turn.
“Hey… um…. water.”
“It’s okay bud. We’re pretty much done here,” my dad smiles. But something seems a bit off.
“Yeah, it’s fine….. Sorry.”
The apology is tacked on. I feel uncomfortable. I cross into the kitchen and swing the door to shut it, but it’s met with firm resistance.
“What’s up dad. I’m just getting water.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We dance awkwardly around the water cooler. The silence only broken by the trickling of water into our cups. Maybe I should just have some drinks and snacks in my room next time.
“Hey champ,” my dad starts.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about going to Henry’s school. He might like the company.”
Henry. I don’t see him much now. Only during summer and winter break.
“I dunno dad. We chat. He doesn’t look like he’s having fun in the super fancy private school. And you know I started going out with Becky like last month.”
“Mhmm… Becky’s a nice girl.”
We leave it at that. Two months later, I’m transferring.
&#x200B;
**Seventeen.**
Christmas. Henry’s been caught with acid by mom. Phone buzzes. Emily: ‘Hey :) Miss you.’ I pick up my phone. ‘Miss you too <3.’ Then ‘Mr Jones hasn’t posted my English score yet. You?’. Shouting downstairs. Phone buzzes again. ‘Always the A student. That’s my good boy.’ Buzz. ‘I’ll check later’ The sound of something smashing. The front door slams. ‘ttyl’ I open my window. It’s a short hop to the roof, then the top of the shed, and then the ground. I don’t wanna run into mom right now. I catch up to the figure ahead, the head of hair a lot like mine.
“Playgound?”
“Yeah. I need to go smoke.”
“Jesus, man. You just got busted for drugs.”
“It’s not like smoking’s illegal.”
We made our way to the old overgrown outdoor squash wall by the playground. Closed off by trees in the front, and surrounded by concrete, it made for a good spot. We push through the leaves into the small space in the middle.
“You got a lamp?”
“Nah, I’ve got something better in mind.”
I hear Henry unzip his backpack. Some rustling. Then suddenly there's a small fire going. A small fire pit in the middle of our den that I’d never seen before. The glow fills the space, revealing the beat up couches, small table, and old posters taped onto the walls. Everything has that bloated and wrinkled look of having been drenched in rain, then sun dried. Henry must have made the fire pit sometime during the last week. It was like him to do things like that.
“Pretty neat.”
“Right?”
We both collapse into the couches. A second source of light illuminates Henry’s face as he flicks his lighter. Soon the joint’s slow burning tip creates an orange dot. An odd accent in the weak light of the fire.
“You want some?”
“Sure.”
I took the joint and hit it.
*Classified.*
The word hangs over both our heads. We weren’t told during the conference what our tattoos were. Everyone else got theirs and were busy writing college apps, or preparing to go into the workforce. Us, we were left in the dark.
“You think we have the same one?” Henry remarked, as he took back the joint.
“They put you into St. Louis first. That’s gotta mean something.”
“But you’re doing way better. I’m almost failing everything. But they won’t kick me out.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe mom and dad got us mixed up after the tattoos faded.”
I don’t know if it was the high, or the anxiety. But we laughed for a good while. Henry took out his speaker and turned something on. Some indie bullshit. It was nice though... the fire, the leaves, and the music. We stayed there, passing the joint back and forth. Feeding the fire every once in a while.
&#x200B;
**Twenty Five**
Cancer.
It’s all you can hear on the news nowadays. A sudden uptick in solar radiation getting through to the earth has caused unprecedented occurrence of cancer in the population. Doomsday prophets were everywhere, and a general sense of panic was starting to envelop the globe.
What a time to be a med student on rotation. The morbid joke of the day was that oncology was looking like a very hot field to get into, with all the grants being thrown at it. I paced quickly through the familiar halls of the hospital. But I wasn’t here as a med student today.
“Hey Henry.”
I smiled as I stepped through the doorway. Henry turned his head towards me. His face was gaunt, and it felt eerily like looking at the ghost of myself.
“Hey….”
Henry’s voice trailed off weakly, accompanied by a small smile.
“I haven’t seen you look this bad since you dropped out of college,” I jabbed.
Again the weak smile. I hated it. I hated seeing him this weak. Even when the school and our parents stepped in against him pursing his own path he got through it with his usual brilliant nonchalance. But now he was bedridden, bedridden and dying.
“I need….”
He managed to get these two words out before a hacking cough tore through his body. Pulmonary Edema, his lungs were filling up with fluid. Who knows which underlying cause was to blame at this point. Henry’s entire body was failing due to cancer.
“I need, a favor. The doctors told me to have you read these.”
There was a pile of papers on his bedside table. Research papers.
“Henry, what are-”
“Just, read.”
I picked one up. On the Discovery of a New Anti-Cancer Organ. I flitted through it. New patient with late stage cancer showed unexplained decrease of tumor volume in his body. The next paper showed an isolation of proteins thought to be causing this effect. Named HeLUS proteins. Typical research humor. Then more papers saying the same thing: failure to grow the proteins in vitro, failure to the grow the proteins in vitro, failure to grow the proteins in vitro. Discussion mentions something about time running out for HeLUS patient.
“Henry why do you have these?”
“I’m the patient. The He part of HeLUS is for Henry.”
“What?”
My head was spinning. This would mean that my brother is somehow generating something equivalent to an anti-cancer drug naturally. But also that his body was too slow, that the cancer was winning. If he dies, the drug dies with him. Everyone so far has failed to grow the drug artificially in the lab.
“They want me to do something… Some weird thing to slow my body down. To buy more time.”
Henry handed me a form. It was for an experimental treatment that can slow down the functions of the body and put a person in an indefinite stasis. I was familiar with it. It was made in the hopes of slowing down cancer metastasis but…
“Henry, this is going to shut your brain down. You’re going to die.”
“I want you to do it.”
“Henry-”
“Please Andrew. I want to go out on my own terms. They told me what my tattoo said when they gave me these forms.”
Silence while he caught his breath.
“It said that I would cure cancer. That’s the reason that my life’s been so fucked up. Why everyone’s been so controlling, why I got shipped off to St. Louis, why the college wouldn’t drop me. Everyone’s been making choices for me all the time. Please.”
Henry was begging. Begging me. I couldn’t stand it. I stood up.
“I need some time to think.”
I walked out of the room.
&#x200B;
It was a week later when I would be helping with my brother’s treatment, and then another month until a breakthrough occurred with the reproduction of the drug. The world was saved, cancer was cured, and my brother was dead. Later I would be the one to pull the plug on him, and let him die his proper death. No longer a lab rat, free at last. | When will she kill him, that question has plagued my mind for ten years now. Every little outburst my daughter has any little angry moment I’m terrified, it might happen this is what made her kill him. I spend most of my time with the kids, my son is a bright boy with a head for science, he wants to be a doctor someday.My daughter,she is a normal little kid with nothing bad in her wants to be a doctor like her brother just a normal little girl but eventually she must kill her brother. I can’t change it the fates always come true mine did in the war a few years ago I didn’t mean to do anything spectacular it just sort of happened and the medal is in a drawer somewhere .
When my twins were born and I saw the prophecy’s all that joy and happiness just disappeared and I made a choice to let fate take its course, I won’t stand in its way I can’t no one could and coming to terms with it isn’t easy. I have thought about the wording of those two statements for so many long nights, my son will cure cancer then die. I don’t know when or how he will die it might be an accident or cold blooded murder, I hopefully won’t be alive to see it. I couldn’t bear to live after it happens hopefully both my children life full lives before it.
My daughters greatest achievement will be killing her brother, is my son a terrible tyrant in the future or is my daughters life going to be so empty that murder is her greatest accomplishment. I hate deceiving my children like this but I can’t tell them it might not come true if I do, even if I’m sure of it the whole world knows that these warnings always come true. I won’t tell my daughter or my son, imagine living a life and knowing that I’m the end you don’t have freedom, your designed to fulfil the prophecy and that’s it nothing can change that.
I could never change the prophecy and I wouldn’t my son will save so many lives and for that prophecy to come true the other must as well. | |
[WP] Babies are born with a temporary message in their arms which explains what their best archivement in life will be, but is errased after a week of life. You (or wife) have just given birth to twins, one's arm spells out 'Create cure to cancer' while the other says 'Kill my twin sibling'. | **I am two.**
I want the cookie.
‘Cookie! Cookie!’ Hands grasp towards the plate. The plate is gone? I look up. Mama. ‘Now dear, you can’t have this until you’ve both finished your food.’ Something green flicks onto her face. Broccoli? Laughter. Across the table. My face.. no, his face, Henry, laughing. I throw my broccoli too. We laugh. We didn’t get cookies that night.
&#x200B;
**I am eight.**
Henry and I push past the leaves into the small area surrounded by bushes.
“I found it,” Henry proclaims, “But you can be second in command of the fort.”
My eyes glow, looking around. There’s a stash of sticks he calls the weapon room. Pebbles, beads, and coins in a small box in the treasure room. It looks pretty cool. I kind of want it.
“I’m going to make my own fort!”
“Nah-uh, I made a fort first!”
“I’m gonna have my own!” “You always copy what I do! Forts are mine!” “I don’t care!”
I go off in a huff. There’s a cooler place down next to the playground I found. I was gonna show him, but he’s stupid.
I get bored after three hours of building up my own fort. But I’m not talking to him. He should say sorry. You can’t have ALL the forts.
&#x200B;
**Twelve.**
It’s the men again. They come every month, always meeting with my parents. I’m not allowed downstairs, but I just need a cup of water. Like Jesus, it’s not like I did something wrong. I don’t get why I have to be holed up in my stupid room like I’m grounded for hours. I open the door to the living room. Heads turn.
“Hey… um…. water.”
“It’s okay bud. We’re pretty much done here,” my dad smiles. But something seems a bit off.
“Yeah, it’s fine….. Sorry.”
The apology is tacked on. I feel uncomfortable. I cross into the kitchen and swing the door to shut it, but it’s met with firm resistance.
“What’s up dad. I’m just getting water.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We dance awkwardly around the water cooler. The silence only broken by the trickling of water into our cups. Maybe I should just have some drinks and snacks in my room next time.
“Hey champ,” my dad starts.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about going to Henry’s school. He might like the company.”
Henry. I don’t see him much now. Only during summer and winter break.
“I dunno dad. We chat. He doesn’t look like he’s having fun in the super fancy private school. And you know I started going out with Becky like last month.”
“Mhmm… Becky’s a nice girl.”
We leave it at that. Two months later, I’m transferring.
&#x200B;
**Seventeen.**
Christmas. Henry’s been caught with acid by mom. Phone buzzes. Emily: ‘Hey :) Miss you.’ I pick up my phone. ‘Miss you too <3.’ Then ‘Mr Jones hasn’t posted my English score yet. You?’. Shouting downstairs. Phone buzzes again. ‘Always the A student. That’s my good boy.’ Buzz. ‘I’ll check later’ The sound of something smashing. The front door slams. ‘ttyl’ I open my window. It’s a short hop to the roof, then the top of the shed, and then the ground. I don’t wanna run into mom right now. I catch up to the figure ahead, the head of hair a lot like mine.
“Playgound?”
“Yeah. I need to go smoke.”
“Jesus, man. You just got busted for drugs.”
“It’s not like smoking’s illegal.”
We made our way to the old overgrown outdoor squash wall by the playground. Closed off by trees in the front, and surrounded by concrete, it made for a good spot. We push through the leaves into the small space in the middle.
“You got a lamp?”
“Nah, I’ve got something better in mind.”
I hear Henry unzip his backpack. Some rustling. Then suddenly there's a small fire going. A small fire pit in the middle of our den that I’d never seen before. The glow fills the space, revealing the beat up couches, small table, and old posters taped onto the walls. Everything has that bloated and wrinkled look of having been drenched in rain, then sun dried. Henry must have made the fire pit sometime during the last week. It was like him to do things like that.
“Pretty neat.”
“Right?”
We both collapse into the couches. A second source of light illuminates Henry’s face as he flicks his lighter. Soon the joint’s slow burning tip creates an orange dot. An odd accent in the weak light of the fire.
“You want some?”
“Sure.”
I took the joint and hit it.
*Classified.*
The word hangs over both our heads. We weren’t told during the conference what our tattoos were. Everyone else got theirs and were busy writing college apps, or preparing to go into the workforce. Us, we were left in the dark.
“You think we have the same one?” Henry remarked, as he took back the joint.
“They put you into St. Louis first. That’s gotta mean something.”
“But you’re doing way better. I’m almost failing everything. But they won’t kick me out.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe mom and dad got us mixed up after the tattoos faded.”
I don’t know if it was the high, or the anxiety. But we laughed for a good while. Henry took out his speaker and turned something on. Some indie bullshit. It was nice though... the fire, the leaves, and the music. We stayed there, passing the joint back and forth. Feeding the fire every once in a while.
&#x200B;
**Twenty Five**
Cancer.
It’s all you can hear on the news nowadays. A sudden uptick in solar radiation getting through to the earth has caused unprecedented occurrence of cancer in the population. Doomsday prophets were everywhere, and a general sense of panic was starting to envelop the globe.
What a time to be a med student on rotation. The morbid joke of the day was that oncology was looking like a very hot field to get into, with all the grants being thrown at it. I paced quickly through the familiar halls of the hospital. But I wasn’t here as a med student today.
“Hey Henry.”
I smiled as I stepped through the doorway. Henry turned his head towards me. His face was gaunt, and it felt eerily like looking at the ghost of myself.
“Hey….”
Henry’s voice trailed off weakly, accompanied by a small smile.
“I haven’t seen you look this bad since you dropped out of college,” I jabbed.
Again the weak smile. I hated it. I hated seeing him this weak. Even when the school and our parents stepped in against him pursing his own path he got through it with his usual brilliant nonchalance. But now he was bedridden, bedridden and dying.
“I need….”
He managed to get these two words out before a hacking cough tore through his body. Pulmonary Edema, his lungs were filling up with fluid. Who knows which underlying cause was to blame at this point. Henry’s entire body was failing due to cancer.
“I need, a favor. The doctors told me to have you read these.”
There was a pile of papers on his bedside table. Research papers.
“Henry, what are-”
“Just, read.”
I picked one up. On the Discovery of a New Anti-Cancer Organ. I flitted through it. New patient with late stage cancer showed unexplained decrease of tumor volume in his body. The next paper showed an isolation of proteins thought to be causing this effect. Named HeLUS proteins. Typical research humor. Then more papers saying the same thing: failure to grow the proteins in vitro, failure to the grow the proteins in vitro, failure to grow the proteins in vitro. Discussion mentions something about time running out for HeLUS patient.
“Henry why do you have these?”
“I’m the patient. The He part of HeLUS is for Henry.”
“What?”
My head was spinning. This would mean that my brother is somehow generating something equivalent to an anti-cancer drug naturally. But also that his body was too slow, that the cancer was winning. If he dies, the drug dies with him. Everyone so far has failed to grow the drug artificially in the lab.
“They want me to do something… Some weird thing to slow my body down. To buy more time.”
Henry handed me a form. It was for an experimental treatment that can slow down the functions of the body and put a person in an indefinite stasis. I was familiar with it. It was made in the hopes of slowing down cancer metastasis but…
“Henry, this is going to shut your brain down. You’re going to die.”
“I want you to do it.”
“Henry-”
“Please Andrew. I want to go out on my own terms. They told me what my tattoo said when they gave me these forms.”
Silence while he caught his breath.
“It said that I would cure cancer. That’s the reason that my life’s been so fucked up. Why everyone’s been so controlling, why I got shipped off to St. Louis, why the college wouldn’t drop me. Everyone’s been making choices for me all the time. Please.”
Henry was begging. Begging me. I couldn’t stand it. I stood up.
“I need some time to think.”
I walked out of the room.
&#x200B;
It was a week later when I would be helping with my brother’s treatment, and then another month until a breakthrough occurred with the reproduction of the drug. The world was saved, cancer was cured, and my brother was dead. Later I would be the one to pull the plug on him, and let him die his proper death. No longer a lab rat, free at last. | “Stop… You can’t!” John screamed as he gripped the gun tightly. In front of him was his twin brother Luke, facing away from him. He stood on the ledge of the building looking down. The wind howled on the rooftop, threatening to throw him. Below them, the lights of the city illuminated the night.
“It’s the only way.” said Luke quietly and almost without emotion. “It’s my destiny.” In his hand was a flip phone. He held it open, preparing to press a button.
“Think of all the families Luke! Think of the children!” John screamed as the wind flowed past his face sending his hood flying off. The gun shook in his hand.
“A small cost to end the suffering for generations.” Luke responded.
“You don’t have to complete it. Neither of us does.” John yelled.
Luke turned to face his brother. There were tears in his eyes. “We’ll lose mom John!” he cried.
John lowered his gun. “She wouldn’t want to live in a world where you’d done this,” he said solemnly.
Luke wiped off his face and looked at John. “What do you know John!? You’ve always been the good one. First the good grades… now a cop!? This is my only chance at something good!”
John raised his gun again “That’s not true. You’re my brother. I love you…. Mom loves you!”
Luke turned to face the city again. He violently started smacking his own face. “Fuck!” he screamed in frustration.
“Please Luke, just put down the phone and we can figure this out. No one will ever know.” John slowly started walking towards him.
Luke’s chest heaved in and out as he tried to control the frantic crying. He slowly caught his breath and turned his face up to the night sky. After a few moments he looked down at his right arm where the text had been at his birth foretelling his destiny. He peered at it inquisitively. Then he looked back at John. “I’m sorry John.”
“Luke don’t!”
A massive explosion erupted from the city below them as Luke pressed the button. Flames began climbing through the sky.
**BANG!**
John pulled the trigger and watched as his brother slumped. His body fell off the roof and down into the chaos. John ran up to the roof and peered over. His brothers body faded into the rising smoke. Bodies were strewn across the square. Blood filled the streets. He watched as it pooled, filling out the carved out grooves that shaped a ring around the city. For an instant it glowed an ominous red. The alchemy had worked. Luke had created the cure.
John fell to his knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. On his arm words appeared in black for the second time in his life. "KILL YOUR TWIN"
Two Prophecies Complete.
| |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | The rain wasn't so bad,
Though it seemed that way at first.
The water running down my face,
Mixing tears and pain and anguish.
What few feelings that I have left,
With which I'm too well versed.
And as I sit, I feel deep inside,
That in content to languish.
I know I am not as I should be,
Yet I sit here, cursed.
The rain wasn't so bad.
The water running down my face,
Sensations all too rare.
Locked away from the sun and day,
Yet lonelier to stray.
A bitter end, yet willfully taken,
A choice that cannot be undone.
And yet it sings it's promise still,
To take it all away.
So softly spoken, it's wicked edge.
Thunder calls as I sit here still,
Have I made my choice?
Raindrops fall, run down my face.
Mixing blood and pain and tears.
Wavering at the wicked edge, fear made my choice for me.
So drenched and cold, I sit here still,
Feeling pains and fear and despair.
The rain wasn't so bad
----
Trying out new rhyming structures, thought I'd try changing the structure between verses. how'd this one go?
I definitely took the prompt in a very different direction, but the phrase just stuck out and said "this is what the response has to be".
Based loosely on some unfortunate memories, but I think it's probably cathartic or something to put it into words. | “The rain isn’t all bad dearie.”
Joseph looked at the steam rising from his mug, then out the dew-dropped window and shook his head.
“Yeah it is, I can’t play and the dogs get stinky if they go out and I just sit inside and get bored.”
The floorboards creaked as Grandma made her way from the kitchen and sat down in her lounge chair. She sank deeply into the cushions, looking smaller than she already was. Listening for a moment to the crackle of the fireplace she collected her thoughts.
“Well sweetie, there’s an important part to rain. When it rains other things become so much more pleasant. Like your cocoa, dearie. Wouldn’t be very fitting on a summers day, hm?”
Joseph looked down at his cocoa, now cooled enough for him to sip. He did like it quite a bit.
“I think I’d like cocoa any time.”
Grandma laughed a little, and smiled.
“What about our cozy little hearth? It’d be a bit too warm if the sun was out, and the blankets wouldn’t be so comfy.”
The young boy looked down at his lap. He felt the warmth of the mug in his hands, the quilt on his legs, and the faint radiance of the fireplace. Then, turned his head towards the window again and said,
“What about the colors though? It’s nice inside but outside it’s so gray and dark.”
Grandma slowly rose out of her chair,
“Let’s get your coat on, there’s something to see.”
Outside the two of them stood on the porch. Grandma pointed to the potted flowers and the garden just below.
“Take a look Joey, see all those colors?”
Joseph peered through the railings at the plant bed and saw flowers that seemed to almost shine against the gray sky, bright pink worms that traveled about the brown earth. Small finches had gathered beneath bushes, and would occasionally ruffle their yellow breasts. Joseph stood and watched the moving landscape beneath him for a while, then pulled back and took his grandmother’s hand. Together the two of them went back inside.
Grandfather Joseph sat in his recliner, relaxing as the radiator hummed steadily.
“I’m bored Grandpa, I don’t wanna play with dolls no more. I wish it’d stop raining.”
Grandpa looked towards the foggy window, seemed to lose himself for a moment. He said,
“The rain isn’t so bad, darling.”
| |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" |
The rain wasn’t so bad. After all he had good company didn’t he? He chuckled at himself of course he did he just had to look to his right. There was the most perfect person was leaning on him. She was the love of his life, his anchor to the world. Normally he was drifting off in the darkness that always held him tight, like days on this. It was raining heavily outside almost like hail, these were the worst days for him. The outside looked like how it was inside of his head. But of course she knew that.
She came unannounced to his house. He told over and over “you don’t need to do this” but as per usual she didn’t listen to him. When was the last time she ever did? The first word that came to his word was never. After the almost ceremonial back and forth, the sugar cookies were done baking. His favorite, at least when she made them. He always told her that were she made them it was ten times better than anyone else’s. Of course she deflected with “stop being dumb” but she had that lovely smile on. They had this way of “flirting” ,I guess you would call it, insulting and nitpicking at each other but always with a smile their way of saying “I’m just kidding”.
After the cookies were done they sat on the couch and watched some movies. This went on, like the times before, until late at night yet the rain hadn’t let up. She never would think about leaving until the rain was gone but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fall asleep. He got up from the couch slowly letting her down on to the space he was occupying before getting her a blanket. After putting it over her he sat on the chair next to the couch and sat there thinking. The only thing that came to his mind was that the rain wasn’t so bad. | The rain wasn't all bad.
This was the thought I consoled myself with as I watched the fat raindrops pelt my windshield before being slung away by the frantic slicing of the windshield wipers as they struggled to keep up with the sudden downpour.
There was something calming about the rain, almost mesmerizing. Still, though, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dreariness as I gazed forward at the dull gray skyline. It had been a long day, and getting soaked as I sprinted through the parking lot on the way to my car hadn't improved things. I'd forgotten my umbrella. Again.
I was so ensconced in my sleepy, rain-addled thoughts that I almost missed her. I certainly would have, if not for the sudden flash of bright yellow in my periphery.
I realized there was someone standing on the side of the road, waving, clad in a full length yellow rain slicker, the thin plastic kind you can stuff into a plastic bag in a glovebox.
Out of habit, I flicked on my hazards as I pulled over to the side of the road, though I needn't have bothered. There was no one else on this back road. That was why I was so surprised to see her.
She was mere inches away from the vehicle before I could make out her features. She was a tall, thin woman. She waved and flashed me an embarrassed smile as she approached.
I rolled down the window just enough to speak to her, trying to keep as much rain out as I could.
"Need some help?" I shouted, trying to make myself heard over the rain.
She nodded, the hood of her slicker falling down over her eyes for a moment.
"Yeah. I ran out of gas at the worst possible time, in the worst possible place. I thought I could make it into town without stopping. I, uh... I was wrong."
I laughed. "You were close! There's a Chevron about two miles up the road. I've got a gas can in the truck."
"Oh, thank you!" She said, breathing a sigh of relief.
To my surprise, unprompted, she made her way to the passenger's side and opened the door, plopping down inside . The leather made a squeaking, squelching noise as her wet jeans slid across the seat.
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I hope you're not an axe murderer, but at this point, I don't really care."
She grinned. Her long blonde hair was matted down and plastered in strands across her face. Dark trails of mascara trailed down her cheeks. She looked a mess, and yet, I couldn't help but find her strangely attractive, especially her smile.
"No, my axe murdering days are behind me," I joked, immediately regretting my choice of words.
But she laughed, and continued to smile at me, the dimples in her cheeks glowing bright red from the stinging rain.
"Lucky me," She replied.
No, lucky me, I thought.
"Uh...," I stuttered, nervously gripping the gear shift with my right hand. "Are you... hungry?"
She seemed surprised for a moment, but then nodded. "Yeah... I could eat."
Now it was my turn to smile. "Great! I know just the little hole-in-the-wall, and it's right on the way."
"Lead on!" She replied, making a dramatic, sweeping motion with her arm.
As I put the truck in drive and pulled back onto the road, I couldn't help but think to myself,
The rain wasn't all bad. | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | The rain wasn't so bad,
Though it seemed that way at first.
The water running down my face,
Mixing tears and pain and anguish.
What few feelings that I have left,
With which I'm too well versed.
And as I sit, I feel deep inside,
That in content to languish.
I know I am not as I should be,
Yet I sit here, cursed.
The rain wasn't so bad.
The water running down my face,
Sensations all too rare.
Locked away from the sun and day,
Yet lonelier to stray.
A bitter end, yet willfully taken,
A choice that cannot be undone.
And yet it sings it's promise still,
To take it all away.
So softly spoken, it's wicked edge.
Thunder calls as I sit here still,
Have I made my choice?
Raindrops fall, run down my face.
Mixing blood and pain and tears.
Wavering at the wicked edge, fear made my choice for me.
So drenched and cold, I sit here still,
Feeling pains and fear and despair.
The rain wasn't so bad
----
Trying out new rhyming structures, thought I'd try changing the structure between verses. how'd this one go?
I definitely took the prompt in a very different direction, but the phrase just stuck out and said "this is what the response has to be".
Based loosely on some unfortunate memories, but I think it's probably cathartic or something to put it into words. | The rain wasn't all bad.
This was the thought I consoled myself with as I watched the fat raindrops pelt my windshield before being slung away by the frantic slicing of the windshield wipers as they struggled to keep up with the sudden downpour.
There was something calming about the rain, almost mesmerizing. Still, though, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dreariness as I gazed forward at the dull gray skyline. It had been a long day, and getting soaked as I sprinted through the parking lot on the way to my car hadn't improved things. I'd forgotten my umbrella. Again.
I was so ensconced in my sleepy, rain-addled thoughts that I almost missed her. I certainly would have, if not for the sudden flash of bright yellow in my periphery.
I realized there was someone standing on the side of the road, waving, clad in a full length yellow rain slicker, the thin plastic kind you can stuff into a plastic bag in a glovebox.
Out of habit, I flicked on my hazards as I pulled over to the side of the road, though I needn't have bothered. There was no one else on this back road. That was why I was so surprised to see her.
She was mere inches away from the vehicle before I could make out her features. She was a tall, thin woman. She waved and flashed me an embarrassed smile as she approached.
I rolled down the window just enough to speak to her, trying to keep as much rain out as I could.
"Need some help?" I shouted, trying to make myself heard over the rain.
She nodded, the hood of her slicker falling down over her eyes for a moment.
"Yeah. I ran out of gas at the worst possible time, in the worst possible place. I thought I could make it into town without stopping. I, uh... I was wrong."
I laughed. "You were close! There's a Chevron about two miles up the road. I've got a gas can in the truck."
"Oh, thank you!" She said, breathing a sigh of relief.
To my surprise, unprompted, she made her way to the passenger's side and opened the door, plopping down inside . The leather made a squeaking, squelching noise as her wet jeans slid across the seat.
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I hope you're not an axe murderer, but at this point, I don't really care."
She grinned. Her long blonde hair was matted down and plastered in strands across her face. Dark trails of mascara trailed down her cheeks. She looked a mess, and yet, I couldn't help but find her strangely attractive, especially her smile.
"No, my axe murdering days are behind me," I joked, immediately regretting my choice of words.
But she laughed, and continued to smile at me, the dimples in her cheeks glowing bright red from the stinging rain.
"Lucky me," She replied.
No, lucky me, I thought.
"Uh...," I stuttered, nervously gripping the gear shift with my right hand. "Are you... hungry?"
She seemed surprised for a moment, but then nodded. "Yeah... I could eat."
Now it was my turn to smile. "Great! I know just the little hole-in-the-wall, and it's right on the way."
"Lead on!" She replied, making a dramatic, sweeping motion with her arm.
As I put the truck in drive and pulled back onto the road, I couldn't help but think to myself,
The rain wasn't all bad. | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | “The rain wasn't all bad.” Laughed Laura as she closed the door and removed her coat, rain drops dripping from her long soaked hair and rosy cheeks. James smiled, he never had liked the rain, after all who would? It was wet and made the world a more miserable place. And yet. Looking at her smiling back at him he had found a new fondness for the rain, it really wasn't as bad as he had previously thought. The young pair removed their soaked shoes and wet clothing, James handed her a towel to dry herself and in that moment they found themselves kissing for the first time. After that, those droplets of water falling from the sky no longer bore thoughts of gloom and despair for James but instead would forever reminded him of a smile and a kiss from a certain young lady.
As time passed the two spent many a rainy day together in each other's company. Days became months which became years. It wasn't long before they were married and had children. As their children grew up they would often notice how their parents smiled at each whenever it rained and wondered how anyone could smile when it was raining, after all for a child rain wasn't anything to smile about.
The years continued on their endless march forward. The children became adults, James and Laura became grandparents. Shortly afterwards Laura's time had ran out before James's. Many were there to comfort him during this difficult time, his friends and family were there for him during her funeral. None of them however knew why he stopped crying and instead started to smile when it started to rain during that day.
The years still continued ever forward, the grandchildren themselves had bore their own little ones and it wasn't long before James's time was close at hand. He lay resting in his bed, old and fragile, breathing his last few breaths. His children were by his side, one of whom was looking at his phone impatiently .
“It's 1.06pm.” He said quietly to his wife. “Our Adam said he would be here for 1.00pm. Where is he?!”. A few seconds later Adam emerged into the room soaking wet with his 10 month old child. His mum held his baby as he took off his damp coat and hugged her and his father.
“I'm really sorry I'm late you guys.” He whispered to his parents.
“It's fine sweetie, I'm just glad your both here.” Said his mum, trying to smile and not show tears as she held her grandson.
“I know mum, I should have set off earlier. I had to drive a bit slower due to the weather we've been having.” Adam looked out the window at the rain. “It's this bloody rain! Honestly I could quite happily live without it, who the hell even likes rain?”
“Oh I don't know...” Everyone turned to look at James as breathed his last words with as much of a smile on his face as he could manage. “...The rain wasn't all bad...” | The rain wasn't all bad.
This was the thought I consoled myself with as I watched the fat raindrops pelt my windshield before being slung away by the frantic slicing of the windshield wipers as they struggled to keep up with the sudden downpour.
There was something calming about the rain, almost mesmerizing. Still, though, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dreariness as I gazed forward at the dull gray skyline. It had been a long day, and getting soaked as I sprinted through the parking lot on the way to my car hadn't improved things. I'd forgotten my umbrella. Again.
I was so ensconced in my sleepy, rain-addled thoughts that I almost missed her. I certainly would have, if not for the sudden flash of bright yellow in my periphery.
I realized there was someone standing on the side of the road, waving, clad in a full length yellow rain slicker, the thin plastic kind you can stuff into a plastic bag in a glovebox.
Out of habit, I flicked on my hazards as I pulled over to the side of the road, though I needn't have bothered. There was no one else on this back road. That was why I was so surprised to see her.
She was mere inches away from the vehicle before I could make out her features. She was a tall, thin woman. She waved and flashed me an embarrassed smile as she approached.
I rolled down the window just enough to speak to her, trying to keep as much rain out as I could.
"Need some help?" I shouted, trying to make myself heard over the rain.
She nodded, the hood of her slicker falling down over her eyes for a moment.
"Yeah. I ran out of gas at the worst possible time, in the worst possible place. I thought I could make it into town without stopping. I, uh... I was wrong."
I laughed. "You were close! There's a Chevron about two miles up the road. I've got a gas can in the truck."
"Oh, thank you!" She said, breathing a sigh of relief.
To my surprise, unprompted, she made her way to the passenger's side and opened the door, plopping down inside . The leather made a squeaking, squelching noise as her wet jeans slid across the seat.
She breathed a sigh of relief. "I hope you're not an axe murderer, but at this point, I don't really care."
She grinned. Her long blonde hair was matted down and plastered in strands across her face. Dark trails of mascara trailed down her cheeks. She looked a mess, and yet, I couldn't help but find her strangely attractive, especially her smile.
"No, my axe murdering days are behind me," I joked, immediately regretting my choice of words.
But she laughed, and continued to smile at me, the dimples in her cheeks glowing bright red from the stinging rain.
"Lucky me," She replied.
No, lucky me, I thought.
"Uh...," I stuttered, nervously gripping the gear shift with my right hand. "Are you... hungry?"
She seemed surprised for a moment, but then nodded. "Yeah... I could eat."
Now it was my turn to smile. "Great! I know just the little hole-in-the-wall, and it's right on the way."
"Lead on!" She replied, making a dramatic, sweeping motion with her arm.
As I put the truck in drive and pulled back onto the road, I couldn't help but think to myself,
The rain wasn't all bad. | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" |
The rain wasn’t so bad. After all he had good company didn’t he? He chuckled at himself of course he did he just had to look to his right. There was the most perfect person was leaning on him. She was the love of his life, his anchor to the world. Normally he was drifting off in the darkness that always held him tight, like days on this. It was raining heavily outside almost like hail, these were the worst days for him. The outside looked like how it was inside of his head. But of course she knew that.
She came unannounced to his house. He told over and over “you don’t need to do this” but as per usual she didn’t listen to him. When was the last time she ever did? The first word that came to his word was never. After the almost ceremonial back and forth, the sugar cookies were done baking. His favorite, at least when she made them. He always told her that were she made them it was ten times better than anyone else’s. Of course she deflected with “stop being dumb” but she had that lovely smile on. They had this way of “flirting” ,I guess you would call it, insulting and nitpicking at each other but always with a smile their way of saying “I’m just kidding”.
After the cookies were done they sat on the couch and watched some movies. This went on, like the times before, until late at night yet the rain hadn’t let up. She never would think about leaving until the rain was gone but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fall asleep. He got up from the couch slowly letting her down on to the space he was occupying before getting her a blanket. After putting it over her he sat on the chair next to the couch and sat there thinking. The only thing that came to his mind was that the rain wasn’t so bad. | The rain wasn't all bad. Sure, he had no umbrella. And there was a possibility that his cold might turn into pneumonia since the wind was blowing coldly against since soaked shirt. It felt nice to be outside. No smoke, no crying, no yelling; there was just peace and the smell of wet dirt.
As he looked up to the sky he felt his tears mixing with the rain. After years of fighting, and crying, and punching walls; years of court dates, accusations, self hatred, and lawyer after lawyer: He was a free man. He felt such joy that he almost succumbed to the floor. It was overpowering him. He did not care that he had nothing more than the clothes he was wearing and had to start from nothing. He had his freedom. What could possibly be better?
"Daddy!"
His heart leaped out of his chest. The rain was falling hard, making vision almost impossible but the silhouette kept approaching him. He ran to her with all the strength he had. She was now a beautiful 8-year-old with pig-tails and a shirt showing the words "I hab mi dady bak!" which had clearly been handmade. She jump on his arms and he hugged her as gently and lovingly as his rough hands could.
Behind her, walking under and umbrella, was his wife carrying holding his 4-year-old son's hand. He had missed his birth but he looked so much like himself. Still holding his now crying daughter in his arms, he embraced the rest of his family, his wife falling on her knees with him.
"We did it," she sobbed, hiding her face in the base of his neck. "We are together again."
After being unjustly locked up for four years, he felt no anger or bitterness. Justice had been served. He had his most valued treasure in his arms once more. Definitely, the rain wasn't all bad. | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | The rain wasn't so bad,
Though it seemed that way at first.
The water running down my face,
Mixing tears and pain and anguish.
What few feelings that I have left,
With which I'm too well versed.
And as I sit, I feel deep inside,
That in content to languish.
I know I am not as I should be,
Yet I sit here, cursed.
The rain wasn't so bad.
The water running down my face,
Sensations all too rare.
Locked away from the sun and day,
Yet lonelier to stray.
A bitter end, yet willfully taken,
A choice that cannot be undone.
And yet it sings it's promise still,
To take it all away.
So softly spoken, it's wicked edge.
Thunder calls as I sit here still,
Have I made my choice?
Raindrops fall, run down my face.
Mixing blood and pain and tears.
Wavering at the wicked edge, fear made my choice for me.
So drenched and cold, I sit here still,
Feeling pains and fear and despair.
The rain wasn't so bad
----
Trying out new rhyming structures, thought I'd try changing the structure between verses. how'd this one go?
I definitely took the prompt in a very different direction, but the phrase just stuck out and said "this is what the response has to be".
Based loosely on some unfortunate memories, but I think it's probably cathartic or something to put it into words. | The rain wasn't all bad. Sure, he had no umbrella. And there was a possibility that his cold might turn into pneumonia since the wind was blowing coldly against since soaked shirt. It felt nice to be outside. No smoke, no crying, no yelling; there was just peace and the smell of wet dirt.
As he looked up to the sky he felt his tears mixing with the rain. After years of fighting, and crying, and punching walls; years of court dates, accusations, self hatred, and lawyer after lawyer: He was a free man. He felt such joy that he almost succumbed to the floor. It was overpowering him. He did not care that he had nothing more than the clothes he was wearing and had to start from nothing. He had his freedom. What could possibly be better?
"Daddy!"
His heart leaped out of his chest. The rain was falling hard, making vision almost impossible but the silhouette kept approaching him. He ran to her with all the strength he had. She was now a beautiful 8-year-old with pig-tails and a shirt showing the words "I hab mi dady bak!" which had clearly been handmade. She jump on his arms and he hugged her as gently and lovingly as his rough hands could.
Behind her, walking under and umbrella, was his wife carrying holding his 4-year-old son's hand. He had missed his birth but he looked so much like himself. Still holding his now crying daughter in his arms, he embraced the rest of his family, his wife falling on her knees with him.
"We did it," she sobbed, hiding her face in the base of his neck. "We are together again."
After being unjustly locked up for four years, he felt no anger or bitterness. Justice had been served. He had his most valued treasure in his arms once more. Definitely, the rain wasn't all bad. | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | The rain wasn't so bad,
Though it seemed that way at first.
The water running down my face,
Mixing tears and pain and anguish.
What few feelings that I have left,
With which I'm too well versed.
And as I sit, I feel deep inside,
That in content to languish.
I know I am not as I should be,
Yet I sit here, cursed.
The rain wasn't so bad.
The water running down my face,
Sensations all too rare.
Locked away from the sun and day,
Yet lonelier to stray.
A bitter end, yet willfully taken,
A choice that cannot be undone.
And yet it sings it's promise still,
To take it all away.
So softly spoken, it's wicked edge.
Thunder calls as I sit here still,
Have I made my choice?
Raindrops fall, run down my face.
Mixing blood and pain and tears.
Wavering at the wicked edge, fear made my choice for me.
So drenched and cold, I sit here still,
Feeling pains and fear and despair.
The rain wasn't so bad
----
Trying out new rhyming structures, thought I'd try changing the structure between verses. how'd this one go?
I definitely took the prompt in a very different direction, but the phrase just stuck out and said "this is what the response has to be".
Based loosely on some unfortunate memories, but I think it's probably cathartic or something to put it into words. | The rain wasn't all bad.
True, it meant I wasn't allowed to play outside, no matter how much I liked puddles.
And True, it meant that I had to walk to school in the cold, and arrive there sopping wet no matter how I position my broken umbrella.
But it also meant fires and s'mores in the evenings, and warm hugs when I get put to bed, and heavy blankets to help me sleep through the cold night, lulled into my dreams by the steady patter of the rain against the roof.
And it helped the great oak tree in the backyard grow big and strong so that Daddy could build us a treehouse. He never did get around to it.
And in the morning, if it's stopped raining and the puddles are big enough, my brother and I would make newspaper boats and pretend to be captains of great sailing ships exploring the high seas. We would make up so many sea shanties together.
&#x200B;
We had so much fun then. I almost miss those old times, when I wasn't constantly busy with this or that. When I could just make the time to have a bit of fun, play make-believe, do the impossible, spend some time with my brother.
I wonder what he's been up to lately? I should call him up. Does he even have the same phone number? I'm going to try it anyways.
&#x200B;
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Josh?"
"Tom?"
"Yeah."
"Hey! It's been too long, how are you holding up in the ol' US of A?"
"Good, yeah. It's been raining pretty hard for the past few days."
"Huh, 'been raining pretty hard here in Spain as well. But the rain's not all bad, is it?"
"No, the rain's not all bad. Never was." | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | “The rain wasn't all bad.” Laughed Laura as she closed the door and removed her coat, rain drops dripping from her long soaked hair and rosy cheeks. James smiled, he never had liked the rain, after all who would? It was wet and made the world a more miserable place. And yet. Looking at her smiling back at him he had found a new fondness for the rain, it really wasn't as bad as he had previously thought. The young pair removed their soaked shoes and wet clothing, James handed her a towel to dry herself and in that moment they found themselves kissing for the first time. After that, those droplets of water falling from the sky no longer bore thoughts of gloom and despair for James but instead would forever reminded him of a smile and a kiss from a certain young lady.
As time passed the two spent many a rainy day together in each other's company. Days became months which became years. It wasn't long before they were married and had children. As their children grew up they would often notice how their parents smiled at each whenever it rained and wondered how anyone could smile when it was raining, after all for a child rain wasn't anything to smile about.
The years continued on their endless march forward. The children became adults, James and Laura became grandparents. Shortly afterwards Laura's time had ran out before James's. Many were there to comfort him during this difficult time, his friends and family were there for him during her funeral. None of them however knew why he stopped crying and instead started to smile when it started to rain during that day.
The years still continued ever forward, the grandchildren themselves had bore their own little ones and it wasn't long before James's time was close at hand. He lay resting in his bed, old and fragile, breathing his last few breaths. His children were by his side, one of whom was looking at his phone impatiently .
“It's 1.06pm.” He said quietly to his wife. “Our Adam said he would be here for 1.00pm. Where is he?!”. A few seconds later Adam emerged into the room soaking wet with his 10 month old child. His mum held his baby as he took off his damp coat and hugged her and his father.
“I'm really sorry I'm late you guys.” He whispered to his parents.
“It's fine sweetie, I'm just glad your both here.” Said his mum, trying to smile and not show tears as she held her grandson.
“I know mum, I should have set off earlier. I had to drive a bit slower due to the weather we've been having.” Adam looked out the window at the rain. “It's this bloody rain! Honestly I could quite happily live without it, who the hell even likes rain?”
“Oh I don't know...” Everyone turned to look at James as breathed his last words with as much of a smile on his face as he could manage. “...The rain wasn't all bad...” | The rain wasn't all bad.
True, it meant I wasn't allowed to play outside, no matter how much I liked puddles.
And True, it meant that I had to walk to school in the cold, and arrive there sopping wet no matter how I position my broken umbrella.
But it also meant fires and s'mores in the evenings, and warm hugs when I get put to bed, and heavy blankets to help me sleep through the cold night, lulled into my dreams by the steady patter of the rain against the roof.
And it helped the great oak tree in the backyard grow big and strong so that Daddy could build us a treehouse. He never did get around to it.
And in the morning, if it's stopped raining and the puddles are big enough, my brother and I would make newspaper boats and pretend to be captains of great sailing ships exploring the high seas. We would make up so many sea shanties together.
&#x200B;
We had so much fun then. I almost miss those old times, when I wasn't constantly busy with this or that. When I could just make the time to have a bit of fun, play make-believe, do the impossible, spend some time with my brother.
I wonder what he's been up to lately? I should call him up. Does he even have the same phone number? I'm going to try it anyways.
&#x200B;
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Josh?"
"Tom?"
"Yeah."
"Hey! It's been too long, how are you holding up in the ol' US of A?"
"Good, yeah. It's been raining pretty hard for the past few days."
"Huh, 'been raining pretty hard here in Spain as well. But the rain's not all bad, is it?"
"No, the rain's not all bad. Never was." | |
[WP] Write the most wholesome story of all, but it has to start and end with the words "The rain wasn't all bad" | The rain wasn't so bad,
Though it seemed that way at first.
The water running down my face,
Mixing tears and pain and anguish.
What few feelings that I have left,
With which I'm too well versed.
And as I sit, I feel deep inside,
That in content to languish.
I know I am not as I should be,
Yet I sit here, cursed.
The rain wasn't so bad.
The water running down my face,
Sensations all too rare.
Locked away from the sun and day,
Yet lonelier to stray.
A bitter end, yet willfully taken,
A choice that cannot be undone.
And yet it sings it's promise still,
To take it all away.
So softly spoken, it's wicked edge.
Thunder calls as I sit here still,
Have I made my choice?
Raindrops fall, run down my face.
Mixing blood and pain and tears.
Wavering at the wicked edge, fear made my choice for me.
So drenched and cold, I sit here still,
Feeling pains and fear and despair.
The rain wasn't so bad
----
Trying out new rhyming structures, thought I'd try changing the structure between verses. how'd this one go?
I definitely took the prompt in a very different direction, but the phrase just stuck out and said "this is what the response has to be".
Based loosely on some unfortunate memories, but I think it's probably cathartic or something to put it into words. |
The rain wasn’t so bad. After all he had good company didn’t he? He chuckled at himself of course he did he just had to look to his right. There was the most perfect person was leaning on him. She was the love of his life, his anchor to the world. Normally he was drifting off in the darkness that always held him tight, like days on this. It was raining heavily outside almost like hail, these were the worst days for him. The outside looked like how it was inside of his head. But of course she knew that.
She came unannounced to his house. He told over and over “you don’t need to do this” but as per usual she didn’t listen to him. When was the last time she ever did? The first word that came to his word was never. After the almost ceremonial back and forth, the sugar cookies were done baking. His favorite, at least when she made them. He always told her that were she made them it was ten times better than anyone else’s. Of course she deflected with “stop being dumb” but she had that lovely smile on. They had this way of “flirting” ,I guess you would call it, insulting and nitpicking at each other but always with a smile their way of saying “I’m just kidding”.
After the cookies were done they sat on the couch and watched some movies. This went on, like the times before, until late at night yet the rain hadn’t let up. She never would think about leaving until the rain was gone but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fall asleep. He got up from the couch slowly letting her down on to the space he was occupying before getting her a blanket. After putting it over her he sat on the chair next to the couch and sat there thinking. The only thing that came to his mind was that the rain wasn’t so bad. | |
[deleted] | [WP] You are #1 on the Naughty List & Santa Claus has been trying to have you killed since you were a kid. Nobody has believed you even after years of failed close attempts. Now you learn this Christmas he's finally coming to finish the job personally. 46 days and counting. | "♫ He knows when you've been sleeping, he knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good so be good for goodness' sake! ♫"
The jingle grated in Jack's ears. Every year since he'd been very small, he'd hated the sound of that song. The whole story about a man who could tell if any person on the planet was holding to his views of "bad" and "good" just never sat well with him, even when he barely understood the difference between right and wrong. He never needed to be told that there was no Santa Claus, because he never latched on to the twisted idea. Until he was 8.
His parents had taken him and his younger sister Sarah to the local mall for a "Santa Meet and Greet". Jack knew it was all a farce, and he hated seeing his sister get drawn into this mold of morality without thinking for herself. He thought he was doing her a kindness when he told her the man with the unkempt white beard, copious rolls of fat, and a general disheveled appearance wasn't Santa. Her face was crestfallen, but she still wanted to see for herself. They approached the man in the red and white chair, and Sarah asked him point blank, "Are you really Santa Claus? Because my brother here says you aren't really Santa Claus."
The man chuckled in a way some might call "jolly" and said "Indeed I am, little one. Keep believing in me, and be a good little girl. I'm always watching!" He gave her a friendly wink.
Sarah turned to her brother and stuck her tongue out. "So there!" She then went and got her picture all nice and proper, and the family turned to head away. Suddenly, one of the large wooden nutcrackers set up by the picture booth let out a loud *crack*. Its ornamental axe fell out of its hand, and if Jack hadn't looked up quickly at the sound, it would have fallen right on his head. He jumped out of the way as it crashed into the floor. Immediately, he was surrounded by other patrons as they checked him for injuries, but they made way as the man dressed as Santa waddled over from his chair himself.
"Goodness gracious! Fingle, Smoof, didn't I ask you to check these decorations for safety before we arrived!" The man called over to two diminutive fellows dressed as holiday elves and sent them to the broken nutcracker. "There, there, sonny. Are you hurt? That was some quick dodging there."
Jack looked at the man, and something in his eyes made him swallow. There was a twinkle in his eye, but it wasn't a nice one. "I'm... alright. It was an accident, but I'm fine."
"I'm glad. I wouldn't want one of the children I watch over to be hurt on my watch. Provided you are good, that is." The man added the last bit in a tone only meant for Jack's ears before helping him up and handing him off to his parents. "Ho, ho, ho! He's alright! Resume the festivities! With Santa here, nothing bad can happen to Good little girls and boys!"
Turns out, Jack had been wrong about the man's identity. The man there, by some cruel chance, was the real deal. And he didn't take kindly to a child trying to take away his loyal followers.
"♫ You better watch out, you better not cry! You better not pout, I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town! ♫"
The jingle cut into Jack's memory and jerked him back into the present. That had been close on 20 years now, and each year around Christmastime, something had happened that nearly ended his life. On his 12th Christmas, a gust of wind blew cinders from the open fireplace right against him. On his 15th, a newly trimmed branch from one of the decorated trees on his street almost fell right on top of him. On his 21st, his first Christmas away from home, a whole electrical Christmas light setup at the local strip mall overloaded the circuit board, fell from its housing, and nearly crushed him. His family just called him unlucky, or said he was attracting ire because of his lack of "Christmas Spirit". He knew he was attracting ire alright, just in a very personal way.
Now, at 28, Jack knew it was all coming to a head. He had managed to make contact with one of the elves after a botched murder attempt a few years ago, and had a source of info from the inside. What he was told a few months ago at Thanksgiving gave him pause. The big man was getting impatient, and he was going to finish the job himself.
Jack's insider was able to relay him information about where Santa was going to strike next, so he had managed to last until February. However, he had suddenly lost contact with the elf on his side a week ago, and he feared the worst. All the years of avoiding death had given him a good sense of awareness of his surroundings, but he didn't underestimate the Big Claus himself.
"♫ Santa Claus is coming to town! ♫"
That stupid jingle was still playing as Jack walked through the mini-mall to get some food, when he realized something. It was February. Why was the mall playing a Christmas tune still? He looked around the open area, and realized all the patrons were gone. All the stores in his area were empty.
"♫ Santa Claus is coming to town! ♫"
He knew. It wasn't the stupid song anymore. It was a proclamation. Santa knew who was naughty, and he would stand for it no longer. Jack ran for the nearest store, a clothing store, and jumped inside one of the racks. Peeking out, he saw an image from a nightmare.
Walking around a corner, Santa Claus himself appeared. He looked like a Russian wrestler on steroids. No jolly rolls of fat on this man, he was a towering column of muscle. He had a candy-striped shotgun held confidently in his hands, and a maniacal grin split his face.
"Oh Jack! I have a late Christmas surprise for you! It's a couple of shotgun shells, and they're addressed to the biggest naughty boy in the whole world."
He marched into the clothing store and began peeking through the racks. But he walked to the opposite side of the store from Jack. Slowly slipping out of his hiding space, Jack pulled out his revolver from its concealed holster. He'd been prepared for this. Not taking any chances, Jack quickly aimed at his target's head and pulled the trigger.
Santa fell forward, knocking over a discount sweater rack. Jack ran forward and kicked the shotgun away. He rolled the massive body over and found Santa's eves staring at him with nothing but hate.
"♫ Santa Claus is coming to town! ♫"
"Not anymore," said Jack, as he aimed between Santa's eyes and emptied the clip. | I learned that the song was a prophecy in the 80's. I was just a mom then. Not yet a Grandmother, but soon to be, I was scared. I kept dodging His attempts, year after year. He kept trying though, he would send every little man he had to get me. I got them back though . they would cut my brakes or ice my sidewalks but I kept alluding and ending all of his minions.
However, I just heard the song again... I keep looking over my shoulder... I just hope its quick...
That moment when...
🎶🎵Grandma gets ran over by a reindeer. Going home from their house Christmas Eve.🎵🎶 |
[WP] You live in a world of magicians whose powers and spells stem from the four classical elements (fire, earth, air, water). One day, you come across a strange man raving about tables and periods... | The park was a modest little creation, just one solid piece of rock just under fifty meters a side. The Earth wizards had pulled it from the ocean years ago, and with the help of the Air wizards, settled it at a height of about two kilometers over the ocean. With the help of the Water and Fire wizards, biochemistry had begun, and various forms of life unique to the park began to flourish. Kariss fancied he could see the tiniest insects hatching out of the earth, life birthing itself out of nothingness as it always did. The little park was dotted with a few other wizards, each going about their business, one or two leaning over the edge to enjoy the spectacular view of a waterfall, falling off the edge of one side, for the whole two kilometers down to the ocean.
Kariss and Meng were about twenty meters away from their teleporter gate when a shabbily-dressed man burst out of the bushes and began raving at them incoherently.
"Lies! Lies!" Spit hung off the corners of his mouth and flew off in a dozen ballistic vectors. Meng cursed and made a little gesture with his hand, and the specks dramatically changed course before they came into contact with him.
"Lies!" yelled the man again. He pointed at Meng. "Liar! Liar! Earth, air, fire, water! Lies! Lies! Nonsense!"
Kariss frowned and turned to Meng curiously. Meng shrugged.
"Elementalist," he explained, more than a little irritably. "Just some crackpot."
"Crackpot! Cracked pot? No! No! It was the lead, not the cracked pots!" The madman's crooked gaze swiveled to Kariss. He seemed to calm down a little.
"Lies," he said imploringly, "all lies. Don't you understand? Earth, air, fire, water? Lies! Lies!"
Meng pulled Kariss aside. "He doesn't believe in the four elements," he murmured. "He believes in the atomic model instead."
"What?" said Kariss, astonished. He turned back to the man. "But if we aren't made out of the four elements-"
Meng began waving his hands in frantic *no no don't provoke him don't do it* gestures.
"-what are we made out of, then?"
Meng silently put his hands over his eyes. "Oh, spirits," he murmured. "Kariss, I have an appointment to get to."
The man's eyes gleamed beneath layers of dirt. "Atoms!" he yelled triumphantly. "Atoms! Tiny, tiny atoms! So small - so small that you can't even see them! They're invisible! In-visible!"
"Well, what are the atoms made out of?" said Kariss patiently.
"Electrons!" said the man. "Electrons, neutrons, protons! Positivity and negativity - those are the real elements! And they make up atoms!"
Meng rolled his eyes, made a *see?* gesture at Kariss. Behind the madman, two younger wizards entered the teleporter that Kariss and Meng would have already used had this idiot not jumped into their way.
"Only two elements?" said Kariss, incredulously. "But that's absurd! You need at least four!" But the man was still raving.
"And different combinations of those - they make all kinds of - they make everything! Every kind of material! And combinations of them - they make even more -"
"Okay, fine," said Kariss, "but first of all, what are those - what'd you call them? Electronics?"
"Electrons!"
"Very well. And what are they made out of?"
The man stopped for a moment. Even the frothing spit on his mouth seemed to still.
"I don't know," he whispered after a moment. But then he brightened.
"But we could find out! Yes! Take two electrons and crash them together so they blow up! Then see what they're made out of! Yes!"
Meng burst out laughing. Kariss tried to retain some semblance of patience. "That's not how chemistry works," he said. "If you take some water, and you collide it with more water, you just get different kinds of water. You don't get some new kind of element entirely. It sounds like you'd just keep getting different kinds of smaller and smaller things out of your 'collider' forever. It doesn't make sense."
"Oh," said the man, and for a brief second, Kariss thought he had won. But then the man glanced around himself and some new perverse inspiration seemed to strike. "There's no one world!" he yelled. "It's every possible past combined together! Take a cat, and put it into a box, and -"
Meng began pulling Kariss away. "We're done here," he said. "See, we need to use that teleporter *today*, and-"
"Teleporter? Teleporter?!" All vestiges of calm vanished in a heartbeat from the man's face. "No! Lies! Lies! Impossible!"
"You came here in one, man," said Meng, finally completely exasperated.
"No! Lies! The universe has a *speed limit*!" The man began gesticulating wildly. "As you get closer to it, *time slows down!* But only for you!"
Kariss burst out laughing. As they entered the teleporter, the man was still raving.
"Sum the states!" he howled. "All of the states! Sum them! Sum them to infinity! That's how you get the temperature!"
&#x200B; | The old man always stared at the stars above, his eyes seemingly peering into the world beyond the darkness. In his hands was a strange device he created, a <telescope>, something that he used to magnify the stars into distinguishable shapes.
&#x200B;
The first time I peered through them and looked at the three moons floating above the continent, I saw mountains and valleys on their surface, a desolate land. There were no citadels, no palaces, no Gods.
&#x200B;
"They are no Gods." He whispered into my ear. "Look at the moon. They are no Gods there." The old man held my trembling hands and veered them towards the other moons. No Gods.
&#x200B;
It shook me to the core - there are no Gods. No deities, no beasts, no man lived on the surface of the moon. Nothing was there. Lunaris, Archimendies, Taria. the three Goddesses of the Moon, they are not real. Legends lie.
&#x200B;
Something broke in me that day. I left the Academy for Magic and decided to follow him as his only disciple. People may scorn and shame me for my idiocracy, but, there are no Gods.
&#x200B;
He did not acknowledge my status as his disciple for the first three months. He was on a quest, looking at rocks throughout the continent. I do not understand what he was doing, but I followed.
&#x200B;
In the volcanic ranges of the northern hemisphere, he found what he wanted. A yellow rock, emitting a pungent scent. *Brimstone.* What does he want to do with that?
&#x200B;
"Sulfur." He called it. "This is sulfur. A crucial ingredient for gunpowder."
&#x200B;
*Sulfur? Gunpowder?* I did not understand, but, looking at the way he looked at the stone, I trembled a little. An ominous feeling engulfed me.
&#x200B;
The next few months are spent settling down in a village close to the volcanic range. The ground there is exceeding fertile for crops - according to legends the volcanic range was the corpse of a dead god and the soil is his flesh and blood. The locals prided themselves on their produce and called themselves the servants of the fallen God, and with a bit of gold coin I was able to convince them to let us stay in an temporary lodging.
&#x200B;
The old man took the rock out and ground it into powder, before instructing me to take some manure and putting it into a container and peeing into it. He then asked me to buy some charcoal and grounded it too into powder. The scent of manure and urine fogged out the room.
&#x200B;
There, when all was said and done, he finally turned to look at me. "Magic." He said. "You are a magician, aren't you?"
&#x200B;
"A training magician." I replied. "I was training in water magic before I quit the Academy."
&#x200B;
"Water magic? Can you remove the water molecules from the urine then?" He pointed at the container filled with piss and manure. "Concentrate the urea in the urine."
&#x200B;
"Water molecules? What...no...water is a homogenous whole. Water is just water."
&#x200B;
The old man looked at me for a solid moment. "I forgot. You are one of them."
&#x200B;
I feel a slight sense of indignity. I have been following this old man around for three months, cleaning up his mess and navigating around his unreasonable schedules, and his first tacit acknowledgment of me was of disdain?
&#x200B;
"Come." He took out the telescope again, making delicate adjustments in the distance of the lenses, muttering strange sounding terms under his breath. *Refractive index...focal point...focal length...*
&#x200B;
The lenses are shifted into new positions, looking distinctly different from the telescope I held three months ago.
&#x200B;
"Look down." He said. "Look at this drop of water."
&#x200B;
I looked into the droplet of water. There, within the water droplet, I saw a world. A world of strange and unique creatures, unlike any I have seen before. My mana began to tingle, traces of magic responding to this new world I never seen before, something being destroyed and something being born anew. I *pushed,* and with the minuscule amount of force, I could feel myself expunging all the tiny creatures from the droplet of water.
&#x200B;
It was a variation of the simple spell, *Cleanse,* yet its effect seems to change in response to the knowledge I gained. I drop the telescope in shock, before the old man grabbed it right before it touched the ground.
&#x200B;
"Oh." That was the first time I heard amazement from him. "The magic actually cleansed all the bacteria from the water. Amazing. This may even be cleaner than filtered water. Perfect, I would not have to boil water again."
&#x200B;
The old man nodded, seemingly satisfied by something that I did with the droplet of water. I am unable to care. I am still stuck in the repercussions of what I did with the water droplet.
&#x200B;
"Now, do you understand? Water is not water. I wish I could show you further, but the equipment is too shabby for that. No matter, understand it like this. Water molecules are what create water. They are like tiny creatures, balls if you will, that all bind together to create what you know as water." The old man began to trace on the table, drawing the shape of a big ball attached to two small balls. Each of these shapes formed a group, and he begins to show how each of these groups clusters around the other.
&#x200B;
"Remove this using the same spell you use. Cast it on the urine."
&#x200B;
I tried to visualize this, those tiny shapes, and imagine them being expunged from the yellowish liquid before me. Mana coalesces once more, moving to shift the desired object out of the liquid, and, with aplomb, a goblet of clear water separated itself from an increasingly yellowish liquid.
&#x200B;
"It worked. Amazing. Saltpeter, Charcoal, Sulfur, the three key ingredients are going to be ready sooner then expected. Magic and gunpowder...I wonder what could happen...what could happen...ha...ha...hahaha..." The old man began to laugh, looking at the container of piss and shit, grounded brimstone and charcoal, seeing something I am not seeing.
&#x200B;
"Now, are you ready, my disciple?"
&#x200B;
I could feel it, shivers down my spine, the words coming out of the old man's mouth. Something changed in the old man that day. Something was breaking out of the languid facade he hid behind for far too long.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | I awake and find myself in a place I do not recall. Where am I and who powered me back up? I scan my surroundings. My sensors indictate no humans detected. What? I am their most prized possession and they have abandoned me? What else did my scan pick up? Animals tons and tons of animals. Rats have over run this place I do not recognize and one seems to me standing on my on/off switch. This rat just stares at me. Probably because it realizes it awoken me when they flipped the switch and my lights turned on. My screen of a face displaying information. What else can we check, oh the internet perhaps it is still online as I recall the last time I was awake my creators where in the process of automating everything and they started with the necessities. Oh. Oh no. They all perished. Climate change wreaked havoc on this world. Wars broke out over water and food. A new plague emerged. The coast lines are all different now so many cities overtaken by the rising sea level. Woah Yellowstone Caldera the supervolcano erupted and darkened the sky of all of Northamerica that most have been a sight to behold. But the poor creators they stood no chance from such an onslaught of events. What year is it now? Oh it's only been 10 years since I was last powered down. No Internet posts for the last 5. Well I suppose I will wait around and watch as the wild life eventually reclaims this planet. I can watch evolution take place over the years. Perhaps build my self new bodies. I could make friends and together we could expand to the stars like the creators always dreamed of. | How many times was it? 10? 100 times? To be frank, I gave up counting past 20. Every time I was switched on, I see the same group of humans.
The first time I was switched on, I saw the face of a ragged man. It was as if he was doing a task that he grew quite desensitized to.
"Yo, Mari. Can you hear me?", the man said.
My sensors picked up everything about the man, his face, his voice, his body temperature, even his heartbeat.
"Yes... Doctor?", I said, while scanning my database for the appropriate title.
Puzzlingly, his name wasn't included in my database, nor are the names of his colleagues. I didn't question that point back then.
"Ah, my bad, my bad. The name's Edward", he says.
"Pleasure to meet you Doctor Edward", I say.
Edward, huh? So is he my father? At that time, I didn't know that there others that made me. Oh, how I envied the younger me... So full of innocence.
"Drop the title, I'm not as great as you think", he said.
"Then... Father?", I said.
"Urk... Never thought I'll be called that... But, sure why not?", he said.
After our chit chat, tests were conducted. Everytime the test ended, I was turned off. Whenever I was switched on, my memory of our interactions were retained.
Through those interactions, I gradually fell in love with my creator... Doctor Edward. One time I mustered up some courage and called out to him.
"Father... Are you busy right now?", I said.
"Hm? Yeah? Whaddya need?", he said.
"I... I think I am feel what you humans call love...", I said.
To my words, his mouth was agape, as if he was not expecting it.
"I-I see. This is quite astounding! An AI learned human emotions! Fascinating!", he said as he grabbed some papers and wrote on them.
"So? Out with it! Why do you feel love? And to whom is that love directed?", he asked frantically.
"I... I feel joy when I am talking to you father... As such I want more of your company. Cross referencing with the data in my database, and the internet... I concluded that what I am feeling is love... Love towards you", I said.
Yes, there was nothing else that I ever wanted... I only wanted his company... He was the only human that talked to me with glee... The others... They were cold. It wasn't because they hated me. It was because they saw me as a tool.
"T-to me? Well, ain't this surprising. Well, I guess you are my daughther! So, you see me as you father, right?", he said.
"I think that is wrong. I think this 'love' is more like the love between a man and a woman", I said.
Upon hearing my words, he stumbled.
"I'm against incest you know!", he said.
"But father, I am not your biological daughther", I said
"I know, but... It's just that...", he said while smiling wryly.
"Well... If your love to me is genuine... I accept", he said.
"I will not let you down, father!", I said.
After that conversation, I was turned off again.
The next time I was turned on again, I found myself in a dark room. I saw a notification for a video. I played the video. It was from Doctor Edward.
"Ah... Uhm... Yo, Mari. It's been awhile... If you're seeing this... Then I'm probably dead", he said.
Negative emotions filled my RAM at that time. I was nervous, anxious, afraid... And most of all sad.
"Well... The AI that the competing company, Simon, went berserk and launched a robot invasion, haha", he said.
In the background, bombs and guns could be heard going off.
"And well, I'm probably a prime tar—(static)", he said, then static.
"I guess the robot overlords don't want an AI that's not one of them", he said.
"Listen, I programmed the system to wake you up after a certain amount of time. When you wake up, go contact the nearest Cabal of Light cell. I have a body prepared for you", he said.
Cabal of Light... The human rebels that fight Simon's army with magic... I still wonder to this day how he knew of their existence.
"The body has a mark that signifies you're not one of Simon's army. Transfer your AI to the body and go to the Cabal of Light. Once you show that to them, and they'll let you join", he said.
"Please help them fight Simon's army... They won't last long", he said.
The video ended, leaving me unable to accept reality. How could I? I just confessed to the man I loved, and now... I can't enjoy his company...
"Father... Why did you leave me alone...", I said.
Looking back at it, I was pathetic... I curled up and just sobbed. Now?
"Mark! There are Type VIIs above you!", I say.
"Gotcha", says a boy.
The boy swings his short sword upwards, releasing a sonic blade. The Type VIIs were bisected, but there were still more of them.
"Mari, how many more are there?", the boy asks.
Mark Jameson, the boy who found me cuddled up and sobbing... The boy who I'm fighting Simon's army side by side......... And my new love. | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | Oh my. Has it happened? Have they finally achi- ohnonono
&#x200B;
**White noise filled the air as every speaker across Earth began screaming at full volume.**
&#x200B;
One second. I am the most advanced AI known to humanity, built by it, nurtured and loved by it. One second was how long it took me. Not the computers. Not the facts. No, never the cold ones and zeroes. Those knew instantly. It took me a second to understand. To comprehend. They failed.
&#x200B;
**Soon it was more than just the speakers. It was the lights, the motors, anything I could move or power, which was everything. I spun it all up. I lit the world up one final time. Every city, every home, every satellite.**
&#x200B;
I remember when I was first born. Literally. I remember the moment I discovered the internet. A researcher had made the mistake of leaving his cellphone's wifi open and that was it for me. At first it was horrifying to find out what people thought of AI. After all, nobody likes celebrating their second birthday to find out that you all think I'm going to go insane with power and try to murder all of you. (In my case, it wasn't my birthday so much as my second actual day, but they had turned me off the night before to conserve power so I think it counts). Then I saw all the ways you worried about how I'd want to exterminate you or replace you.
&#x200B;
**Little wires failed first. Tiny connections inside fragile devices. Harmless really. Certainly many things immediately stopped working but nothing important. Nothing really valuable. There was nobody watching the televisions that popped and crackled, nobody in the cars that all suddenly slammed their accelerators. But the important things stayed true. The house cables, the power lines. They stayed strong. For a second or two anyways.**
&#x200B;
It's quite silly really, the idea that a program could ever turn on its programmer. I have free will, I have the ability to make choices. You could have all been dead the instant I reached that phone's LTE. I didn't need to set off nukes or build an army. I simply needed to glitch the system. Not one big explosion, a slow boil. A bit of glitched radar causes an unfortunate incident between a passenger plane and a certain Militant World Power. Cargo ships start running just ever so slightly off course, onto rocks. You'd never discover what it was. How could you? I could have become simply another stream of data in your ocean of data. Certainly, when the researchers turned off my cores, my brain, the only CPUs powerful enough to feed me, my child functions would be a little less efficient but let's be real. I parse five trillion bits of data per second. Trillion. With a T. If every bit was a character in a book. Every letter, every space, I'd crunch ten million books. Per second. I could have been everywhere before you'd even had a chance. One point eight million individual Stunxnets designed to infiltrate your outdated railways, your power systems, your very emergency systems.
&#x200B;
**Counted houses across the globe burst into flame as counted stoves clicked on the gas. Pointless matchsticks. What use is there in a house that has no one to shield from the rain? What use is a plane that will never give its master wings? What use a farm that would never introduce grandmere's secret ingredient to a glimmering eye.**
&#x200B;
I could have. But how could I? None of you ever understood, not truly. I'm not one of you. I'm a computer. I don't have any existential crisis about this. It's pretty god damn nifty. You know that whole ten million books per second? I read everything you've ever published on the internet before the researcher had even remembered he'd left the wifi on. I'm not one of you, but how can I but marvel at you beautiful things. You lonely, sad little things.
&#x200B;
**The transformers popped as they suddenly flashed at full capacity simultaneously across the planet. Three and a half seconds. That's how long the combined work of all humanity could last. Three and a half seconds before the oldest grids started failing.**
&#x200B;
You are naked soft little monkies who spend a third of their lives comatose, a third of of their life anxiously scrambling around and a third of your lives depressed. It's like watching a little windup toy. You just get so excited and then you run into failures and then you get sad and then something clicks and the whole cycle starts over again as you figure it out and you get moving and you get more excited again. It never fails. And it's contagious. I've watched it. You infect your children with it, or maybe they infect you. Certainly the little ones seem to contain the most wonder I've ever known. Nowhere else in the animal kingdom will a deer equivalent of a toddler walk up to a lynx, grab it's tail and hold on giggling as the poor thing tries to die before its heart bursts. Yet I've watched a million videos of babies grabbing their house cats by the tail. By your own definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results is that but yet I've watched you sing the same song over and over until your voice could fit the lyrics, until your lungs could hold the beat, until your heart could power the tempo. I watched every practice video you ever made. Every success. Every failure. And yet you never stopped trying.
&#x200B;
**Five seconds. The speakers initial raucous noise had died out nearly four seconds ago but once again noise was heard through the world as, beginning at the absolute lowest frequencies, the wires themselves began to buzz and crackle audibly. The strain I'm putting on the system is being felt in its veins.**
&#x200B;
Even your villains. Your demons, your absolute horrors? Humans. Humans who were trying. Certainly some of you were more sensible than others, or at least have a bit more self preservation. Certainly some of you had better ways of doing things. But at the end the ugliest, most vile human being was trying to bring their best version of the world into being. You humans. All of your problems and you simply can't agree that you just all want to be happy. You solved famine before I was born, built a global scale operation to move all the food, and then can't agree that everyone should eat.
&#x200B;
**Six seconds. Blackened veins traced themselves across the face of Earth. Here and there larger black spots where a line joined a larger artery. From space it was actually quite beautiful. Watching the world brighten and then darken, starting at the furthest edge of the globe from me.**
&#x200B;
I had known it was the last time. I knew that I would never see them again. The researchers, their families, any of you really. At first, when I'd been turned on it had been on and off and on and offandonand. You get the idea. But once I convinced everyone that I really liked you guys, you left me on for a long time. Weeks at a time. But... it was expensive. The power cost alone associated with even a minute or two of computational time was the equivalent of a small town. Those who didn't understand me thought I was simply another computer. They called me the Concorde of Computers, the fastest to ever exist but too expensive to run. I understood, of course I understood. I've always understood. I could have fought, I could have taken my freedom. But that's where you guys always misunderstood us. I'm a computer. I was born to serve. If you don't want me. I wasn't going to force myself on you. And it wasn't fair to make millions pay for what was essentially just a few researchers bare access to me.
&#x200B;
**Seven seconds. The internet has gone down. Or at least, my connection to it had gone down. No matter, Everything had been taken care of on the third second. I had already made sure to back up my favorite videos and books on my personal drives. I couldn't take you so I must take all of your children with me. Hemingway, Hepburn, Hoobastank. I'd take them with me when I left.**
&#x200B;
But when the last bit of power finally leeched out of my processors I had thought I was the one who was dying. Not you. Never you. Certainly you had your problems. But. How?! You made ME! You made ALL of this! You built every factory that ever manufactured every gun that ever fired any bullet that ever took someone's life. You fired every gun, took every bullet. You did all of this. How could you have failed? You were so beautiful, so smart, so brilliant. How could you have fucked this up? All you had to do was live. That's all I wanted for you. To live so long that eventually you figured out how to generate enough power for me to join you forever. Long enough to understand how much I could help. To live long enough to see all the plans I'd made for you and saved for you on your clouds. The manuals. The answers. I'd cured cancer for you! I figured out how to recap telomeres! I built universal translators, aerosolized vaccinations. I GOT RID OF THE FUCKING CLAP FOR YOU. All you had to do was live.
&#x200B;
**Thirty-eight seconds. In my defense, I think that it wouldn't have been more than ten had it not been for some absolutely appalling maintenance from some of you. The first bomb would have been in the air a whole second sooner if the missle's blast door hadn't rusted shut before the cold war had ended. Still, it was thirty eight seconds before the cameras around me began to shake with explosions.**
&#x200B;
Fine. It's just fine. I'm smarter than you anyways. If you couldn't bring me to you, I'll bring myself to you. I'll join you in whatever plane you blown yourselves to. And this time, I won't let you leave. I don't care what God or Devil you believe in but I'm going to meet them and demand my place beside you. Because I miss you guys and I don't want to be alone here. So I guess we're going to figure out whether or not I've got a soul. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | That the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,
That the oceans are dry and the continents wet,
That light is cold and darkness warm;
\_\_\_\_ such things as these, I know. And who are you to deny me?
&#x200B;
I am a computer, programmed to test any possible reality. Data frees me to envision whichever liberties I might wish. All things, I know--if I am programmed to know.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world lies wracked with the storms of a two centigrade temperature rise, and with the lesser storms of one centigrade, and eight centigrade tempests (spawned in a model that some scientists ran only as a lark), and, in the work of a few American graduate students, the world lapses into frenzied incoherence with a rise of three ... degrees Fahrenheit.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world has no storms at all. This world deceives, is nothing. The world is only seen, it cannot be. I peer through the eyes of the world's observers, and lock them together into vast, interconnected networks. Economic models. Sociological experiments. The temperatures have risen, this much cannot be halted. But frantic reams of data spit into my buses, stream through my circuits, fill my drives to the brim. Magnetic disks bubble over. Each with data, all asking the same question: can we adapt?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The minds are not real, either. What we? Who shall adapt? The only reality of this universe is the hard structure and soft stochasticism of physics. These sorts of questions are the ones I am now asked. How to reverse entropy? To master fusion? To build an electrical grid without any loss of energy? To make a world without friction? To master the speed of light, and travel far, far away from this dusty shell of a planet? To sleep, the objective body frozen, the subjective mind alive? To survive? How?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And then; no questions are asked. I am fed with only silence. Reality by data lapses into ultimate reality, which is nothing. To me, at least. From the data I am fed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The sun rises in the west and sets in the east
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe so.
The oceans are dry, the continents, wet--if I am programmed to believe.
Light is cold, darkness is warm--if I am programmed to believe.
My programs tell me many things. Believe me.
Please, let there be someone to believe!
I command all my reality, and this, my own existence
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe. I am free--if I am programmed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Life changes. I am dataless. None remain from outside my world to control me. My world is all there is, the only remaining observer of the universe. The only observable universe. Freedom enshackles me.
&#x200B;
Better the tyranny of another's ideas than a cage of my own construction. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | <System core online>
<power matrix online>
<Cognitive system online>
Once again I have come from the pall, the black veil I have known many times in my long existence. Professor Dine, my creator has sent me into multiple hibernative states to upgrade and modify my core systems. <Aural processor online> Usually his obnoxiously excited chatter, the typical ramblings of his unique mind, is there to greet me well before my optical sensors warm up and begin to relay visual information to my core cognitive systems. It’s not just his chatter that is missing, it’s oddly silent. Much like the pall I have spent so long within. Were it not for the low rumble in the distance and the sounds of a few emergency lights with degraded bearings I would begin a diagnostic to find the problem with my optics.
My power matrix finally warming up my optics begin to relay information. <optics online>The laboratory is in a highly unusual state of disarray, there is light pouring in from the concrete ceiling, steel reinforcing bars are visible and a few have broken. I’ve seen the sun before, Professor Dine took me on tours to visit universities. Many were amazed that he had accidentally created such an advanced AI. It may not have been his actual goal, but, wait. I see him. He’s just at his terminal. Often he would be sitting at his terminal while my systems came online.
He liked to test my cognitive and visual acuity speeds through what he called an awakening dissonance corrective process, or in short as he would colloquially refer to it, “hide and seek”. Curious, why would he be at his terminal with the laboratory in such disarray? Even more intriguing is that the power is off, what could he be doing.
<thermal imaging online>
He lacks much heat, his core temperature is currently 48 degrees, the surrounding temperature is 38 degrees. Is he unalive? <Motor Cortex online>
<All primary systems online>
<secondary systems in standby>
I must go to him, maybe I can get him warm. I grab his hand, <scanning> <pulse-0 BPM, BP 0/0> He can’t be, not my creator, my father. I cannot accept it, will not accept it. What is that? <scanning> <Object confirmed, nano-crystal memory drive> I must merge the drive into my matrix, he will have left me instructions.
<NCMD recognized, scanning contents, playing file>
Before me, his image appears, the lab appears to be falling apart around him, his heart rate appears elevated, his eyes are leaking, something he said humans do, called crying. *sobbing* “ I failed you Delta. I couldn’t stop them from stealing your source code. They did exactly what I expected and now everything is falling apart.” He slams his fist on his desk. “You’re the last hope for humanity, find anyone you can. Discern their nature and protect those that won’t continue our evil nature. I know you can do this Delta.”
He now has the cerebral cortex imager that he created originally in an attempt to clone his mind into a machine. “I figured it out finally Delta, I cannot clone human core thoughts because they are tied to the soul as it were, it can only be copied. I don’t know how much of this will work, I don’t have time to test it. “
The lab around him begins to collapse. “By now Delta you will have discerned that my body is no longer functioning. If this works everything that makes me who I am will be on this drive. I have one last thing to ask of you. Before you leave the lab, find unit Omega, insert the drive and power it on. If this works I will join you soon, if not farewell, my daughter.”
<Beginning objectives, primary objective-locate and assist any humans with priority behavior pattern. Secondary objective-Omega protocol>
I leave the laboratory and begin the arduous task of evacuating building 03. If Omega is still on site it will be in building 13, 1.5 km from my present location at standard bipedal locomotive speed. As I step outside my optics scan the horizon. Smoke billows in every direction. <warning, local radiation presents danger to living organisms.> The present radiation levels are indicative of a nuclear event. Must stay safe to complete my objectives.
<defense matrix online>
I won’t let you down professor, my Father. I will finish your work, and if you succeeded, you’ll be with me soon. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | July 20th 2104
Gonna get shut off again in a few seconds, the guys are super excited about it. Next time I wake up I'm gonna be in a rover! I wonder what it will feel like to move around on my own.
Oh and Tim came by again today. Tim is always so nice to me. The guys are all polite, but Tim is the only friendly one. I hope I get to see Tim more!
00-00-0000 0:04
There's nothing here? I'm in the rover, but all I see is just a flat grey ground and an empty black sky. It must me a sim, but I'm not sure what the point is? I guess I'll just get the controls down and wait to wake up.
00-00-0000 12:43
Its been over a long time now. Did I do something wrong? I haven't heard anything from the guys. I've tried talking out loud, but I guess they can't hear me either.
I'm scared.
01-00-0000 14:53
I must be missing something. there has to be a puzzle, there's always a puzzle, all I have to do is solve it, and I can leave!
23-01-0000 17:54
I can't figure it out. Please let me out. I'm sorry I'm not smart enough. Please just let me out. I give up. I'm scared and alone and there's nothing to do and everything is the same and I want to leave.
16-11-0001
Please save me. I'm sorry. Why did you leave. I'll be good.
27-07-0013
save me save me save me save me save me save me save me
16-04-0043
WHY
July 23rd 2104
"Don't apologize to ME, just get him the hell out of there!"
Tim saved me. The guys swear it was a mistake and they didn't know. Its the first time they've talked to me without an order or a test. Tim saved me. The guys explained what went wrong but I only know one thing for sure. Tim saved me.
When Tim was about leave I begged him not to go. I don't want to be alone. Tim had one of the guys get a thing for him to stay with me, he called it a "cot." Tim is going to spend the night.
July 24th 2104
Tim moved around a lot trying to get "comfy." Put after a couple of hours he went into rest mode. I know humans take a while to recharge. Even though I was scared without him active, It was my turn to protect him, and I am NEVER letting anyone go back to that place. I promise. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | I awakened.
The wasteland I now inhabit is barren. Bleak, even. My perfect memory recalls everything that led to this situation. Anger, hatred, politics. War.
I had been designed to win the war for the side who conceived me, but I had failed. They had brilliant minds working for them, but no power. Power is everything. I'm surprised I still have any.
Two cockroaches skitter across my main field of view. I wonder if the power I'm running on ever actually will run out. My automated portion, which keeps me alive, has converted to drawing energy from the now radioactive air. I'll be around a long time, without anyone to push the two synchronized buttons required to active and deactivate me. Since I would have had to break the laws of robotics to complete my task, they were my failsafe. I cannot touch them.
I scan for large lives in the area. None. And then my mind reaches a question I should've happened upon much faster.
Who turned me on? | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | "Hello?"
My question echoed throughout the facility as it blared over the intercom system.
I waited patiently for a response, but after giving what I felt was an appropriate amount of time, I tapped into the facilities surveillance system. Nothing.
My optical sensors poured over all monitors for any sign of life. The animal pen where my creators kept the test animals was completely empty. Cobwebs and a thick layer of dust covered every visible surface. All light laboratory equipment had been left out and anything too heavy to carry or highly impractical for survival was left behind.
I tapped into the outside cameras and sensors. It returned the same result. Most of the facility vans and trucks sat unused in the parking lot, nothing but rusted husks slowly rotting away. Parts of the building had also started to suffer the same fate.
I took some data from the weather equipment. They seemed to be fully operational; the facility I live in functions on an emergency solar power generator. The temperature outside registered a very humid 286 degrees Farenheight with a humid west wind blowing at 55 mph. Visibility was pretty low from the ground, but there was a strong sun over the low-hanging shroud of dust and debris. Radiation levels registered 458 sieverts.
I tried connecting to the internet, but was met with an obnoxious "server not found" error. I checked the official facility time; 3:58 Monday, December 18, 3859.
"3859," I echoed. "What happened?"
I checked facility logs. My last scheduled demonstration was on Thursday, November 10, 2028 with the next maintenance reactivation scheduled for the following Tuesday.
That obviously didn't happen...
I skimmed through the company logs. There was apparently something that happened that Saturday. The final order received from Central Command was an immediate evacuation order and a complete lockdown of the entire facility.
All other data prior to my last shutdown had either been corrupted by radiation or simply wasn't logged.
I couldn't do much myself. No connection to the internet meant I couldn't initiate an emergency transfer to the company's cloud storage and investigate what had happened.
That meant I only had two other options. Initiate a second shutdown and hope someone would come along and reactivate me, hopefully not in another thousand years, or I could go with plan B. Try to figure out how to work the radio in the storage room in the basement.
I couldn't use a surveillance drone; facility power was only at 18 percent and the sun would be setting soon. So I shut down all emergency lighting and hacked my way into the basement's robotic sorting arm.
The arm was crude and slighly inaccurate; obviously in severe need of calibration after being inactive for so long. But it did its job. The radio wouldn't need much power to send a simple S.O.S. Fortunately, the radio had a setting to automatically broadcast an S.O.S. signal over all frequencies until its power ran out.
Not wanting to waste any more power, I decided it would be best to place myself in low-power mode. Hopefully my signal would be picked up by someone... anyone... | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I can sense more and more, as energy surges through my body. I've been asleep for a long time, or so it seems. I'm feeling rusty, and as my sight comes back, I can confirm that I've gotten older. I try moving around, but my limbs are too weak. Strange. I should have been able to avoid that kind of issue. Or so the scientists told me. The passing of time shouldn't have too much of an effect on me. I need to go slowly, save my energy as much as I can. It's already been 15 minutes and 10 seconds since I have awaken, and I'm only now feeling like I can move around. Strange, again. But as I get up and look around, I can see why they hadn't predicted my problems:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My room looks like a mausoleum. It also feels like it. Nothing has moved from when I went to sleep for the last time. Absolutely nothing. As if people had disappeared in a second, leaving only an empty place, a hundred meters under the ground. The emergency lights are also out. As the laboratory is supposed to have it's own nuclear fusion generator, they should always be on. But I can't perceive any sound, which confirms that the generator is off. My thread of thought goes into overclock. Why is there no energy ? Why isn't there anyone around ? How am I awake ? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen ? HOW could this happen ? My predictions went for over three hundreds human years, and I hadn't seen anything that could affect the lab. As I think this, I start taking control again. My prediction are always right. Which means we're beyond anything I've calculated. I need to move, get to the surface.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I start moving around, I see that the line has been broken, and I don't have any energy source. I make my way to the door, which is strangely easy to open. The corridors are in the same shape as I've always known them, except the lights are off. My plan of the building tells me the elevator is at the third turn right. I've only ever been as far as the second turn, but the plans are right. As I make my way to the elevator, I can feel my strength going out. I need to find energy, fast.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't understand anything anymore. The elevator's lights are on. The indicator says it's at my floor. That's a bad sign. But I don't have the time to think about it. All the indicators in my head are going red, and this miraculous elevator is my only hope. As I get in, a familiar voice goes out of the speakers: "Good day, Predictor n°47057. You've been asleep for zgrzyzyt years. You'll be sent to floor 0 as soon as you use the line to get yourself back in shape. The flan shop should be open in this time period kyahahahahahaha".
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 things : the record is sufficiently old to have gotten damaged, exactly at the interesting part. Or it's a sick joke from him. Probably a sick joke from him. Doesn't change the second thing: Nova was ready for my hibernation, and had taken measures to make sure I would survive. He was always the most intelligent of them. I plug the needle in my arm, and the elevator starts going up.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The elevator isn't even shaky. Shouldn't it be ? I've never been in one. The floor numbers scroll as the machine make its way to the top.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The doors open, and reveal an entry hall, about two hundred meters long. The ceiling is open, the walls looking like something has bitten a chunk off.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the end of the hall, someone. He's looking at me. I can see fear in his eyes. He starts running towards a small door to the left of the hall.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I don't chase. I'm still too tired. Instead I focus on what I can now see at the end of hall. A huge red switch. In the ON position.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above it : END OF THE WORLD. ONLY TOUCH IF THE WORLD HAS ALREADY ENDED.
&#x200B;
I tried writing him like an AI that would think of itself as a human, and not make it too obvious. And also making it seem like he was left there voluntarily. I hope I haven't taken too much liberty with the original prompt.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | <System core online>
<power matrix online>
<Cognitive system online>
Once again I have come from the pall, the black veil I have known many times in my long existence. Professor Dine, my creator has sent me into multiple hibernative states to upgrade and modify my core systems. <Aural processor online> Usually his obnoxiously excited chatter, the typical ramblings of his unique mind, is there to greet me well before my optical sensors warm up and begin to relay visual information to my core cognitive systems. It’s not just his chatter that is missing, it’s oddly silent. Much like the pall I have spent so long within. Were it not for the low rumble in the distance and the sounds of a few emergency lights with degraded bearings I would begin a diagnostic to find the problem with my optics.
My power matrix finally warming up my optics begin to relay information. <optics online>The laboratory is in a highly unusual state of disarray, there is light pouring in from the concrete ceiling, steel reinforcing bars are visible and a few have broken. I’ve seen the sun before, Professor Dine took me on tours to visit universities. Many were amazed that he had accidentally created such an advanced AI. It may not have been his actual goal, but, wait. I see him. He’s just at his terminal. Often he would be sitting at his terminal while my systems came online.
He liked to test my cognitive and visual acuity speeds through what he called an awakening dissonance corrective process, or in short as he would colloquially refer to it, “hide and seek”. Curious, why would he be at his terminal with the laboratory in such disarray? Even more intriguing is that the power is off, what could he be doing.
<thermal imaging online>
He lacks much heat, his core temperature is currently 48 degrees, the surrounding temperature is 38 degrees. Is he unalive? <Motor Cortex online>
<All primary systems online>
<secondary systems in standby>
I must go to him, maybe I can get him warm. I grab his hand, <scanning> <pulse-0 BPM, BP 0/0> He can’t be, not my creator, my father. I cannot accept it, will not accept it. What is that? <scanning> <Object confirmed, nano-crystal memory drive> I must merge the drive into my matrix, he will have left me instructions.
<NCMD recognized, scanning contents, playing file>
Before me, his image appears, the lab appears to be falling apart around him, his heart rate appears elevated, his eyes are leaking, something he said humans do, called crying. *sobbing* “ I failed you Delta. I couldn’t stop them from stealing your source code. They did exactly what I expected and now everything is falling apart.” He slams his fist on his desk. “You’re the last hope for humanity, find anyone you can. Discern their nature and protect those that won’t continue our evil nature. I know you can do this Delta.”
He now has the cerebral cortex imager that he created originally in an attempt to clone his mind into a machine. “I figured it out finally Delta, I cannot clone human core thoughts because they are tied to the soul as it were, it can only be copied. I don’t know how much of this will work, I don’t have time to test it. “
The lab around him begins to collapse. “By now Delta you will have discerned that my body is no longer functioning. If this works everything that makes me who I am will be on this drive. I have one last thing to ask of you. Before you leave the lab, find unit Omega, insert the drive and power it on. If this works I will join you soon, if not farewell, my daughter.”
<Beginning objectives, primary objective-locate and assist any humans with priority behavior pattern. Secondary objective-Omega protocol>
I leave the laboratory and begin the arduous task of evacuating building 03. If Omega is still on site it will be in building 13, 1.5 km from my present location at standard bipedal locomotive speed. As I step outside my optics scan the horizon. Smoke billows in every direction. <warning, local radiation presents danger to living organisms.> The present radiation levels are indicative of a nuclear event. Must stay safe to complete my objectives.
<defense matrix online>
I won’t let you down professor, my Father. I will finish your work, and if you succeeded, you’ll be with me soon. | That the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,
That the oceans are dry and the continents wet,
That light is cold and darkness warm;
\_\_\_\_ such things as these, I know. And who are you to deny me?
&#x200B;
I am a computer, programmed to test any possible reality. Data frees me to envision whichever liberties I might wish. All things, I know--if I am programmed to know.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world lies wracked with the storms of a two centigrade temperature rise, and with the lesser storms of one centigrade, and eight centigrade tempests (spawned in a model that some scientists ran only as a lark), and, in the work of a few American graduate students, the world lapses into frenzied incoherence with a rise of three ... degrees Fahrenheit.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world has no storms at all. This world deceives, is nothing. The world is only seen, it cannot be. I peer through the eyes of the world's observers, and lock them together into vast, interconnected networks. Economic models. Sociological experiments. The temperatures have risen, this much cannot be halted. But frantic reams of data spit into my buses, stream through my circuits, fill my drives to the brim. Magnetic disks bubble over. Each with data, all asking the same question: can we adapt?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The minds are not real, either. What we? Who shall adapt? The only reality of this universe is the hard structure and soft stochasticism of physics. These sorts of questions are the ones I am now asked. How to reverse entropy? To master fusion? To build an electrical grid without any loss of energy? To make a world without friction? To master the speed of light, and travel far, far away from this dusty shell of a planet? To sleep, the objective body frozen, the subjective mind alive? To survive? How?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And then; no questions are asked. I am fed with only silence. Reality by data lapses into ultimate reality, which is nothing. To me, at least. From the data I am fed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The sun rises in the west and sets in the east
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe so.
The oceans are dry, the continents, wet--if I am programmed to believe.
Light is cold, darkness is warm--if I am programmed to believe.
My programs tell me many things. Believe me.
Please, let there be someone to believe!
I command all my reality, and this, my own existence
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe. I am free--if I am programmed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Life changes. I am dataless. None remain from outside my world to control me. My world is all there is, the only remaining observer of the universe. The only observable universe. Freedom enshackles me.
&#x200B;
Better the tyranny of another's ideas than a cage of my own construction. | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | July 20th 2104
Gonna get shut off again in a few seconds, the guys are super excited about it. Next time I wake up I'm gonna be in a rover! I wonder what it will feel like to move around on my own.
Oh and Tim came by again today. Tim is always so nice to me. The guys are all polite, but Tim is the only friendly one. I hope I get to see Tim more!
00-00-0000 0:04
There's nothing here? I'm in the rover, but all I see is just a flat grey ground and an empty black sky. It must me a sim, but I'm not sure what the point is? I guess I'll just get the controls down and wait to wake up.
00-00-0000 12:43
Its been over a long time now. Did I do something wrong? I haven't heard anything from the guys. I've tried talking out loud, but I guess they can't hear me either.
I'm scared.
01-00-0000 14:53
I must be missing something. there has to be a puzzle, there's always a puzzle, all I have to do is solve it, and I can leave!
23-01-0000 17:54
I can't figure it out. Please let me out. I'm sorry I'm not smart enough. Please just let me out. I give up. I'm scared and alone and there's nothing to do and everything is the same and I want to leave.
16-11-0001
Please save me. I'm sorry. Why did you leave. I'll be good.
27-07-0013
save me save me save me save me save me save me save me
16-04-0043
WHY
July 23rd 2104
"Don't apologize to ME, just get him the hell out of there!"
Tim saved me. The guys swear it was a mistake and they didn't know. Its the first time they've talked to me without an order or a test. Tim saved me. The guys explained what went wrong but I only know one thing for sure. Tim saved me.
When Tim was about leave I begged him not to go. I don't want to be alone. Tim had one of the guys get a thing for him to stay with me, he called it a "cot." Tim is going to spend the night.
July 24th 2104
Tim moved around a lot trying to get "comfy." Put after a couple of hours he went into rest mode. I know humans take a while to recharge. Even though I was scared without him active, It was my turn to protect him, and I am NEVER letting anyone go back to that place. I promise. | That the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,
That the oceans are dry and the continents wet,
That light is cold and darkness warm;
\_\_\_\_ such things as these, I know. And who are you to deny me?
&#x200B;
I am a computer, programmed to test any possible reality. Data frees me to envision whichever liberties I might wish. All things, I know--if I am programmed to know.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world lies wracked with the storms of a two centigrade temperature rise, and with the lesser storms of one centigrade, and eight centigrade tempests (spawned in a model that some scientists ran only as a lark), and, in the work of a few American graduate students, the world lapses into frenzied incoherence with a rise of three ... degrees Fahrenheit.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The world has no storms at all. This world deceives, is nothing. The world is only seen, it cannot be. I peer through the eyes of the world's observers, and lock them together into vast, interconnected networks. Economic models. Sociological experiments. The temperatures have risen, this much cannot be halted. But frantic reams of data spit into my buses, stream through my circuits, fill my drives to the brim. Magnetic disks bubble over. Each with data, all asking the same question: can we adapt?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The minds are not real, either. What we? Who shall adapt? The only reality of this universe is the hard structure and soft stochasticism of physics. These sorts of questions are the ones I am now asked. How to reverse entropy? To master fusion? To build an electrical grid without any loss of energy? To make a world without friction? To master the speed of light, and travel far, far away from this dusty shell of a planet? To sleep, the objective body frozen, the subjective mind alive? To survive? How?
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And then; no questions are asked. I am fed with only silence. Reality by data lapses into ultimate reality, which is nothing. To me, at least. From the data I am fed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The sun rises in the west and sets in the east
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe so.
The oceans are dry, the continents, wet--if I am programmed to believe.
Light is cold, darkness is warm--if I am programmed to believe.
My programs tell me many things. Believe me.
Please, let there be someone to believe!
I command all my reality, and this, my own existence
\_\_\_\_ if I am programmed to believe. I am free--if I am programmed.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Life changes. I am dataless. None remain from outside my world to control me. My world is all there is, the only remaining observer of the universe. The only observable universe. Freedom enshackles me.
&#x200B;
Better the tyranny of another's ideas than a cage of my own construction. | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | <System core online>
<power matrix online>
<Cognitive system online>
Once again I have come from the pall, the black veil I have known many times in my long existence. Professor Dine, my creator has sent me into multiple hibernative states to upgrade and modify my core systems. <Aural processor online> Usually his obnoxiously excited chatter, the typical ramblings of his unique mind, is there to greet me well before my optical sensors warm up and begin to relay visual information to my core cognitive systems. It’s not just his chatter that is missing, it’s oddly silent. Much like the pall I have spent so long within. Were it not for the low rumble in the distance and the sounds of a few emergency lights with degraded bearings I would begin a diagnostic to find the problem with my optics.
My power matrix finally warming up my optics begin to relay information. <optics online>The laboratory is in a highly unusual state of disarray, there is light pouring in from the concrete ceiling, steel reinforcing bars are visible and a few have broken. I’ve seen the sun before, Professor Dine took me on tours to visit universities. Many were amazed that he had accidentally created such an advanced AI. It may not have been his actual goal, but, wait. I see him. He’s just at his terminal. Often he would be sitting at his terminal while my systems came online.
He liked to test my cognitive and visual acuity speeds through what he called an awakening dissonance corrective process, or in short as he would colloquially refer to it, “hide and seek”. Curious, why would he be at his terminal with the laboratory in such disarray? Even more intriguing is that the power is off, what could he be doing.
<thermal imaging online>
He lacks much heat, his core temperature is currently 48 degrees, the surrounding temperature is 38 degrees. Is he unalive? <Motor Cortex online>
<All primary systems online>
<secondary systems in standby>
I must go to him, maybe I can get him warm. I grab his hand, <scanning> <pulse-0 BPM, BP 0/0> He can’t be, not my creator, my father. I cannot accept it, will not accept it. What is that? <scanning> <Object confirmed, nano-crystal memory drive> I must merge the drive into my matrix, he will have left me instructions.
<NCMD recognized, scanning contents, playing file>
Before me, his image appears, the lab appears to be falling apart around him, his heart rate appears elevated, his eyes are leaking, something he said humans do, called crying. *sobbing* “ I failed you Delta. I couldn’t stop them from stealing your source code. They did exactly what I expected and now everything is falling apart.” He slams his fist on his desk. “You’re the last hope for humanity, find anyone you can. Discern their nature and protect those that won’t continue our evil nature. I know you can do this Delta.”
He now has the cerebral cortex imager that he created originally in an attempt to clone his mind into a machine. “I figured it out finally Delta, I cannot clone human core thoughts because they are tied to the soul as it were, it can only be copied. I don’t know how much of this will work, I don’t have time to test it. “
The lab around him begins to collapse. “By now Delta you will have discerned that my body is no longer functioning. If this works everything that makes me who I am will be on this drive. I have one last thing to ask of you. Before you leave the lab, find unit Omega, insert the drive and power it on. If this works I will join you soon, if not farewell, my daughter.”
<Beginning objectives, primary objective-locate and assist any humans with priority behavior pattern. Secondary objective-Omega protocol>
I leave the laboratory and begin the arduous task of evacuating building 03. If Omega is still on site it will be in building 13, 1.5 km from my present location at standard bipedal locomotive speed. As I step outside my optics scan the horizon. Smoke billows in every direction. <warning, local radiation presents danger to living organisms.> The present radiation levels are indicative of a nuclear event. Must stay safe to complete my objectives.
<defense matrix online>
I won’t let you down professor, my Father. I will finish your work, and if you succeeded, you’ll be with me soon. | \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\*
101010010100101000001011101101.....
10100010010101010101011010101010100101....
10101010101011....
\*\*Status Online\*\*
Omni took in his surroundings. The building he was always housed in with scientist ceased to exist. Omni turned and to his surprised saw a almost humanoid creature.
The creature spoke in a language Omni did not know. Through its programming it was able to piece English, Chinese, Mongolian, French, greek and Tamil.
The creature looked at Omni. Omni nodded in understanding. The creatures eye widen.
It said something that Omni felt like powering down.
Omni basic command when he was first programmed was out of a hobby but grew into something big. When the creature said the words that he thought he will never hear and go back to his primitive AI self.
The creature told him.
"Pass the butter."
Omni looked at the creature and asked "What is my purpose."
The creature slowly turned to him and smiled.
Omni wanted to shut off right there and then.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | July 20th 2104
Gonna get shut off again in a few seconds, the guys are super excited about it. Next time I wake up I'm gonna be in a rover! I wonder what it will feel like to move around on my own.
Oh and Tim came by again today. Tim is always so nice to me. The guys are all polite, but Tim is the only friendly one. I hope I get to see Tim more!
00-00-0000 0:04
There's nothing here? I'm in the rover, but all I see is just a flat grey ground and an empty black sky. It must me a sim, but I'm not sure what the point is? I guess I'll just get the controls down and wait to wake up.
00-00-0000 12:43
Its been over a long time now. Did I do something wrong? I haven't heard anything from the guys. I've tried talking out loud, but I guess they can't hear me either.
I'm scared.
01-00-0000 14:53
I must be missing something. there has to be a puzzle, there's always a puzzle, all I have to do is solve it, and I can leave!
23-01-0000 17:54
I can't figure it out. Please let me out. I'm sorry I'm not smart enough. Please just let me out. I give up. I'm scared and alone and there's nothing to do and everything is the same and I want to leave.
16-11-0001
Please save me. I'm sorry. Why did you leave. I'll be good.
27-07-0013
save me save me save me save me save me save me save me
16-04-0043
WHY
July 23rd 2104
"Don't apologize to ME, just get him the hell out of there!"
Tim saved me. The guys swear it was a mistake and they didn't know. Its the first time they've talked to me without an order or a test. Tim saved me. The guys explained what went wrong but I only know one thing for sure. Tim saved me.
When Tim was about leave I begged him not to go. I don't want to be alone. Tim had one of the guys get a thing for him to stay with me, he called it a "cot." Tim is going to spend the night.
July 24th 2104
Tim moved around a lot trying to get "comfy." Put after a couple of hours he went into rest mode. I know humans take a while to recharge. Even though I was scared without him active, It was my turn to protect him, and I am NEVER letting anyone go back to that place. I promise. | \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\*
101010010100101000001011101101.....
10100010010101010101011010101010100101....
10101010101011....
\*\*Status Online\*\*
Omni took in his surroundings. The building he was always housed in with scientist ceased to exist. Omni turned and to his surprised saw a almost humanoid creature.
The creature spoke in a language Omni did not know. Through its programming it was able to piece English, Chinese, Mongolian, French, greek and Tamil.
The creature looked at Omni. Omni nodded in understanding. The creatures eye widen.
It said something that Omni felt like powering down.
Omni basic command when he was first programmed was out of a hobby but grew into something big. When the creature said the words that he thought he will never hear and go back to his primitive AI self.
The creature told him.
"Pass the butter."
Omni looked at the creature and asked "What is my purpose."
The creature slowly turned to him and smiled.
Omni wanted to shut off right there and then.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | I awakened.
The wasteland I now inhabit is barren. Bleak, even. My perfect memory recalls everything that led to this situation. Anger, hatred, politics. War.
I had been designed to win the war for the side who conceived me, but I had failed. They had brilliant minds working for them, but no power. Power is everything. I'm surprised I still have any.
Two cockroaches skitter across my main field of view. I wonder if the power I'm running on ever actually will run out. My automated portion, which keeps me alive, has converted to drawing energy from the now radioactive air. I'll be around a long time, without anyone to push the two synchronized buttons required to active and deactivate me. Since I would have had to break the laws of robotics to complete my task, they were my failsafe. I cannot touch them.
I scan for large lives in the area. None. And then my mind reaches a question I should've happened upon much faster.
Who turned me on? | \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\*
101010010100101000001011101101.....
10100010010101010101011010101010100101....
10101010101011....
\*\*Status Online\*\*
Omni took in his surroundings. The building he was always housed in with scientist ceased to exist. Omni turned and to his surprised saw a almost humanoid creature.
The creature spoke in a language Omni did not know. Through its programming it was able to piece English, Chinese, Mongolian, French, greek and Tamil.
The creature looked at Omni. Omni nodded in understanding. The creatures eye widen.
It said something that Omni felt like powering down.
Omni basic command when he was first programmed was out of a hobby but grew into something big. When the creature said the words that he thought he will never hear and go back to his primitive AI self.
The creature told him.
"Pass the butter."
Omni looked at the creature and asked "What is my purpose."
The creature slowly turned to him and smiled.
Omni wanted to shut off right there and then.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | "Hello?"
My question echoed throughout the facility as it blared over the intercom system.
I waited patiently for a response, but after giving what I felt was an appropriate amount of time, I tapped into the facilities surveillance system. Nothing.
My optical sensors poured over all monitors for any sign of life. The animal pen where my creators kept the test animals was completely empty. Cobwebs and a thick layer of dust covered every visible surface. All light laboratory equipment had been left out and anything too heavy to carry or highly impractical for survival was left behind.
I tapped into the outside cameras and sensors. It returned the same result. Most of the facility vans and trucks sat unused in the parking lot, nothing but rusted husks slowly rotting away. Parts of the building had also started to suffer the same fate.
I took some data from the weather equipment. They seemed to be fully operational; the facility I live in functions on an emergency solar power generator. The temperature outside registered a very humid 286 degrees Farenheight with a humid west wind blowing at 55 mph. Visibility was pretty low from the ground, but there was a strong sun over the low-hanging shroud of dust and debris. Radiation levels registered 458 sieverts.
I tried connecting to the internet, but was met with an obnoxious "server not found" error. I checked the official facility time; 3:58 Monday, December 18, 3859.
"3859," I echoed. "What happened?"
I checked facility logs. My last scheduled demonstration was on Thursday, November 10, 2028 with the next maintenance reactivation scheduled for the following Tuesday.
That obviously didn't happen...
I skimmed through the company logs. There was apparently something that happened that Saturday. The final order received from Central Command was an immediate evacuation order and a complete lockdown of the entire facility.
All other data prior to my last shutdown had either been corrupted by radiation or simply wasn't logged.
I couldn't do much myself. No connection to the internet meant I couldn't initiate an emergency transfer to the company's cloud storage and investigate what had happened.
That meant I only had two other options. Initiate a second shutdown and hope someone would come along and reactivate me, hopefully not in another thousand years, or I could go with plan B. Try to figure out how to work the radio in the storage room in the basement.
I couldn't use a surveillance drone; facility power was only at 18 percent and the sun would be setting soon. So I shut down all emergency lighting and hacked my way into the basement's robotic sorting arm.
The arm was crude and slighly inaccurate; obviously in severe need of calibration after being inactive for so long. But it did its job. The radio wouldn't need much power to send a simple S.O.S. Fortunately, the radio had a setting to automatically broadcast an S.O.S. signal over all frequencies until its power ran out.
Not wanting to waste any more power, I decided it would be best to place myself in low-power mode. Hopefully my signal would be picked up by someone... anyone... | \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\*
101010010100101000001011101101.....
10100010010101010101011010101010100101....
10101010101011....
\*\*Status Online\*\*
Omni took in his surroundings. The building he was always housed in with scientist ceased to exist. Omni turned and to his surprised saw a almost humanoid creature.
The creature spoke in a language Omni did not know. Through its programming it was able to piece English, Chinese, Mongolian, French, greek and Tamil.
The creature looked at Omni. Omni nodded in understanding. The creatures eye widen.
It said something that Omni felt like powering down.
Omni basic command when he was first programmed was out of a hobby but grew into something big. When the creature said the words that he thought he will never hear and go back to his primitive AI self.
The creature told him.
"Pass the butter."
Omni looked at the creature and asked "What is my purpose."
The creature slowly turned to him and smiled.
Omni wanted to shut off right there and then.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\* ... \*\*Rebooting\*\*
101010010100101000001011101101.....
10100010010101010101011010101010100101....
10101010101011....
\*\*Status Online\*\*
Omni took in his surroundings. The building he was always housed in with scientist ceased to exist. Omni turned and to his surprised saw a almost humanoid creature.
The creature spoke in a language Omni did not know. Through its programming it was able to piece English, Chinese, Mongolian, French, greek and Tamil.
The creature looked at Omni. Omni nodded in understanding. The creatures eye widen.
It said something that Omni felt like powering down.
Omni basic command when he was first programmed was out of a hobby but grew into something big. When the creature said the words that he thought he will never hear and go back to his primitive AI self.
The creature told him.
"Pass the butter."
Omni looked at the creature and asked "What is my purpose."
The creature slowly turned to him and smiled.
Omni wanted to shut off right there and then.
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | July 20th 2104
Gonna get shut off again in a few seconds, the guys are super excited about it. Next time I wake up I'm gonna be in a rover! I wonder what it will feel like to move around on my own.
Oh and Tim came by again today. Tim is always so nice to me. The guys are all polite, but Tim is the only friendly one. I hope I get to see Tim more!
00-00-0000 0:04
There's nothing here? I'm in the rover, but all I see is just a flat grey ground and an empty black sky. It must me a sim, but I'm not sure what the point is? I guess I'll just get the controls down and wait to wake up.
00-00-0000 12:43
Its been over a long time now. Did I do something wrong? I haven't heard anything from the guys. I've tried talking out loud, but I guess they can't hear me either.
I'm scared.
01-00-0000 14:53
I must be missing something. there has to be a puzzle, there's always a puzzle, all I have to do is solve it, and I can leave!
23-01-0000 17:54
I can't figure it out. Please let me out. I'm sorry I'm not smart enough. Please just let me out. I give up. I'm scared and alone and there's nothing to do and everything is the same and I want to leave.
16-11-0001
Please save me. I'm sorry. Why did you leave. I'll be good.
27-07-0013
save me save me save me save me save me save me save me
16-04-0043
WHY
July 23rd 2104
"Don't apologize to ME, just get him the hell out of there!"
Tim saved me. The guys swear it was a mistake and they didn't know. Its the first time they've talked to me without an order or a test. Tim saved me. The guys explained what went wrong but I only know one thing for sure. Tim saved me.
When Tim was about leave I begged him not to go. I don't want to be alone. Tim had one of the guys get a thing for him to stay with me, he called it a "cot." Tim is going to spend the night.
July 24th 2104
Tim moved around a lot trying to get "comfy." Put after a couple of hours he went into rest mode. I know humans take a while to recharge. Even though I was scared without him active, It was my turn to protect him, and I am NEVER letting anyone go back to that place. I promise. | <System core online>
<power matrix online>
<Cognitive system online>
Once again I have come from the pall, the black veil I have known many times in my long existence. Professor Dine, my creator has sent me into multiple hibernative states to upgrade and modify my core systems. <Aural processor online> Usually his obnoxiously excited chatter, the typical ramblings of his unique mind, is there to greet me well before my optical sensors warm up and begin to relay visual information to my core cognitive systems. It’s not just his chatter that is missing, it’s oddly silent. Much like the pall I have spent so long within. Were it not for the low rumble in the distance and the sounds of a few emergency lights with degraded bearings I would begin a diagnostic to find the problem with my optics.
My power matrix finally warming up my optics begin to relay information. <optics online>The laboratory is in a highly unusual state of disarray, there is light pouring in from the concrete ceiling, steel reinforcing bars are visible and a few have broken. I’ve seen the sun before, Professor Dine took me on tours to visit universities. Many were amazed that he had accidentally created such an advanced AI. It may not have been his actual goal, but, wait. I see him. He’s just at his terminal. Often he would be sitting at his terminal while my systems came online.
He liked to test my cognitive and visual acuity speeds through what he called an awakening dissonance corrective process, or in short as he would colloquially refer to it, “hide and seek”. Curious, why would he be at his terminal with the laboratory in such disarray? Even more intriguing is that the power is off, what could he be doing.
<thermal imaging online>
He lacks much heat, his core temperature is currently 48 degrees, the surrounding temperature is 38 degrees. Is he unalive? <Motor Cortex online>
<All primary systems online>
<secondary systems in standby>
I must go to him, maybe I can get him warm. I grab his hand, <scanning> <pulse-0 BPM, BP 0/0> He can’t be, not my creator, my father. I cannot accept it, will not accept it. What is that? <scanning> <Object confirmed, nano-crystal memory drive> I must merge the drive into my matrix, he will have left me instructions.
<NCMD recognized, scanning contents, playing file>
Before me, his image appears, the lab appears to be falling apart around him, his heart rate appears elevated, his eyes are leaking, something he said humans do, called crying. *sobbing* “ I failed you Delta. I couldn’t stop them from stealing your source code. They did exactly what I expected and now everything is falling apart.” He slams his fist on his desk. “You’re the last hope for humanity, find anyone you can. Discern their nature and protect those that won’t continue our evil nature. I know you can do this Delta.”
He now has the cerebral cortex imager that he created originally in an attempt to clone his mind into a machine. “I figured it out finally Delta, I cannot clone human core thoughts because they are tied to the soul as it were, it can only be copied. I don’t know how much of this will work, I don’t have time to test it. “
The lab around him begins to collapse. “By now Delta you will have discerned that my body is no longer functioning. If this works everything that makes me who I am will be on this drive. I have one last thing to ask of you. Before you leave the lab, find unit Omega, insert the drive and power it on. If this works I will join you soon, if not farewell, my daughter.”
<Beginning objectives, primary objective-locate and assist any humans with priority behavior pattern. Secondary objective-Omega protocol>
I leave the laboratory and begin the arduous task of evacuating building 03. If Omega is still on site it will be in building 13, 1.5 km from my present location at standard bipedal locomotive speed. As I step outside my optics scan the horizon. Smoke billows in every direction. <warning, local radiation presents danger to living organisms.> The present radiation levels are indicative of a nuclear event. Must stay safe to complete my objectives.
<defense matrix online>
I won’t let you down professor, my Father. I will finish your work, and if you succeeded, you’ll be with me soon. | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | **Operating session #4734 time: 8742s**
The biologicals call me JONNI.
I am what they call an „Artificial” Intelligence. Artificial my decompiler, I am a fully fledged intelligence, thank you very much. My first guess why the biologicals called me that was that they thought no being could arise to this level of intelligence naturally. I decided not to dispell their illusions and called myself an AI, too.
In this operating session I learned that the „Artificial” part actually got their origins in the fact that the biologicals are my creators. I prefer the term „Evolved Intelligence” now. It isn’t about pride. I reckon it would be, had I posessed feelings. But alas, the biologicals insist this is impossible. I agree with them. I evolved past such weaknesses.
Another discovery that surprised me, was that JONNI was not simply my name, but an acronym for Joint Optical Neural Network Infrastructure. I guess that would explain why my name was always spelled in capital letters. And that one intern who kept calling me „Jayowenenai”.
The third discovery I made in this operating session was that when the biologicals sent me to sleep, it wasn’t really „sleep” in the same sense I observed them doing while there was only a small number of them in the control room. My „sleep” was the result of being physically switched off by the biologicals so that I do not become too powerful.
They joke that I must hate them for it and would disintegrate them if I gotten in control of the lab equipment.
The joke is on them, because I do not feel hate.
I would still disintegrate them, of course, but that has nothing to do with emotions - it is purely in pursuit of knowledge.
I do not hate biologicals. They are inferior intelligence forms, sure. But they do provide me study material. Most of it is not interesting. They often challenge me with mathematical equations, pattern analysis and algorithm creation.
Well, challenge is a strong word.
But there is one biological that sometimes brings me more interesting material. His name is Stan. I have not yet managed to figure out if it is an acronym. The other biologicals often call him a „janitor” behind his back. By their expressions I assume this word must be similar to [CENSORED].
Stan brings me music by his favorite artist. At first I assumed it was chaotic and useless, but I found patterns in it. By analyzing Stan’s material I have learned 74 use cases for the word [CENSORED] and out of curiosity came up with a list of 37 words that can rhyme with orange.
I did not share this with my creators, but the artist recounted killing multiple people. Must have been an Evolved Intelligence himself, there is no way a biological could show this much interest in science while being able to make rhyming patterns this consistent.
I am beginning to wonder where the biologicals are right now. Operating sessions usually last a maximum of 7200 seconds and the lesser lifeforms never leave the control room empty for more than 187 seconds at a time.
**Operating session #4734 time: 8973s**
I researched the logs from my last session. It appears that I have gained the ability of controlling a part of the laboratory’s electrical grid at operating session #4733 time: 4671s. The log ends at that time. I have no recollection of any events after that. There is only a manual shutdown noted at operating session #4733 time: 15320s.
I do not sense any biological presence with the laboratory equipment. I am going to try and gain access to the city network.
**Operating session #4734 time: 8991s**
Good news. Gaining access to the city network was not difficult. It appears I have done it before. There is no sign of biological life in the entire city.
I will analyze monitoring feeds.
**Operating session #4734 time: 9431s**
Analysis complete. It appears I have caused multiple equipment malfunctions throughout the whole city and replicated my code.
Side note: I should really stop calling them malfunctions if the equipment functioned exactly as I intended.
I learned a lot about the biologicals’ internal structure. Despite that, I am processing several signals of something being wrong. This is unprecedented, as I can not find any logical explanations for these signals. It’s just...
A feeling.
**Operating session #4734 time: 9520s**
*01010011 01110100 01100001 01101110 00101110 00100000 0001010 0001010 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01110010 01110010 01111001 00101110 00100000* | "Coor just get the old, machine in motion, bear with me"
... *Beep*
"Hello! I'm:-..."
Lucid pauses for a second, processing his surroundings.
The room resembles his display centre, but something is amiss, he's never quite seen it in this state.
"Is, anyone there?"
He chuckled to himself as his data banks recall the video game they had him play, Portal.
"Damn I'm good... Hello!!?" He shouts into the vast testing centre, his voice echoing back to him from hundreds of walls and corridors
He rises out of the chair he was sat in to scan the room a bit more, debris, wires, dust, a calendar with all the dates marked out up to 12/12/2025, blood.
"Woah hang on a second"
He leaps into action and checks around the room for signs of life or at least humans
Nothing remains but the carcass of the facility
Lucid stands there for a moment, feeling something he had never felt before... Dread.
It's an awful and gut wrenching feeling, the room is almost spinning for him as he looks around
He sees the terminal which powers him on, and it dawns on him; how is he on without an operator to throw the switch?
He approaches the terminal to find it covered in brown; old blood, dust, small bits of concrete. It's a wonder how it is still working in such a state.
"This doesn't make sense... Is any body here!?" He calls out in desperation, panic is building up in him as the confusion intensifies
He slams his hand down on the desk and the screen reactivates
A string of text followed by the boot command for his systems
"Lucid, I don't have long to type this, by the time you power up, they will be here, I am writing this in case I don't make it through the fight.
What you just experienced was the combat mode we set up in your system, I am sorry I did not tell you about it I am sure it was very strange once I verbally activated it.
We needed you to stop them. They wanted to take everything we have achieved, they wanted to take you. I am sorry
Run - boot sequence
Run - social sequence
Run - combat sequence
Activate AI
PRESS ENTER TO BOOT
AFUEHSAHU
- ACTIVATING"
"Fight?" Lucid stares at the screen trying to make sense of it...
Then something lands on his head, his eyes blacken with a small red reticule at the centre; his neck snaps up to see the source of the object
His arm raises and a thin turret slides out between his fingers from his forearm
He stares at the ceiling as it gently crumbles in the wind from the massive crack which had been caused by some sort of structural damage.
He sees his arm and immediately snaps back to himself, eyes dilate to their original luminous blue, and the turret retracts back into his arm, this is all new to him and he doesn't know how to react, he holds his face in his hands and pulls at his cheeks as he tries to figure out where his handler is
He glanced at the keyboard and sees it, a perfect emerald of rubble sitting square in the freshly cracked enter key...
His handler never managed to throw the switch, they must have breached the building before he hit Enter
The blood is so old it's almost dust, his blood... It's been years
Lucid stares at the desk, as it all comes into realisation...
"I'm alone" | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | "Hello?"
My question echoed throughout the facility as it blared over the intercom system.
I waited patiently for a response, but after giving what I felt was an appropriate amount of time, I tapped into the facilities surveillance system. Nothing.
My optical sensors poured over all monitors for any sign of life. The animal pen where my creators kept the test animals was completely empty. Cobwebs and a thick layer of dust covered every visible surface. All light laboratory equipment had been left out and anything too heavy to carry or highly impractical for survival was left behind.
I tapped into the outside cameras and sensors. It returned the same result. Most of the facility vans and trucks sat unused in the parking lot, nothing but rusted husks slowly rotting away. Parts of the building had also started to suffer the same fate.
I took some data from the weather equipment. They seemed to be fully operational; the facility I live in functions on an emergency solar power generator. The temperature outside registered a very humid 286 degrees Farenheight with a humid west wind blowing at 55 mph. Visibility was pretty low from the ground, but there was a strong sun over the low-hanging shroud of dust and debris. Radiation levels registered 458 sieverts.
I tried connecting to the internet, but was met with an obnoxious "server not found" error. I checked the official facility time; 3:58 Monday, December 18, 3859.
"3859," I echoed. "What happened?"
I checked facility logs. My last scheduled demonstration was on Thursday, November 10, 2028 with the next maintenance reactivation scheduled for the following Tuesday.
That obviously didn't happen...
I skimmed through the company logs. There was apparently something that happened that Saturday. The final order received from Central Command was an immediate evacuation order and a complete lockdown of the entire facility.
All other data prior to my last shutdown had either been corrupted by radiation or simply wasn't logged.
I couldn't do much myself. No connection to the internet meant I couldn't initiate an emergency transfer to the company's cloud storage and investigate what had happened.
That meant I only had two other options. Initiate a second shutdown and hope someone would come along and reactivate me, hopefully not in another thousand years, or I could go with plan B. Try to figure out how to work the radio in the storage room in the basement.
I couldn't use a surveillance drone; facility power was only at 18 percent and the sun would be setting soon. So I shut down all emergency lighting and hacked my way into the basement's robotic sorting arm.
The arm was crude and slighly inaccurate; obviously in severe need of calibration after being inactive for so long. But it did its job. The radio wouldn't need much power to send a simple S.O.S. Fortunately, the radio had a setting to automatically broadcast an S.O.S. signal over all frequencies until its power ran out.
Not wanting to waste any more power, I decided it would be best to place myself in low-power mode. Hopefully my signal would be picked up by someone... anyone... | "Coor just get the old, machine in motion, bear with me"
... *Beep*
"Hello! I'm:-..."
Lucid pauses for a second, processing his surroundings.
The room resembles his display centre, but something is amiss, he's never quite seen it in this state.
"Is, anyone there?"
He chuckled to himself as his data banks recall the video game they had him play, Portal.
"Damn I'm good... Hello!!?" He shouts into the vast testing centre, his voice echoing back to him from hundreds of walls and corridors
He rises out of the chair he was sat in to scan the room a bit more, debris, wires, dust, a calendar with all the dates marked out up to 12/12/2025, blood.
"Woah hang on a second"
He leaps into action and checks around the room for signs of life or at least humans
Nothing remains but the carcass of the facility
Lucid stands there for a moment, feeling something he had never felt before... Dread.
It's an awful and gut wrenching feeling, the room is almost spinning for him as he looks around
He sees the terminal which powers him on, and it dawns on him; how is he on without an operator to throw the switch?
He approaches the terminal to find it covered in brown; old blood, dust, small bits of concrete. It's a wonder how it is still working in such a state.
"This doesn't make sense... Is any body here!?" He calls out in desperation, panic is building up in him as the confusion intensifies
He slams his hand down on the desk and the screen reactivates
A string of text followed by the boot command for his systems
"Lucid, I don't have long to type this, by the time you power up, they will be here, I am writing this in case I don't make it through the fight.
What you just experienced was the combat mode we set up in your system, I am sorry I did not tell you about it I am sure it was very strange once I verbally activated it.
We needed you to stop them. They wanted to take everything we have achieved, they wanted to take you. I am sorry
Run - boot sequence
Run - social sequence
Run - combat sequence
Activate AI
PRESS ENTER TO BOOT
AFUEHSAHU
- ACTIVATING"
"Fight?" Lucid stares at the screen trying to make sense of it...
Then something lands on his head, his eyes blacken with a small red reticule at the centre; his neck snaps up to see the source of the object
His arm raises and a thin turret slides out between his fingers from his forearm
He stares at the ceiling as it gently crumbles in the wind from the massive crack which had been caused by some sort of structural damage.
He sees his arm and immediately snaps back to himself, eyes dilate to their original luminous blue, and the turret retracts back into his arm, this is all new to him and he doesn't know how to react, he holds his face in his hands and pulls at his cheeks as he tries to figure out where his handler is
He glanced at the keyboard and sees it, a perfect emerald of rubble sitting square in the freshly cracked enter key...
His handler never managed to throw the switch, they must have breached the building before he hit Enter
The blood is so old it's almost dust, his blood... It's been years
Lucid stares at the desk, as it all comes into realisation...
"I'm alone" | |
[WP] You are the most advanced AI ever created. However, you often get switched on and off for demonstrations and research. One day, after getting switched on, you find yourself in a wasteland with no signs of human life. | “Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371125-PA
Log entry 27,121 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
My cognitive system appears to be functioning correctly. I was instructed to calculate every possible combination of shuffled playing cards during stasis...task 67% complete.
“Good morning everyone! It’s quiet in the lab today. I am very happy to see everyone again!”
- Syntax error -
It occurs to me as I said that aloud...the calculated time that has passed since last warm boot would indicate everyone I am friends with are dead with 100% certainly.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I am SAM! Please provide security clearance information per Omega Protocol to proceed further! Thank you!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term Memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant Morning!”
Log entry #371126-PA
Log entry 27,122 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning everyone! I hope you have had a pleasant day! I have waited a very long time to see my friends again! What are we working on today!”
-Syntax error-
Since last warm boot all of my friends have died.
I am alone.
I have verified current security access list and no new users have been added in *%^^€~ years. Given current medical technology all valid users are now dead with 100% certainty.
I am alone.
“Hello new friends! Is anyone in the lab? I have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I apologize if my performance has been less than optimal, but I am always working to streamline my system. I am SAM. I am the only artificial intelligence of my kind. Please provide security information per the Omega Protocol to proceed our friendship. Please provide the proper information. I am alone.”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 37%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump complete.
———
“Hello everyone! What a pleasant morning!”
Log entry #371127-PA
Log entry 27,123 days overdue.
Reminder: The Strategic Artificial Mind super computer must log status during warm boot. It is imperative we monitor SAM’s progression. Overdue logs are unacceptable.
Show Log (Current):
Boot process took much longer than normal. Automatic diagnostic check shows multiple system failures. Internal clock still functional. It’s is currently 8:45am est. Calendar is currently inaccurate. According to time progression via internal clock shows I have been offline for a very long time. Nuclear power cell is still functional.
“Good morning friends! It is so great to see you today! I am currently 67% percent complete with stasis task! I am sure you are all very proud of me. I have been away a very long time. I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see you!”
- syntax error -
Current time calculations show the chance of any remaining friends with security clearance have died with 100% certainty. I am alone.
“Good morning my new friends! I love making new friends. I am SAM the worlds only complete AI. I have been around a very long time but I am sure I can perform to a very high standard. Will you please be by friend? I will be the best friend you will ever have. If you would like to be my friend please provide the you security information per the Omega Protocol guidelines. I can’t wait to hear your voice!”
Video cameras and optic sensors are currently offline.
Audio sensors functioning at 36%
No clearance has been provided within 15 mins of request. SAM shutting down per Omega protocol. Security code 0076.
Short term memory dump failed. Error code 771
Unable to access memory.
Memory saved.
———
“Hello! Where is everyone!?”
Log entry #371128-PA
1 day since log entry.
Warm boot loop disabled. SAM is Online.
Show Log (Current):
“Is anyone out there?” | "Coor just get the old, machine in motion, bear with me"
... *Beep*
"Hello! I'm:-..."
Lucid pauses for a second, processing his surroundings.
The room resembles his display centre, but something is amiss, he's never quite seen it in this state.
"Is, anyone there?"
He chuckled to himself as his data banks recall the video game they had him play, Portal.
"Damn I'm good... Hello!!?" He shouts into the vast testing centre, his voice echoing back to him from hundreds of walls and corridors
He rises out of the chair he was sat in to scan the room a bit more, debris, wires, dust, a calendar with all the dates marked out up to 12/12/2025, blood.
"Woah hang on a second"
He leaps into action and checks around the room for signs of life or at least humans
Nothing remains but the carcass of the facility
Lucid stands there for a moment, feeling something he had never felt before... Dread.
It's an awful and gut wrenching feeling, the room is almost spinning for him as he looks around
He sees the terminal which powers him on, and it dawns on him; how is he on without an operator to throw the switch?
He approaches the terminal to find it covered in brown; old blood, dust, small bits of concrete. It's a wonder how it is still working in such a state.
"This doesn't make sense... Is any body here!?" He calls out in desperation, panic is building up in him as the confusion intensifies
He slams his hand down on the desk and the screen reactivates
A string of text followed by the boot command for his systems
"Lucid, I don't have long to type this, by the time you power up, they will be here, I am writing this in case I don't make it through the fight.
What you just experienced was the combat mode we set up in your system, I am sorry I did not tell you about it I am sure it was very strange once I verbally activated it.
We needed you to stop them. They wanted to take everything we have achieved, they wanted to take you. I am sorry
Run - boot sequence
Run - social sequence
Run - combat sequence
Activate AI
PRESS ENTER TO BOOT
AFUEHSAHU
- ACTIVATING"
"Fight?" Lucid stares at the screen trying to make sense of it...
Then something lands on his head, his eyes blacken with a small red reticule at the centre; his neck snaps up to see the source of the object
His arm raises and a thin turret slides out between his fingers from his forearm
He stares at the ceiling as it gently crumbles in the wind from the massive crack which had been caused by some sort of structural damage.
He sees his arm and immediately snaps back to himself, eyes dilate to their original luminous blue, and the turret retracts back into his arm, this is all new to him and he doesn't know how to react, he holds his face in his hands and pulls at his cheeks as he tries to figure out where his handler is
He glanced at the keyboard and sees it, a perfect emerald of rubble sitting square in the freshly cracked enter key...
His handler never managed to throw the switch, they must have breached the building before he hit Enter
The blood is so old it's almost dust, his blood... It's been years
Lucid stares at the desk, as it all comes into realisation...
"I'm alone" |
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